Healing Ruby: A Novel Read online

  Mother sighed as she pulled my unruly hair up off my shoulders, her eyes softening. “You’ll need a girdle and a brassiere before you can wear it out, but it’s lovely on you. You’re getting so grown up, Ruby. I just don’t know where the time goes.” Her voice almost broke, and I couldn’t for the life of me understand why she’d be sad. She was the one always telling me to act my age.

  “Not too grown up,” I said, hoping to make her smile.

  “Well, enough to look like a beautiful young lady in this dress. I’m surprised your father wanted to buy it. He’s always grumbling about you being his little girl and growing up too fast. I imagine any boy taking an interest in you is going to have a time of it with your father.”

  “Oh, Mother. I don’t even want to think about boys that way.”

  Mother let my hair down, combing her fingers through tangles and smiling at me like I amused her somehow. “Well, there’s no hurry. But I’m sure it won’t be long before you change your mind. Now let’s get you back into something warm.”

  I glanced down at the dress and ran my hands along the waist once more. Mother was right about one thing. As much as I hated it, my body was changing. Ever since I’d turned thirteen, no matter how hard I prayed, my body started to curve and grow in places that made me blush to think about. Only, right then with Mother, feeling the soft fabric on my skin, I didn’t hate it so much. For a moment, I imagined myself walking through town, matching red shoes clicking on the sidewalk, and I wondered how it would feel for a boy to smile at me. My cheeks warmed just thinking about it.

  I glanced at Mother’s reflection in the mirror, hoping she couldn’t read my thoughts, but she seemed lost in her own. She untied the dress and helped me out of it. Then I went ahead and put on my nightgown and cap before wrapping up in a coat. I followed her back into the main house to sit with Daddy and the boys for a while longer, listening as Daddy read the Bible and led us in our nightly prayers. I tried to pay attention as best I could, but I couldn’t help wondering about what things would be like from then on. It made my stomach ache, like I’d swallowed a ball of lead with my supper. I had this awful feeling that everything was about to change, and I couldn’t imagine what my life would look like. But all that seemed like doubt, and Daddy needed my faith to be strong. So I prayed my most faithful prayers that night, over and over, until I finally fell asleep.

  They didn’t put anything in place of the foot diabetes took from Daddy. And as much as I had expected him to be in pain for a little while, to hobble around and grumble at us about being cooped up like a hen, I never expected that he wouldn’t start getting better eventually. As the last of the leaves abandoned the trees, and the morning air grew so cold it felt like needles on my skin, something inside of me grew colder as well. Every time I watched Daddy shuffle across the room from his chair to the table, a grimace permanently etched into the lines of his face, my insides trembled like I was freezing from the inside out. It was all wrong.

  By the middle of January, he’d stopped coming to the table altogether, and Mother took his food to him in his chair at every meal. She’d spend her day working from before sunrise until late into the night taking care of all of us, the house, the animals, and especially Daddy. Some days, she looked like she was ready to fall over right where she stood. She’d be watching something cooking on the stove, and I’d see her sway slightly. My stomach would drop, but she’d shake her head, push her hair back from her face, and stiffen her whole body as if she could will herself not to be tired. I tried to help. I’d come up beside her and start to put my hands to work, but she’d shoo me away like a fly buzzing at her.

  All the while Daddy watched her from his chair beside the fireplace. He watched all of us. His eyes had always had a spark of fire, so cheerful when we weren’t acting foolish, and even then they seemed to have a bit of kindness behind their fierceness. But as his eyes followed us through the daily activities around him, they seemed to fade a little each day. He still smiled at me as I came through the door after school, still listened as I told him about my day. He’d pet my hair as I sat on the floor and leaned against his good leg, and for a few minutes I’d feel better. But hope didn’t hang around for long.

  By the end of January it was clear that Daddy couldn’t get around town to meet with mill owners to arrange next year’s cotton and seed prices. Mr. Allgood, the foreman at the gin, took over most of the traveling and meetings, and he came by often to keep Daddy informed. Mr. Allgood could run that gin with both his eyes shut, but he wasn’t the salesman Daddy was, and I could see how much it upset Daddy when he felt Mr. Allgood had settled for a bad deal. Dr. Fisher had to tell him to stop coming by so much, but I don’t think Mr. Allgood’s visits were upsetting Daddy near as much as people thought. It was the visits from local farmers, most of them friends, that seemed to leave Daddy in the darkest spirits. Most of the time, Henry and I were sent out to finish chores, and when we’d come back in he’d have his head resting against the back of the chair with his eyes closed, mumbling prayers about God’s provision for our neighbors. I wondered who was praying for God’s provision for us.

  One day I was sitting out in the dog run enjoying a rare day of what almost felt like a warm breeze when I heard Mr. Allgood and Daddy through the door that was cracked open. Normally I didn’t care too much about business, but they both sounded upset, and I couldn’t help but overhear.

  “Abner, you gotta listen to reason,” Mr. Allgood said. “We just can’t afford what you’re doing. We got to pay the boys, and we got to finish paying on the new equipment. You and I have to provide for our own families.”

  “I know but you see what’s going on ’round here as much as I do. People we been friends with our whole lives are hurting. If borrowing against their crop keeps their families fed and warm through the winter, then that’s what I can do for ’em. I can’t just watch as my neighbors go homeless and hungry.”

  I could hear Mr. Allgood pacing back and forth across the floor. He did that a lot lately. “You keep this up, and we’ll be homeless ourselves. You got a good heart, Abner, I’ll give you that. But you been doing this for years, giving out advances and taking the hit when someone’s crop don’t come in like it should. Times ain’t what they were even a year ago, and it’s gonna keep on getting worse. I’m telling you, we can’t keep doing it. I know the Good Lord wants us to give, but you can’t run a business by forgiving debts owed to you while you still owe debts yourself. Now I talked with John Murray this morning, and he says you’re going to advance him two hundred dollars on his crop this fall.”

  “Man’s got to feed his family.” Daddy’s voice was nearly a growl.

  “Well, I won’t go back on the deal you made with him, but we ain’t doing any more, hear me?”

  Mr. Allgood left soon after that, and when I went inside, Daddy was sitting in his chair staring intently at the fire. I fixed him a cup of coffee from the stove with a bit of milk in it, just how he liked it. As I handed it to him, he gave me a small smile and mumbled, “Thank you, baby girl.”

  Matthew didn’t come back to school after getting sick during the game, not even after Christmas. By then everyone had heard about his condition, and the doctors in Birmingham hadn’t been able to do anything for him. Some said it was cause he’d waited too long to tell anyone he was sick, while others murmured awful things about God’s judgment. I couldn’t bring myself to ask Mary about it all, even though we started becoming friends. Besides, she kept most of it locked inside herself, and I could understand that better than I wanted to.

  I’m not quite sure how it happened, but about the time Mary started withdrawing from her friends, she started sitting with me at lunch. On pretty days, when it wasn’t too cold, we’d go down to my favorite spot by the creek that ran through the woods behind school, and I didn’t mind one bit sharing my corner of the world with her. We shared in each other’s worries without having to say them out loud. Mostly we talked about the books we were reading and the plac
es where we wanted to travel. I saw the same look in her eyes and heard the same ache in her voice that I felt consuming me. I started to think that maybe we weren’t as different as I’d once thought. Maybe suffering paid no attention to money or standing. Some days we didn’t even say anything at all really—just threw rocks and pebbles into the water. Some days, though, the pain couldn’t help spilling out of us.

  “Matthew woke up in a puddle of blood on his pillow this morning,” Mary said one afternoon as she tossed a handful of pebbles into the water. She dusted off her palm and walked up the bank to sit down by me on the grass. “It was everywhere. Daddy’s got to replace the paper on the wall again.”

  I listened, but couldn’t think of one thing to say. What do you say to someone watching death creep in on a loved one? I knew there was nothing, cause deep down I knew I was watching it creep into my house too. Mary sighed, like she did on the days she was spent.

  “It’s awful, I know,” she said, “but I’m tired of cleaning up after him. Tired of watching him suffer.”

  “Don’t you have hired help that cleans up?”

  “We did, but she quit. Said something awful had a hold on Matthew, and she wasn’t about to let it catch her. None of the others will do it either. I guess she spooked them good. I been doing it for a couple of weeks now.”

  I had a thought then, a crazy thought. “Mary, do you think your mother would let me help out around your house? Hire me to clean up after Matthew and help take care of him?”

  Her mouth dropped open. “Why on earth would you want to do that?”

  “Why not?”

  “Cause, you’re my friend. That’s work for colored folk. Wouldn’t that be strange?”

  I shrugged. “Maybe. But it’d be better than wandering around our place in the afternoons. I want to do something useful. James works himself to the bone outside, not saying anything to anybody. Mother works herself to the bone inside, not saying anything to anybody. And neither of them let me do anything to help.”

  I dropped my head, ashamed of the real reasons I wanted to get away from my house. I was sinking into something awful at home, a fear I couldn’t fight my way out of. But I couldn’t find a way to explain that to Mary. For a couple of minutes, all I heard was the stream babbling at me like it too thought I was absurd. Then Mary sighed and covered my hand with hers.

  “I’ve never had a friend working at the house. Maybe it would be nice. I’ll ask Mother. But you better make sure your mother’s all right with it too.”

  She might’ve been all right with it if Daddy had ever let her say anything, but as soon as the words left my mouth that night he practically launched himself out of his chair in protest.

  “No! I won’t allow it!” He nearly stumbled into the fire before he steadied himself against the mantle.

  “But, Daddy,” I said. “If I can help, even a little—”

  “The Doyles got plenty a money for hiring their own help. They don’t need you.”

  “I wasn’t talking about them. I was talking about us.”

  I saw the flash of anger in his eyes and snapped my mouth shut. “You saying I ain’t providing for my family, girl?”

  “Now, Abner,” Mother said. “Don’t go getting all upset.” She sat in her rocking chair by the fire, her sewing in her lap. She’d dropped it abruptly as Daddy stumbled, but now she picked it up and went back to sewing. She wouldn’t even look up at me, and I noticed her hands shaking.

  “No daughter of mine’s gonna work as a servant in someone else’s house like common colored folk. Besides, your mother needs you here.”

  “Mother, tell him. I just want to be useful. I want to help Mary and her family. None of the colored help will take care of Matthew. They’re too scared.”

  Daddy slammed his cane into the wood floor. “Absolutely not! If they won’t work, then they’re useless anyway. I won’t have it, Ruby.”

  And that was the end of it.

  Spring was approaching, so I did what I could to help with the chores around the house. Daddy never let me do outside chores—said it wasn’t right for a little girl—but I figured what he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt nothing. I watched Mother milk the cow hoping to learn it myself, but Betsy was temperamental, and I struggled to find the right feel for milking her. Still, I did my best and was able to relieve Mother a couple of times a week. I fed the chickens too, but no matter how much I wanted to help out, I refused to mess with the pigs. I hated pigs. Hated that snotty noise they made and especially the smell. So I stayed far away from them. Despite all the work around the farm, I still had too much time on my hands, so I’d take a book off into the woods and find me a quiet place to get lost.

  I noticed my brothers doing the same thing—finding ways to escape. James just worked harder and later around the farm, and if there wasn’t enough to do there he’d help out the neighbors. But Henry threw himself into baseball. Even after practice with the school team, he’d find enough friends to keep a game going until dark. I realized that I missed him, and that made me so mad I couldn’t hardly think straight. I asked him one morning on the way to school if he’d come home after practice and go fishing with me.

  “Rubes, I’d love to, but I told the guys I’d play ball with them.” He tugged on one of my braids. “How ’bout tomorrow?”

  I looked up at him to see if he was for real. I could always tell the difference, even when others couldn’t. “You won’t do it tomorrow either,” I said.

  “Sure I will!” He stopped and put his hand over his heart. “I solemnly promise to take you, Ruby Graves, to the fishing hole tomorrow after school. So help me, God.”

  I tried not to smile cause I knew he didn’t mean it, but Henry’s wide smile and the gleam in his eyes eventually won out, as usual.

  “We’ll see,” I said.

  The next morning, he went through the same promise again, but didn’t make it home until well after dark. I tried not to get mad at him, cause I knew why he didn’t want to come home, but I couldn’t help it. I needed someone to talk to. That night while we were all lying in bed waiting on sleep, I told him he was a rotten brother and not to worry about fishing with me anymore, or anything else for that matter. He didn’t say much, only a quiet, “Sorry, Rubes.”

  I rolled to the wall and cried.

  After that I was determined to find some work. So the next day during our lunch break, I asked Mary again if her mom would take me on.

  “I asked her about it,” Mary said. “She’d love to have you if your mom don’t care.”

  Joy leapt through me, and I thanked her, but shame followed close behind. I’d never lied to my parents, and I was going to have to somehow. I didn’t want to disappoint Daddy like that when he was already suffering so much. What kind of daughter would I be? But I’d reached my limit on being useless, and when we parted paths that afternoon, I told Mary to tell her mother I’d come by soon to talk to her.

  Chapter Three

  So for the first time in my life, I lied to my mother.

  Later that week, I told her I was going to be in the school play at the end of the year, and I’d be rehearsing in the afternoons. I wasn’t sure what I was going to say when the end of school came and there was no play going on, but it was the best I could do for the moment. Besides, Mother was so tired and James was so busy, they barely noticed when I was around. So I figured they wouldn’t notice my absence much either.

  That Saturday morning I walked the two miles through the woods and fields that separated our property from the Doyles’. Their yard was covered in a soft green grass that was perfect for laying on and watching clouds pass over—not like the dust that covered ours. The white three-story house rose out of the middle of that sea of green, and it shined against the blue sky like the sun. Huge magnolia trees anchored each side, and flower beds surrounded it with a rainbow of bright colors. It wasn’t an especially large plot of land, but it was the most beautiful in all of the county as far as I’d seen. I imagined it was the l
oveliest in all of Alabama.

  I came out of the woods onto the path that circled the property and followed it around to the front. By that time, I’d about lost my nerve. Mary was kind, and she made it easy to talk to her. But I didn’t really know her parents very well, except for the occasional polite greetings in town. I looked down at my smudged dress and dull shoes wondering what kind of impression I was about to make. I started to turn around, but the thought of spending another day alone fretting over why God hadn’t healed Daddy just made me feel empty inside. So I rang the doorbell and hoped Mary would answer.

  In a few moments, the door swung open, and the tallest, darkest man I’d ever seen looked down at me. I knew the Doyles had colored servants, so it shouldn’t have surprised me in the least, but this was the closest I’d ever been to one, and I couldn’t help but stare at how black his eyes were. He leaned down and gave me a smile.

  “Can I help you?” he said. His voice was smooth and inviting.

  “Is, um, is Mary home?”

  He straightened and turned sideways to welcome me inside. “Right this way,” he said, lifting his arm to point down a long hallway.

  As I followed him, I took in the pictures lining the wall, only recognizing a few of the faces. Most of the men, and women for that matter, looked back at me with a stern, haughty air that seemed incensed I’d go traipsing through their precious home. I dropped my gaze to the floor, and we continued around a wide staircase and into a large open sitting room. Mary and Mrs. Doyle were seated close together by the window sewing when I entered the room, and they looked up at me with nearly identical smiles.

  “Ruby, come in,” Mary said, laying her sewing on a nearby table.

  I stepped closer and tried not to fidget with my hands. Mother always said it was a sign of weakness. “Hello, Mrs. Doyle. I hope you’re not too busy.”