Out of Darkness (28 page)

She had to make her own opportunity, then. In the hours before the Wednesday night prayer meeting at the church, she made several long visits to the bathroom. Ten minutes before it was time to go, she complained of an upset stomach and women's problems. Henry gave her a look, but he didn't try to change her mind.

“Feel better!” Cari shouted as she and Beto walked to the truck with Henry.

Naomi nodded and waved from the porch. She stroked Edgar behind the ears.

As soon as the pickup was out of sight, she put the cat back in the house and made a beeline for the woods.

“I'm here,” she whispered when she heard his feet on the dry leaves just outside the opening to the tree.

“Well, hello,” he said. “Finally.”

It wasn't quite dark yet. She could still just see the bright white of his smile.

She kissed him.

“How are you?” he asked.

“Better now.”

He pulled her in tight and kissed her again. They went on like that for a while until Wash stopped and touched a hand to her forehead.

“What?” she asked.

“Do you feel all right? Your face is hot.”

“You don't want to take credit?”

“Sure,” he said. “But I doubt I could heat you up that much.” He ran a hand over the sleeve of her sweater. The freak bit of summer that had broken in during February was gone now, and the weather had turned chilly again.

“Try,” she said. “I bet you can.”

“Challenge accepted.”

She leaned her head back against him and slid a hand up along his smooth jaw. “I missed you,” she said. She was stalling and knew it, but she could not bear the thought of spoiling the moment. “
Una historia, por favor
. Tell me a story.”

She felt him swallow and stiffen, like he was pushing away a bad memory.

“How about a joke?” he asked.

“
Perfecto
.”

He laced his fingers through hers and started in. “So this old farmer went to a town two counties over to hunt for a gal. He found one with crossed eyes and gap teeth, married her, and loaded her up in his wagon to take her home. Once they crossed into his county where she didn't know the area anymore, he pointed out a nice farm and said, ‘See that house there and that big ole barn and field?' She said, ‘Yes, I do.' And then he stroked his whiskers and said, ‘All these are mine.'”

Wash kept talking, but the rhythm of his voice lulled her. The words melted into sounds. She traced the veins that corded down his arms and the lines that crisscrossed the palms of his hand. She loved every inch of him. She let her eyes close, and it wasn't until Wash flicked the end of her nose that she realized she'd drifted off.

“That was the end, baby. Ha, ha,” Wash said. He leaned in and nibbled her right ear. “Now, don't you tell me you weren't even listening.”

“Sorry. You can tell me again if you want.” She offered him a smile, but she kept her eyes closed.

When she opened her eyes and twisted to face him, he asked, “What you thinking on so hard, then, if you're not listening to my excellent joke-telling?”

Naomi laid her forehead against his chest and then turned to press her ear against the steady beating of his heart. She opened her mouth to tell him, but her tongue refused to cooperate.

The silence settled back in around them, comfortable but palpable. He was waiting on her.

“It's Henry ... you know ... he doesn't see me like a daughter.” There. She'd said it.

“More like a slave, I'd say. And I should know.” Wash raised his eyebrows. “It's in my blood, that knowledge. I know about taking-for-granted, about folks feeling they've got a right to their meanness.”

“It's not that. I mean, it's not just what he wants me to do. He wants—he thinks ... he thinks he can solve everything if ... he told me he...” She couldn't say the words.

“Is he talking about moving again?” Wash asked.

Naomi shook her head.

“Just say it, baby.” He studied her, waiting. It looked like patience, but Naomi felt that a distance had opened up between them.

“Wash?” Naomi tilted her head up so she could see the outlines of his face in the dark. She brushed her fingertips from his forehead down over his nose and, briefly, across his lips.

“
¿Sí, señorita?
” He nipped playfully at her fingers.

“Now
you
went away for a minute there.”

He sighed. “It's hard for me when you can't talk to me.”

“I know,” she said. “Let me find my words. Tomorrow.”

“I could help you.”

“Let's practice not saying anything at all,” she whispered. And she began to kiss him slowly, sliding her hands down to his waistband.

He wrapped his arms around her and shook her hair free from its braid. “I can get behind that,” he murmured, burying his fingers in the curtain of her hair. “Yes, ma'am, I can.”

 

BETO
Beto and Cari chose Thursday, pie day, for the unveiling. They brought two sheets from the linen closet in Henry's house and draped them over the scarecrows before moving them out into the garden.

“Wait to get her until she's done with the pies,” Cari suggested.

Beto tasted pineapple but focused on adjusting the scarecrow's arms under the sheet. He tied strips of fabric and foil along the lengths of them; the encyclopedia said that crows didn't like movement or shiny things.

“I bet she's mostly done now,” Wash said. “I'm going to go see.” He came back with Rhoda a few minutes later. She was frowning and wiping her hands on her apron, but by the time she and Wash made it to the edge of the garden, Beto thought he saw the beginning of a smile.

“On the count of three,” Cari called. “One ... two...three!”

Beto's sheet caught on the scarecrow's pointing finger, and he blushed as he tugged it carefully off.

“My goodness,” she said. “I defy those crows to come out here this year!” She came closer to examine their handiwork. “What are these for?” she asked, pointing to the wheeled platforms under the scarecrows' posts.

“That way,” Beto explained, “you can move them around. It's supposed to make them more effective.”

She smiled. “You two thought of everything.”

“Now can we eat a pineapple pie?” Beto blurted out.

“Pardon?”

Cari recited the exact words Mrs. Fuller had spoken to them months earlier, the first time Wash had brought them for pies: “Build me a scarecrow, and then you can have all the pies you want!”

“I guess I did say that,” she said. “You all had better come on up to the porch for your prize.”

A few minutes later, she held out a tray of pies to them. Beto picked pineapple, still warm from the fryer. Cari chose cherry, and Wash took rum raisin.

From inside the house came the sounds of Wash's sister Peggy practicing the piano.

“Just ignore the noise,” Wash said with a grin.

“James Washington, your sister is learning,” Mrs. Fuller said.

Peggy hit a sour note then, and they all burst out laughing. “I can hear you, you know,” Peggy called from the living room, but that only made them laugh harder.

The tangy sweet pineapple fused with this easy happiness. Beto looked over at Cari. She felt it, too, the goodness of being here. “This,” Beto mouthed to her, and she nodded. This moment was the good-luck thing they shared for the day.

Wash pretended to cover his ears when Peggy hit another wrong note, and then said loudly, “I think I'll go do some chores till this is over.”

“Hush now,” Rhoda said, but she gave him another pie and offered seconds to the twins, too.

 

NAOMI
Naomi dropped Henry's work clothes into the tub on the back porch. March meant rain, which meant mud, which meant it took twice as long to get Henry's work clothes clean. She learned from Muff to pour a bottle of Coca-Cola into the soak tub to help loosen the mud, but it still took extra scrubbing before she even put the clothes through Muff's washer. At least it was Thursday; the twins would be eating pies at Wash's house and so would come home happy. Maybe Beto would save her a bit of flaky crust with a smear of fruit filling like he sometimes did.

She was on the porch wringing out Henry's work clothes when she heard a truck turn off of the main road and onto the dirt road that led only to the Humble houses. Bud gave her a wave and then pulled in next door. After he got out, he held up a handful of mail. “I was at the post office. Thought I'd save y'all the trip.”

She glanced at the envelopes as she carried them inside. The top envelope was a bill for Henry, but the second one was addressed to her. It had her cousin Josefina's handwriting. She felt a pang of guilt as she counted the weeks that had passed since she last wrote home.

Naomi dropped into a kitchen chair and ripped the corner of the envelope. Then she remembered Abuelito's letter opener. She found it under her mattress and used it to slice through the rest of the envelope. She expected Fina's usual updates and gossip, but when she scanned the letter, she saw that the tone was all wrong. She flipped the page over. It was signed “Abuelita” in her grandmother's unschooled print. There was a P.S.: “Naomi, I wrote this down, but they are Abuelita's words, told to me in Spanish of course. You are probably wondering why Abuelito didn't write it for her. He has changed so much since you left. Especially since he fell last month. Part of his face is pulled down now, and when he talks, it is mostly nonsense. We have to remind him to eat and keep him from the fire. I'm sorry that you are finding out this way, but you know it is hard to phone and the telegrams are too expensive. Love, Fina.”

With trembling fingers, Naomi turned the letter back over, smoothed it against her lap, and began to read again.

Dearest Granddaughter,

By the time these words reach you, Henry will have talked to you about the future. Perhaps you have already made the proper choice. If so, this will only help you to know that you have our blessing. But if you are waiting, or if you have doubts, please read my words with care as Josefina is writing them down for me.

You should accept Henry as your husband. I know that your mother had her challenges. We know also of his weaknesses. No man is perfect. Most important is that he is the father of Cari and Beto, and it is right for them to be with their father. You have seen that it is very good for them there with the school, and I know that you eat well. Your correct choice is something you can have pride in for always.

I tell you, first, that you must think of the twins. But maybe you have a woman's concerns about this. You may think of love and adventure, or maybe you remember some young man here in San Antonio and think that you might like to return to him. Forget this idea. It is better to marry an older man, Naomi. When they have aged, you know better what you get. There is no mystery, no ugly surprise down the road. Your grandfather was 28 when I met him. I was only 14. There is less difference between you and Henry. It may seem very big now, but in time it will become a small thing, like the difference in the size of his hands and your hands.

Things are hard here. Your grandfather is no longer himself, and the store sells less and less. We have taken in another family to help us pay the rent.

There is no place here, understand? Be practical, my dove. Think of the twins. Do not be foolish at this time.

Con cariño,

Abuelita

Naomi dropped the letter, but she couldn't escape its threat. Nowhere to sleep. No money. No school. No food. No future. Naomi began to feel the room close in on her. A future she did not want was closing in on her. She reached under the bed for the guitar case. She found her mother's braid and curled up on the bed, crumpled around her hurt.

Abuelita had said, “We know of his weaknesses,” but she didn't know, couldn't know. Abuelito must be gone or very close to gone; he would never have forced her like this, cutting off her return.

The braid wasn't enough. She shoved the letter into her pocket, closed up the guitar case, and ran.

 

WASH
Wash was splitting wood behind his house when he saw a flash of yellow in the woods. He held up a finger, buried the axe in the stump, and ran around to the front of the house to make sure that the twins were still busy eating his mother's pies. Then he hurried to the tree line.

“Hey,” he said. “You okay?” He could see that she'd been crying. It was all he could do not to reach for her right here.

“Sorry to come here, but I couldn't wait,” she said. “I need to show you something.”

He nodded. “I'll make an excuse and get out of here quick. Meet you at the tree in twenty minutes?”

“I'll be waiting,” she said.

 

WASH & NAOMI
Wash looked up from the letter and shook his head. “He wants to
make
you marry him?”

Naomi pressed back against the inside of the tree. For once it felt more cramped than intimate. She wished the day weren't so bright; even in here, there was too much light.

“That's not the worst part of it. The worst is...” She pushed the words out. “Well, you read the letter. We can't go back now. Even my grandmother is trying to push me into this. But there are things that have happened ... things I could never talk about to anyone.”

Wash flinched. “Not even me?”

“There are some things...” she hesitated.

A picture began forming in Wash's mind of what might have been going on in that house. There was nothing to do but ask. “He hasn't tried anything, has he?”

“Not really,” she said.

“Hold on. Yes or no?” He lifted her chin toward him. He wanted to see her eyes.

She looked away. “Nothing too bad. Not in a long time.”

He exhaled slowly, willing himself to be patient. “Y'all have only lived with him since September. How long ago could it be?”