Out of Darkness (29 page)

She felt him watching her. He'd see a lie for sure. And if she started lying to Wash, she wouldn't have anything left.

“Since we came, it was only bad once.” A little at a time, she told him about the night after Beto fixed the radio. Her mother's dress. Henry taking hold of her and calling her Estella.

“That's why you didn't want me to hug you from behind?”

She gave a quick nod.

“But why didn't you say anything? The bastard, the—” Wash stopped himself. “You said ‘since we came.' Why did you say that?”

His words hung in the air between them. Naomi thought maybe if she kissed him long enough he wouldn't ask again. She tried, but Wash twined his fingers through hers and brought her hands chastely back to her knees. “Not now. What did you mean when you said that it was just once since you came here?” He held her gaze, and she could feel some of his steadiness pass into her.

“Before my mother died...” Naomi began. She remembered Henry's face, twisted. Him in her bedroom, the bathroom. His hand gripping hers tightly, guiding it.

“He made me touch him.” She gestured at Wash's belt. “He couldn't—my mom was sick and she couldn't, wasn't supposed to, you know, and so he started coming to find me.” She swallowed hard. “It took me a while, but one day I bit him.”

“On his...?”

She laughed and shook her head. “On his arm. Hard. And that was it, he didn't do it again. But that only made things worse.”

“How do you mean?”

“If I had done what he wanted, he might have stayed away from my mom, see? I don't know if he did it to punish me or because he couldn't stop himself, but he got her pregnant again. Before that she lost a lot of babies, three in just a couple of years. She got sicker every time. But the last time it took.”

“The twins?”

“She had them, but it took everything out of her. She only lasted a week.”

Wash pulled her close.

“I can't believe I said it,” she whispered.

“Nobody should be alone with that kind of burden.”

“I could have saved her.”

“No!” Wash took her face in his hands. “Listen to me. It was wrong, what he did. You had to stop him. A man who would do that to a child, he wouldn't stop at anything. Not with you, not with your mother.”

“He said—”

“It wasn't your fault,” Wash said. He planted each word like a man laying down bricks.

Naomi closed her eyes tight and laid her cheek on his shoulder. Now he knew. She had no idea what the knowing would mean for them.

“We've got to think,” Wash said slowly. “In the letter, your grandmother talks like this is something that's going to happen soon. Him asking you, I mean.”

“He already did,” Naomi mumbled.

“And that's what you were trying to tell me about yesterday?”

“You know how I am. Sometimes the words just don't come.”

“And you already told him no?”

Naomi stiffened and began to protest, “What else would I—”

“Of course. But maybe we could...” Now Wash felt the frustration of not having the right words.

“It doesn't matter what I said. He hasn't accepted my answer.” She gestured at the letter. “He gets started with the church stuff, and suddenly everything he wants is ‘God's will' for me. But anyway, what good is time? I don't see what choices I have now.” She felt a tightness rising in her throat as her future unrolled before her. It would be her unhappy face in the wedding photo. Then laundry. Dusting. Biscuits. Cooking ham hocks and beans. Mending. The twins would grow up and move out like children do. And then there would only be the ceaseless housework. And Henry. No, it was even worse than that. Him forcing his leg between hers, him pushing her down onto his bed, taking her in the bathroom, in the closet. “A bun in the oven.” Henry's child. She shuddered and remembered the sound of her mother's crying overlaid with the squeaking of the bedsprings. All those miscarriages. So many wrong things that could never be made right.

“What am I going to do?” she said again.

“We,” he said firmly. “What are
we
going to do.” The words were another line of bricks in their defense against the world.

 

NAOMI
“Can I tell you something, Tommie?” Naomi whispered across the study hall table.

“Hang on,” Tommie mouthed and went up to one of the study hall monitors. Naomi couldn't hear what Tommie was saying, but before long the monitor was writing out a pass.

When Tommie got back, she smirked and said, “We're going to go work on our sewing project.”

“What project? We already finished.”

“Hush now. We're just going to head to the home ec cottage and then look for somewhere you can talk to me easy.”

The home economics cottage was on the edge of the school grounds. On the front was a model house with a wide porch, living room, bathroom, kitchen, and two bedrooms. The idea was to give them a space exactly like what they'd manage as wives and mothers. Across the back of the building were the cooking and sewing labs with their banks of stoves and Singers.

Instead of going into the cottage, Tommie led Naomi to a bench in a sunny spot on the far side of the cottage, out of sight of the study hall window.

“So?” she asked. She unwrapped a Hershey bar and offered Naomi a piece.

Naomi set the chocolate on her knee. “Henry said he wants to get married.”

Tommie grinned and hugged Naomi.

“Tommie!” Naomi pulled back.

“Oh, stop!” Tommie slapped her lightly on the shoulder. “Everybody knows you're in love.”

“When'd I give you that idea?”

“The way you always acted, like you didn't like none of the boys at school or church ... not even Gilbert Harris! I always thought it was because you had a secret crush.”

Naomi stiffened a little at that. “But I never said anything good about Henry to you, did I?”

“No, but I thought that was on account of you liking him, see? Some folks pretend not to like the person they most love.” Tommie went on, “Muff was saying the other day that you two could make a pretty sharp couple.”

Naomi drew in a breath and released it slowly. It was just like talking to Muffy. There was no safe way to set the record straight; whatever she said would only confuse Tommie, who sometimes told her cousins that they'd have to go live with the colored people if they kept acting up.

She tried to think. Even if she couldn't mention Wash, there were other reasons for not wanting to marry Henry, things she could bring up to buy some time, at least, while she and Wash figured out a plan.

“He doesn't seem a little old to you?” Naomi asked.

Tommie shrugged. “Not really. And second to Gilbert, I'd say he's one of the handsomest men around.”

Naomi tried again. “Thing is, I'm not ready to get married. I'm too young.”

“Now that I can understand,” Tommie said. “You know, Dwayne's been talking about getting married since we started dating. He can hardly stand it, but I'm fixin' on graduating first. I don't want to miss a thing. I want him and me to graduate together, and then there's the whole summer for weddings.”

“Sure,” Naomi said. She tried on the argument. “So you told Dwayne to hold on?”

“Well,” Tommie said a little slyly, “I try to keep him satisfied with other things.” She looked down and crossed her ankles.

“Oh.” Naomi's cheeks colored.

“Not, you know, not that. Just a little snuggling and petting. You don't think I'm bad, do you?” Tommie looked up.

“Course not. If you're bad, everybody else is in a lot bigger trouble.” She smiled and squeezed Tommie's hand. “How did you get Dwayne to agree? To hold off on marrying, I mean?”

“What choice has he got? He can't exactly do it without me. Same with Henry. If he wants to get hitched, he'll have to do it on your time. Only problem is with folks talking, on account of y'all living there together.”

“But if we don't tell anybody...”

“And you behave,” Tommie said with a wink.

The thought of Henry not behaving made Naomi feel ill. She jumped up quickly and reached out to help Tommie up. “Come on, we'd better at least stop by the cottage. Did you get your grade on your dress yet?”

 

WASH
Wash was doing his own research. He started with the old issues of the
Chicago Defender
boxed up at the back of the cowshed. He wanted to see if there was anything about a safe place for him and Naomi. He laughed at himself a little for that. What did he expect to find, an advice column on practical miscegenation? He didn't need perfect, just somewhere he could take Naomi without getting himself strung up for being with her. And not just her. He had to figure out how to make it with the twins, too. That would be harder. With him, Naomi might pass for colored, but the four of them together didn't make any sense. They couldn't leave the twins behind with Henry, though, and that letter had made it plain that there was nothing left for them in San Antonio.

As he skimmed the pages, one article caught his eye. It was an opinion piece in favor of a black colony in Mexico. “Where we may be treated as men and not as pawns,” the editorial said. Baja California.

That was something, but the paper had been printed years earlier; maybe nothing came of the plan. He checked the other papers from that year but found no other mention of the colony. Still, it was the closest thing he had to a lead.

He decided to start with his father's cousin Lewis. His work as a porter had taken him to dozens of cities, and Wash remembered him talking about a train route that went all the way down to Mexico City. He would know if there was a place where a mixed couple could live with something approaching safety, and maybe he could tell Wash something about Baja California.

Lewis usually came to East Texas about once a month, and he'd been by just last week on his way to stay for a spell with his woman in Tyler.

“For heaven's sake, marry her!” Wash's mother had said while they were eating supper. “You and Skyla are near old enough to be grandparents, and there you are, shacking up like a couple of teenaged field hands.” Wash's father didn't weigh in one way or another, but on more than one occasion Wash saw him slip Lewis a fresh tin of condoms by way of thanks for the newspapers.

Lewis hadn't said how long he was visiting, but with any luck, he'd still be with Skyla now. While his mother was out delivering pies, Wash copied the address from her desk drawer and headed out along the highway toward Tyler. He walked a few miles before a man driving an ice truck stopped and offered him a ride.

When they got into Tyler, it turned out that the man lived at a boarding house just down the street from Lewis's lady friend. The driver dropped off the truck at the ice plant and then pointed him toward the right street.

Skyla lived on the opposite side of town from Wash's Aunt Jennie, his mother's sister, who was just as deliberately respectable as his parents. Skyla's was a typical shotgun house—long and narrow with each room opening into the next. It leaned a bit on its foundations and was sorely in need of paint. A few skinny chickens pecked around the concrete blocks the house sat on. In one of the porch's three rockers, Lewis sat smoking his pipe and nursing a bottle of Pearl.

Wash gave him a wave.

If Lewis was surprised to see Wash, he didn't let on. He waved him over and called into the house.

A moment later, a tall woman with her hair wrapped in a scarf came out onto the porch.

“Son,” Lewis said when Wash came up the steps, “this fine woman is Skyla Pines.” Lewis nodded at her. “Skyla, this is Jim's boy Wash, the scholar who's going to be a doctor or something.”

“How do you do, ma'am,” Wash said. He worked his hat around in his hands.

“You want some sweet tea, hon?” Skyla asked. She smiled but didn't show her teeth.

“Yes, ma'am. That'd be very fine.”

While she was gone, Lewis cocked an eyebrow at him. “Everything all right?” he asked.

“Yes, sir,” Wash said, feeling a bit of heat come into his face.

“You've got the look of a runaway. Tell me you ain't run off or nothing stupid.”

“No, sir, I ain't.”

“But?”

“I'm thinking about making a change. In the future. Wanted some advice on locations and thought of you.”

Lewis pulled on the pipe and nodded at the rocker on his left. “Your pa know?”

“There's nothing to know yet. Just thinking.”

“This about a girl?”

Wash hesitated.

“Don't bother answering,” Lewis said, pointing the bowl of his pipe at Wash. “There's always a girl.”

Wash brought out the newspaper clipping from his pocket and handed it to Lewis. “You know anything about this? It's from an old copy of the
Defender
. Six years ago.”

Lewis held the paper at arm's length, squinting. “Eyes gone to hell these last few years.” He studied the column for a few minutes before handing it back.

Skyla came with the glass of tea then. Wash drank half of it in grateful gulps, feeling the cool and the sugar slide down his throat.

“I'm fixing to see about supper. You want to join us, young man?” Skyla asked.

“No, ma'am. I'm set with this, thank you much. I got to be heading back to New London here in a minute. Just a quick visit.”

When she went back inside, Lewis rocked back hard in his chair, frowning. “Baja California ... It's been a while since I worked the route down to Mexico City. The way I reckon, anything called California would be pretty far from that track, and I don't even know I've heard of it. Truth be told, I can't remember seeing more than a handful of black folks down far south, not counting us porters, of course.”