Natashia Deon - Grace

I ran away with my book and buried it under the house. But by then, it may have been too late. Things began to come together in his mind — the date, the birth of my beautiful baby girl.

Our anger was equal at first — mine and the good husband’s. His, for what he was almost sure I did years ago, and my anger because he stole something so personal to me. The only difference between us was his hate was unimaginable. So when he said to me two weeks ago, “This girl is not mine, is she?” I should have corrected him immediately, kept up my lie, been forthright about it. But I did not. I took pause.

In the second and a half that it took me to tell him he was mistaken, it was too late. He struck me. And though I lied again, it was my pause that he believed.

I was blind when the beating ended. And in the midst of it, I did not expect to survive. He nursed me to health over the course of a week. But I still do not expect to survive.

I’m leaving him tonight.

Cynthia flips the page over, keeps reading. “‘First of November. My Dearest Leah. I have tried and failed. If we never make it away from your father, I want you to know the truth. You are my daughter whom I will love until the end of time. You must know that you came from a moment of beauty, my first and only moment of such. I do not regret you but I regret what you have suffered because of me.

“‘Dearest Leah. I hate myself for what my selfishness has caused. And now, for not being strong enough to protect you, brave enough to leave.’”

Cynthia folds the note, slips it back inside the diary. “Leah,” Cynthia say. “I hadn’t heard my name since I was a girl.” She relaxes back on the bench, holds the diary on her lap.

“Point is,” she say. “It’s not who my daddy was. It’s who he wasn’t.”

“I’m sorry,” I say again.

“This book got a whole page dedicated to ‘sorry.’ Not really good enough, is it?”

She stands and stretches out her hand to me like she want me to shake it.

“I’m a different woman now, Naomi. I want you to know that. I’m different because I understand her. I forgive her. Forgive myself. And I know what I got to do for Johnny. For you.”

She reaches her hand out to me again. “You’re gonna need somewhere to have this baby. Come back to the house with me. It’s safe. Plenty room for all us. Let me help you bring this baby into the world.”

“And Albert?”

“This ain’t no place to have a baby, Naomi. All this soot. Full of smoke. That can’t be good for a new baby to breathe. Its lungs. Might get a breathing condition. So even if you don’t want to come live with me for yourself, maybe you need to for the baby. What does Albert know about the labor of babies?”

“He needs my help.”

“He’s already healed and needs to let you go. Sometimes you have to tell your friends that this is where I stop on this road with you. And if they really care about you, they’ll tell you thank you for coming this far and let that be the end of it.”

“Then let this be the end of it for us,” I say. “I won’t leave without Albert.”

“Then bring him,” she say. “If Albert chooses, he can make a room for himself in the attic so he’ll be close to you but still have his own space.” She pauses, then laughs, “I guess y’all love birds now?”

I don’t answer.

“You’ll have to earn your keep,” she say. “Serve in the saloon or something ’til the baby comes. Can’t let people think I’m soft.”

“Will I get my own room?”

“You can have Bernadette’s.”

“Can I go out when I please?”

“Just don’t tell nobody I said so.”

I DON’T KNOW WHAT’S worse: living in fear or dying. Before two weeks ago when George met Rachel, I would’ve said fear and only dying if the dying didn’t last long. But now, I just say death.

I’ve been waiting and watching over Squiggy and Rachel, hoping for George to redeem hisself for better ’cause I have no choice. If Bessie’s consequence is true, I cain’t square in my mind not being here to see my grandchildren grow. To see Josey, a mother like me, grow. I can’t end myself after all we been through. They need me. Even this way. ’Cause sometimes, just being there for somebody, wordless and present, is enough.

A few days ago, I think Sissy understood that, too.

She found a body floating dead in the stream. She’d gone down to fetch a bucket of muddied water ’cause dirty water is good enough for the crops, not good enough for drinking. The drought make it hard on everybody. That, and the war, end of war, and the new war west. New freedom. So bodies have been leaving Tallassee for years. And not everybody make it out alive. But something about this dead body spooked Sissy.

Her screaming is what brought us all out.

Josey went to her right away, leaving her children in the house but I got there first. Saw the body shifting in place on top of a bed of loose rock and water. It looked like a log at first. The body. But the smell was worser than the shit of two sick stomachs.

About three days the body had been there, I’d guess. It belonged to an old woman who’d been left behind near a worn path. Sissy kneeled, leaned over it, gasped when she saw the woman’s bloated face. It looked just like Sissy. Coulda been her twin. No further than a cousin in relation. Sisters, maybe. This woman could’ve been her long lost.

“Let’s bury her,” Sissy said to Josey with tears in her eyes. It was those tears that surprised me more than the body. She said, “Shouldn’t nobody die with nobody to bury ’em. And I don’t want to die that way, neither.”

Since Sissy found the body, she’s been helpful to Josey all week. Kind even. “Can I help you with the babies?” she’ll ask. And, “I’ll get that for you,” she’ll say. I swear it frightened Josey the first time. And today, Sissy’s been downright confessional.

“I was wrong about you,” she said. “And I ain’t shamed to say it now. We need each other. Rely on each other. Even if all that means is waking up in the morning knowing somebody familiar is near.”

“You ain’t got to worry about dying, Miss Sissy. Or being alone. We’re family.”

SISSY’S RUSTLING AROUND in Jackson’s old cupboard now. They keep their linens in there now. Sissy hired the sharecroppers’ son months ago to come and put a lock on that cupboard door. She said it was to keep the babies from falling down that hole. But only she has the key to the room. It’s hung around her neck on a string so Josey got to ask every time she need a new cloth to wash with.

Sissy comes out of the cupboard holding a wood chest they keep winter shawls in. She sets it down in the middle of the room and opens it. Inside are full tomatoes, still on a vine, plump carrots, runner beans, and potatoes the size of two fists. I don’t know where she got all this from. Josey’s eyes widened.

“I don’t know why I kept it from you,” Sissy say. She leaves her box next to Josey and shuffles over to the rocker, sits in it, and pushes into short swings. She closes her eyes like she praying.

Josey sorts through the box, puts one onion and one potato on the cutting board. Ties her apron around her waist before she takes her knife to dice them. “The world is changing, Miss Sissy,” Josey say. “Even for us. And look at all this goodness. This is what matters.”

“Perspective,” Sissy say. “It’s God’s gift to the dying. And when I saw that dead woman, I think I got hers. I used to have people,” she say. “Was married once. Can you believe that? Had good friends. Ms. Annie was one. My best. We used to play together when I was just older than Rachel.”