Midnight Without a Moon(66)

Although he had previously been talking about how colored folks in the South would soon have to stand up for their civil rights, for Queen’s entertainment he began to prattle about some up-and-coming rock-and-roll singer he’d heard who was sure to become a favorite of both coloreds and whites.

“Elvis Presley, huh?” Queen said absently as she stared off into the distance.

“Yeah, out of Memphis,” Hallelujah said. “Came from Mississippi, though. Tupelo. Just got out of high school a couple of years ago and already got a music contract. Heard he was just up in Clarksdale last month . . .” He babbled on.

Queen nodded but said nothing.

Fred Lee seemed more interested. Staring buck-eyed at Hallelujah, he said, “I didn’t know you liked white folks’ music.”

I held back a chuckle. Hallelujah wasn’t any more interested in white folks’ music than I was in being Mrs. Robinson’s maid.

Hallelujah beamed. “Oh, it ain’t just white folks’ music Elvis sings. He’s got his own style.”

Sometimes he sounded like such a fool when he got around Queen. Besides, if this Elvis fellow was on the radio, I was sure Queen had already heard of him, as much as she had her ear pressed to that thing, running down Ma Pearl’s “batt’ries.”

“I even hear that colored women are starting to name their sons after him,” Hallelujah continued. “Can you imagine a colored boy named Elvis?”

Queen snapped her head my way and shot me a dirty look. I shook my head discreetly to let her know that if Hallelujah was throwing any hints her way, it wasn’t on account of me. I hadn’t told him a thing about her. Oh, I wanted so badly to tell him. To let him know there was no point in trying to impress Queen anymore, as she was already ruined and unfit to marry a preacher’s boy. But it wasn’t my business to tell. Time and Queen’s growing belly would do that eventually.

“That ain’t Aunt Ruthie, is it?” Fred Lee said, pointing up the road.

We all leaned forward and peered up the road to the west, in the opposite direction of the Robinsons’. Anybody with eyes could see that it was Aunt Ruthie and her brood of young ones stirring up a small puff of dust on the road.

“I hope she didn’t walk seven miles with them chi’ren again,” Queen said, leaping up from her chair.

“There’s no sign of a car anywhere,” I pointed out.

Queen ignored my sarcasm. “I hope Slow John didn’t beat her again,” she said. Without another word, she stormed across the yard toward the road. Within seconds she had joined Aunt Ruthie and begun gathering the children in her arms. In that instant, I knew, despite all her other shortcomings, she was going to make a fine mother.

When they reached the yard, Aunt Ruthie acknowledged us with a nod. Otherwise she kept her head down. Her right arm was wrapped with one of the baby’s diapers, and there was blood on the sleeve of her faded plaid dress.

Out of nowhere, Hallelujah said, “Preacher almost married her.”

My head jerked toward him. “Who?”

“Preacher asked your aunt Ruthie to marry him after my mama died.”

“Your real mama?”

Still staring at Aunt Ruthie as she ambled across the porch, Hallelujah nodded.

We watched Queen settle on the edge of the porch. Her legs dangled from the solid blue trim of her blue and white checkered skirt, and her forehead wrinkled with concern as she gathered Aunt Ruthie’s children on either side of her and cradled the baby in her lap.

“I never knew Reverend Jenkins wanted to marry Aunt Ruthie,” I said.

Hallelujah shrugged. “He said she was one of the smartest women he knew.”

“Ain’t too smart,” Fred Lee said, “lettin’ Slow John hit her like that.”

“Said she used to be one of the prettiest women in Stillwater, too,” Hallelujah said.

“Reverend Jenkins said Aunt Ruthie was pretty?” I asked.

“She is pretty,” said Hallelujah.

“But she’s so d—” I stopped myself when I realized what I was about to imply.

“Dark women is pretty too,” Fred Lee said.

“That ain’t what I was about to say,” I snapped.

“You was,” Fred Lee countered.

Fred Lee was right. I knew Aunt Ruthie was pretty. So why did I find it hard to believe Reverend Jenkins would find her pretty too? For the same reason I couldn’t think of myself as pretty—?my own grandmother had made me feel ashamed of my complexion, saying I was as black as midnight without a moon. But I had to remember my own strange words to Hallelujah on the night before the murder trial ended: stars can’t shine without darkness. And I was determined that one day, instead of fretting over being as dark as midnight without a moon, I would shine as bright as the morning star—?which, Reverend Jenkins told us, is the planet Venus and is also a sign of hope.

“How come Reverend Jenkins didn’t marry Aunt Ruthie?” I asked Hallelujah.

“Miss Sweet wouldn’t let him,” he answered.

“Wonder why,” I mumbled, staring at the house.

“I wish she had,” said Hallelujah. “She’s too smart and pretty for a man like John Walker. Preacher said after Miss Sweet wouldn’t let her marry him, she ran off with the first thing with legs.”