Palmetto Moon (19 page)

I hear the clatter coming from the kitchen and know I’ve missed breakfast. Miss Mamie is probably stomping around, adding that to my long list of tribulations. But I couldn’t eat even if I wanted to.

“Vada.” Jonathan’s stubby little legs race toward me, his arms outstretched. He wraps himself around the skirt of my dress. “Missed you.”

I pick him up and breathe in the scent of his neck, making him giggle. “I missed you, too, sweet boy.” The swinging door flies open, and Daniel comes out carrying two full plates. His face turns bright red, but his smile is brilliant and welcoming.

“Good morning, Daniel. What’s all this?”

“Isn’t it wonderful! Miss Mamie’s sister is in the hospital, on death’s door, because she broke her tailbone.” He whispers the last part so that Jonathan won’t hear, but the little guy squeals out loud.

“Miss Mamie’s a monkey, too. Her sister’s got a tail,” Jonathan sings.

The door swings open, and Claire is standing there with Miss Mamie’s apron on, wagging her finger hard. “Jonathan Carl Greeley. You stop that kind of talk this instant.”

“But Mama, I want her to be a monkey. Peter says she’s a witch, and witches are scary.” By the time he finishes his sentence, he’s almost in tears.

“Mama,” Peter shouts from the kitchen. “The biscuits look done.”

I scoop the gangly baby up and hold him close again, shooing Claire back to the kitchen. She gives me a grateful look, and the door swings shut behind her.

“Don’t you dare try to take those biscuits out, Peter. You’ll burn yourself good,” Claire fusses from the kitchen. “Give me those oven rags this instant.”

Jonathan shifts around and lays his sweaty head on my shoulder, sucking his thumb for all he’s worth. Jealousy is etched in hard lines across Daniel’s young face. “Daniel, would you be a dear and do something for me?” He nods, still looking at his toddler brother like a predator. “Please, get the bachelors up if they’re not, and tell them breakfast is ready.”

In no time, we’re all seated at the table, without the pall of Miss Mamie hanging over us. The bachelors don’t seem to notice her absence. Mr. Stanley is wearing a new but horribly ugly bow tie and leering at Claire as she takes her place at the table. Jonathan is in my lap, kicking Miss Mamie’s chair like it’s as soothing as sucking his thumb. He wouldn’t dare do that if she were here.

Peter is so hungry, when Claire asks him to bless the food, he says the prayer like it’s one word, followed by “Ouch.” I open my eyes slightly to see him pouting at his mother, who has just pinched him. “But I’m hungry,” he whines.

“Amen,” Claire says reverently, and everyone starts eating.

“How was your trip, Vada?”

“Very good, Claire.” My face is redder than the piping on my dress. “These grits are wonderful.”

She gives me a sly look and then mortifies Daniel by dabbing at some blackberry jelly at the corner of his mouth.

“Mama, are you going to tell her?” Peter whispers.

“Tell me what?”

“Oh.” Claire finishes chewing her food and nods. “Yes. Miss Mamie will most likely be gone all of this week, and possibly the next.”

“The surprise,” the boy whispers again. Claire gives him a stern look, and he falls back into line.

“Of course.” As much as I’m trying to sound cheerful, I can’t. Mr. Stanley is seated beside Claire at the head of the table, with his new bow tie that enhances the lecherous beam on his face. “You had some news you wanted to share when I returned. I do hope it’s wonderful news. Well-thought-out news. Something that’s really good.” And not horrible.

Claire shrugs and takes a sip of coffee. “I was going to wait until Miss Mamie gets back, but I suppose now is as good a time as any. I’m getting—” She looks down at her plate and smiles, because she’s out of her mind. She must be if she’s agreed to marry Mr. Stanley.

Mr. Stanley reaches for her hand and accidently knocks over his coffee cup. He’s so excited, he doesn’t even have the good sense to apologize. Peter jumps up and dashes into the kitchen without being told. Having knocked over his fair share of glasses at the dining table, he returns dutifully with two clean dishcloths for his mother.

“It’s all right,” Claire says to the doe-eyed old fart as she sops up the mess. “It’ll all come out in the wash.

“As I was saying.” Please, Claire, let it be the job.

“Oh, look,” I say. “Jonathan has a new tooth, Claire. I do hope it came in easily this time. It’s so awful when those old things are slow. Painfully slow, and ugly.” I think I’ve offended her. “Of course, I didn’t mean to imply Jonathan’s teeth are ugly, because they’re certainly not. They’re beautiful. Young teeth. Very young. Like pearls.”

“Mama’s got a job,” Daniel shouts triumphantly.

Mr. Stanley’s coffee cup slips from his hand and crashes onto his plate. All during breakfast he’s been looking at Claire like she was bare naked. The disbelief and blighted hope on his face is delightful.

“It’s true.” She’s gushing like a schoolgirl. “I got the job at the Sheridan place. Reginald Sheridan is returning from Europe to reopen the plantation house soon, and I’ve been hired to handle the unpacking and keep house for him.”

I push back from the table and rush to hug her. Maybe a little too tightly. “Oh, Claire, I’m so relieved—I’m so happy for you.” I take my place at the table again. “What is he like? Is he handsome? Is he married?”

“To be honest, I haven’t met him yet, but his attorney, Mr. Jameson, told me he was quite happy to find someone who already lives in Round O.”

“That place has been closed for over twenty-five years.” Mr. Stanley seems to suddenly have enough of his wits about him to plead his case. “It’s probably a ramshackle mess. Full of squirrels and other vermin.”

“Actually, no.” She’s positively glowing. “I’ve already been over there to look around. It’s really quite grand, and it’s over a hundred years old.”

“The Yankees missed that one.” Mr. Clip nods. “But they scorched a path clean to the Middleton plantation. My pappy and his pappy told me that much. Goddamn Yankees.”

“Mr. Clip!” Claire snaps. “The boys.”

“Sorry, ma’am.”

“But the best news is that there are servants’ quarters on the property. Mr. Jameson said they’re not in the best of shape, but with a little work, the boys and I will be able to live there. He even gave me fifty dollars cash to get started.”

“Claire, this is wonderful news.” Mr. Stanley gives me an icy stare. “For you and the boys.”

“It is wonderful.” Peter is nearly breathless, ticking off all of the good things he thinks will come of this. “And . . .” He makes a grand gesture with his spoon, like a boy king making his first decree. “No more playing in the street.”

Everyone, except for the bachelors, cheers wildly. I’m so happy for Claire I could burst. We finish breakfast, and Claire declines my offer to help clean the dishes. With a beautiful smile on her face, she asks me to watch the boys and retreats to the kitchen.

They are every bit as happy as she is, no doubt because they haven’t seen her like this since before their father’s death. We go out on the front walkway, and Peter takes a piece of coal out of the winter stash to make a hopscotch board on Miss Mamie’s sidewalk.

“That might be a little too permanent.” I take the lump out of his hand and toss it aside. “Here, we can make a place to play in the dirt.” I draw out several squares with a stick. The boys gather stones, a part of the game they added to test their skill. Peter calls the number eight and tries to toss the stone into the eighth square, but it lands on twelve.

He hops on one foot to the stone, picks it up easily, and looks at his older brother, daring him to do the same. The game continues, and it’s decided that I should play with Jonathan on my hip, but there’s no way I can hop on one foot and pick up my stone with the baby. I fall into the boys, and they catch me so that we end up in one big hug. We’re laughing so hard, Claire has to tap me on my shoulder to get my attention.

“I forgot to give you this. It came for you while you were gone. They forgot to use your post-office box.” She holds out the envelope.

“Who’s it from?” Peter giggles.

My thumb brushes over the Charleston postmark, hoping for good news from home.

My Dearest Vada,

Desmond told me about your job, and I’m so proud of you and know you will be a wonderful teacher for those children. I miss you more than I thought I could ever miss anybody. I love you so much and want you to have the life you want for yourself. Every day, I pray that God will watch over you, but I’m worried. I’ve worked for your daddy for over thirty years, and I’ve never seen him so worked up as he is about your leaving. He sent Justin to bring you back; you and I both know that man don’t know enough about you to have the first idea of where to look. I’m not worried Mr. Justin’s gonna find you, but I am very worried about what your daddy will do when he comes back empty-handed. It breaks my heart to say this, but maybe you ought to leave South Carolina for good.

Whatever you do, my precious child, keep yourself safe.

Love always,

Rosa Lee

My face is wet with tears. I reread the words “
leave South Carolina for good.
” My knees almost buckle at the thought of leaving this place, the Lowcountry, Claire and the boys. Frank.

Peter pulls on the skirt of my dress to get my attention. “Miss Vada, are you crying?”

“Leave her alone.” Daniel pushes his brother aside. “Someone’s died.”

I shake my head, and should reassure the boys that everything’s all right, but I can’t.

Claire watches as Vada slides her finger slowly across the opening and flinches when the paper cuts her. She pulls a fine linen handkerchief out of the pocket of her fancy skirt and dabs at the blood. She opens the pages. Her posture drops; her head is down. Peter asks her if she’s crying and she shakes her head, but it’s apparent she is.

Claire feels guilty, standing here doing nothing while Vada wilts as she reads the letter. Claire wonders how Vada has gotten mail so quickly, but guesses that whoever sent it is the same dark figure who brought her here. For the most part, personal letters are supposed to make people happy, not that Claire would know. She doesn’t have any family to speak of, but she knows what it’s like to hold an envelope that certainly holds bad news. To feel your heart crumble as your finger slides along the opening.

She had begged herself not to unfold it. She knew Bobby was already gone, but reading the words would make it certain. This letter of Vada’s seems different, more troubling than disastrous. At least that’s how Claire looks at it; Vada’s so cheery all the time, it’s hard to tell what’s real with her. But not now; she is sad, almost frightened.

Claire wraps her arms around herself, shivering. Remembering the words, “The Army Department regrets to inform you . . .” As much as she loves Vada, she can’t go to her just now.

“Boys.” Claire’s voice comes out hoarse and not at all like she means for it to. Her oldest hears the tone and picks up his baby brother, who looks so much like Bobby sometimes, it slices Claire to bits. They file upstairs quietly, like little soldiers, and lie across their mother’s bed, making a place for her in the middle. Jonathan crawls onto her chest.

No one speaks. They’ll lie here with Claire, quietly loving her through the reality that she has to push out of her mind every day of her life, so that she can put one foot in front of the other, so that she can live for her boys.

Even with everything good that has happened, the sadness is still a powerful drug, lulling her off to sleep. The baby is already there, breathing softly against Claire’s neck. Down the hall, Vada is crying, and Claire feels sorry for her, because she is alone. Claire clings to the boys because they are all she has, and maybe that’s the way it’s supposed to be. She knows Daniel and Peter won’t drift off, not because they just woke up a few hours ago. Because they are her sentries, guarding her while she sleeps.

When Claire wakes up, Daniel will pretend this never happened. Peter will look at her hopefully, silently asking her to promise this is the last time she will fall apart. He’ll dog her all day, waiting for the promise she wishes she could give him. The baby will be fussy and clingy the rest of the day, a sweet distraction from her sadness.