Natalie Baszile - Queen Sugar

“That’s not fair.”

Now Charley waited to see if Lorna would answer the telephone.

“It’s me again,” Micah said. “I’d send you an e-mail, but Miss Honey doesn’t have a computer. Anyway, I just wanted to say hi. I miss you. I don’t have any friends yet. Okay, I think that’s all. I love you.” She replaced the receiver.

Part of Charley wanted to pounce on Micah for reporting back, wanted to grab her by the collar and shake her. But part of her understood how her daughter felt, so far from home. So, instead of scolding Micah about the call, Charley stepped into the room, said, “Hey there,” brightly, as though she’d just ridden in on a Carolina breeze. She cleared a space next to Micah on the couch. “You get enough to eat? Because I can fix you something if you’re hungry.”

“I’m okay.”

Miss Honey’s couch was cluttered with cheap plush stuffed animals, the kind you won at a carnival. Charley picked up Tweety Bird, whose orange feet had faded and whose yellow plush rubbed off on her fingers. “I look at you sometimes and I can’t believe how much you’ve grown,” she said.

Micah shrugged.

For a minute, Charley struggled to think of more to say. Then, thankfully, she heard steps on the porch, the screen door squeaking open.

“Mother? Is anybody there?”

It was Violet, Charley’s aunt, her father’s only sister. Charley hadn’t seen Violet since her dad’s funeral.

“Well, it’s about time,” Charley said, going to the door. “I’d started thinking you were avoiding me.”

Taller than Miss Honey, though not by much, hair slicked back into a cluster of lacquered curls more glamorous than Miss Honey’s well-oiled ringlets; the same full figure and smooth butterscotch complexion. There was no mistaking Violet was Miss Honey’s daughter.

“I’ve been helping out with Vacation Bible School,” Violet said. She kicked off her shoes. “Rev’s been working overtime since we got the new church. It’s been all hands on deck. I haven’t gotten a full night’s sleep in weeks.” She took a breath. “But look at you! Turn around, girl. Let me get a good look.”

Charley spun in a small circle, happy to let Violet examine every inch of her. For the last ten months, she had lived almost entirely in her head, making plans, weighing her options, without anyone to act as a sounding board or confidante.

They embraced, and when they parted, Violet took Charley’s face in her hands. “And your hair,” she said, turning Charley’s head to the side. “Girl, I love it.”

“Miss Honey hates it,” Micah said from the sofa.

“Well, I think it’s wonderful. I say, good for you.” Violet fingered her curls self-consciously. “I’d cut mine off if I had the face for it.”

“God, I’m glad you’re here,” Charley said.

“And you,” Violet said, pulling Micah to her feet. “Like a little woman. I think you’ve grown a foot taller. You like Saint Josephine so far?”

“I like Miss Honey’s movies.”

There were plenty of modern conveniences Miss Honey didn’t have. She didn’t have a computer. She didn’t have a cell phone, or call waiting, or caller ID. She didn’t have a coffeemaker or a blender, or cable or a satellite dish. But she did have a DVD player and enough old movies to fill the Library of Congress: war pictures ( The Bridge on the River Kwai, Battle of the Bulge ), westerns ( Escape from Fort Bravo, Saddle in the Wind, The Alamo ), and the deluxe twelve-pack box set of Shirley Temple classics.

Violet winked at Micah. “Well, she’s got enough of them, that’s for sure. But you can’t stay inside all the time. Why don’t you come to Vacation Bible School with me next week?”

Micah glanced at Charley. “No, thanks. I’m making a garden.”

“A garden?” said Charley, and thought, This from the kid who didn’t like the feeling of Play-Doh between her fingers in preschool. This from the kid who won’t squeeze toothpaste from the middle of the tube . “Where did you get that idea?

“Miss Honey,” Micah said. “She said I can use part of the empty lot next door.”

“Well, that’s creative,” Violet said. “But I warn you, folks down here take their gardens very seriously.”

Micah beamed.

“It’s a terrific idea,” Charley said, wishing she’d been the first one to offer encouragement. On warm summer evenings when she was a girl, she gardened for hours beside her father in the small yard behind his condo. There was nothing finer than the smell of fresh dirt and the feel of her bare feet in the warm grass. Sometimes, they gardened till it got dark, and Charley held the heavy-duty flashlight with its car-size battery and beam like a Broadway spotlight, while he bent over clay pots and raised beds. “Marigolds are on sale down at the hardware store,” Charley said, remembering the ad in the morning’s paper.

“I don’t want flowers,” Micah said. Her tone was matter-of-fact but she averted her eyes. “I’m having vegetables.”

“Okay, vegetables then. Vegetables are good. We can start next weekend.”

Micah hesitated. “I kinda want to do this myself.”

“Oh. Well — of course,” Charley said. “That’s good. It’ll give you something to do every day while I’m at the farm.” She tried to ignore the little stab of pain under her breastbone and gave Micah’s shoulder a congratulatory squeeze. But when she glanced at Violet, Violet offered her a sympathetic smile, one that said, Don’t worry, she still needs you. Charley wondered how Violet, childless since her only daughter was killed in a car accident years ago, managed to get through the days.

Pots clanged in the kitchen.

“Mother?” Violet called, and they all filed out of the living room.

• • •

At the kitchen table, Miss Honey spooned leftovers onto plates. “Y’all come and eat. I can warm up some green beans if you don’t think this is enough.” The table was set for three.

“Hey, Mother,” Violet said, and kissed Miss Honey’s cheek. She washed her hands, then took the water pitcher from the refrigerator, and another place mat from the drawer. “Mother, I was just telling Charley how much I love her hair.”

Miss Honey grunted. “She looks like a man.”

“That’s terrible,” Violet said. “Now why would you say such a thing?” She stepped behind Miss Honey and swept the candy curls away from her face. “How ’bout it, Mother? You want a style like Charley’s? We can do it right now. Quick, Micah, hand me some scissors.” She winked at Charley.

“Get away from me with all that foolishness,” Miss Honey said, batting Violet’s hand away. “Go sit down.”

They each pulled out a chair, Violet said grace, and after spreading her napkin across her lap, she reached across the table for Charley’s hand and squeezed it. “Beams of heaven, as I go. Through this wilderness below,” she sang. Her voice was strong and warm, and she closed her eyes, gently rocked in her chair as she sang the chorus. When she stopped, a quietness and sense of lasting peace hung in the air.

“It’s good to be here.” Tears stung Charley’s eyes as she bathed in the fading glow of Violet’s voice. She could soak up Violet’s warmth for a lifetime. She was the buttermilk pancakes to Violet’s maple syrup, the white bread to Violet’s bacon grease, and if she had a thousand more awful days like she’d had today, at least she had Violet to balance things out. “So what’s this about a new church?” Charley said, wiping the corners of her eyes. She passed the French salad dressing to Violet.

“Girl, we finally did it. Found a place over on Chalmette, just off Third Street. It used to be a pool hall, but you’d never know it now. We’ve got new pews, new lights. Did most of the work ourselves. And the Rev? Charley, he’s a new man. BP tried to talk him into staying, but you know what it’s like when you hear the call.”