Part 2 (1/2)

Nancy Drew began peeling off her garden gloves as she ran up the porch steps and into the hall to answer the ringing ...

Somewhere I could hear the sound of a car pulling up the drive, the tires crunching over the gravel as they rolled forward, the noise forcing its way through my sleep. Drowsy and confused, I dropped my book on the floor and started looking for my mother. But it was only Nathaniel this time, perched behind the wheel of his old blue pickup truck, with his worn brown hat pulled low on his forehead. I squinted my eyes a little tighter and sat up a little straighter, trying to wake myself. It was Nathaniel all right, but somebody else was sitting next to him, somebody I had never seen before.

He looked about my age, maybe a year or two older. He had chocolate brown skin and deep, dark eyes. He was wearing a pair of worn-out blue jeans that rested low on his waist and made his legs look slender and long. He was almost as tall as Nathaniel, but he didn't really look like him, at least until he smiled. And it was a smile I had known since I was a baby.

”Miss Bezellia. Hey, I saw you up there behind that book. Hope that sister of yours hasn't gone and drowned a baby doll or two by now. I can hear the water running in the upstairs tub from here.” Nathaniel laughed, pointing to the open window on the second floor. ”Come on down here and meet my son before we need to start building Adelaide an ark of her own.”

Nathaniel had three girls and a boy. He'd told me so. He talked about them every now and then, always with a brightness in his eyes. But for some reason, I'd never really believed they were real. Or maybe I just didn't want to.

”Samuel's going to help me this summer. I promised your daddy I was going to get that barn looking like new before the end of the month, and I need Samuel's strong back if I'm to keep my word.” Nathaniel was grinning from ear to ear, clearly so proud of his strapping, good-looking son.

Samuel smiled too, obviously enjoying his daddy's praise.

”It's nice to meet you, Samuel,” I said.

”What you reading there?” he asked as he buckled an aged leather tool belt around his waist.

”Reading? Oh, Nancy Drew.”

”Never heard of her.”

”She's more for girls, I guess. You probably read the Hardy Boys.”

”Nope. Never heard of them either. Nice meeting you, though,” he said, and smiled again, leaving my body feeling anxious and relaxed all at the same time. He hoisted some boards over his right shoulder and followed his father into the barn. I stayed on the porch, hidden behind my book.

Nancy thoroughly enjoyed herself and was sorry when the affair ended. With the promise of another date as soon as she returned from Twin Elms, Nancy said goodnight and waved from her doorway to the departing boy.

I lingered on the chaise lounge for a while longer, letting the sound of their hammers slapping against the wood lull me in and out of a light sleep. Maizelle was calling my name from somewhere deep within the kitchen, but I kept drifting away from her voice and finding myself floating across the field behind the house. The gra.s.s was dotted with Queen Anne's lace and black-eyed Susans. The sound of the water rolling through the creek was pulling me downstream, and the sun was warming my face. Samuel was ahead of me, waiting on the other side of the cherrybark oaks, extending his hand toward mine. The water isn't deep, he said, motioning for me to follow him. Then Maizelle tapped her foot on the porch floor, and I fell right back onto the chaise lounge.

”You better go check on your sister. You promised your mama you'd look after her, and the minute your mama leaves town, I find you out here sound asleep. I haven't heard a word from Adelaide in the last twenty minutes. She's either done fallen asleep like you or is cutting that poor doll's hair again. That baby's not looking quite right, if you ask me. Something in her eyes is just plain evil.”

”She's only a doll, Maizelle,” I told her, and I laughed and c.o.c.ked my head to the right like I always did when I wanted her to know that her imagination was getting the best of her. Maizelle could be brave and fiery one minute and then skittish and scared the next, sometimes falling from one extreme to the other like a yo-yo dancing on a string. I sat up and rubbed my eyes and realized Maizelle was carrying a tray piled with sandwiches and fresh fruit and a large bowl of potato chips. I rubbed my stomach and waited for her to offer me something to eat.

”This ain't for you, girl. This is a meal meant for those who have been working hard. Now get up from there and find your sister. You promised your mama you wouldn't take your eyes off her. I'll feed you two in a little bit.”

Maizelle stepped off the porch and slowly walked toward the barn. She never rushed anywhere, said there was nothing on this earth worth running to anyway. But as soon as Samuel saw her coming, he ran to greet her and quickly s.h.i.+fted the tray into his own two hands. ”This is the best-looking sandwich I've ever seen, Miss Maizelle,” he declared, and grinned real big, revealing a band of perfect white teeth. Even from where I was sitting, I could see Maizelle's cheeks turn pink as a rose and her hips jiggle from side to side.

”Oh, your mama better not hear you say that, Samuel Stephenson, or she's gonna have you bringing a sack lunch tomorrow,” she answered, and then she laughed real hard and playfully swatted him on his arm.

”Oh, Miss Maizelle, my mama is a wonderful cook, but she don't make sandwiches like this. Is this bread homemade?” he asked her, and then winked, as if to rea.s.sure her he wasn't telling lies about her cooking.

”Lord, son, you got your daddy's smile, something dangerous for sure. I bet you got yourself at least a girlfriend or two, hmm, don't ya?”

Samuel only smiled. He seemed to know that was all he needed to do. Then he glanced up toward the house, and I suddenly felt like his teasing was as much for my entertainment as it was for Maizelle's. I dropped my head against the back of the chaise lounge. I didn't think it was really right for a colored boy to be flirting with me, even if I did kind of like it.

Maizelle swatted Samuel on the arm again and then pointed to the barn. ”You better get your daddy's lunch delivered before that man pa.s.ses out from hunger,” she told him. She laughed to herself as she walked back to the house, every now and then stopping to pull a weed thriving among my mother's flowers. I snuggled farther down on the chaise lounge and closed my eyes again and listened to the hammer, and the saw, and Samuel's laugh, and Nathaniel's singing, all woven together and drifting through the air like a redbird coming to offer me some lonesome morning trill. If Mother'd been here, she'd have told Nathaniel to quit singing that Negro music.

”You're not a slave, old man,” she'd snap. ”You're not working on some cotton-picking plantation.” And Nathaniel would look at my mother and tip his cap and say the same thing he always said. ”No, Mrs. Grove, you're right. This ain't no cotton-picking plantation.”

For the next two days, I woke to that same soothing sound. And by the time I'd made my way downstairs and taken my place at the kitchen table, Maizelle would already be carrying a tray loaded with sandwiches and fresh chips to the barn. She said when you've been working since daybreak, lunch comes early, and it might do me some good to remember that. ”The early bird is the one that ends up getting the worm every time.”

Maybe. But I didn't care too much about that worm. All I knew was that when I wasn't tending to Adelaide or Baby Stella, I found myself right back on that porch, drawn to it like a moth to the light. Samuel and I would exchange glances every now and then, never more than that. But it was all the encouragement I needed to keep coming back.

”Bezellia, whatchya doin', child?” Maizelle asked late one afternoon as she stood in front of me, swaying from one foot to the other. Mother's body was stiff and rigid, but Maizelle's body was never still. Even when she was standing in place, her body was always moving. And even when she was trying to be stern, she could never completely hide the smile in her voice.

”Nothing,” I answered, keeping my eyes closed and my nose buried behind my book.

”Uh-huh, I can see that,” Maizelle said. ”When I was your age I had been taking in ironing for more than a year. Never had the time to do nothing. Now take this lemonade out to Nathaniel and Samuel. And then take your little sister down to the creek for me.” I had left Adelaide sitting on the gra.s.s feeding her babies some crackers and ice water. Now the garden hose was pulled to her side and water was trickling onto a patch of dry, dusty earth. Stacked between her legs sat a pile of newly made mud pies.

”While your nose done been buried in that book, your little sister's been out playing in the mud again.” Hearing herself spoken of, Adelaide looked up and grinned. Her arms and legs were covered in a fresh, wet coat of mud. ”I don't want her inside getting anywhere near your mama's furniture. She'll take a switch to all three of us if one tiny speck of mud finds its way into this house,” Maizelle told me sternly.

She nodded her head as if to punctuate her point and then handed me an old wooden tray. A large plastic pitcher full of lemonade and two Mason jars left it feeling heavy and awkward in my hands. I had never been served lemonade or tea or anything for that matter in a Mason jar. Maizelle said it wouldn't be proper.

My little sister jumped up as I walked down the front steps. She wiped the hair out of her face with her dirty hand, leaving her cheek streaked with mud, Baby Stella dangling as usual by her side. It was as if the two of them had been hand-dipped in a vat of melted chocolate. Adelaide was whining, wanting me to come and admire her mud pies. But my arms were already aching, and I was afraid the tray might spill from my hands before I got to the barn. I told her to run up ahead and let Samuel know I was bringing him and his father some lemonade. But Samuel didn't run to help me like he had Maizelle, and by the time I got to the barn, my arms were shaking.

”Well, lookie here! Look who's come and paid us a visit, Samuel. And she's bringing refreshments. I always knew you were my favorite, Miss Bezellia.” Nathaniel laughed, winking at Adelaide. She winked back as if they had already agreed that she was his true favorite. I spied a worktable a few feet in front of me, but my legs grew suddenly stiff, no longer willing to listen to my head. And the pitcher of lemonade began to slide toward the edge of the tray.

”Son, grab that before she drops it!”

Samuel threw down his hammer and ran toward me. He steadied the tray in his own hands and then nodded his head, rea.s.suring me that I could let go.

”Shoo. That was a close one, Miss Bezellia. Sure would hate to lose Maizelle's lemonade before even getting a sip. Don't think she'd make me any more if it wound up on the ground.” Nathaniel laughed, now seeing that the tray was safely in his son's hands. ”Bezellia,” he continued, scratching his head as he talked, ”you ever met my son before this week? I just can't remember you two ever meeting. Samuel and I were talking about it on the way home last night. I've talked about each of you to the other for so long, I just a.s.sumed that you had.”

”No, I don't think so,” I said, my arms falling heavy and tired at my sides. ”But it was nice finally getting to meet you,” I told Samuel, and then crossed my arms in front of my waist to keep them steady.

”I've always kind of wondered what a Bezellia looks like,” Samuel said, barely even bothering to really look at me.

”Samuel,” Nathaniel snapped in a surprised but serious tone. ”You know he's going to be playing football at Pearl this year. Straight A's too. I guess he's gotten a little big for his britches and done forgotten his manners, Miss Bezellia.”

”I didn't mean no harm. It's just that, like Daddy said, I've been hearing about you all my life, and to be honest, I've never heard of anybody with a name quite like yours.”

”It's definitely different, no denying that,” I said. It even sounded a little funny to me as I listened to it roll off the tongue of a stranger. It was almost as if I was hearing it for the first time. But I liked the way it sounded. I liked the way he said it. ”Well, you'll never forget me. My name, that is.”

”I guess we'll see about that, won't we.” Samuel laughed so warm and easy, as if he already knew something he wasn't quite ready to share.

Nathaniel tossed his hammer down next to Samuel's and then reached for the pitcher and poured two gla.s.ses of lemonade. ”Bezellia, I think if your sister don't get down to that creek soon, she's going to dry hard as a nut, and we might have to crack her open like a pecan growing on one of those trees back behind the house.”

Adelaide immediately started crying and jumping up and down. And even though she did need to be soaked and scrubbed, I couldn't help but wonder if Nathaniel had done that on purpose. I wondered if he could tell that I liked it when his son said my name. I wondered if he could tell that I liked it when his son looked at me. I wondered if he could tell that I was looking back.

By the time we got to the water's edge, the mud was starting to dry hard on Adelaide's skin. She stood on the bank, waving her arms in the air and screaming, ”Get it off. Get it off. I don't want to be a peanut!”

”A pecan,” I corrected her and then reached for a branch hanging low over the bank's edge and sidled my way down the gra.s.sy slope and into the creek. The water felt cool around my ankles, and I quickly found my footing in the pebbles that covered the creek's floor. I stretched out both arms, and Adelaide leapt toward me, still clutching Baby Stella in her right hand.

Before she had both feet firmly planted beneath her, she plopped her bottom down in the water and started rubbing her arms and legs with her muddy hands. I crouched behind my little sister and untied her braids, carefully working my fingers through her curly brown hair. I cupped my hands, lowered them into the creek, and poured the water over her head.

”How 'bout that, you're starting to look like a little white girl again,” I said, gently cleaning her shoulders and back. ”I was beginning to wonder if you were one of Nathaniel's daughters and not a Grove after all.”

Adelaide giggled and continued to wash the mud off her legs, rubbing her knees so hard I was afraid she might make them bleed. Then she locked Baby Stella between her thighs and started pouring handfuls of water over the doll's plastic head.

”I think that'd be nice,” she said.