CHAPTER TWO - PO’ FOLK
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The morning sun, in mustard yellow tones, peeps into Elizabeth’s room. The sky is that kind of blue that always gives Elizabeth calm. The blue that makes her want to lay on the grass and stare upwards all day long, but she knows, that today it is not possible to do so. Elizabeth lay in her bed, her eyes on the ceiling. She wants to imagine that above her that there is the sky, but all she feels in her heart is the dark, starless night. Her lips tremble. She wishes that this were easier. Pa’s absence leaves a hole in her heart, one that can’t be filled — ever. She exhales, each breath heavier than the last. Her heart feels as if it has been ripped out of her chest — the searing pain at the acknowledgment of her father’s death is almost too much to bear.
She remembers the days of her early childhood. Pa helping her reach for a book. Not just any book, but sketches belonging to her father. She remembers his scent after smoking his evening pipe, his honey-brown baritone voice. Him holding her in her arms after a bad dream. The cooking of fried chicken, wafting through the entire house and making everyone else hungry. His fiddle, reaching the ears of the neighbors, and them knocking on the door to listen in. Her father, even now, as his presence is no longer there, feels more alive than ever in her heart. He, no matter what, is still holding her after those bad dreams and when she closes her eyes — he is still omnipresent.
Elizabeth cannot help but wonder what her mother is thinking about. Is she thinking of him? Is her mother mourning him as profoundly as her? She thinks that Ma is angry, but doesn’t quite understand why. Shouldn’t she be sad instead of angry? Isn’t death supposed to make people cry and not scream and yell every day? Elizabeth frowns, slumping her shoulders, picking her knees up. 878Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡXt9pDNENWT
I wish there was a clear answer. I wish that none of this ever happened. Moving wasn’t a good idea. Look how mad Ma is. I just wanna go back to Talisheek. I know Ma doesn’t want to. She’s told me that several times. And she’ll tell me several times over. But I just gotta try every time. I just gotta.
There is a knock on the door. Elizabeth sits up and says, “Yeah?”
“Are you gettin’ ready for church?”
Elizabeth lets out a gasp. She dashes from her bed and opens the door, watching her mother standing in her Sunday best. A cream colored frock. Elizabeth cannot believe that her mother is wearing that cream colored frock. Shouldn’t she be wearing black still?
“Ma,” Elizabeth says, her voice just above a whisper. “Shouldn’t you be wearin’… something else?”
“And shouldn’t you be wearing something else too? Why are you still in your nightgown? It’s eight o’clock in the mornin’, child! Get your clothes on.”
“Why are you wearin’ that dress?” Elizabeth furrows her eyebrows, narrowing her eyes.
“Beth,” she says. “It’s been a year since your Pa died. I know it seems like shorter than that, but your Pa left us this house and it was part of his will. I love your Pa so much, but I can’t spend every day grievin’. I’ll die if I do.”
Elizabeth glares. “And you’ll die if you don’t.” She shakes her head. “Are you forgetting him already?” She turns her head, wiping away a single tear.
“It’s time to get ready for church.”
“No!” She shakes her head. “I don’t wanna go to church. I don’t wanna.”
Her mother glares. “You’re gonna go cause it’s what you’re supposed to do.”
“But Ma,” she whines. “Why can’t I just stay in bed? I don’t feel like going anywhere.”
“You’re gonna go. ‘Cause I told you, I told you you have to go. I’m your Ma — and you need to listen to me. You ain’t a heathen.” Her voice is red. Her eyes are fire.
Elizabeth’s blood freezes over. “Y-yes… Ma. I’ll go.”
Her mother takes in a deep breath and she walks away. Elizabeth stays standing as she hears the sound of her mother’s foot pace down the hall. One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four. It is constant, unwavering. Heartbreaking to Elizabeth. She knows that there is something amiss, but what kills her even more is that she is too young. Too young for her mother to just sit down with her and have a heart-to-heart like most adults do. She sighs, wishing if there are magic moments, she will choose this one to become an adult and finally understand her mother’s heart.
She opens the door to her wardrobe and chooses the dress that she thinks will be best for churchgoing, having ruined the dress from the day before. As she puts on her slip, the events of yesterday come rolling into her mind like a steam locomotive: powerful and dominant. The mansion is first in her mind again.
What is in that place?
Why is she so attracted to it? What if there really is a monster dwelling inside? The possibilities send shivers though her entire body and her pulse quickens. She is beginning to think that there could be a way into the mansion after all. And she could do it without her mother noticing. Elizabeth, finally putting the dress on, looks at herself in front of her mirror with a smirk on her freckled, pale face. She comes to the decision she’ll do it after church.
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Ma has no car so they both have to travel by foot. Immediately, Elizabeth regrets the decision to wear her black dress to church. Is this why her mother is wearing her cream-colored gown? Elizabeth sighs, feeling like a cooking egg as the sun is burning into her back.
As soon as they get inside the church, Elizabeth sits in the pew. Ma sits still, while Elizabeth swings her legs back and forth, indulging herself in humming.
“Elizabeth, why are you humming that devil’s music in the house of the Lord?”
“Ma, ragtime ain’t the devil’s music. Besides, it reminds me of Pa!”
She frowns and whispers, “Not in here.”
Tears begin to pool in Elizabeth’s eyes. Humming jazz in church is her way of communicating with her Pa’s spirit. Why is her mother taking that joy, the joy of his closeness away from her? Elizabeth sighs, the exhale, taking whatever little fire she has left out of her body.
“Yes, Ma.” She closes her eyes, still fighting back the tears that are begging to be released. “I’ll stop.” But inside, her mind is still humming. The music in her head is growing louder, bringing her spirit back. And she feels her father’s presence once again.
In her mind, she sees the woods of Talisheek. She imagines traveling in an automobile from Madison Lake, to Abita Springs — and ultimately home again. In the distance, there is a lawn tractor making its white hum. A sound that brings Elizabeth back to her home. Home sweet home. Her heart is melting at the smell of rising yeast that wafts through the kitchen. She sees Ma humming as she is cleaning up the mess she made after setting the dough to proof. This Ma is different. This Ma is someone with bright, sparkling diamond eyes and a voice that matches those of the angels. Elizabeth calls her Talisheek Ma. The one whom she used to know like the back of her hand. The one who is always there, looking in the background, mighty proud of the accomplishments her daughter makes in school.
Elizabeth’s throat has too many lumps now when she opens her eyes and is back into the reality of the church in Madison Lake. She looks around now. It is different from the almost shack-like building down the road from her old home. Elizabeth closes her eyes and imagines Talisheek again, or at least tries to, before the sound of the organ blasts into her ears, sending her mind back into the church.
She, along with her mother, stands up. The choir, up in the loft above them, is singing a song that Elizabeth doesn’t recognize. She keeps her mouth closed, but her mother nudges her. She turns around, looking at her. She sees her eyes. It is as if her mother’s eyes are telling her to sing. Elizabeth only shrugs and then turns to face forward. It’s all she can do.
Relieved when they sit back down, Elizabeth begins fanning herself. The heat in the room is seeping in. The few fans that are spinning are doing little to provide adequate coolness to the entire room. She sighs — at least her mother will let her fan herself to her heart’s content. Elizabeth takes a good look at the pastor who is now standing at the pulpit. With a smile, he greets everyone present. Elizabeth can’t help but study him.
He reminds her of a grandfather. His eyes are sparkling as he looks at the expanse of people sitting in the pews. The smile on his face makes Elizabeth feel more comfortable. She remembers him from the day they moved to Madison Lake. The man is a nice, jovial greeter. Someone that makes people feel more welcome.
“Good and happy Sunday everyone!” the pastor’s honey-rich baritone voice resonates into the walls. It reminds Elizabeth of her own grandfather’s voice. “I am glad to see so many people here on this blessed day.”
A few voices that are sprinkled throughout the room utter, ‘amen.’ Elizabeth looks around to try and figure out who it is, but her mother nudges her again.
“Pay attention.” Her mother’s whisper is sharp like sandpaper. “You’re in church, not at a social event.”
Elizabeth sinks. She knows she’s in church.
“Alright,” she whispers softly.
The pastor begins speaking about the scripture passage, the one about the miracle of the loaves. Elizabeth has heard it several times. She smiles. It’s one of her favorite parts of the Bible.
“Ya know when yer feeling kinda lost?” he asks. “You know in this day and age how hard it is to come by food.”
The congregation nods in agreement. Elizabeth sees the sadness in these people’s eyes. She doesn’t quite understand the impact. She wishes she did. Pa left them insurance money after his death. She has heard about the poor men in New Orleans, jumping from ten stories above just because of losing all their money. At least that’s what Ma says.
It seems kinda silly to me that they would jump from buildings just cause of money losses. What is money anyway, really?
“Don’t forget those that need food.” The pastor’s voice chimes in, disrupting Elizabeth’s thoughts. “Those po’ folk that don’t got nothing to hold onto? Well, Jesus gave ‘em multitudes of bread with just a wave of his hand. Now we can’t do none of that for our poor folk in our communiteh, but we can give what we can give. The lil’ bit that we can give will be a blessing to those po’ folk. Remember, that a true Christian is one that gives away — not one that keeps for himself.”
“Ma,” she leans in. “Are we poor?”
She turns around and whispers, “Of course we are. Don’t you know that? Now pay attention to Pastor Jenkins.”
Elizabeth sinks into the pew and looks up towards the ceiling, her eyes not leaving the fan as it spins lazily. Elizabeth realizes then that the fan is moving too slow for anyone to feel anything at all.
“Sit up.”
She sits up and turns her head towards the pews next to theirs. The pastor is still speaking about ways to administer charity to poor folk in the community, or ‘po folk’ as he says it. She sees a woman, dressed in an ugly gown. Elizabeth cringes at the color. It is a pale color that is marked with dirt and mud. She cannot help but grimace. The lady turns and Elizabeth’s heart squeezes tight. The woman saw her. She turns and faces the front of the church again, noticing the backs of men’s heads and the hats that are too large for her to see well at all.
Yet she cannot get that woman’s eyes out of her mind. She closes her eyes in an attempt to do so, but they are even more vivid than before. This woman’s eyes were lost. Almost alone. Elizabeth cannot understand it. She cannot understand why the woman looks so, so… sickly. Why her soul looks as if it is on the brink of death. She shivers, but cannot stop thinking of it. She turns again,succumbing to the temptation to look. The woman is not looking directly at her, but her eyes are facing the ground. She then sees the children sitting next to her. They are looking at Elizabeth now. Their eyes are narrow. Are they grimacing at her? They look dirty. Why are they even here? They are the filthiest boys she has ever seen. Don’t they even have the decency to bathe? After all, they are in church.
“Eyes to the front.”
Her mother’s whisper weaves its way into her mind, but she ignores it. She can’t help but continue to look at them. They are doing the same to her. What is that look int their eyes? Why do they look so thin? So hopeless?
Then realization dawn on her as she notices the way one of the boys clutches his hand against his stomach, his eyes showing so much pain, anger and sadness as it amalgamates into one.
They’re poor. No longer does Elizabeth have the desire to look at them. Now she is facing the front, watching the pastor as he speaks on. No wonder why they look as if they are ashamed. No wonder why they look as if the world is crashing down on them.
“So, when you see someone like these people. Ya should give them a piece of your spirit. Give them your heart. Charity is the most important virtue of all.”
Elizabeth’s mind is reeling. She thinks of nothing else but those boys and who she assumes to be their mother. What can she do for them? She looks at her mother and wants to ask her, but she is still focused on the pastor’s words.
I don’t know what I wanna do for those boys, but I feel like I hafta do at least somethin’. They need help. They look so… sad. It’s not like me, where I wear my sadness on my sleeves. Like the whole town knows I’m mournin’. But it’s a deep, soul sadness. I know what I’ll do to help. I’ll give them a piece of my spirit, like Pastor Jenkins said.
“The sun don’t set, remember that folks. It may look like it’s settin’ but it’s always up there, shining it’s bright light. So when you’re in darkness, remember that even the sun shines through all of that, even if you don’t realize it. That sun is God. The voice of God, telling you to carry on through the bleakness.”
The pastor steps down. The congregation is quiet and the last words ring true to Elizabeth’s mind.
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“Ma,” Elizabeth says. “’Spose we can help out some poor people today?”
She turns to look at Elizabeth, her eyes narrowing as she cocks her head to the side. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, like what Pastor Jenkins was talking about.” She steps over a large rock. “Why don’t we bake some bread for poor folk. Lord knows we have enough dough to last us.”
“But Elizabeth that dough is for the rest of the week, we can’t just give it away.”
Didn’t you listen to a word he said? Elizabeth’s heart sinks.
“But Pastor Jenkins —”
“I know what he said, but we can’t do it. We simply can’t afford to give our food away to unfortunate people.”
“But I feel like we hafta.”
“I know your feeling, Beth, but we can’t.”
She sighs. “I wish we could. Could we give just somethin’ small? I know Pastor Jenkins would appreciate it.”
She nods and looks at her daughter. “I suppose we can do that. Are you thinkin’ about bread?”
“Bread, yeah. Bread seems to be the best thing to bake for people. Even if they don’t have a full dinner, at least we’re helpin’ them out somehow.”
Her mother smiles. It’s the first time she’s seen her smile all day. It fills Elizabeth’s heart with rays of sunshine. For a moment, just a glimpse of her old, vibrant yellow soul came back, even if it was just for a brief moment.
“Yeah, I think that one loaf, just one loaf’ll be good for now. I’m sorry, Beth. For snappin’ atchya. Today’s just been a bad day.”
Elizabeth doesn’t understand the deep look in her mother’s eyes. The way her eyes darken as she turns away. There are moments, and this is one of them, tha Elizabeth wishes she were older. Then she could understand everything everyone tells her. At least she sort could understand Pastor Jenkin’s sermon today, but then again, everyone in the room had some comprehension of it.
“I’ll let you bake it, since you want to so badly. Who are you givin’ it to?”
“I dunno.”
She wants to hunt the boys and their mother down, but when she turns, she notices that they are not in the groups of people mingling in front of the church. She sees those people smiling, laughing, and carrying on. But there is no sign of those people.
“They must have left so quickly, Ma. I saw ‘em sitting in the pews next to ours, y’know on the right side of church. They looked so sad.”
“Who?”
“Ma, I don’t know who they are. I wish I did, but it’s the first time I have ever seen them.”
“Well, why don’t we do this? The next time there’s a church service, we’ll bring a bread basket and leave it for them. How does that sound?”
Elizabeth smiles. “I think it sounds mighty splendid, Ma. They’ll sure appreciate our gift.”
And they both turn on the street that leads to their home, leaving behind the congregation.
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