Mare's War (31 page)

“Have you got a plan, then?” Ruby knows Peaches too well to try to talk her out of anything.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Peach says. “I want to go west. How about Los Angeles?”

“Los Angeles? Peach, are you aiming for Hollywood?”

“I just might,” she says. “I got used to seeing the lights in Paris, and now I want to see the lights on the ocean.”

“You can see the ocean from the deck.” I laugh. “And I’ll shine a flashlight on it for ya. You don’t need to go near any crazy movie folks for that.”

“Well, then, I could go to San Francisco. I’ve heard there are jobs there,” Peaches says. “You could come with me, Marey Lee. First go home and see about your sister, and then come on out west.”

“Oh, I don’t know a thing about San Francisco,” I say, but I feel a funny flutter in the pit of my stomach.

“Bob says he has a job with Boeing in Seattle, working on airplane engines,” Ruby says. “You girls ought to come on up to Seattle.”

“I’m going to San Francisco,” Peaches says, like she had this thought in her head all along. “I’m going to get myself a job, maybe use my GI Bill and take a few classes somewhere. I’m going to live by the ocean and …”

“Find yourself a good man and settle down.” Ruby smiles.

“Well, no, not quite”—Peach smiles crookedly—“but something like that, maybe. And not the ‘settle down’ bit, either, not just yet. Girls, I’ve got a lot of partying left to do.”

Peaches Carter makes me laugh like she always does, but her words start me to thinking. What if I did go to a city like San Francisco? What if I did find a job, find Feen a school, and have some kind of life? There are colored folks in cities like that, and art and music and poets and writers. Maybe Peaches is right. Maybe I don’t have to go home and take up my job from Miss Ida. I may have to go back to Bay Slough to see about Feen, but I don’t have to stay.

Maybe Feen and me could get a little place with Peach and invite folks to come see us. Maybe Ruby and Bob could visit, and Annie, when her young man can travel. Even Mrs. Freddie Hughes, Gloria, could come and see us as long as she didn’t think she was the lady of my house. And after a while, maybe even George …

Don’t get crazy, Marey Lee
.

I like my San Francisco dream, but I know George Hoag won’t be coming around much longer. He may think he is sweet on me now, but nobody from a big city like Chicago wants to wait on little country Marey Lee from Bay Slough, Alabama, once he knows she’ll be dragging her little sister behind her.

I can’t be bothered about that. I promised Feen I would take care of her. I won’t break my word. George will find somebody else, some girl who’s already been to college and all that.

First thing I have to do is get home and see about Feen. Mama, Miss Ida, George Hoag, San Francisco, and all the rest will just have to take care of itself.

When we reach New York Harbor, every GI on that boat lets out a holler. All of us come out to the deck, hang on the rails, and cheer. Folks are laughing and crying, pointing to Lady Liberty holding up her torch. Posing for pictures and hugging their friends, everyone celebrates. We are home, home, home. We have just about made it.

For just a few minutes, isn’t a soul on the ship upset. Even
the craps games hold up for long enough to let folks set their eyes on the Statue of Liberty.

America.

Home.

I lean out and look, trying to see freedom.

The boat dips and bobs on the waves, and for the first time I want it to hurry up and get on. I have things to take care of and things to do.

We stay at Camp Shanks for two or three days. Most of us are sick as dogs by the time we finish twelve days on the Atlantic, and the U.S. Women’s Army Corps can’t let no ailing woman stumble on home, no sir. They feed us up, give us hot showers and clean beds till just about everyone perks up some.

The PX at Camp Shanks makes us know for sure we are in the U.S. of A. They have all kinds of nonsense in there we suddenly can’t do without—rose-scented soap, nylon stockings, chewing gum, hand lotion, and more. Ruby picks up one of those new ballpoint pens; it costs her $12.50! But she says she wants to get something nice for Bob. It doesn’t write worth $12, but that is all right with Ruby.

Most folks take the time to use the telephones at the telephone center in the middle of the base. I wait with Ruby and watch her rush into the booth assigned to her when they get through to Dallas. It takes only a half an hour, and when she comes out, her eyes are shiny and she is all smiles.

“That was Mama,” she says, smiling through tears. “She let out a holler when she heard my voice and just about scared my father out of his wits.”

“They’re coming to meet you?” I ask.

Ruby wipes her eyes. “They are. My father and Bob are driving down together.”

Ruby is so happy she can’t stand it. I wish I was that glad to be going home.

Since we don’t have a telephone, I don’t have a soul to call except maybe Miss Ida, who would surely put me through to Mama. I could ring her, but I don’t want to be beholden to her for anything, not when I am not going to set foot in her house with a dust rag in my hand ever again.

Peaches doesn’t have anybody at home waiting on word from her, either. Her mama is put out with her for not taking that job, so she expects her folks won’t have too much to say that she wants to hear. When they tell us it is time to ship out to our separation centers, we are all ready. Ruby is going to Fort Bragg, North Carolina, and Peach, Dorothy, and Ina are going with her. Maryanne Oliver and I are on our way to Camp Blanding in Florida. From there, I will take a bus to Alabama. It won’t take me long to get to Bay Slough.

“They hire colored stenographers in California, and we will make good money,” Peach tells me one more time, putting on her gloves. “Now, I plan to stay on till Christmas with my folks, but I’ll be on my way before the new year. Can’t let them snatch up all the good jobs!”

“I will let you know about the wedding,” Ruby says.
“Don’t you forget, Marey Lee Boylen, it’s going to be in June, and you’ve got to stand up for me!”

“I’ll see you,” Peach hollers. “Soon, Marey! Soon!”

Maryanne and I wait with our duffle bags for our camp to be called. Everyone is crying and laughing and hollering goodbye, but I can hardly speak. I have a feeling I won’t ever see some of them again. And me, once I get split from Ruby and Peaches, 6888th Battalion, Company C, and the U.S. Women’s Army Corps, I feel like I will disappear. If I am not careful, I might get on back to Bay Slough and never remember who I am.

I am Private First Class Marey Lee Boylen, from Bay Slough, Alabama.

And pretty soon I am going to be somebody better.

Don’t expect anybody to meet me at the station, so when I step down off the bus by the post office, I don’t stop. Instead, I heft up my bags and walk on.

Nothing has changed too much in Bay Slough, but it sure looks small. The Pentecostal church on First Street looks tiny when I think about St. Paul’s in London or Sacré-Coeur in Paris. Young’s looks downright lonely standing by itself when I think of bistros and shops and stalls all bunched up and shoved together side by side down those narrow Paris streets.

Mist is hanging in the air, and cars rattle by as I walk out past the edge of town and turn down Fourth Street toward the colored section of Bay Slough. I see St. John the Baptist AME, painted white and standing proud, the wrought
iron fence around its yard straight and tall. I think about Feen’s Christmas play way back when and the social we had at Sister Dials’s. I can’t just walk on by when I see her front porch, but I don’t expect a long-legged girl in a knee skirt and loafers to come tearing out her front door, screaming my name.

“Marey! Marey Lee!”

“Feen! Girl, look at you!”

“Yes, Lord,” Sister Dials sings out. “She’s come on home. Lord, she’s come on home!”

We are all hugging and Sister Dials is singing, and I do a little two-step round with Feen hanging on. She is taller and a bit more woman-like, but for the most part, Feen seems just the same as always. Aunt Shirley must have bought her that pleated skirt and those loafers. She’s pretty as ever.

I look at Feen and she stares at me, and we just grin big. “Welcome home,” Feen says, pulling back and examining my uniform. “Marey Lee, you look real sharp! Get a load of all those muscles!”

Sister Dials is peering at my uniform, shaking her head. “Girl, wasn’t nobody watching for you today but Miss Josephine here. It just goes to show you,” she says. “Before they call, I will answer, isn’t that what the Book says?”

“I am sure glad you were expecting me,” I say to Feen, holding her arm as Sister Dials welcomes us into her warm front room. What happened to my “little” sister? Feen, hefting my duffle bag, is just as tall as I am.

“How is Mama?”

“Mama is fine,” Feen says, but her smile fades a bit. “Mr. Peterson is a real joker. He keeps Mama laughing all the time.”

“It was a real pretty service,” says Sister Dials. She has put a plate of tea cakes in front of me and is pouring me a cup of her special coffee. I can smell the bitter chicory swirling up in the steam. “Your mama wanted to wait, but Mr. Peterson got a job out at the mill in Huntsville. He had to get back.”

“So, he’s going to stay on in Huntsville?” I say, pulling off my gloves and reaching for my cup. “He must be a man of some means, driving back and forth like that.”

“Mama’s selling the farm and moving on to Huntsville with him,” Feen blurts. “I wanted to write you, but Sister Dials said you’d be better off not hearing till you got home.”

The words knock me back. “Selling? Selling? But Mama always said Daddy bought that land with his sweat and blood and the farm was always going to be in the family. Mama said …”

“Your mama say she is pure tired of taking care of them hogs,” Sister Dials offers. “She got a man to take care of her now.”

“But …” My mouth moves. I can’t find a thing to say.

“I thought if you got your job back from Miss Ida and put in a few more hours at Young’s,” Feen says slowly, “I could take in her washing, same as Mama did. I don’t want to go back to Aunt Shirley’s. I can find a domestic job, and between the two of us, we can maybe afford enough to rent the farm. Or maybe just a couple of rooms …”

“Josephine Louise Boylen,” I say. “You are going to school. Don’t talk foolishness.”

“I don’t want to go back to Philadelphia, not unless you’re coming back with me,” Feen says, and her eyes fill up. “Please, Marey Lee! I—”

“Hush, Feen. Didn’t nobody say nothing about Philadelphia.” I turn to include Sister Dials. “You might as well know I don’t intend to stay here long. If Mama has plans for me, she might as well understand I have plans of my own.”

“Well, now, Marey Lee,” Sister Dials begins.

“But Mama doesn’t have plans for you,” Feen says, wringing her hands. “Mr. Peterson’s already got a little house. It’s just for Mama and him.”

Even though I don’t expect different, hearing the words makes my breath roar in my ears.

“Now don’t go getting all riled up,” Sister Dials says worriedly, reaching across to pat my leg. “You been walking on your own all this time, Marey Lee; your mama didn’t think to … Well, like I told your friend that come by to look in on Feen, wasn’t nothing here nobody needed to worry you about, and I meant that. Now, your mama knows the Lord God don’t look well on them that don’t take up the cross like he’s given ’em. A mother’s children are her cross, and …”

“Feen, stay here,” I say, standing and pulling on my gloves. I shoulder my bag. “I’ll be back.”

“Now, Marey Lee Boylen, don’t you go rearin’ up on your hind legs in your mama’s face,” Sister Dials warns. “You are just like her—don’t listen to nobody. …”

Feen looks up at me, and in her face I see fear—and hope. “I’ll be right here, Marey.”