The Marcell Glide
Synopsis
Drifting alongside the farmhouse, Marcell moves like smoke, her feet barely touching the ground. The colored woman is the first thing Candy sees when she arrives at her grandmother's North Carolina farm. A familiar chill crawls up the ten-year-old’s neck. It’s the same feeling she has when her mother explodes in unpredictable fury. And the same one she felt two days ago, when sitting on the backyard picnic table, her arms around her dog, her nose buried in Brown Hound’s fur, she learned she was being sent away because she made her mama sick.
It is the hot dusty summer of 1951 when Candy and Brown Hound arrive at the farm.
Great Granny Jane silently views the arrival from her front porch rocking chair. Ten-year-old Jane promptly and wickedly liberates Brown Hound from the parked car. Miss Emily wipes her hands on her apron, walks down the steps, and gently takes her granddaughters in hand. The two cousins glare, then grin. Granny Jane observes with narrowed eyes and Marcell glides by watching, but then perhaps not watching at all.
It is a wild and heady freedom, being on the farm far from her mother’s scorn and her father’s indifference. Under the bright blue Carolina sky, Jane takes Candy on a hunt for an ancient grave hidden deep in the woods. Climbing over the forbidden railroad tracks, the cousins venture far into the swamp and beg the fearsome Miss Charity to put curses on hateful Aunt Maybell and her small dog, Miss Garson. Aunt Martha teaches the girls how to inspect the dead for proper burial and Uncle Ben takes them to the traveling carnival where they sneak into the Freak Show. In the middle of these adventures, Candy and Jane fight and make up and sleep in the same bed, tangled like puppies.
But it is freedom with an edge as Candy anxiously dreads her parents’ visits. And then there is Marcell, always just around the corner, disapproving, watching, and trying to get Brown Hound sent away. But for all of Brown Hound’s chasing chickens and disrupting tea parties, the dog is Candy’s touchstone. And Marcell has other demons with which to deal.
And so the summer continues with small victories as Candy moves toward realizing she did not cause her mother’s illness. Cautiously she begins to feel a rising hope. A hope that comes from Uncle Ben defending Brown Hound, from Aunt Martha standing up to Candy’s mother, from Granny Jane telling family stories and hard truths, from Miss Emily buffering Marcell’s disdain, and from Jane who is always there, her pirate grin at the ready. The hope almost takes Candy’s breath away because it signals approval. Now if only she could figure out a way to stay on the farm.
The answer comes down to Marcell, winning her support and unearthing her secrets. It is a quest that sends Candy delving into her family history, a history entwined with Marcell. And it is the discovery of an empty grave and a promise long held that swirls the present with the past and changes Candy from victim to survivor.
THE MARCELL GLIDE chapters 1 - 3
Prologue
Jones County, North Carolina 1920
Running through the midnight woods, ignoring the pain of those first sharp bites, she stumbles over rotten logs and crashes through the underbrush. The drumbeat of words pounds in her head matching the throb of her ten-year-old chest. Her feet fly to the rhythm. “Tell us girl. Come on now. You want us to let Blue and Smokey have another bite?” Laughter. “Elroy, what you got there, his shirt?” Shouts. “Leave her. Let’s us go. We’ll track him easy.”
A fallow moon slides behind the clouds and she slams into an oak. Stunned she falls back to the ground but scrambles up almost at once. She has to get to her daddy. Maybe Capt’n Tom is there. She runs, keeping her hands out in front. The moon reappears and she sees the scum-filled ditch. Jumping it easily, she stops at the edge of the tobacco field. Bending over to slap the mosquitoes off her blooded ankle she strains her ears.
There. Men’s voices. Dogs baying. A shout. “Look what we got!” More shouts. Vomit flies out of her mouth. She ignores its spatter and tears across the freshly plowed field. The words play over and over in her head like a prayer, “Capt’n Tom. He’ll stop them. He’ll make it safe. He’ll get my daddy back.”
CHAPTER ONE
Tidewater Virginia, 1951
It was quiet inside the two bedroom house, like the hush before a summer storm. The air heavy and still, the lack of a freshening breeze, the threat of lightning, muted and sullen, hidden. Waiting.
I sat outside on the picnic table, my bare feet dirty from playing in the yard, my shorts sticky where the popsicle had dripped. I listened. When would I have to go inside? I wanted to spend the rest of the day and the whole night with my arms wrapped around Brown Hound’s neck, my nose burrowing into her fur, inhaling her sweet doggy smell. But I couldn’t. It was late afternoon and time for supper. The silence broke.
“Get in here and set table!”
I gave Brown Hound a deep hug and climbed down. She gave a tail thump in return but didn’t follow. She never ventured near the back door. Not since the day she’d been caught on the screened back porch, forbidden territory for a dog. Mamma had chuckled as Brown Hound belly-crawled away from the swinging broom and tried to squeeze in behind the washing machine. I wondered how it could be funny but I was old enough by then to know when keep my mouth shut and my eyes down.
“Don’t make me call you again.”
I knew what that meant. My legs prickled with the memory of willow switches burning through the air. I opened the screen door, walked across the cement porch and went inside.
“No. I don’t think we should have cigarettes as favors for the card party. I don’t care if Philip Morris gives them free.” Mamma, or “Sissy” as the family calls her, was on the phone holding up her end of civilization by arranging another card party for the Garden Club. She sat on the plastic kitchen chair, her ankles crossed, her house dress tight around her legs and her red hair in perfect waves. Clunky pearls hung from her neck. A pointed black high heel dangled from her toe and she jiggled it back and forth. “I know Barbara Stanwick smokes but you know how trashy those actresses are...sophisticated my foot! I’ll not have it! I want you to get small pots of violets for the favors.” Her red lips clamped together and she didn’t move her teeth. “Yes, you will.” Her voice hardened. It sounded like my mouth tasted after I’d bitten my tongue. Blocking her out, I worked at placing knives and forks on the table.
“Euella, you’ll do this like I said. I’m President of the
club and you do what I say, you hear?” The receiver slammed down
with a crack and I jumped. The silverware went flying.
“Look what you’ve done all over the floor! Now I’ll have to wash them again because of you. Pick them up. Pick them up right now!” The last word rose to the ceiling. I dodged past her hand to get the utensils.
“Sissy honey? I’m home” Mamma paused at his voice, her hand grabbing air as I lunged under the table. “Sugar, what’s wrong?” It was Daddy. Always wondering what was wrong. Always trying to make peace. Through the chair legs I saw him enter the room. “Now darlin’ what’s got you in such a fuss?” His dark blue pant legs came closer. Mamma’s feet danced sideways like a crab trying to get away with bait. I bet he was holding on to her shoulders. Steadying her as usual. I stayed quiet.
“Euela wants cigarettes on the tables at the card party,” her voice raised yet another notch, “and that’s what trash would do. I tried to make her see reason. Ladies don’t smoke and you know it. And then Candice Ann comes in and throws silverware all over the floor.” Her voice got higher and broke into sobs. Suddenly her feet stopped their skittering and her sobs became muffled. Then both pairs of feet moved off toward the bedroom.
Daddy called back, “Candy, you wash those knives and forks while I get Mamma settled.”
I hate my name. Mamma gave it to me because she thought it was elegant, Candace Ann. Daddy says it’s “high pretense” so he calls me Candy. I think it’s the only fight he ever won. He says he calls me that because I’m so sweet. When he says it Mamma scowls. Candy. It sounds like I’m three years old instead of ten.
I crawled out from under the table. Moving in a duck squat I picked the rest of the silverware up off the green and yellow linoleum floor. Running the knives and forks under the faucet I replayed the scene in my head. Usually it takes more than a yelling match with Miss Euela for Mamma to get into one of her “states”. I began wiping a knife with the dishcloth. Mamma seemed to be getting worse. The thought made my stomach ache.
Footsteps. But I knew they weren’t hers. “You all right?”
I spoke without turning, “Yes, sir.”
“Good girl.”
I kept wiping the same knife. I said what I always said. There was enough trouble around here without me having a problem too. Mamma’s “spells” took up most of the air. And besides, Daddy really didn’t want to hear anything different. And he never did anything either. He just quieted her down when he was around. When he wasn’t around and the storm broke, I ran. I didn’t care how much she screamed. I just flat out ran and hid under the willow branches in the oversized doghouse with Brown Hound.
“Candy, put that knife down and come over here.”
I set the knife down, placed the dishcloth on the drain board and moved to the table. Daddy pointed and I sat, wrapping my ankles around the chrome legs of the chair. His jacket was off and his tie was loose. He sat down in the chair, stretching his long legs out under the table and running his hands through his thick black hair. Raising his eyes he looked like he was studying the kitchen wall for what to say. I hoped he didn’t want me to say anything. I didn’t have much to offer. I spent most of my days with Mamma in the house and me outside. The only person I talked to was Brown Hound and being a dog, she didn’t have much conversation. The only time I ever really talked to someone was when Daddy came home and then it was just the few minutes after Mamma went to her bedroom and he’d finished the paper.
It’d been like this for a long time. When I sit with Brown Hound on the picnic table in the back yard and let my mind drift, I can think of a few times a long while back with Mamma smiling and laughing. Even singing along with the radio. And those were times when the air in the house was so light you could pull it into your chest and it wouldn’t choke you. But those times had gotten fewer. Things had changed slowly, like wisteria starting to climb a tree. You didn’t notice until it had the tree in its grip and was digging into the bark for support.
Daddy gave a sigh and I turned my attention to him. “Candy, there’s something Doc Johnson and I have been talking about.”
I froze solid. Doc Johnson. The living authority on everything, especially anything that had to do with needles. I drew myself inward, trying to be a smaller target.
“He and I have been talking about your mamma.”
Not about me. I relaxed a bit.
“He said she needs a rest.”
I thought about that for a minute. “She’s going to bed?”
“No honey, she’s going away for a while.”
My breath stopped. Just completely stopped like the time I fell out of the willow tree. I couldn’t get any words out. Go away? Where? How long? I sat and stared. Daddy continued, “She’s going to a nice place Doc Johnson found. He thinks she needs some rest and that she can’t get it here.”
I hung my head. If she didn’t have to yell at me about Brown Hound, if she didn’t have to tell me every move to make, if I wasn’t so clumsy and she had to do everything right behind me she wouldn’t be so tired. She’d always told me so. I was ashamed.
“So I’m going to take her there this week.”
I kept my head down. I didn’t want to see the look I knew was on his face. She couldn’t be happy with me around and he knew it and he was disappointed. I made her tired. So tired that she had to go away. My chest felt too heavy to make words so I sat and stared at the table top.
“Don’t look like that, honey. You get to go some place too.”
I kept completely still, eyes wide but seeing nothing. I heard Daddy pull his legs back and shift in his chair. He scooted it away from the table, jigged it back in, then pushed it away again and stood up. I raised my head and saw his fists jammed into his pants pockets. I waited.
“With your mamma gone and school out, there’s nobody here to take care of you during the day.”
Brown Hound.
“So you’re going to go and spend the summer on Miss Emily’s farm.” He stood silently for a moment as if I was supposed to say something. I had nothing to say. Miss Emily’s farm?
His voice was impatient like he wanted to get this over with and go back to Mamma. “You remember the farm in Carolina. In Jones County? Miss Emily and Jane and Great Granny Jane?”
That last name made me jerk my head up straight. Great Granny Jane. A faint memory came of tobacco smoke and creaking porch boards.
“I know it’s been years since we visited there, but you do remember it?” Years? You bet. Mamma thought she was too good for the Carolina folks so we didn’t go down there much. I could barely remember the last time.
“You remember your cousin Jane? She’s about your age.”
I nodded my head. Not so much that I remembered Jane but that I knew no matter what I remembered or didn’t remember, it had already been decided. I was going to be shipped off to Carolina by myself and nothing I said or did would make one bit of difference. Suddenly my breath hiccupped in my throat. The next words I had to get out. “Brown Hound.”
“I don’t know if that’s such a good idea, Candy.”
I couldn’t get air. I felt the movement as Daddy leaned forward and looked at me. Just once, I begged silently. Just this once, please “get me nice and settled” like you do Mamma. I heard his sigh and waited for life or death.
“I guess one more dog on the farm won’t matter. But you listen to me. The other dogs might not like her much so don’t come crying to me if she gets hurt.”
Of course not. The idea of Daddy helping out hadn’t even crossed my mind. I heard the relief in his voice as if by sending Brown Hound with me everything was made all better.
“We’ll get you packed and ready to go for tomorrow.”
It was settled.
*
The warm spring air blew through the car. I kept my eyes straight ahead but my mind was back at the house. Mamma had been quiet all last evening, missing supper, staying in her bed. Daddy had given me a dollar and I’d walked down the paved road in the evening light to Klops grocery and bought a blue collar for Brown Hound. She’d never had one before, and when I put it on her she shook her neck and gave me a dirty look. But it was beautiful next to her short brown fur and it lit up her deep brown eyes. I sat with her on the picnic table in the evening gloom and explained that we were going off to my grand mamma’s farm where dogs had to wear a collar. If I didn’t have a choice about it then she didn’t either. She whined, licked my face and forgave me. I know it must have felt strange, that stiff piece of leather all around her neck. It seemed like we were both going to feel strange before the next day was out.
In the morning Mamma said goodbye in her sleepy way. She lay in bed all dreamy with a soft voice and vague smile. I don’t think she even knew it was me. She seemed to look right past me. Daddy came in and said that it was time to go and so we did.
While I watched the road push into the distance, parting the deep green trees, Brown Hound hung her head out the side window, tongue dripping, eyes narrowed to slits, ears flapping. As far as she was concerned she was in a car and nothing else mattered. I was the one who held it all in my stomach; the leaving and the knowing that somehow this was all my fault. I glanced up at Daddy. His eyes were straight head. He looked tired and I could see lines at the sides of his eyes. A lick of his hair hung on his forehead, not brushed back tight like usual.
He’d packed me up last night without too much to say. Once or twice he placed a hand on the top of my head and stroked my hair. He always said my hair felt like corn silk. It looked like it too, so thin my ears showed through. After he closed my bedroom door I went to the window and placed my mouth on the sill, digging my teeth into the soft wood. I pushed down hard. There. My teeth marks gleamed in the dark. That would show I’d been here.
“Not too long now.”
I didn’t answer. There didn’t seem like there was anything to say. We’d stopped at a gas station and I used the restroom. It was hard trying to go and not sit on the seat. I had to wipe up after and double washed my hands like Mamma always said ladies should do. The gas station man gave Brown Hound a bowl of water and Daddy bought me a candy bar and pop. I’d noticed the air was warmer and wanted to ask Daddy about it but kept still.
I wanted Daddy to start talking about the farm but it seemed like he wanted to be quiet so I concentrated on my dog. Brown Hound's head still hung out the window. A happy look danced in her eyes. I wanted my eyes to look like that, I wanted to feel like that but I just couldn't. For Brown Hound it would be all new doggie smells and doggie friends and places to explore. I didn’t know what it would be for me.
"You remember Granny Jane, don't you?" I jumped at the sound of Daddy’s voice and looked over at him. He kept his eyes on the road pretending he was paying close attention to his driving but I knew he just didn’t want to look at me. He continued, "Do you remember?"
I leaned my head back against the seat and closed my eyes. A gnarled hand, the smell of tobacco, a stream of tobacco juice knocking a fly off the porch railing. My stomach eased a bit. "I remember her."
"Well she'll be there. But older, must be in her late eighties. She’s my grandmother and your great grandmother."
I let that sink in. The first hint of things to come. I hoped that being older wouldn't hurt her aim. I waited for the next bit of information to bounce off the windshield.
"And Jane." I stayed quiet.
"Jane. She's about your age. She has black curly hair. She's a good girl. You remember her?"
Nothing came to mind. I lifted my hand and rubbed Brown Hound's fur to fill the empty memory space. "No, I guess you don't. You were both pretty young, about four, five?"
I kept quiet hoping he would continue. "Yeah, four or five. I remember because it was when Sissy got so sick and we had to carry her back home."
That didn't help me any. I could count back to when I was five years old but I didn’t have enough fingers for counting all the times I’d heard about Mamma coming home sick from North Carolina. I rubbed Brown Hound's neck again. She ignored me in favor of the racing scenery. Maybe there was something in North Carolina that made Mamma sick. Maybe it would make me sick too. Maybe I would go there and I would get sick and then Daddy would have to come and get me and carry me back home. Or, I sank deeper into the seat, my hand falling from Brown Hound’s neck, maybe I would get sick and then I would get sicker and then I would die. I sat up straight. A small satisfied feeling danced in my stomach. Yes. I would die and they would feel bad for sending me to a place they knew was unhealthy for me. Why it had always made my mamma sick and they had sent me there anyway. I could just see the gathering in the church. Everyone would be there and talking about what a bright and promising child I had been and how sad it was and I could see my parents sitting in the front pew. No one talked to them. People marched right past them and looked in the casket and then reached down to pat Brown Hound sitting by its side. My stomach lurched. If I died I would lose Brown Hound. I yanked myself from the casket and looked at her sitting at the window, ears flying, smiling widely. I sat back.
"What about Jane’s mamma and daddy?"
My father jerked the steering wheel slightly at my words. He gave me a quick sideways glance so I asked again, "What about her mamma and daddy?"
“Well Candy, she doesn’t have any.” He looked over at me then back at the road, “She did but they’re dead. Her mamma Sally was my sister,” he took a breath in and blew it out “Sally and Dave were killed in a car wreck when Jane was just a baby. She’s been living on the farm with Granny Jane and Mamma ever since.
A car wreck. I tried to ignore how fast the trees were flying by my window. “Who’s ‘Mamma’?”
Daddy eased a back in his seat, "Your Grandmother. Just about everybody but me calls her Miss Emily.”
"Is she nice?"
Daddy smiled for the first time since starting the car. "Oh yes, she's very nice."
I was glad he was thinking about her and not Jane’s parents smashed in a car.
"Will she like Brown Hound?" A pause. I could tell he was gonna make it up.
“Sure, sugar, she'll be happy Brown Hound’s coming to stay."
I changed the subject. “What about your daddy?”
“Capt’n Tom? He had a bad heart. He died a long time ago sweetheart, way before I went into the war. I was right about your age. Even your mamma didn’t get to meet him.”
I thought that Mamma was probably glad. I’d just about run out of questions and I could see Daddy was getting tired of answering so I finished up. “Anybody else I’m gonna meet right away?”
I could see him struggle silently for a minute. “Marcell.” He snapped his mouth shut.
“Who’s Marcell?”
Daddy shifted in his seat. ”Nobody.” He cut his eyes over at me, saw the next question and headed it off. “She’s just someone who comes in and helps on the farm. You won’t be paying her any mind.”
I could tell I wasn’t supposed to ask anything else about her so I let it drop. I sat back and thought about the one person on the farm my age. Jane. A good girl, Daddy said. I had visions of petticoats and white gloves and church hats. Then suddenly in the back of my mind I heard a giggle as the fly shot off the porch railing, spiraling to its tobacco-drenched death. I sat back hoping, for what I wasn’t sure. I watched Brown Hound sniff the coming territory.
CHAPTER TWO
She was the first thing I saw when the dust settled around our car in the farm’s driveway. I didn’t see the chickens in the yard or the unpainted boards of the farmhouse or the faded and stained tin roof or the barn off to the side. I only saw the colored woman. Through the haze of Carolina dust she moved slowly, gliding with purpose, not glancing right or left but keeping her gaze on something or someplace I couldn't see. Her hair was bound tight to her head and a faded purple print dress pushed against her legs. Brown Hound gave a soft whine and I patted her as I watched the woman glide past the car and on out to the road. Daddy didn't seem to see her. He was busy switching off the engine, setting the brake, fiddling with his shirt, taking in a deep breath. I couldn't tell if the breath was for courage or if he was inhaling the sweet Carolina air.
"Robert, you bring that child up here this minute." The voice was commanding and cracked through the haze.
Daddy looked over at me. Reaching out, he brushed my hair smooth with his hand. "That's Granny Jane. Now you mind your manners. No, leave the dog in the car. Windows are down a bit, she'll be fine. I just don't want a dog fight first thing."
I pushed out of the car shoving Brown Hound back. Two dogs came out from under the front porch, trotted over and stood, tails stiff with curiosity. I shut the car door carefully.
"Bring her on up here." Again the command snapped through the air and Daddy took my hand. Glancing back to Brown Hound for comfort I walked to the porch. It was unpainted like the rest of the house and had a roof and side railings. It stretched the whole front length. We climbed the three steps and there she was like an old bird just ready to peck, her white hair pulled firmly into a bun at the back of her head, her body ramrod straight in a black dress, and thin as a stick. I looked for the jar of tobacco juice. There it was, beside and to the back of her rocking chair. A thump on the boards snapped me from visions of spiraling flies. It was the cane. Suddenly I remembered the cane. And how it could whip out and take a bite out of you faster than lightning. I edged a bit out of reach but the old woman was ignoring me and talking with Daddy.
"It's better she's here with your people. Not much for her up in Virginia with Sissy the way she is." The words were direct and cutting. I hoped they were truthful, the part about it being better for me here. I backed up farther and looked back at the car. Brown Hound was holding court hanging her head out of the window, flapping her tongue at the other dogs as they danced in impatience for the first sniff.
"Child, come over here." A bird-like claw reached out and motioned me to her side. As I got into range her hand snaked out and grabbed my wrist. I stood still, my heart beating with a flutter and a hitch. "Cat got your tongue?" I nodded my head. She made a small humming noise as her eyes raked me up down and sideways. I glanced up at Daddy and he was looking down smiling. I didn't see anything to smile about.
A sudden yowl filled the air. Jumping a foot high I switched around and saw Brown Hound taking to the woods with the two farm dogs in hot pursuit. In the dust beside the car door, her hand on its latch, stood a girl just about my age. She’d opened the door. Brown Hound had escaped and was running for her life. Yanking my arm away from the old woman’s grasp, I flew from the porch and raced to the car. Skidding to a halt, I gave the girl a shove that pushed her to the ground. I turned and headed at a run towards the woods.
"Youngen, get back here!"
The words had no effect. Brown Hound was in trouble and I had to save her. The other dogs would bite her. The other dogs would eat her alive. If they didn't kill her then the snakes surely would. I slid to a halt at the edge of the big ditch and listened hard. No barking. No howling. Maybe they had already killed her and were eating her! I jumped over the ditch and landed on the side of my ankle. No pain, just having to get to Brown Hound. I scrambled up and raced ahead.
"Robert go get that child. She'll kill herself in those woods.” Granny Jane's words came through the air. I shook them off trying to hear the dogs.
Bushes rattled. I took off to the left, legs pumping. Suddenly I crashed to the ground in a tangle of fur and noses and dog tails pointing to the sky. A familiar snout. There was no blood! I grabbed and hugged Brown Hound hard around the neck. Bewildered at this lunge of affection she scrambled back and shook herself to her feet. Barking, she pretended to nip the nearest dog and he leaped in the air then landed, rolling on the soft peaty ground. I froze in position, my arms in a large circle with no dog in them. Playing. They were playing. The dogs jumped and rolled and sniffed each others’ rear ends having a fine time.
"Candy." It was Daddy. He’d followed me into the woods.
"I'm right here." I stood and brushed the dirt from my shorts. I remembered the girl who’d opened the car door. I hoped she was dirty, too.
"Candy!" His voice dropped a notch and I could tell he was disappointed in me. I walked slowly over to him. He looked down at me and without a word put his hand on my shoulder and guided me back through the woods, over the ditch and toward the front yard. I kept my eyes to the ground. I saw the bumper of the car and then two feet in tennis shoes. Daddy pulled me to a stop. "Candy, tell Jane you're sorry you pushed her.”
So this was Jane. The girl who’d opened the car door and let her dogs get to Brown Hound. No matter that the dogs were busy playing and yelping in the woods. No matter that instead of biting and killing they were rolling and rear end sniffing. She’d let my dog out without asking me. I raised my head and saw curly black tangled hair, a tilted nose with freckles and coal black eyes.
"Tell Jane you're sorry."
I wasn't sorry one bit. I glared to let her know this while the correct words mumbled out of my mouth. She grinned in reply and wiped her nose on the front of her arm. Her eyes sparkled. I tried to muster up the hate like I should, but couldn’t. I heard another yelp and knew that Brown Hound was having a glorious time in the woods.
"Robert, bring them up here.” The harsh voice cut through the air. No one dreamed of ignoring it. As a threesome we turned and trudged to the porch. The weathered boards creaked as I moved to stand in front of Granny Jane. Jane took a casual stand, one tennis shoe slouched out to the side but I could see it was an act.
“That dog of yours going to cause grief?"
"No, ma’am."
"See that it doesn't."
It. Brown Hound was not an “it”. I shifted my feet but kept still. Now was not the time. We turned at the slap of the screen door. A soft voice drifted through the air. "Dinner’s ready.”
"Candy, do you remember Miss Emily?"
I pulled away from Granny Jane’s eyes. I thought I remembered her. Or maybe it was just the smell of her that I remembered. The smell of kitchens and food frying and warm biscuits.
"Yes, sir."
I looked up and saw her gazing down at me with a sweet smile. A small woman, 'low' is what they called her. Low to the ground and a bit wide. And soft, just like the gray hair that was loosely piled on the top of her head. She was like a cloud that you wanted to touch but when you put your hand in, it went straight through. A nice cloud all the same and one that you wanted around all the time. Daddy leaned over and gave her cheek a kiss. "Hi Mamma.” Miss Emily wiped her hands and patted his face.
"Robert. Glad you're here,” she looked down at me, "and glad you're here too Candy. Now ya'll come in to dinner." I looked back towards the woods.
"That dog of yours’ll be just fine. Come on in." Miss Emily led the way.
*
For a farmhouse it wasn’t large. In fact, it was just one story with a living room you could walk straight through to a big back porch that ran the entire length of the house. Then there were five bedrooms, a large eating room, and kitchen. I glanced around as we walked along the back porch. Where was the bathroom? The distance of the trip and the excitement of Brown Hound’s adventure made me need one. I looked this way and that. No bathroom. Maybe it was in the dining room. I entered that room and made a circuit. One door. I went towards it and Jane warned me away. "That’s Granny Jane’s.”
Easing over to Daddy I tugged on his shirt. "Where's the bathroom?"
Daddy looked down at me and laughed. “That's something you're going to have to get used to down here, Candy. The bathroom’s out there." He pointed outside. I looked up at him angry that he would tease me on such a hard day. “No. It really is." His eyes danced and I sank into myself. Usually he didn't do this. Usually it was Mamma who teased me in public and made me feel dumb.
Miss Emily walked over and put her hand on my shoulder. "Come to the kitchen, child. I need some help." I followed her, my stomach cramping with the effort of holding it in. Leading me through the dining room into the kitchen she stopped at the back door and pointed. I looked up at her and she smiled. "See that little house right there past the chicken coops? That’s where we go to the bathroom. We call it the outhouse." I looked at it and she gave me a pat on the shoulder. "Go on. There's nothing there to bite you."
I wasn't too sure. Walking across the dirt-packed backyard, trying not to step on chicken poop I eyed the outhouse. It was made out of wood and had a door and a sloping roof and a little chimney. What was that for? It looked too small to have a fireplace. I walked closer. Opening the door I looked inside. There in front of me was a wooden box all closed around with a hole in the center. Cautiously I stepped through the door and moved toward the hole. Leaning over I dared a glance and swiftly jerked back. White toilet paper mixed with black things. So this was really the bathroom! I stood frozen. I couldn't imagine sitting on that nasty wooden box. But then I couldn't pee outside in the bushes either. They would see me. Mamma was right. These people were hicks. Using an old wooden bench to go poop on. I stood for a second or two then made my decision. I wasn't going to give them anything to laugh at me about, and I wasn't going to give Daddy anything to tease me about. If I was down here with hicks I would just have to pee like one.
Edging my underpants down to my ankles I scooted up on the box and tried not to think about the spiders that must be clinging to the underside of the hole. The thought made my pee hold back. I closed my eyes and concentrated. Brown Hound’s bark echoed in the woods. The smell of biscuits from the kitchen drifted in through the crack in the door. I relaxed.
*
Miss Emily's fried chicken sat heavy in my stomach as I waved goodbye to Daddy. He backed the car around the oak tree and headed down the road, dust following him like a cloud. Miss Emily was in the kitchen, Granny Jane had turned in to take a nap and Jane had gone to see about the dogs. I guess they all wanted to leave me alone with Daddy to say goodbye. They needn't have bothered. It was quick, like he couldn't wait to get back to Virginia and Mamma. I’d seen the way he’d fidgeted during dinner and the way he kept looking at his watch. Mamma was back there calling to him even though he was this far into enemy territory. Now he was gone and I was left on the porch with my two suitcases.
“Look at the way she walks.”
It was Jane. I hadn’t heard her ease through the screen door. I followed her finger. It was the colored woman I’d seen earlier coming back down the road. I looked closer. Her shoes didn’t seem to touch the ground at all.
“What’s wrong with her feet?”
“It’s not her feet. It’s her drinking, that’s what.” I gave Jane a quick glance and she continued “Uncle Will says it’s because she’s so drunk most of the time she can’t take a step but has to feel around for the ground.”
I took that information in and watched the woman glide nearer the house. I lowered my voice. “Why’s she drink?”
“Don’t know. She just does. And a lot sometimes.”
“What’s her name?”
“Marcell. She lives down by the tracks.”
The woman Daddy didn’t want to talk about was colored. I felt a small thrill in my stomach. “Why’s she around here?”
“She does for the family.”
Marcell glided past the oak tree and headed at an angle to the back of the house. As she passed she avoided our eyes but gave us that kind of side and down glance coloreds were supposed to do when encountering whites. Even children. I felt a shiver up my back and Jane laughed.
“You scared?”
I stayed silent. Jane continued “She can’t even do a spell like Miss Charity Frazier. And she doesn’t have a cane to hit you like Granny Jane.”
“I bet she can run faster.” I astonished myself with the quick words and Jane gave a shout of laughter. Feeling a small victory I ventured a question. “Who is Miss Charity Frazier?”
Jane stopped midway picking up a suitcase and sat it back down, pleased at my ignorance. “She lives in the swamp past the tracks.”
Seemed like everybody lived past or beside or near the tracks. I kept quiet. Jane continued in a low spooky voice. “She can conjure people.” I looked puzzled and she poked me in the arm. “You know – she puts spells on people,” Jane gave a satisfied nod at the widening of my eyes, “and you have to be real careful of her and watch the road.”
“Why? Does she drive fast?” I was thinking of Brown Hound.
Jane gave an exasperated sigh. “No. She draws conjures on the road with magic powder. If you step on one you’re dead.” With a toss of her head she let me know I was seriously lacking in knowledge of important matters. Picking up both suitcases she headed into the house.
*
The moon, dulled with the mist of an early Carolina summer, hung in the night sky. I watched it, glad I’d made sure to go to the outhouse before I climbed into bed with Jane. Looking over I saw her curled in a small ball, the flowered sheet pulled up to her nose. I thought about her. She was nice. Well, not really nice but at least she hadn’t made fun of me or called me stupid. I thought back over the day. After Daddy left, Jane and I unpacked my suitcase then she showed me the farm, the chicken coops, the barn and the pasture. The two farm dogs showed up with Brown Hound and were introduced as Black Jack and Sassy. Supper had been quiet. Granny Jane, tired by the events of the day, skipped the meal and went to bed. I was glad not to have to eat under her gaze. I kept expecting the mysterious Marcell to come in the dining room but she didn’t make an appearance all evening. I was disappointed. I wanted to figure out why Daddy wouldn’t talk about her. Jane chattered about the farm and the fishing hole and the train tracks during the meal. I noticed she didn’t talk about Miss Charity Frazier within Miss Emily’s hearing.
I sat up in the bed hugging my knees and continued thinking about all the people who’d been in my day. Granny Jane didn’t seem too bad. Well, really she did. But I thought I could keep away from her. Miss Emily. I liked her. She didn’t smother me with kisses or anything and I’m not sure how much she actually noticed I was there but she was kind. I mulled that in my mind a bit. Kind. It felt like a safe word. Not one I was used to. Marcell. I didn’t like the way she’d given me that glance. And then there was something about her Daddy didn’t like. And Jane talked about her but didn’t really say anything. The woman gave me the willies. Mamma. The word bit into me and I took a quick breath. Daddy was most likely home by now. He hadn’t called to say but then I guess he was too busy with getting her ready to go to that place where she would get better “without me around”. The words danced in my head and I turned to look out of the bedside window. There silhouetted against the sky was Brown Hound trotting along, leading Black Jack and Sassy down the dirt road on a night adventure. Jane made a soft snoring sound. I closed my eyes, unclasped my arms, lay back down and pulled up the sheet.
CHAPTER THREE
“Breakfast on.”
The words jolted me awake. Heart thumping I looked around. I was at Miss Emily’s farm. I saw Jane’s butt sticking up in the air as she snuggled deeper into the mattress.
“Said breakfast on.” The deep flat words came from the foot of the bed and Marcell. She stood there tall and not smiling. Close up she was dark brown, like the chocolate Mamma dribbled on her lace cookies. As I took her in she gave no sign she’d seen me in the bed.
“You best get up now, you hear, Jane?”
No answer from the mattress but I nodded my head yes. She turned her eyes to me. “Dog of yours’s a yapper.”
Brown Hound! I scrambled across Jane and looked out the window. There, chasing Black Jack and Sassy was Brown Hound. She was only barking because she was having fun. I looked up at Marcell and knew when to keep my mouth shut. She walked out of the room without another word.
“Jane.” No response. “Jane!”
“What?” Smothered and grumpy.
“Get up. Marcell said to.”
Jane pulled herself into a sitting position, tucked her feet under her and stretched her arms. “What you want to do today?”
I was looking out the window willing Brown Hound to keep quiet. Jane punched my arm. I sat back rubbing it, my mind on the dogs. “I don’t know. What’s there to do?”
Jane gave me a smile. “Plenty!” She hopped out of bed and began to dress.
Breakfast was in the kitchen where it seemed all the meals were taken unless there was company. The heavy wood table with its plastic green and white checkered tablecloth was a far cry from Mamma’s kitchen table of red Formica and cold metal legs. Breakfast was a far cry too. Instead of frosted flakes and milk there was bacon and eggs and biscuits. Biscuits you could hold up in the air and they’d float back down to your place one thin layer at a time. I watched in fascination as Jane did this, then I followed suit.
“What are you girls doing today?”
Jane put her foot on top of mine. I kept quiet.
“Thought I’d show Candy around.”
Miss Emily turned from the sink. “Don’t you go in the swamp. You stay close by. I have some things for you to help with later.”
“Yes, ma'am.” Jane’s voice sounded too sweet to me and Miss Emily shot her a look. I kept my gaze down as I slipped from the chair and took my plate to the sink.
“Breakfast was good.”
Miss Emily smiled out of the window over the sink and dropped a soapy hand to the top of my head. I stood still. It felt fine.
“Come on.” Jane grabbed me and we headed out the back door. Five minutes later we’d crossed the back yard, climbed the path to the railroad track, walked a short distance on the rails and balanced our way over the trestle. We were now down on the other side of the tracks making our way into what looked just like a swamp.
“Miss Emily said...”
Jane shushed me, “We aren’t exactly in the swamp.”
I looked around. It looked like a swamp to me. “Where we going?”
“We’re going to see Miss Charity Frazier.” There was a wicked gleam in Jane’s eye. She saw my hesitation. “Thought you were interested in her.”
The words came out in a taunt and the tone made my stomach hurt. Wasn’t anything ever different? Jane grabbed my hand and yanked me forward. “Listen, you got to know about people around here if you’re gonna live here.” She was all practicality. My stomach eased a bit.
“So how well do you know her?”
Jane hesitated on the brink of bragging but pulled herself back to the side of truth. “I almost know her,” I could see it was hard for her to say, “I mean I’ve passed her on the road and she nods to me. And I’ve seen her cabin a couple of times.”
That didn’t seem like much. I mean, here was a woman who lived in the swamp and could put a spell on you and drew deadly signs on the road and we were going to pay her a visit on Jane’s nodding to her? Maybe Jane wasn’t as brave as she pretended and needed me for the visit. I tried to lag behind but Jane led us deeper into the swamp.
The path to Miss Charity’s was well marked by carvings on the trees. Jane pointed the first one out to me and I stopped to look at it. A shiver went straight up my back just like when I’d first seen Marcell. This wasn’t good at all. There were two stick figures, one in the shape of a man and one in the shape of a woman.
“Look!” Jane pointed to the ground a few feet away. Three blue bottles. Jane whispered, “A conjure!”
I swung wide past the bottles and kept close to my cousin. The trees overhead seemed to close in and it felt like the sun was hiding from us. Jane grabbed my arm and pointed again. I closed my eyes. I didn’t want to see but couldn’t resist. Small bones arranged on a patch of moss. A blue bottle sat at the end of it like a headstone.
“Another conjure,” I whispered and Jane nodded. I was catching on. A few more yards and Jane grabbed my arm swinging me hard beside a tree. We were there! Miss Charity’s cabin sat in a clearing. It was old and saggy and made from all sizes of dark and dingy boards. It looked dangerous. A big black pot sat out in the front yard with a fire under it. The contents were boiling and steam was rising.
“What you think’s in the pot?” Jane’s voice was a quiet dare.
I clenched my teeth and gave it straight back. “I don’t know. Why don’t you go look?” I astonished myself.
Jane made as if to take a step when suddenly the door flung open stopping Jane flat. Out walked Miss Charity Frazier. Three hundred pounds of her dark as night. We all three looked at each other. Jane held solid. I made ready to run. The silence pressed down. Jane breathed lightly. I tried to pretend I wasn't there. And then Miss Charity moved.
Walking down the porch steps she was a sight in her red tent dress, her hair braided close to her head, her feet bare as a yard dog. She moved over to her big black steaming pot, picked up the ladle hanging by its side and started stirring. “What you girls want?”
“Well, Miss Charity, I’m Jane.”
“I know who you is. What you want?”
There was silence over the swamp. A herd of horses could’ve been flying overhead for all we knew. We were locked onto Miss Charity and our world had shrunk to this patch of ground. The woman stirred the pot. The silence grew. And grew a little more. Then it broke with Miss Charity’s thunderous voice, her words spaced apart and seeming to attack through the air. “What you want?”
“They want nothing. They’s fools!” Marcell clamped a hand down on each of our shoulders and we rose a foot in the air. Spinning us around, she faced us toward home, gave us a push and we were marching before we even knew it. Heavy words floated behind us.
“They wanted somethin’.”
“No. They just making mischief. Don’t have no sense anyway.”
“They don’t come back until they know what they want.”
Jane and I looked back and saw Marcell nod to Miss Charity then head our way. We picked up speed. It felt like a long way back to the house. Longer than I remembered. We were making good time but Marcell was bearing down. I could hear the sound of her breathing. I could still feel the clamp of her powerful hand on my boney shoulder. She was strong. Stronger than any woman I’d ever known but that wasn’t what worried me. What worried me was how Jane was taking care to be ahead of me and out of range. I increased my pace and burned up the ground behind her.
Ahead loomed the rail road tracks and blue sky. We climbed the mound to the rails and prepared to race to the trestle when we were yanked still by Marcell’s voice. “Stop.”
Jane did and I slammed into her back. We stumbled to a standstill.
“You got no sense at all. Didn’t Miss Emily tell you keep away from the swamp?”
I looked at Jane. I’d been right on that one but I kept quiet. So did Jane. We waited. Marcell folded her arms over her bosom. She began to smile but it wasn’t friendly.
“Miss Emily sent me to find you.” No response. She continued, “She wants you girls to help her with her chicken soup.”
I felt Jane give a small shudder and wondered why. Making chicken soup wasn’t scary like going to see Miss Charity Frazier. Marcell pointed down the tracks, across the trestle and toward the house. We obeyed. Miss Emily stood in the yard waiting.
“Candy, your daddy says you’re a real good helper. Now I know this is your first full day but it’s time to start seeing how thing’s are done around here.” I gave a nod. This was going to be just fine. Miss Emily seemed to be ignoring our venture into the swamp, plus she didn’t seem the kind to get a switch when she got mad like Mamma.
“You and Jane go on in the pen and get me a chicken.”
Get me a chicken? I looked at Jane and she closed her eyes. I looked up and Marcell stood impassively. Get me a chicken? We had to catch Miss Emily a chicken for the soup? I'd never thought about that before. I mean I just sat down and ate after Mamma had bought the chicken at the store and cooked it up. And it was good. It was good but it was never an animal. But it was going to be one now.
Miss Emily opened the pen door and pointed. “That banty over in the corner. The one with the red feathers.”
We stepped into the chicken yard and stood still.
“Jane, show Candy how to do it. Go on now, I don’t have all day.”
Jane moved toward the chicken. I followed behind for protection. What if it bit me? What if it flew up in the air and landed on my head and used its claws to tear out my eyes? I edged closer to Jane for cover. She stepped back and crashed into me. Grabbing at each other we fell into a heap, arms and legs flailing trying to avoid the chicken poop. The banty bolted by us to the other side of the yard. We heard Miss Emily sigh. Not wanting to disappoint her, I jumped up and ran after the chicken. Jane followed. We closed in and it flew over top of us. We squatted covering our heads.
“Stand up.” Marcell.
We leapt to our feet. She opened the door and walked into the pen. Going over to the banty she clucked and scattered grain. When it started eating she picked it up by the neck. I stood there astonished. Jane gave a groan as Marcell headed out of the pen and over to a big stump. The banty was hanging from her hand and a hatchet was buried in the side of the stump.
“Miss Emily say you need to learn this.”
I pulled my eyes from the hatchet and saw Miss Emily walking back to the kitchen, her mind already on other things.
“You put the head here,” Marcell placed the banty’s head on the stump, “and you hold the body down here.” The chicken was stretched over the stump and flapping.
“Pull the hatchet.”
Jane’s hands were behind her back. Silently and with great stealth she’d backed a step or two away from the stump. Marcell looked up from the banty and fixed her cold black eyes on me. She made me shake inside but a sudden thought held me steady. Maybe if I did this she would like me and then wouldn’t say anything to Miss Emily about Brown Hound’s yapping. I looked down at the banty. It had stopped it’s flapping and was clucking and crooning.
I reached out and grabbed the hatchet. I pulled. My hands slipped. I stumbled back then gathered myself and approached again. I pulled harder. It must have been the threat in Marcell’s eyes that gave me the strength to do it. The hatchet was free. Marcell nodded down to the chicken. “Go on.”
I looked down. The banty had gone completely still. A small crooning sound came from its throat. I held the hatchet and swallowed. My head hurt and I felt sweat beneath my undershirt. I couldn’t. I had to. My hand shook.
“Marcell!” Miss Emily’s voice cut through the air. “Marcell, you want to lose a finger?” Miss Emily hurried down the porch steps drying her hands on her apron. “Candy doesn’t know a thing about hacking the head off a chicken.”
“Should learn.” Muttered. Then louder, “You said she needed to start helping out.”
“Yes, but not by chopping a chicken’s head off the first day! Jane doesn’t even do that.” Miss Emily was beside me now lifting the hatchet from my grip. “Here, give me that.” And without so much as another word she turned and gave the chicken a mighty whack and off flew its head. I stood with my mouth hanging open.
“Oops.” Marcell let go of the banty and it fell off the stump, flapping and gathering its legs underneath. Miss Emily gave the woman a glare. “Get it.”
The banty sat up straight then leapt to its feet running. Without its head. I gagged, Jane giggled, Miss Emily gave a sigh and Marcell moseyed after the poor flapping thing. It was really running around without its head! My stomach flipped again. But then true horror. Complete horror. Flying around the corner of the house roused by the commotion came Brown Hound, Black Jack and Sassy, their eyes latched on the banty.
“No!” Marcell’s voice rang through the air and the farm dogs skidded to a stop, twirling and yelping. They knew that voice. They knew what it meant. But Brown Hound didn’t. Still at a full run she swept by us, grabbed up the banty and flew out toward the barn. I froze. Jane clapped her hands over her mouth.
“Kill that dog.” Marcell turned and started toward the barn. Howling, I jumped into the air and made a grab at her. She side stepped and shook me off like a fly. I went after her again.
“Stop!” It was Miss Emily. I teetered back and forth on my feet, eyes glued to Marcell’s back.
“Marcell, you too.”
Marcell stopped, keeping her back to us for a moment then spoke, “Dog gets a taste of chicken, never stops killing.”
“She didn’t kill anything. The chicken was already dead.” I was frantic.
“Don’t matter. Taste is what does it.” With that Marcell continued toward the barn.
“Marcell, I’ll take care of this.” Again Marcell stopped.
“You go on and get us another chicken for tonight.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Walking past us like we didn’t exist, she headed back to the chicken pen.
I stood still in stark terror. Kill Brown Hound? My teeth began to chatter. Nobody had wanted to kill her back at home. Mamma had yelled at her and beat her but never tried to kill her. I turned and faced Miss Emily. I could barely stand. Had Marcell already told her that Brown Hound was a yapper? Part of my body was straining to get out to the barn and part of me wanted to stay here and beg. The silence stretched as Miss Emily watched Marcell grab another chicken and chop off its head. She didn’t drop it on the ground this time.
“You pluck its feathers. I’ll be along directly,” said Miss Emily.
Marcell moved past us like we were smoke. Miss Emily watched her for a few minutes then turned her gaze down to me. I felt a movement at my back. Jane was edging closer but staying out of firing range.
“Candy.” I stared up at my grandmother. “Dogs are hard to break once they get a taste for fresh killed chicken.” I nodded my head in misery and waited. “If you want to keep her, we’re going to have to get the banty away from her and show her it was a bad thing to do.”
“Beat her?” My voice was as small as I felt.
“Yes. You come on with me now.”
Jane followed as we walked to the barn. My stomach hurt at what was coming but at least Marcell wasn’t gonna have her way and kill Brown Hound. My dog had been beaten before and had been all right. Mamma had done it with the broom when Brown Hound got on the porch too close to the clean clothes beside the washer. She’d be ok. I smoothed down my shirt with my sweaty palms and kept pace with Miss Emily.
Pushing the heavy barn door open my grandmother walked inside. There was my dog happily tearing bits from the banty’s stomach. I felt sorry for the chicken but it was dead anyway. Miss Emily walked over to a big wood box sitting beside the wall, leaned in and picked up a whip.
Jane was behind me whispering in my ear. “It’s what they used to use with the mules. Looks worse than it is.” I started forward but she grabbed the back of my shirt. “Shhh.”
Miss Emily walked over and put her foot on the banty. Placing the solid end of the whip on Brown Hound’s throat she pressed in, pushing the dog away from the chicken and pinning her to the ground. Brown Hound looked up bewildered.
I started pleading and moving forward again. “See, she doesn’t know any better. She doesn’t know she was wrong.” Jane gave a fierce yank at the waistband of my shorts and the breath shot out of me. I struggled but Jane held firm. Miss Emily kicked the chicken to the other side of the room then let up on the whip. Brown Hound made a dash for the banty and the whip snapped thought the air. I felt my skin burn. Yelping filled the barn. My knees gave way and Jane hung on while I bent over and gasped for air. Brown Hound circled around, licked at her back then went for the chicken again. The whip snapped. Jane let go. I fell to a heap then scrambled up and forward. Jane stuck out her foot. I tripped and fell back. Jane dropped down beside me clamping her arms around me holding me still. The words hissed out of her mouth, “Quicker she learns less she’ll get the whip,” I tried to speak but Jane continued, “either that or they’ll kill her.”
I shut my mouth and shrank inside as the whip cracked once more through the air. Sounds floated through the tall barn: my gasping, Brown Hound’s yelping, Miss Emily’s hard breathing, Jane’s whispered words. After a million years there was silence. I raised my head. Brown Hound stood in the middle of the barn quivering. Miss Emily walked over to the banty and kicked it toward the dog and waited. Brown Hound backed away. I held my breath. Miss Emily did it again. The dog crouched back once more. She kicked it a third time. Brown Hound backed against the far wall and whined.
“That’ll do. Jane, get the banty and put her down the outhouse.” Walking over to the wood box Miss Emily stopped to put a hand on my head but I shrank away. She leaned lower and made contact. “Your dog’ll be fine.” She put the whip back in the box and walked out of the barn.
I jumped up and ran to Brown Hound. She yelped when I tried to hug her and wiggled away. I sat still for a moment as a thought pierced my brain. What if she thought that I was part of the whipping? The idea made my heart hurt in my chest. What if she thought it was my fault? I brought her down here and she got in trouble and if it wasn’t for me making my mamma sick we would be up in Virginia sitting safe on the picnic table.
Jane crouched beside me, “You’re hurting her. Don’t hug her, it pulls the cuts. Miss Emily’s got some salve. Let’s fix her up.”
Jane went to a cabinet on the barn wall and got supplies. Kneeling down beside Brown Hound we talked to her telling her what we were doing as we gently smeared the salve on her cuts. She looked me right in the eye and I knew then she didn’t think it was my fault. Jane held her still while I wrapped the long strips of cloth used for binding mule’s hoofs around her. She looked like a ballerina that’d forgotten her skirt. The bandages wouldn’t stay on long but it made us feel like we’d done something for her. She strained away from us and we let her go. Trotting out of the barn Brown Hound ignored the banty on the floor boards. Jane picked it up and headed for the outhouse, swinging the chicken as she went.
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