Midnight Without a Moon(50)

Her voice rattled, like she’d been crying.

“What you doin’ walking seven miles in the dark with these babies?” Papa asked.

Before Aunt Ruthie could answer, Ma Pearl yanked the hat off her head. One of the baby’s diapers was wrapped around her head. Blood had soaked through.

“Lawd, Ruthie,” Ma Pearl snapped. “You done let that ol’ drunk fool beat you again?”

“What happened, Ruthie?” Papa asked gently.

Aunt Ruthie choked back a sob. “He hit me in the head with his steel-toe boot.”

“Lawd-a-mercy,” Papa whispered.

Queen went over to Aunt Ruthie and took the baby from her arms. When Aunt Ruthie’s tears crested, so did mine. I wiped them quickly with the back of my hand.

“Rose, you and Fret’Lee make a pallet on the floor in Grandma Mandy’s room for them chi’ren,” Papa said. “Ruthie and the baby can have the bed.” He turned to Aunt Ruthie and said, “Come on back here. Let me clean you up.”

But Ma Pearl wouldn’t let her go without a fight. She planted herself right in front of Aunt Ruthie’s face. “Don’t make no sense how you let that man beat on you, gal,” she said. “And he’n even feed’n you and them chi’ren?” She shook her head. “You shoulda left that fool long time ago.”

Aunt Ruthie, rubbing her arm and still staring at the floor, choked back sobs. “I’m leaving,” she said. “For good. This the last time he go’n hit me.”

As if hearing her voice triggered their memories, the children began to cry. Papa, in a sterner voice this time, said, “Take them chi’ren on to the back, Rose and Fred.”

Fred Lee had already set his book aside, but I was still sitting on the sofa with the funny pages spread in my lap. I felt immobilized. Everybody talked about Slow John beating Aunt Ruthie, but I always hoped it was an exaggeration. Now I was seeing it for myself. Her children huddled around her, crying—?clinging to her, as if at any minute she could be taken away from them—?was a testimony of how frightening it must have been. Aunt Ruthie herself stood there looking equally frightened, as if the boogeyman himself had chased her and the children through the dark night, along those wooded predator-filled roads, to the safety of her parents’ house. And all she received from her own mama was chastisement, blaming it all on her.

Then, as if Ma Pearl’s words finally registered, Papa asked Aunt Ruthie, “These chi’ren ett?”

Aunt Ruthie glanced at Ma Pearl, then at Papa. “They ett,” she said softly. “They ain’t hongry.”

Ma Pearl snorted. “I bet they ain’t.” She stepped aside as Fred Lee and I pried the children from the folds of Aunt Ruthie’s dress.

“Lord, my chile ain’t got a bit o’ sense,” Ma Pearl said, throwing her hands into the air. “Let’n that man beat the devil outta her.”

“That’s enough from you, Pearl,” Papa said. “This gal can’t help that man so hard. She here now. That’s all that matter.”

“Humph,” Ma Pearl said. “She been here befo’. She’ll go back soon that jackass show up saying he sorry.”

“I ain’t goin’ back” was the last thing I heard Aunt Ruthie say before Fred Lee and I ushered the children to the back. I prayed she was speaking the truth.

While Fred Lee and I got old quilts from the chest in Grandma Mandy’s room, surprisingly, Queen came in and calmed the children. All four of them huddled around her as she sat on the side of Grandma Mandy’s bed and held the baby. At that moment, as she rubbed their backs and whispered, “Hush now. It’s go’n be all right,” I almost liked her. I almost forgot how mean and ugly she could be most of the time.

By the time we got everyone settled—?the children resting on a pallet, Aunt Ruthie cleaned up and in the kitchen sharing a cup of coffee with Papa, Ma Pearl and Queen back to their radio show—?I headed to bed, as it seemed cruel to continue reading the funny pages when there was so much sadness in the house. As I passed through Fred Lee’s room and said good night to him, there was another knock at the door. My heart knew it was Slow John, and again it threatened to pound out of my chest.

As much as I wanted to run to my bed and hide my head under a pillow (actually I wanted to hide my whole body under the bed), my feet wouldn’t allow me. As if drawn by a force unknown, they turned and headed toward the front of the house.

Boom. Boom. Boom. Boom.

“Who there?” Papa asked. I’m sure he knew as well as we all did that it was Slow John.

“I came to git my wife,” Slow John bellowed from the other side of the door.

Papa didn’t open the door. He picked up his shotgun instead. “Go home and git some rest, John,” he called through the door. “Sleep off them spirits.”

“I ain’t drunk, old man,” Slow John answered. “I ain’t goin’ nowhere b’dout my wife.”

“Ruthie and the chi’ren stayin’ here tonight,” said Papa.

Boom. Boom. Boom. Boom. “Open this do’, old man.”

“Git off my porch, John,” Papa said. “?’Fore I blast you off.”

From the other side of the door, Slow John let out a drunken laugh. “You won’t shoot me, you old fool.”