Natashia Deon: Grace

Jackson came home three nights ago by surprise from the new war out west. Even with a son five years gone, Sissy’s first question was, “You told somebody before you left, didn’t you, son? Honorable?”

But Josey didn’t ask no questions when she saw him standing in the darkened doorway, a hero with the night sky behind him. She collapsed with all her burdens in the spot where she stood. It’s where his comforting arms would hold her ’til daybreak.

And now, they sit before the popping fire, Jackson’s arms around her still, her body slouched into him. It only took Rachel and Squiggy a half minute three nights ago to find themselves lost in Jackson, too. They’ve been hanging on him like cares. “This is your daddy,” Josey told ’em that first night, and now they move when he moves, follow him in and out the house, from one side of the room to the other. And right now, they’re a step away, busying themselves with a piece of coal, coloring tree bark, and forming letters, but they’re still keeping an eye on him. Sissy, too, in her rocking chair.

“And my daddy?” Josey say. “Any word from him?”

“I heard his regiment went north into Dakota territory the month before I made it to Texas,” Jackson said. “They call negroes like him buffalo soldiers,” he said.

“But you?” Sissy said. “You came home?”

“Negro fighters ain’t getting proper shelter out there, Momma. . food. Deal was we was gon’ get guns and ammunition, new shoes and quality goods. Instead, we got rotten Civil War rations and cheap blankets that fell apart in the rain. They’re the ones that broke the contract and don’t care if we die.”

“So they just let you go home?” Josey said.

“Put it this way. . they know I ain’t coming back.”

“Did I raise a deserter, Jackson? Is that what you did, son? You telling me I raised a coward?”

“Momma, I ain’t gon’ kill Indians. Treat ’em the way white folks treat us.”

Sissy shakes her head. “Oooh. . they gon’ come for you, Jackson. They gon’ come and you deserve what you get. Always turning your back on folks that treat you right.”

“Is that what I do, Momma? Huh? I mistreat folk?”

Sissy pushes back in her chair hard enough to set herself rocking in half swings.

FART SOUNDS ARE echoing from the bottom of the porch where Jackson got his face buried in Squiggy’s belly, blowing. Rachel and Josey are beside themselves with laughter. It’s been thirty-two days since Jackson’s came home and it’s like they’ve always been as perfect as a white family.

All but Sissy.

Jackson and Sissy ain’t talked since a month ago when she told him she raised a fool. She finished breakfast without a word to nobody and stayed behind when everybody went outside. She don’t say much to Josey now, neither.

“Daddy!” Rachel calls. “Look at me, Daddy.”

Squiggy slides from under Jackson and tries running but Jackson tackles him by the legs.

“Daddy!” Rachel says, holding the edges of her dress out like she’s about to spin. “Look at me, Daddy. Daddy? Look at me!”

“Just do it, already!” Sissy say, bringing herself outside.

“She’s just excited to see her father,” Josey say, hanging wet clothes on the porch rail.

“It’s all right, Momma. Show me when you ready, Baby Girl.”

Rachel starts spinning.

“Ain’t all right,” Sissy say. “You need to spend yer time with that boy. He can’t talk, hardly run. Simpleminded.”

“Ain’t nothin wrong with Junior’s mind,” Jackson say. “He ain’t simple nothin.”

“Daddy, you didn’t see me!”

“He just gotta catch up, is all. . Ain’t that right, Lil’ Man? You’ll be talking soon, won’t cha? Say, Mama. Say, Ma-ma-ma.”

He don’t.

Rachel skips over and kneels down to Squiggy, leaning too close to his face. “Say, Ray-chel,” she say. “Come on, Squiggy. Say, Ray-chel.”

He don’t.

“Say, Da-dee,” Jackson say. “Da-da-da.”

Squiggy makes an ah sound, then blows his lips like another belly fart.

“He did it!” Jackson say. “He said Dada!”

“He did not say Dada,” Josey says, laughing.

“You’re just jealous he said Dada before Momma.”

“He didn’t.”

“Say Dada again so Momma stay jealous,” Jackson say. “Or say, Rachel.”

He don’t.

“What about me?” Sissy say. “You ain’t gon’ teach him ‘Nana’?”

“Aw, Momma, we just messing around. And you know, ‘Momma’ or ‘Dada’ ’posed to come first, anyway?”

“First, huh? If I recall, I was first. Been here first a long time. Ain’t I family, too?”

Jackson smiles, understanding something, and goes slowly to his momma, aching from sitting too long. He limps up the porch to Sissy and hugs her stiffened body. “Is that what this is about, Momma?”

“You turned on me, Jackson?” Sissy say.

“Aw, Momma. You are first. The only momma I got.”

Sissy snorts.

She stayed on the porch mumbling to herself and watching Jackson and his family hold hands and walk in a circle, singing, “Ring a ring a roses. We all fall down.” No one noticed when she went inside. They fall backward at once, laughing, and Jackson kissing Josey, more passionate than he should for the light of day or for children around. Embarrassing.

“Let’s play another game,” Jackson say, smiling slyly at Josey. “Rachel, you and Squiggy hide and me and your momma come find you soon.”

“Hide?” Rachel say.

“Thas the game,” Jackson say. “You and Squiggy hide and me and Momma come look for you and find you.”

Rachel grabs Squiggy’s arm and they take off running, veering right behind the house. After a moment Squiggy comes back on his own, and finds a side-lying barrel out front to climb into.

“Funny how he understands what we tell him,” Josey say.

“People don’t need to talk to be able to understand,” Jackson say. “More people should be like him.”

Jackson pulls her close and kisses her deeply.

Way back near the tree line of the woods, a sway of trees gets my attention. I haven’t felt winds all day. I stay still and watch the spot. The tree limbs creep open, then shake closed. I go to the spot where I think it happened — close enough — and wait for it to happen again.

The bushes part to the left of me and a white man stands in the space watching Josey and Jackson. He’s in a uniform. An old Confederate one.

He sees Jackson and Josey and turns around running through the woods. I chase after him but after two miles, he’s still running fast as he can and only slows when we get about a hundred yards from an opening in the woods. On the other side of the opening is the top of a tent, and smoke is rising from a smothered-out fire. I rush ahead of Josey’s snooper to the signs of life.

Two more soldiers are there.

One’s fat, one’s skinny.

They’re wearing faded gray uniforms and sitting on logs, cleaning guns. But Fatty startles at the sound of Snooper’s approach. He stands quick and drops his cleaned gun for another one in his trousers. Skinny do, too. Both of ’em point their pistols at the edge of the forest and before Snooper emerges, Fatty shoots, tearing the bark off the tree to the right of Snooper’s head.

Snooper waves his arms, stomping out from between the trees, still moving toward ’em, like he ain’t bothered by bullets. “This whole damn place gone crazy!”

Fatty and Skinny lower their pistols. “We didn’t know it was you, Boss,” Fatty say.

“It’s madness!” Snooper say. “The devil’s work, that’s what! He’s alive and well in Alabama!”