Stella by Starlight (28 page)

Stella thought about this, surprised. “Me too,” she finally answered.

“Well, tonight I came out here because my parents were fighting—again. They never even notice that I'm gone.”

“Does that happen a lot—the fighting?” Stella asked.

“Yeah. Pretty often.” Paulette stared at the ground, her hair dripping around her face. “Sometimes it gets so bad I just have to get out of there.” She looked up at Stella. “I like to write. Every once in a while, I bring a notebook out here and write about animals and stuff. Anything to get my mind off things going on at home.”

Amazed, Stella asked her, “So why did you take your shoes off? It's freezing out here.”

Paulette started crying again. “I was, uh, being stupid. . . . I thought maybe . . .”

“You didn't go in on
purpose
?”

“I didn't! I swear! Well, not really. But—I was just so upset! I figured if my daddy . . .” she dropped her head and sniffled. “If I got, well, sick with something really awfully bad like pneumonia or cholera or something . . .”

“You can't get cholera from cold water,” Stella scoffed, crossing her arms.

“I know. I know. But I wanted to get sick with something really bad so he'd pay attention to
me
for a change! He's a doctor—if I had to go to a hospital or something, maybe he'd remember he had a little girl. Maybe my folks would stop fighting.” She started to cry again.

Stella frowned. She wasn't sure how to react to the shivering white girl. How unhappy she had to be!

Paulette continued. “But the second my shoes were off, I changed my mind. And that's when I slipped. That's the truth. Golly, that water was so COLD!”

“Amen to that! It was butt-freezing cold. Plus, you almost drowned me!” Stella added, her whole body now trembling.

“I'm sorry. I'm so sorry! My father will be really angry when he finds out,” Paulette said even more miserably.

“Not glad you are safe?”

“No, he'd first be worried I mighta told anybody what was going on at home.”

“Your father is mean,” Stella said bluntly.

Paulette raised her chin. “I know.”

“He hit me once, when I was little. He made my mother cry.”

“I'm really sorry, Stella.” Paulette took a deep breath. “He's hit me, too.”

“Really?”

“I've learned to stay out of his way.”

Stella dug her toe into the muddy ground, but the
fury she felt toward Dr. Packard flared up, and now there was no holding back. “Your father . . . your
father
 . . . wouldn't treat my mother when she got bit by a snake. He had some of the antivenom that could have helped her.” She yanked the jacket away from Paulette and wrapped it around herself. “But he refused to share it with a colored lady.”

“Oh no!” Paulette cried out. “Maybe I can talk to him about helping her in the morning. Even though he roughs me up sometimes, I know he loves me. He gives me money and buys me stuff.” Water continued to drip from the ends of her hair.

But Stella did not care, not one little bit. She shrieked, “You don't understand, Paulette! My mother could have
died
!
Died
—do you hear me? It'd be too late for your daddy to do anything!”

Paulette's pale face went paler still. “Oh, Stella, I'm so sorry. Please forgive me. Please forgive my father.” She climbed shakily to her feet and reached out her hand.

Stella backed away, too livid to stop. “Let me tell you something else about your sweet daddy! Your father is a member of the Ku Klux Klan! I saw him near this very pond, burning a
cross
. I saw him on the
road after the Spencer house got burned down. I saw him. I saw
your daddy!
”

Now Paulette poked a toe in the dirt. “Don't you think I know? I watch my mother starch and iron that stupid white uniform every single week. He's prouder of that uniform than he is of us.”

“Proud? People have lost their
lives
because of the Klan!”

“It's been like this all my life,” Paulette confessed. “He's always ranting and raving about how awful colored people are. That's when he's not yelling at my mother and smacking her around.”

This caught Stella up short. “He hits your mother, too?”

“All the time. She's really good at covering the bruises.”

Stella didn't get it. “Why does she let him get away with it?”

Paulette shrugged. “He's the town doctor. He's got money in a town that's mostly broke. They get the best pew in the church, the best tee times at the golf club in Spindale. She's not about to give all that up and be a nobody.”

“A nobody like me and my family?” Stella asked, the anger flaring again.

Paulette looked away.

“My mother almost died, will
never
be healthy again, and it's your father's fault!” Stella fumed. “I'm gonna tell.”

Then to Stella's utter surprise, Paulette touched her shoulder and said, “I think you should.”

Stella blinked hard. “I wasn't expecting you to say . . . that.”

“I wasn't expecting you to save my life,” Paulette replied, offering Stella her hand for the second time.

Stella hesitated, but this time took it. After a moment she said, “I'm gonna take you to my house. It's freezing out here. We gotta get out of these wet clothes and talk to my folks. They'll know what to do.”

47

THE ELEMENTS

Earth. Water. Air. Fire. We
lerned
learned in science class that
anceint
ancent
ancient people used to beleive that was what life was made of. i guess it makes a little sense.

Earth. Thats dirt. what farmers plant in. Where people get buried. On a dare I ate some dirt once. It
tastedd
tasted like ripe potatoes.

Water. We need it to live. But we cant
breeth
breathe it. We can drown. everything drinks water for life. i have even seen
burds
birds sipping drops of water from a leaf. Water tastes like—like life

Air. without air, we die. it blows and swirls sometimes, joining up with water to make
sturms
storms. Air can move water, but I don't think water can move air.

Fire. fire destroys. But without it, we could not cook our food or warm
ourselfs
ourselves. I've never tasted fire, but the smoke from it makes my mouth feel thick.

Truth. i think that is the last basic element. Paulette would have died if I had not been out there. I almost died too. That water didn't care what color we were.

her
fatther
father is full of hate. She knows that is the truth. So does every living soul in Bumblebee.

so there is really nobody to tell.

48

Stella was learning to run the kitchen. Mama, sitting with her leg elevated on a pillow, directed, guiding her on details Stella had never paid much attention to before—like boiling and frying and searing. Hot-water corn bread—cornmeal, water, flour, sometimes an egg—plopped into sizzling grease. Succotash—okra, corn, tomatoes, and peppers—sliced, diced, boiled, then fried. Cookies—sugar, butter, cinnamon, flour, and more sugar. Stella had generally preferred eating the goodies rather than cooking them, but Mama's years of gentle lessons were paying off now.

Jojo, without being told, had taken over most of Stella's barn chores. The family never missed church.

“Is it truly Christmas in two days, Stella?” Jojo
asked for the seventieth time. “And for sure we don't have to go to school this morning?”

“It truly is, Jojo,” Stella assured her brother for the seventieth time. “Why do you think I'm making Christmas sugar cookies?” She wiped her hand across her forehead, smearing flour across her brow. “And no classes—just the pageant tonight. Now go get me some more sugar.”

“I think there are a few raisins left in the jar,” Mama called out, pointing to a high shelf.

Jojo looked at Stella's face and burst out laughing. “You got more flour on your face than in the bowl!” he cried.

“Keep that up and I won't let you have any of my cookies,” Stella warned, flicking flour his way.

“You'll probably burn them again anyway!”

“You're right,” Stella agreed good naturedly, “but I'm getting pretty good at this cooking thing.” Jojo scurried to find the raisins. She sat down at the kitchen table to stir the thick dough.

“Stella, honey—I might not be fit for dancing, but I can certainly stir some batter,” Mama said, stretching her arms for the bowl.

“But I
want
to do it,” Stella said with a smile. “I'm gonna try to make us a really good Christmas supper, Mama. All by myself.”

“I have no doubt. Holler if there's something you can't figure out.”

Stella heard a rustling in the loft and hopped back up to get the coffee. Papa was awake. The family had seen him less and less the past month—in addition to keeping their farm going, he'd taken a part-time job at the mill to bring in a little more money, so he was often gone, and always tired. She poured the coffee into a cup and brought it to the table, but Papa strode directly to his wife and kissed her on her forehead.

“Mornin',” he said. “How's my Georgia Peach?”

“Fair to middlin',” she replied with a bright smile. “I'm just sittin' here watchin' our daughter cook like a grown woman!”

“Mornin', Papa,” Stella said as he made his way to the table. She slid the steaming cup in front of him.

“And how's my other favorite girl?” he asked, slurping the coffee. “Don't tell your mama, but I think you might have learned how to brew the perfect pot of coffee!”

“I heard that, Jonah Mills,” Mama said, laughing.

“Are you off work today, Papa?” Stella asked hopefully, now placing a slice of lumpy corn bread in front of him.

“No, but I'll get home early—in time for the Christmas pageant. And I'll be home Sunday. Since it's Christmas, they're closing the mill the whole day.”