Jilo (Witching Savannah #4)(38)
May closed her eyes and drew a deep breath. When she opened her eyes again, she patted Betty’s shoulder. “ ’Course she gonna stay with me. I’m her nana, ain’t I?”
Betty’s eyes widened and a shudder of relief ran through her. “Thank you,” she managed before her words turned to throaty sobs.
“Now enough of that nonsense,” May said, a harshness rising unbidden to her words. She braced herself, looking for the strength to give this woman one more chance to do right. “ ’Course, you could stay, too. Finish raising your girls here with me.”
Betty’s sobs stopped cold, and her eyes opened in something very near to horror. “Oh, May,” she said, her haughty Yankee tone resurrecting itself in just two syllables. “I could never stay on here.” She cast a disapproving eye over May’s entire world. “No, I have to get back home. Back to New York.” She leaned a tad forward, as if she were about to share her most cherished secret. “You see, I love him.”
May nodded. “All right, then.” She turned to the maid. “You fetch the baby’s things. Bring them inside.” At the squeak of the porch swing, she looked back to see Betty standing, already holding her infant out toward May.
May accepted the child into her arms and pulled her into her bosom, even as the baby’s natural mother fumbled with buttons to hide her own exposed breasts. May turned to take the child inside, but Betty’s voice stopped her.
“I know I ain’t a good mother. Hell, I ain’t really any kind of mother at all.” She licked her lips, then rushed on as if to prevent May from responding. “I’m not a good woman. I’m selfish. I’m vain. I’m greedy. If there is a bad choice to make, you can bet your last dollar I will make it. But in my sorry life, I have done one thing right.” She paused and fixed May with her gaze. “I have left my girls in your care. ’Cause I want them to learn something I could never teach them. I want them to grow up like you.”
Betty pushed past May and hurried down the steps of the porch. She ducked into her shiny long car as soon as her driver opened its door.
This time, May had no urge to chase after this foolish woman child. Neither to punish her nor to beg her to stay. May stood firm, watching as the young maid struggled with the baby’s belongings as Opal had struggled with those damned cardboard suitcases so many years before. May ran her hand over the back of the now-sleeping child’s head, then placed a kiss on her brow. “Don’t you worry, little one. Your nana, she loves you.”
SIXTEEN
December 1940
“When was Jesus born?” Poppy sang in a low, sweet voice as she pumped water into a sink full of dishes. She’d inherited her mama Betty’s talent for singing. May counted it among one of her greatest successes that the girl’s voice was all of her mama she seemed to carry in her. “It was the last month of the year.” Poppy was such a beautiful thing, even in the harsh white of the electric light. For a moment, May missed the soft flicker of her kerosene lamp, but she had to admit she was growing used to these modern conveniences the “Hoodoo” money had brought their way.
Poppy took after her great-grandmother Tuesday, standing barely five feet tall, and with a waist not much thicker than a willow branch. It both pleased and worried May that she’d filled out nicely in those places that men liked to see full.
May had only agreed to let Poppy head up to Charlotte in exchange for the girl’s promise to keep her head screwed on tight and her skirt pulled down over her knees. So far, May believed she’d kept her word, although her guardian, a pastor’s wife, had written to say her husband wearied of the sound of pebbles ricocheting off the upstairs windows every night. Poppy was fifteen, the same age Betty had been when she became May’s daughter-in-law, and with full lips, high cheekbones, and deep brown eyes, she was prettier than most by far. The preacher’s missus informed May that her granddaughter had plenty of suitors, but none of them had managed to capture her heart. Yet. It might be December, but May was no fool. A fresh new spring lay just around the corner.
Poppy sensed her grandmother’s presence and looked back over her shoulder. “Nana, you want me to get Jilo ready for bed when I finish up with these?”
“Naw, girl.” May crossed the room to place a kiss on Poppy’s head. “Jilo’s big enough to handle herself now, and Binah, she’s sleeping—for now, at least.” The baby still hadn’t taken to sleeping the night through, although that mattered less to May than it once might have. She almost looked forward to the sound of Binah’s fretful stirrings. It made the long, sleepless nights less lonely. “You done helped enough around here today. ’Course Jilo might like for you to read her a story from that book you brung her.”
Poppy looked up from the soapy water and smiled at her. “No, little miss is gonna want to show off by reading me one of the stories her own self. That girl is smarter than the rest of us put together.” The tone of her voice and the smile in her eyes told May Poppy couldn’t be prouder of that fact.
“Yeah, you probably right.” May leaned her hip against the sink’s cold porcelain lip. “It’s so good to have you home, even if it is just for a few days.”
“I didn’t want to miss Christmas . . . and”—her smile faded—“I just had to see her with my own eyes.”