Life Is Short But Wide (6 page)

Irene was very glad that Tante liked books and had dreams of going to college. There were not many Negro colleges in their area, if any, as far as she knew. She told Tante, “I know right after freedom came there was several schools and colleges that were started. We’ll find some information on those in Oklahoma. Just give me a little time.” Tante wasn’t thinking about staying in Oklahoma. New York was where she dreamed of going.

Irene was still growing steadily weaker, daily. The medicine the doctor had been giving her did her no good at all. Bertha now came by to see Irene every day. She knew of the lump Irene had discovered at the base of her neck. Irene kept a scarf or towel around her neck so her children and Val would not notice it. The lump gave her pain only occasionally; it just sat in its place, worrying her, sapping the strength from her body. Growing.

At this time, I believe it was around 1938. I’m not sure, but it was after the wars in Europe; Ford Motor Company was mass-producing cars. There were, at least, thirteen million cars on the roads. Traffic lights were in existence, the radio was being sold. There were transcontinental telephones. They had even put the first airplane in a war. Times and things were forging ahead in supposed progress.

Life began to move with more speed. Just a little, but you could feel it. You could see it, if you were watching Life.

Irene’s doctor still did not know what to do with her malady. He really hadn’t worried, he still thought it must be just a Negro thing. He didn’t keep up with any medical journals, they were cast aside as he continued to prescribe, and
sell,
his
powders. Other doctors might be knowledgeable, but they cost more. Irene didn’t want to take any money away from her family.

Val couldn’t ask his Indian doctor for help in the matter because he didn’t know there was a matter yet. He wouldn’t have cared about the money. He knew there was something wrong, but Irene had been especially careful in keeping the growing lump hidden from him. Earlier in her illness, loving Val as she did, and being a passionate woman, she was able to cover her pain from him. Sometime the moans were stifled cries of pain.

She always forced herself to gather enough strength when he was home to cook at least one meal with Rose’s help. But Val lived many nights on the cold ground, dreaming of making love to his wife when he returned home from a long drive; his wife was in no condition to make love to him as she wanted. She told him it was just a woman’s problem. He would ask no more questions … for a while.

Just lately, in the last few months after Tante’s graduation from high school, Irene had taken to staying in the bed later in the mornings. She would hug Val as tight as she could, then push him away, saying, “It’s just a ladies’ problem, honey. Don’t you worry, I’ll be fine pretty soon.” But her voice was getting weaker. Val felt so helpless, and he thought he should not ask his young daughters.

It had taken several hard, long, painful years, but it had to come. One morning Rose went upstairs with a cup of tea for her mother, made from leaves Wings had brought. She had baked a fresh loaf of bread, so there was a thick piece of toast with homemade apple jam on the tray. She planned to coax her mother into eating, but Irene did not answer.

On her mother’s face was a frowning smile, and her hands were closed tightly in fists. Irene had died during the night, quietly, like she did everything else in her life.

Rose set the tray down, and thought she would see her mother raise her head with her loving, grateful smile, as usual. But her mother did not raise her head, as usual. Her dear mother was dead. Irene was dead. Gone.

Rose ran from the room screaming for Tante. She kept running until, across the street, she reached Bertha’s tired, decaying house, screaming for Bertha. Bertha came running through her door to the porch, passing Rose, heading toward Irene’s house. Rose followed her crying, “She dead, Mz. Smith! She died! Oh, my Lord, my Lord. My mama’s gone. What are we gonna do now?!”

Bertha ran up the stairs to the bedroom. Without turning her head, she said to Rose, “Hush, chile, hush. You still got God. You got your daddy; you gonna be alright! You gotta be stronger than you ever been. Your mama may be gone, but your daddy is due home. Go get the minister, any minister, and bring Mr. Gipson from the funeral parlor. Where is Tante?”

Bertha had washed, prepared, and laid out Irene’s body for her burial and the funeral when Val reached his home. Most funeral services were held in the parlor of the deceased’s home; hence the term “funeral parlor” when burying the dead became a business. Money, place, and facilities decided, as things became more modern, the type of funeral a person would have.

The death of his lovely wife hit Val very hard. He had always been able to count on her being there with his children. He hadn’t even known she was really that sick, that close to death. Now … she was gone. And … he loved her.

He had bought her another little pretty turquoise jewel. He had always brought her something when he returned home. She had hundreds of the lovely turquoise pieces. Her oceans. They were given to her to lift her spirit. “But my own soul is gone,” Val thought. “She has left me. I ain’t got nobody no more.”

He lay across the bed Irene had died in and cried, deep, harsh sounds that men make when they are in pain. Sounds of feelings that came from the bottom of his heart and body. He couldn’t stop crying. He finally fell asleep, drained. When he woke during the night his daughters were lying close, one on each side. He placed his arms around them, and fell asleep again, a little comforted. “These are our children. Our flesh.”

In the morning he found his daughters had quietly crawled out of the bed, covering him with a blanket. He went, slowly, downstairs, and putting his arms around his daughters, he thanked God they had their mother until they were almost grown. They cried, again, together.

Juliet cried at home, in her mother’s arms. She had truly loved her “Aunt” Irene.

Everyone knew Rose would take her mother’s death hard, but they were not as sure about Tante. Tante seemed to keep it inside of herself. They only saw her cry, helplessly, a few times. But they could tell by her swollen face in the mornings that she cried during the nights. The two sisters stood holding hands around their father’s back, as he held them close under his arms.

Val was tired, and showing his age also. The blow of Irene’s death had struck him mightily. He had always made sure to hide his weariness from his wife. He didn’t like her to worry that he was getting too old to work such long stretches as he did. There was less cattle herding now, and he thought he had two daughters who expected to go to college. He thanked God the house was paid for.

It was a quiet funeral, many people came from all around the countryside. They brought all types of beautiful wildflowers or blossoming branches of trees. Val didn’t know the little school-shack’s reputation had reached so many people. He was proud. Some people in Wings’s family had come to Irene to learn to read and write also. They came bringing beautiful mementos, flowers, and foods.

No one knew any of Irene’s people to let them know she had passed on. But her husband and daughters grieved very hard. She was buried in a beautifully serene wooded area near Wings’s people. “Rest in Peace, dear Wife and Mother” was carved on her small tombstone by Val.

Then the little family of three went home to plan how to face the future. Val felt he had no future; and he was indeed breaking down. Tante’s grief went into her plans; they became more urgent. She must get away before something happened to make her remain in Wideland. Rose would go to speak with the minister, now and then, to ask him to tell her about the heavenly place where her mother was waiting.

He told her, her mother was waiting in heaven for her family. Tante thought that was untrue. “How does she know where we will go?” She decided her mother was resting and waiting in her grave until the resurrection, as the Bible said she would.

Tante had somehow managed to get a small scholarship, and she had a little money her family and friends had contributed to her education. She was now preparing to leave for college. She kept her mind directed toward the East. She mulled over Hampton and Howard universities. She finally chose Howard University,
smaller then, but already showing evidence of the greatness it would acquire. She was accepted. She had very good scholastic records. She never made less than a B+ in any subject; she worked hard to accomplish that.

There was no college wardrobe for Tante. She, Rose, Juliet, and Mz. Bertha Smith sewed feverishly, looking at the few magazines Bertha brought from her domestic job for a wealthy mistress. The ladies in the church reached deeply into already empty pockets; they donated several yards of fabric and a good navy-blue, secondhand coat.

But Tante’s looks were clean, fresh, and good enough that the few things she had were the right colors to switch and change around enough to be satisfied. She had to be satisfied. She didn’t want to leave her family sad and more broke than they were already.

Juliet watched from her window, wishing and dreaming that it was herself going off to college, or off to … anywhere.

The young sisters held each other and their father tightly when Tante was leaving for college. Tante was thinking, “I am going to make my own future!” as the train pulled away from the station and the only people in the world she knew who loved her.

Val and Rose watched the train pull farther and farther away, until, and even after, it was long out of sight. Then they walked, slowly, away, holding hands. They were silent for awhile, then Rose said to her father, “One by one our family is disappearing from our life, huh, Daddy?”

He put his arm around her, and patted her shoulder. “There has only been one, Rosie, but such a big empty place she left behind. Life is like that. People go, and some of them come back.
Tante will come back, and we still got each other anyhow.” He smiled down at her, but he didn’t feel that smile in his heart. He still missed Irene, terribly. The only time he felt comforted was on the reservation, where she was buried.