Free Whistling Past the Graveyard by Susan Crandall Page B

never felt right in mine—her without a baby and me without a momma. And I wondered if baby James could fix her.
No. Not in this world. Nothing good could come of a colored woman and a white baby. Wallace knew it, sure as day. He’d called her stupid, but she wasn’t stupid. She was just empty. Empty and needing a baby to fill her up.
I crawled over behind her and rested my cheek against her back. Her bones was sharp under her skin. Her humming vibrated in my head.
I patted her on the shoulder. “We are gonna be fine, you and me and James. We just gotta get away from Wallace.”
The humming stopped like somebody’d pulled the plug on the radio. Her body snapped up straight and I could swear she was holding her breath. “What’d you say?”
“I said we’ll be fine once we get away from Wallace.”
She turned around so fast that I fell backward onto my elbows. “Now you listen here. I ain’t never leavin’ Wallace.”
I felt like I’d been punched in the chest. After the horribleness we just went through, I couldn’t believe she’d stay. “Why not?” “You don’t understand nothin’, so don’t go talkin’ like you do. You just a child, you don’t know nothin’ about bein’ a wife . . . or a colored woman.”
“But he’s so mean to you! You can come with me to Momma’s. She’ll help you get a job in Nashville. You don’t need Wallace.” “Wallace, he take care of me.” Her face got softer. “He always take care of me.”
“But—”
“Shush now! You don’t know him. He jus’ worried ’bout me. He a fine man. I wasn’t nothin’ till he with me. Nothin’ but a throwaway.” She sat there for a minute and her eyes got all faraway. “I was sixteen when we met  .  .  . and so shy.” She shook her head and sighed. “So shy I couldn’t look a man in the eye—even an ugly one.” She leaned close and chuckled, like we was sharing a joke. “And Wallace, ahh, you shoulda seen him; the girls all hovered round him like butterflies round a flower. And the men, why, they step right careful round him. Nobody mess with me once I with Wallace.”
I wanted to say that nobody needed to ’cause Wallace was doing enough messing hisself. But the way she said it made me think she’d seen a world of hurt even before Wallace. So I just clamped my jaw tight. “I didn’t think he even know I was breathin’. But one Saturday night up in the balcony of the movie house, he come and sat right down next to me—even though there was plenty of empty seats. He smiled so handsome and handed me a bag of popcorn.” She smiled in a remembering way. “I was so nervous I couldn’t even eat it. Took it home and ate a few pieces every day for a whole week.”
I decided I would never, ever eat popcorn again.
“Wallace, he grow up with a hoe in his hand, jus’ like every other colored man in Mississippi. But Wallace, he made a life for hisself! One that didn’t just sit there and wait for what was handed out.” She smiled, like Mamie did when she talked about my granddad. “Had a job with a good wage at the charcoal plant. He work hard, was tall and handsome, and proud. So proud.” Her eyes clouded over and her voice slid low. “That pride what bring him down. Down so low he never the same.” She sat up straighter and squared her bony shoulders. “But he always take care of me.”
She reached out to brush my hair away from my face, and I hated that her touch made me feel weak and better all at the same time.
“We be a family now, us four—a secret family.” Eula cupped my cheek with her work-rough hand. “Good Lord, God Almighty, take care of His own,” she whispered, as if church-grateful for her devotion being rewarded.
I thought for a minute. Maybe I ought to start praying direct to the Lord, since he seemed to be winning here over my baby Jesus.
“He done give me more than jus’ baby James,” Eula said. “He know you need a momma, too.”
My back stiffened. “The good Lord already gave me