Excerpt
Though the sun was barely up, Mama already looked worn out standing there waiting to wave us on and I noticed how her old dress hung off her shoulder under the apron she always wore. That was the first time I ever looked at Mama from a distance and gave her any thought. Like the old pot on the cook stove, she was just always there; steady and unwavering, giving up her own existence to create a life for us. I didnt want to leave Mama now or ever, but I knew I was expected to make my own way and at least I had Jack.
Life had been hard on all of us, but especially Mama. Mr. Jim (we called him that since Mama began seeing him) didnt come to see us off. He was probably still sleeping off the state hed got himself in the night before. Maybe it was his way of dealing with everything. Mama never said much. She just worked hard washing clothes for all the town folks. We never had much but Mama made sure our clothes were clean, we had food to eat, and when the cotton got picked we went to school. A lot of the poor kids didnt go to school and most of the girls never went more than the sixth grade. It didnt seem to make any difference in Star City as long as you could read.
I did not like school. It was bad enough we were poor, but Sister had a hearing problem and got teased all the time. Most of the kids thought she was just stupid. I hated the teachers for not helping her more and for their lack of understanding. But I did like to read. I wished I could have gotten hold of more books. What Id read about I didnt always understand, but it did seem that if you searched hard enough, there were secret worlds hiding behind the words, waiting to be discovered.
I looked at Jacks face as he got down in front of me to cram the food sack under our bench with his clothes. How could he be grinning? Mama called me mousy because I never talked much and was always scared of people I did not know. But not Jack! He sat back down beside me and began waving at Mama and some friends like we were in a big parade! I would never understand the way he thought about life. I looked at Mama moving further back from the truck as others crowded forward to say their goodbyes. I waved too, and forced a smile, but I knew Mama could see the tears welling up in my eyes.
I watched her as the dry hot wind spit pellets of dirt up against her legs. Her brown hair was thin and pulled back into a ball. Wisps were flying over her ears and across her face and I noticed it was turning gray and wondered how long it had been like that. She had her arms crossed over her belly, leaning into her swayback, her broad feet spread out in the same old shoes shed worn ever since I could remember. Swallowing hard, my throat choked back the sobs that were trying to erupt. There was more feeling swelling up in me at that moment than I had ever felt in my entire life. Anger, sorrow, fear and excitement was an explosive mix.
He let the truck roll to a stop in front of the old church that held memories from his childhood. Feeling empty of energy, he sat there watching the dust from the road hover in the air as if waiting patiently to find a place to settle. Gazing at the worn structure, the steeples peeling boards, he knew it should be painted before the summer was over. Hed talk to some of the other men about it when he had time.
Ralph usually moved with a steady purpose, but for the moment he appeared content to ramble, at least mentally. He picked up his old handkerchief from where hed dropped it on the seat, wiped across his brow, and pushed his hat back off his forehead. It was a habit he was not really aware he had. Then he purposefully turned his head toward the graveyard.
For a few moments he just sat there staring, though not at all seeing the curved shape of the iron above the gate with the words Tharps Grove Cemetery molded into place. Nor was he able to focus on that which was just inside the iron fence. His head was turned in the right direction and his eyes were open, but his mind was looking backward in time.
There in that private space somewhere deep inside of his head floated the only vision that penetrated his thoughts. There he saw Bessie. She was standing at their kitchen table holding a baby in her arms. Her soft auburn hair was pulled back but strands had come loose and they were tucked behind her ears. Flour was dusted across her face as she rocked her body back and forth, cradling the baby in a blanket and holding the bundle closely at her breast. It was a soft memory. Unsure why this particular memory was the one he seemed to hold on to while others faded, Ralph decided it was probably because he loved her way of mothering the children more than anything else about her.
Looking up, he was unaware of how much time had passed when the apparition left him, and he lowered his head slowly feeling the ache of his loss once again. Tears beaded in his eyes and for a moment the world spun out of control as he allowed the reality of life to seep back into his soul where emotion ruled. Bessie was not at home any more, nor would she ever hold their babies again. Bessie was forever locked inside that iron fence in a grave in the family plot. Pulling the lever on the door, he angrily pushed himself out of the truck letting the heavy metal swing wide as it succumbed to the gravity of the land.
Ralph Abraham Showalter pushed his hat back again and paused beside the truck bed as though unsure about what he was doing there. Then, not bothering to shut the door he moved somberly across the dry earth towards the iron fence. Gently shoving the gate aside and moving hesitantly past the fence, he walked to the patch of dried ground that held his wife. He stopped, his head bent downward, but his eyes still clutching to the vision in his mind. It had been nearly five years since theyd buried her there, yet it seemed like only yesterday that Ralph had been forced to move on alone.
He sighed and focused his eyes on the reality of her grave. Today, he needed her.
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