Letters to Missy Violet (7 page)

Cleveland won first prize for his essay about the Bible trees and the nice pictures he drew to go with it. He won a fountain pen and a bottle of India ink. I won second prize! A package of green writing paper with matching green envelopes, just what I need to write lots of letters to you, Missy Violet. Ruby Dean Baker won third prize, a set of composition books. She won for best effort and best penmanship. Her essay was sad—it was about her mama and papa getting drowned in a rowboat while they were out fishing and how she and her sisters and brothers had to come live with their grandma.

Ruby Dean didn't really read her essay—she mostly just told it. The class was real quiet while she was talking, even Charles. We all felt sorry about what had happened to her mama and papa. Maybe that's why Miss Battle gave her third prize. Margie Poole was soooo jealous. Arma Jean and Jeff Brown received As. I got an A. Charles got a C, mostly because of his bad spelling and his clowning.

Essay time is all over. Miss Battle said next month we will be doing a lot of arithmetic. I used to hate arithmetic, but now I want to learn it because I want to be a nurse or a midwife like you, Missy Violet. And I must be able to weigh and measure when I make tonics and poultices and catch babies. I have to know how to put in so much of this and so much of that. I am going to try to like arithmetic now.

Oh, Missy Violet, I almost forgot to tell you about the new girl. A new girl started school with us in August. Her name is Easter Brownlee and she is eleven years old. She said her mama named her Easter because she was born on an Easter Sunday. Mister Brownlee the undertaker is her uncle and she came to live with him and Missus Brownlee after her mama ran off with a married man. Everybody gathered around her at recess time because they all wanted to know what it is like to live in a funeral home.

Easter told us her uncle learned the undertaker business from his father, who learned it from his father, who was born in slavery time. His master used to hire him out to a white undertaker who lived in his town. She said the white undertaker used his stable for his undertaker business and he taught the slave “the business of the dead.” That was just the way she said it: “the business of the dead.”

She said she hated living in a funeral home. She said it gave her the creeps. She gave us the creeps too. “There's two bodies down in the basement right now while we standin' here talkin',” Easter told us.

“You ever see any of them dead folks down in the basement?” Charles asked, with his mouth hanging open like a catfish.

“My uncle took me down there to see a little girl one time,” Easter said. “She just looked like she was sleepin'.”

“Were you scared?” somebody asked.

“Yeah,” the new girl said. Then Miss Battle came over and broke us up before she could tell us what happened.

“You wanna walk home together?” Charles asked the new girl as we were going back into the schoolhouse. He wanted to hear more about the dead people. Easter nodded her head yes. So Charles and I and Arma Jean and Cleveland and Jeff and Ruby Dean walked home from school with her.

Charles was full of questions as we walked along. “You ever hear them dead folks walkin' around down there in the basement?” he asked. “Do they really moan and groan while the undertaker workin' on 'em?”

But Easter cut him off with a question of her own. “Are you the kids who broke into the church and tampered with that body a few weeks ago?” she asked. Charles's face turned bright red. Arma Jean poked me with her elbow.

“What you got to say, Charles,” Arma Jean said, all calm and cool.

“Oh, shut up, Arma Jean! Just shut up!” Charles squawked.

“Yeah, it was us,” Arma Jean said. “But Charles was the ringleader.”

“It wasn't a very smart thing to do. You know you could go to jail for that. Or catch some kind of germ,” the new girl said. And I knew I was going to like her from that day on, because she had made Charles look stupid—him and his prank. Miss Battle would call this girl “apt.” I invited Easter to come to knitting lessons with Arma Jean and me when you get back from Florida, Missy Violet. I hope you don't mind. I think you will like Easter. She made Arma Jean and I see how lucky we are to be living in a regular house with regular people instead of in a funeral home with dead folks.

Please write back soon.

Your best helper girl,

Viney

 

October 30, 1929

Dear Viney,

A salute to you and your friends. You all worked hard on your essays, and see how it turned out? I am sure all of your parents are so proud. I hope you children will work just as hard for the rest of the year.

Where is Charles? Give him my love. Tell him to write me.

If all goes well, I should be home before the new year.

Yours very truly,

Missy Violet

We had some goings-on at our house early this morning! Mama and Savannah were in the yard washing clothes when Mary Lee Washington come stumbling by on her way home from “an all-night drunk,” Mama said. She must have thought she was already home because she stumbled up on our front porch and sat down on the steps.

Mama went around to the steps and hollered at her to get off our porch and go on home. “You ought to be shame a yourself, Mary Lee. Drunk first thing in the mornin'. An' you a new mother. You ought to be home nursin' your baby!” Mama told her. When Mama said that, Mary Lee began to cry. I never saw anybody cry like that before, even when somebody died. It was like something broke loose deep down inside her and she was crying for the whole wide world.

Mama went and sat down beside her on the steps. “Mary Lee, I'm sorry. You know you shouldn't be out here like this and you just had a newborn baby,” Mama said, and I could tell by the way Mama said it, she was real sorry. Mama put her arm around Mary Lee's shoulder. She asked Mary Lee who was at home with her baby and Mary Lee said the baby was with her mama and papa. “But why you not home with her?” Mama kept wanting to know.

“Miss Lena, you seen my baby?” Mary Lee asked.

“Girl, you know I never saw your baby,” Mama answered. But Mama had heard about the baby, because people were whispering about it, saying it was malformed. Some said it had two heads and four arms. Some said it didn't have any arms at all. Mary Lee had named her Anna Rose.

“Miss Lena, my poor baby is malformed. She shaped like a fish where she ought to have legs. But she got the sweetest face you ever did see,” Mary Lee said. Then she began to cry again.

“Why, Miss Lena? Why? Why this happen to my baby?” Mary Lee asked.

Mama was quiet for a minute, then said, “These things just happen sometimes, Mary Lee. I'm so sorry it had to happen to you.”

Mary Lee looked up at Mama. “I know why it happened, Miss Lena. I ain't been wantin' to say it out loud, but I know why this happened to me. The Lord, He punishin' me.”

“No, Mary Lee, don't say that.” Mama tried to hush her up.

“It's true,” said Mary Lee. “The Lord punishin' me for all them bad things I done. You know, Miss Lena, I started drinkin' liquor and smokin' cigarettes when I was just twelve years old. Started foolin' 'round with boys and men when I was thirteen. Sassed my mama and papa when they tried to chastise me. Now all this done come back on my little baby.”

I heard Mama suck in her breath. “What you think the Lord is, Mary Lee? A great big ol' bully, go 'round pickin' on little babies? No, honey—things just go wrong sometimes. The Good Book say, ‘Chance happeneth to them all.' Everybody have bad things happen to them sometimes.”

Later, when Mama came in the house, I told her I knew about some medicine that would make Mary Lee feel better. “How you know 'bout Mary Lee?” Mama asked, and I had to tell her that I was standing inside the screen door while they were talking and heard what they said.

“My baby, always just happen to be standin' somewhere listenin' in on grown folks' conversations?” Mama laughed.

“Now, what's this medicine you talkin' about?” Mama asked.

“I learned about it this summer when I was helping Missy Violet catch babies. It's called goldenseal, and I know what it looks like in the woods and everything, and I could get some for her and make her some tea. Missy Violet says it's good to calm the nerves, and she gives it to her skittish patients.”

So the next day me and Mama went into the woods looking for goldenseal. It made me think about the times I went into the woods with Missy Violet, and I was proud I was able to show Mama what I had learned. I was so glad I had paid attention when Missy Violet was teaching me about the roots and herbs. She always made a little game out of it by teaching me the nicknames of the different plants. It's easier to remember the nicknames, like skullcap or coltsfoot or skunk cabbage or shepherd's purse or devil's bones.

Mama and I kept walking in the woods. “There it is, Mama!” I hollered when I saw the plant. “See, the leaves have five sides. Three big sides and two little sides.” I spread the leaves out so Mama could see. “Now, we take only what we need and leave a bunch so it will grow back next year,” I said, trying to sound like Missy Violet, and grabbed two stems and yanked them out of the ground. I was so proud I could show Mama how to “gather.”

“Look!” I hollered when the fat yellow root popped out of the ground.

“It looks almost like a carrot,” Mama said.

“Only it's golden, not orange,” I pointed out.

“Missy Violet would be so proud of you,” Mama said as she watched me wrap the goldenseal up in a kitchen towel we had brought. But when we got home and Mama was telling everybody how good I was at gathering roots and herbs, I remembered something that made me feel as dumb as a rock.

“Mama!” I whispered.

“What's the matter?” Mama asked.

“I forgot something real important.”

“What?”

“The roots have to be dried and ground up.”

“All right,” Mama said.

“But it takes weeks for them dry,” I said, “and Mary Lee needs the medicine right away.”

“Oh, that is a fly in the buttermilk,” Mama said. “But you still know your beans, honey. You remembered that the roots have to be dried. That's very good.”

“But what about Mary Lee?” I asked.

“Well, she'll just have to wait. You meant well, baby.”

“I know,” I said. “I can go over to Missy Violet's and go in her glass cabinet and get some goldenseal that's already made into tea and take it to Mary Lee.”

“Now, you can't go in Missy Violet's house while she's away,” Mama said.

“But Savannah or one of the boys goes down there every day to feed Duke and the cow.”

“I don't care. You can't go trespassin' inside someone's house while she's away. Now, that's that!” Mama pressed her lips together tight like the clasp on a change purse, and I knew she meant what she said.

That afternoon Charles asked if he could borrow one of my lead pencils so he could do his homework, and that gave me an idea. “Maybe I could borrow some goldenseal tea from one of Missy Violet's nervous patients.” But who? Miss Roula? No, Miss Roula took boneset tonic for the tired blood. Miss Sarah Bright? No, Miss Bright took a little blackberry wine. Then it came to me like a bright ray of sunshine: Miss Petty! Miss Petty was a little sliver of a lady who played the piano at church. A spinster lady who fluttered like a hummingbird every time someone spoke to her. Missy Violet always took her skullcap and pennyroyal and goldenseal for her nerves. Maybe she still had some.

But Miss Petty kept to herself and didn't like children. Especially since the time Missy Violet sent me over to her house with some tea and Charles followed me over there and acted the fool. He got up under Miss Petty's window and made his voice go up real high and hollered, “Miz Pity, Miz Pity Pity!”

Miss Petty came to the window and looked out. When she saw Charles, her eyes got as big as saucers and she started to scream. Miss Petty is scared to death of men and boys. She didn't even see me. I tried to tell her it was me with her tea, but Charles in his devilment kept squallin', “Miz Pity, Miz Pity!” and the poor lady got so nervous and confused, she ran straight through the house and out the back door! So Missy Violet had to deliver the tea herself. Now when Miss Petty sees me or Charles at church, she starts to shake all over.

I don't know how to ask Miss Petty for her tea now. How am I going to help poor Mary Lee?

I want to write and tell Missy Violet all about Mary Lee, but Mama would kill me. She'd say I was getting in grown folks' business. I know Mama will tell Missy Violet all about it when she comes home.

I told Arma Jean about Mary Lee. She said she would go with me to see Miss Petty. We didn't let Charles know about our plan. But Mama found out about it and told Arma Jean and me, “Leave that poor soul alone!” She said the safe thing to do would be to let her ask Miss Petty. But will she listen to Mama?

Mama approached Miss Petty at church one Sunday. Arma Jean and I were watching as Mama walked up to the piano. Miss Petty flinched when she heard Mama behind her. “Good mornin', Merlene. How you this fine Sunday mornin'?” Mama said in a real easy voice, and Miss Petty looked up at Mama over the top of her spectacles.