Trouble's Child (5 page)

“Girl,” Titay called. “Time t' git ready.”

When she had put on her heavy rubber boots to guard against snakes that might still lurk in the flood water, she said to Titay, “Lemme help yuh, Granma.”

She tied the string of Titay's oilskin hat and helped Titay into her coat. Then they stood in the doorway to wait.

The dull gray of evening was turning quickly to deep purple, and night sounds filled the air. Crickets chirped. Frogs answered one another in a battle of sounds. Lightning bugs blinked pinpoint sparks in the darkness.

Soon Martha heard singing as the men and women waded toward them carrying torches made of tree branches. The fire-lights reflected on the water, brightening the night.

Beau came to help Titay and Martha. Martha refused his hand and quickly stepped down into the swirling water. She was so involved with her thoughts that she didn't sing as she marched along to the church. The small building was filled with friends and families of Tee and Alicia's cousin. Titay embraced the women and kissed the babies.

The singing kept up, one song after another. There was hand-clapping and foot-stamping, but Martha still felt numb. Her hands sweated, and her heart felt crowded in her chest. Her eyes were hot and dry.

Around midnight all became still. Everyone waited and listened. Right at twelve a rooster crowed. Then another farther away, and still another. When the round of cock crowing ended, the wife of Alicia's cousin stood and talked about her husband. The whole family took turns, with Alicia talking last. Then it was Ocie's turn. She stood and for a long time she trembled, and Martha thought she would fall. But finally Ocie tried to speak. Her voice sounded full of tears. Beau went to stand beside her. Then she straightened her shoulders and said in a clear voice, “I speak fuh m' husband, Tijai. He was a good man. Not easy scared, and strong.”

Martha's mind was full of Tee. He
was
good. Kind and thoughtful. Different from the others. Was he different because he was a born gift to the Gulf? Like she was different because she was born in a storm?
No
, Martha thought. If Tee believed that, he would have been afraid of water. Instead he tried to defy the Gulf and save a life. Not only that, he had understood her longings. He had dared to tell her to leave the island. He had not thought her strange. Martha felt the pain of having no one to talk to now—no one who understood.

Day dawned. The people left the church and moved toward the Gulf for the burial rites. They waded in shallow flood water, down to the muddy shore. The Gulf was calmer now. Brown waves washed in and out with the frying sound of foam.

The people spread out in a straight line and sang against the rhythm of the waves. Titay came forward slowly, frail. Her voice was clear, but soft. “We always take outta the Gulf its best—seaweed, fish, shrimps and crabs.” Then she spoke louder. “The Gulf now quest our best. We spond with human power in this act o' makin gifts. We gi'e in grief, but with know'n joy that the Gulf'll gi'e always mo'n it take. The Gulf is generous.”

Then the two wives came forward, the oldest first, and cast pebbles upon a receding wave. Ocie, casting her pebbles, said, “T' the mighty Gulf, I gi'e m' husband, Tijai Mouton.” Then there was loud crying and moaning as the waves washed the gifts out to the deep.

Martha lingered alone on the shore, remembering the women's tears. She paced back and forth, wondering if she could ever do what Tee had said she should. Now she wished she had said something else to him that would have been a fitting last goodbye. Tears rolled down her cheeks and she was overcome with sorrow. She stood and wailed to the sky, crying for her father, her mother and for Tee.

The sun rose in a clear blue sky. But the Gulf did not reflect that blue as it stretched to the horizon. The brown waves came in and out. She knew that the Gulf would be there forever and that her father and now Tee were a part of it. She hurried to join the others at the church for the feast.

A week after the storm the sun rose again in a cloudless sky. Water had evaporated in many places and wet houses and damp earth steamed in the early September warmth. The opening of school had been postponed because of the flood and Martha was impatient, anxious for Miss Boudreaux's return. More than ever she wanted to go to high school, and she hoped that her teacher would help. But school had been delayed yet another day for the cleanup. The islanders called the cleaning “flood harvesting.” Martha thought of it as hard work.

She pulled on her heavy boots and looked to see if Titay was ready to go. “Granma, yo head scarf ain't right. Heah.” She retied the scarf, stood back to look and smiled. She hoped Titay would be pleased with her concern.

But Titay only said, “Girl, le's git.”

With sticks and buckets, they joined the noisy crew. The men moved fallen logs and heavy limbs. The women and children cleared up smaller things. Everyone looked for fish and other creatures that could be used for food. Martha stayed close to Titay. Her grandmother was slow, but she worked hard and was careful to avoid snakes. The odor of warm mud and seaweed, and of dead plants and animals, was mixed with the scent of magnolia blossoms, giving the air a moldy heaviness.

Shellfish, frogs and turtles struggled in the mud. Frog legs would make a delicious supper. Martha dropped one frog after another into her bucket.

“Watch that snappin turtle,” Titay shouted to Martha. “If he gits hold you, he won't turn loose til lightnin flash!”

Martha frowned. “Aw, Granma,” she said.

“Aw Granma, nothin; jus let one git hold on you n you see.”

Martha had a strong desire to let the turtle snap her just to prove that what Titay said was not true. Instead, she poked the turtle with her stick and watched its feet and head disappear into the shell.

If she put the turtle in the bucket it would eat the crabs and crawfish, so Martha waited until a leg appeared from under the shell, then she slipped a strong string around it and tied the turtle to a bush. It would be safe there until she took it home to make turtle soup.

Sticks beating the bushes for dangerous cotton-mouth snakes resounded again and again. A member of the crew screamed in terror before killing a black snake that had slithered out of its hiding place. Some black snakes are not dangerous, but this was no time to take chances.

The hardest part was burying dead rabbits, armadillos, chickens and rats—animals that had tried to swim in the flood, but had become too exhausted to survive. Seaweed, leaves, branches, bark and moss had to be swept into big holes and covered too. Martha worked without stopping.

At last the gray light of evening settled in, and the workers gathered their sticks and buckets to go home. Martha and Titay counted their harvest: six frogs, two turtles and nine crawfish, but only two crabs.

While they prepared supper, Martha peeled onions, chopped the cayenne peppers and cooked the rice. She felt another talk with her grandmother was coming and she dreaded the time when it would begin.

They ate in silence. Even though the frog legs were tasty with rice cooked with tomato sauce, Martha ate little. There was so much on her mind that only Titay could settle. Would she ever go to school again? Perhaps Titay would let her go if Miss Boudreaux would ask.

Just as they finished supper, Titay said, “When you gon start in thinkin bout yo quiltin?”

Martha was now angry at herself for not setting the tone of their conversation. She was not ready for that question.

“I don't know, Granma.”

“Whatcha mean, don't know? You mus know. Yuh already foteen n some. That's late fuh a girl not t' know bout portant matters.”

“I thought we say we'd wait, Granma.”

“We? I never thought that, no.”

“But Granma …”

“You's sayin wait. Word's still out that you's wantin t' leave this island. Can't yuh see, you can't keep puttin off yo quiltin and the village keep thinkin Cora lie.”

Martha wanted to bide time. Miss Boudreaux would be there the next day to open school. She wanted to talk to her before she gave in to showing a quilt pattern. “I got so much t' learn that yuh teachin me. Can't we wait jus a while longer?”

“You's learnin good, yes, but Mat, we can't wait too long. Beau's a good man, hard workin. Men ready t' marry git married. They seem t' be fuh carin bout the woman willin. So I say, girl, yuh can't wait too long.”

“I won't wait too long.”

“And you member now, foteen slip mighty quick int' fifteen, and 'fo yuh know it sixteen is sebenteen.”

Martha said nothing. If only she could find a way to escape the all-seeing eyes and all-hearing ears of the people on the island. Ever since she had been born, they had been looking to see what she was about and now they were waiting to hear that her hand was out for marriage.

She went about clearing the table and washing dishes, determined to put off the quilting as long as she could.

Martha got up early the next morning without feeling rested. She was too excited to stay in bed. Miss Boudreaux would arrive today to open school. Martha had decided to be among the first to greet her.

Pink feathery clouds were high in the silvery sky as she hurried down the trail to the Gulf. The dew, heavy on the brush bordering the trail, chilled her legs.

Would Miss Boudreaux be happy to see her? Would she think Martha could succeed in high school? Martha wondered how she would ask her teacher about going away. The closer she came to the edge of the Gulf the more nervous she became.

The water was still high and the Gulf was restless, but Martha knew Miss Boudreaux would come.

“Mornin,” she said shyly to the men and few boys who had come to help the teacher land and unload her supplies.

“Fine mornin, yes, Miss Mat,” one of the men said as they all greeted her in turn.

Martha stood apart clutching a shawl around her shoulders. Soon a small speck came into view, and before long Miss Boudreaux's boat came in close to land. From a corroded anchor abandoned on the shore, the boys tossed a heavy rope to Miss Boudreaux. She steadied her boat and waded ashore.

“Martha, my dear,” she said. “How nice. I didn't expect you here.” She removed her wading boots and supervised the unloading of the supplies. Then she and Martha walked together toward the center of the island.

“Mr. Ovide told me about Tee. I'm truly sorry,” Miss Boudreaux said. “Was your summer good in spite of that?”

“Yessum.” Martha was suddenly shy. She wanted to appear grown-up, but words would not come.

They walked a distance in silence. Men, women and children were waiting for Miss Boudreaux near the chinaberry tree. Martha knew she had to speak up or miss her chance.

“Hep me, teacher,” she cried. “I jus gotta go t' high school.”

Miss Boudreaux seemed surprised. She stopped and looked at Martha. “Martha, that's fine. Did your grandmother work out a plan?”

“No, ma'am.”

“Does she know that you want to go?”

“No, ma'am. Well, yes, ma'am and no, ma'am. I tole er once. But I don't think she blieve me.”

“Your grandmother wants to train you to be a good midwife. She's good, Martha, one of the best.”

“But Miss Boudreaux, I want t' finish school.”

“You'll have to ask your grandmother.”

“Please, can't yuh hep me?”

“Martha, that means going away. Your grandmother would have to agree on any arrangement. You will need money and it's late now to start plans for this year.”

“But can't we do somethin?” For a moment they stood in silence.

Finally, Miss Boudreaux said, “Maybe I can go on teaching you.”

“Granma won't let me come evey day.” Martha lowered her eyes and pulled her shawl tighter.

“Oh, not every day. We can set a schedule. I'll give you assignments that you can do at home. Then I'll see you when they are done and you're ready for more.”

Martha kept her eyes fixed on the ground. Miss Boudreaux said, “Martha, one day you'll be able to go away. Maybe when you're older.”

Martha looked up and smiled. “I'm so much obliged t' you, teacher.”

Miss Boudreaux drew Martha to her for a quick embrace. For a moment Martha was breathless, but in that small space in time she felt sheltered.

SEVEN

Martha and Titay walked on the trail that led to the Gulf. The bushes along the way were wet with morning dew, and as they came closer to the water, fog clung to the earth in heavy clouds. The only sounds were those made by their footsteps and the surging of the Gulf. They walked in silence through the fog toward the bed of seaweed.

Suddenly the blurred outline of a boat appeared. Startled, Martha stopped, grabbing Titay's arm. Titay said, “What is it, girl?”

“Granma, you see that?”

“See what?”

Was it a ghost ship? Martha had never seen one like it before. The sails were limp and the boat listed heavily to one side in the low tide, close to shore.

“I git a glimpse of somethin.” Titay moved closer to the water.

“No, Granma. Le's go back.”

“Wait, girl.” Titay held Martha's hand, and as the fog passed in and out they saw that it was a real boat.

They looked up the trail. Only a short distance away Martha saw the form of a man, lying face down. “Granma!” She put her hand over her mouth to stifle a scream. “Look, there's a man! Le's run and warn the village.”

Titay moved toward the stranger.

“No, Granma!”

“If he dead, he can't do no harm. If he live, he might need us t' hep im.”

The man lay in the mud, his wet clothes clinging to him. Titay knelt and turned his head. With one hand she felt the pulse while the quick fingers of the other hand cleared his mouth for easier breathing.

“He breathes,” Titay said, “and he shakes.”

He groaned as Titay covered his body with her shawl.