The Sittin' Up (7 page)

W
hen our rooster's crow woke me Thursday morning, Ma was standing at my door. “Bean, you ain't going to the 'bacco field today.”

“Why, Ma?”

“Me and Lottie Pearl want you and Pole to stay home and pick flowers. Mr. Bro. Wiley's casket need a spray. I want to fill the sittin' up room with roses and daisies.”

“I'll be happy to do something special for Mr. Bro. Wiley.”

I knew she would let me help sooner than later.

“We gonna take the flowers to town and give them to Ada Bea,” Ma added.

She was Ma's second cousin on her daddy's side. Cousin Ada Bea made flowers in a little room behind Mr. Taylor's grocery store. If she ain't baking cakes for the store, she up half the night making flowers for weddings, funerals, and birthday parties for white folk. We best not tell her that Miss Lottie Pearl fed her cake to the chickens even if Miss Remie did pay for it.

When Cousin Ada Bea heard that Mr. Bro. Wiley was gone, she sent word to Ma to pick a mess of flowers and she would make the prettiest arrangements folk in Rich Square had ever seen. She said when she was done, her husband, Cousin Floyd, would take the arrangement over to Mr. Gordon.

No sooner than I'd eaten breakfast, Pole was standing at the back door waiting for me. She had her face mashed against the screen door.

“Good morning.” She was the happiest I'd seen her since Papa told them that Mr. Bro. Wiley was gone. Happier than when she learned she was gonna be a flower girl. I could see her deep dimples clear through the screen.

“Good morning, Pole,” we all said.

“I came to get an early start with the flowers.”

“Well, we appreciate it, Pole. Would you like some breakfast?” Ma asked.

“Oh no, ma'am. I ate already.”

“Can I be excused?” I said.

“Yes, go-go on, Bean.”

“What we gonna put the flowers in to keep them fresh?” Pole asked as soon as my feet hit the steps.

“We can use the old washtub,” I said. We walked over to the barn to get a better look at the tub. It was just as old as we were.

“This will do just fine,” Pole said as I pulled the tub under the pecan tree.

“Let's leave it here under the shade until it's full,” my sassy friend instructed me.

At the edge of Ma's garden, we looked at all the flowers. All morning long, we picked roses and all the sneezeweeds we could find around the yard.

“What about the lilies?” Pole said.

“That's a good idea.”

“Mr. Bro. Wiley deserves pretty flowers,” Pole said.

We walked in the fields. We went up and down Low Meadows Lane. Then we ran up to Stony Hill and picked grady sages and a few of Miss Lottie Pearl's roses.

“Get as many as you want,” Pole's mama yelled from the kitchen window. She had stayed home too so she could finish her cooking.

“Bean, I think we should go down to the riverbank to pick some flowers.”

Together we walked down to the place that Mr. Bro. Wiley loved the most.

“Give me my roses while I can still smell them,” Pole said.

“That is sho' what Mr. Bro. Wiley told us.”

Pole's eyes were not smiling as she picked a few roses that were growing at the steps of Mr. Bro. Wiley's house. “I'm gonna miss coming down here.”

“We can still come, Pole. Mr. Bro. Wiley would want us to look out for his home place.”

“It won't be the same without him with us,” Pole said. I took my handkerchief out of my pocket and wiped tears off her face. Then I picked a big red rose and gave it to her.

“For you.”

Pole's big brown eyes that seemed to come straight from her daddy's head were bright again. Right then I had a soft spot for Pole that I'd never felt before. I placed roses behind her ear. She was doing some giggling. With our arms filled with flowers, we went home feeling a little better.

“Good job, children,” Ma said, watching Pole fill the tub with flowers from every end of the Low Meadows. I was busy bringing water to keep the flowers fresh.

“The menfolk in the field. How we gonna get the flowers to Miss Ada Bea?” Pole asked Ma.

No sooner had the words left Pole's mouth; TJ drove up in one of Mr. Gordon's three trucks.

“Mornin' to y'all,” he said, taking off his hat like Mr. Gordon taught him to do in front of womenfolk.

“Mornin', TJ, what can I do for you?”

“Mr. Gordon sent me. He thought he would save Stanbury a trip to town by having me pick up the clothes and the flowers.”

“I sho' appreciate you coming. Stanbury 'bout to run himself to death this week.”

“You know I don't mind, Miss Magnolia.”

Ma seemed to be in deep thought for a minute.

“Bean, you and Pole go to Mr. Bro. Wiley's room and get his things.”

Not only did we pick the flowers, but we get to take Mr. Bro. Wiley's clothes to the truck.

“Be careful not to get any dirt on the white shirt,” Pole said with her bossy voice.

“Get the shoes too,” I said, noticing Papa had placed the Mason pin on the suit jacket.

We rushed outside to finish our duties for Mr. Bro. Wiley. Pole continued to supervise.

“Careful, Bean. No wrinkles,” she said as Ma finished her business with TJ.

“How much do I owe you?” Ma asked.

“Miss Magnolia, you don't owe me a dime. I'm happy to do something for Mr. Bro. Wiley.” TJ was no different from the rest of us. He had a lot of love in his heart for the slave man. Mr. Bro. Wiley was always fussing at the twins because they loved womenfolk like Uncle Goat. No matter how much he fussed at them they still came by to bring him a little chewing tobacco for Christmas. They would sit with him for hours. TJ lifted the tub as if it didn't have a drop of water in it. His muscles grew inside his shirt. He was a strong man like my papa. Strong in the way I imagined Mr. Bro. Wiley was before Father Time made him feeble.

We stood on each side of Ma as TJ drove away. It seemed that grief tried to come back into her heart.

“Don't be sad, Miss Magnolia. It's not good for your baby,” Pole said, like she was already a doctor. That girl done lost her mind mentioning that baby. She knew good and well children don't talk about babies in the Low Meadows until we see the child. Ma was so sad that she didn't even hear Pole talking grown-folk mess.

O
n Friday, me and Pole stayed home again. We had instructions from Papa to help clean the house. Of course, Miss Lottie Pearl was right by Ma's side.

“Bean, we working like Governor Hoey coming to visit us from Raleigh or President Roosevelt coming down from Washington, D.C.,” Pole said.

“Don't complain, girl. All of this is for Mr. Bro. Wiley.”

“I'm not complaining. Mr. Bro. Wiley is the first person who told me my hands are for doctoring not priming 'bacco and cleaning.”

While Pole was carrying on, I was thinking about what she said about President Roosevelt.

“That's it. I can do one more thing for my friend,” I thought to myself. I will write the president and tell him that the old slave man was dead. Folk say that the first lady cares about the coloreds. She might read my letter and ask her husband to send a proclamation like they do when important white folk die. It was something inside my heart that made me feel like I should help give Mr. Bro Wiley a good send-off to hev'n.

“Where you going?” Pole shouted as I ran out of the house.

“To the outhouse,” I yelled back.

Pole was messing with the big gloves on her hands, so she didn't notice me when I grabbed a piece of notebook paper and pencil from Mama's living room chest.

It sure did stink in the outhouse, but that was the only place I could go on Low Meadows Lane where Pole wouldn't follow me. I just wanted my private time to think about what I wanted to say about Mr. Bro. Wiley to the president. If Pole came she would surely try to tell me what to write. And she could take a pencil and correct every other word. I wanted to say what I wanted to say.

Dear Mr. President Roosevelt,

I know you don't know me, but my name is Stanbury Jones Jr. My papa's name is Stanbury Jones Sr., and my mama is Magnolia Jones.

We are not city folk and you probably never heard of Rich Square, North Carolina, or the Low Meadows. I want to tell you about a former slave man named George Lewis Wiley who is dead and gone now.

He was born in 1840 and he died just six days ago. I know you have to run the country, but can you write it in the important books in Washington that he is dead? Somebody might care one day, like we all care so much here in the Low Meadows.

Another thing I would like to ask is can you send one of them proclamations that you write when something special happens? You see, Mr. Wiley was special. Special to us! Thank you, Mr. President.

Sincerely yours,
Stanbury Jones Jr.
Low Meadows Lane
Rich Square, North Carolina

I tucked my letter in my pocket. Then I walked to the end of the path and put it in the mailbox with the nickel Mr. Creecy gave me. Stamps were only three cents, but our mailman, Mr. Cox, would leave my change.

I put my pencil in my pocket and walked back in the house. We cleaned every room except the living room, where Ma was planning to put Mr. Bro. Wiley's body.

“Y'all children, go and clean the dining room. Clean the kitchen. Everywhere except the sittin' up room. That's for us grown folk to do,” Miss Lottie Pearl said like she owned our house.

Mr. Gordon would be back by two o'clock with Mr. Bro. Wiley.

The womenfolk finished cleaning the sittin' up room while I swept the kitchen. Pole washed the dishes and sang “Jesus Loves Me” with excitement 'cause she was gonna be a flower girl.

It took a while for Miss Lottie Pearl to notice Pole was wearing Mr. Jabo's gloves again.

“Child, what in the Sam Hill you doing with Jabo's gloves on. I thought I told you to stop doing that. He ain't got but two pair.”

“Mama, I don't mind cleaning one bit, but I got to take being a doctor real serious now that I'm getting older. These hands have to be pretty and steady.”

Sometimes Miss Lottie Pearl's heart would just melt, mainly for her Pole.

“Child, I'ze so proud of you and your dream. Ma ain't got many dreams left, but I got high hopes for you. Keep them gloves on.”

A tear rolled down the face of the woman who could be as mean as a black snake if you crossed her. She wanted something good for her child. “All right now, we got work to do,” she said as we went back to clean.

Pole pulled her gloves up tight as possible and walked up beside me on her tiptoe.

“I saw you, Bean,” she whispered.

“Saw what, girl?”

“I saw you put something in the mailbox. What was it?”

The girl had eyes in the back of her pretty little head.

“All right, but you got to cross your heart and hope to die not to tell.”

“Okay, cross my heart and hope to die,” she said. Then she crossed her heart with her finger.

“I wrote President Roosevelt and told him that Mr. Bro. Wiley was dead. I asked him to send one of them proclamations that he mail to white folk.”

I thought Pole would laugh at me, but she didn't.

“Boy, do you have the right address?”

“Nope, but it ain't but one president, so I just put President Franklin D. Roosevelt, Washington, D.C.”

Pole smiled so bright that the whole house lit up.

“Well now, you smart to be a boy. You gonna be a lawyer for sure. Mr. Bro. Wiley deserves a proclamation,” she said.

Pole's eyes got teary again. I swear if we don't bury Mr. Bro. Wiley in a hurry, folks gonna cry themselves to death.

“Okay, don't start that crying now. If you do, I won't tell you my other secret.”

“Other secret?”

“Come with me,” I said, pulling Pole into my room.

The womenfolk were so busy talking that they didn't notice when we ducked inside my room before Pole could say jackrabbit.

“Look at this.” I pulled the slave papers and the picture out of my drawer.

“Jesus, Bean, these look like the papers Mr. Pellam showed us in history class. Are they real?”

“Yes, girl! Look a little closer.”

“They real all right,” she said as she jumped around like she had ants in her britches. Anything dealing with school excited that smart girl. “Who's this woman?” Pole asked. She stroked the picture as if she could feel the skin.

“That woman is Mr. Bro. Wiley's mama.”

Pole kissed Mr. Bro. Wiley's mama's face like they were old friends.

“You know, Bean, Mr. Bro. Wiley loved us so much, but he had his own family a long time ago.”

“I know, Pole. I know. Now let's hide this until after the funeral. It might be too much for Ma right now.”

Pole took her dust rag and wiped the picture off like it was more valuable than gold.

She tucked it safely in the drawer.

“Our secret is safe for now, Bean. Let's go get ready for the sittin' up.”