The Devil's Beating His Wife (23 page)

I lifted my leg, but before I could place it back onto the ground, Baxter forced me to stop. I stumbled backwards like I had been thrown to the ground.

Let's not go in there.

"Why not?" I asked.

Spicey, that's sacred ground. There is no telling what might happen to us if we went in there.

"I ain't worried about no sacred ground. It's only blessed to keep the evil spirits out," I said, brushing my skirt down. I truly wasn't worried about whatever we might find there. I pushed ahead, making my decision that we would continue.

I felt Baxter's hesitancy as I stepped onto the ground. "One step. Two steps. Three steps," I said as I moved further into the cemetery. With each step, Baxter increasingly began to relax. Nothing was happening to us.

"See. You was worried for nothing," I told him.

I couldn't be too sure. You remember what happened to you when that priest walked through you. There was no telling what could have happened to us when we entered this place.

Baxter had a point. That priest had stolen a piece of me. Maybe it hadn't been because he was a bad man. Perhaps it was because he was a man of God. I don't know. But there were a lot of things that I didn't know. I was tired of allowing my afterlife to be dictated by a bunch of unknowns.

I walked from row to row, searching for names I recognized. Baxter pointed out people he had known. We mourned a bit when we found the grave of someone we respected.

In spite of my confidence, I was reluctant to enter the one place in the park where I most needed to be. The colored section. With hesitant steps, I began the steep climb up the hill. When I reached the top, I rejoiced. I wasn't panting one bit.

Are you sure you want to know?

"How could you ask me that? Of course I want to know," I said. Of course, I said those words before my legs turned to jelly. As we walked closer and closer to where my brother was buried, my feet grew sluggish. Then I collapsed and I sat on the ground, staring at the white and gray headstones around me.

Baxter let me remain there for a moment. Then he pushed us to our feet.
If we're going to do this, then we need to do this.

I felt like he was dragging me there. I resisted. I could have ended it right then and there by leaving his body, but I didn't. We continued forward until my feet stood at my brother's grave.

You don't know how much I regret that night. I should have done something. I could have stopped Carver, but I think a part of me didn't want to believe he would do it. I'm so very sorry.

I could feel Baxter's regret. His words had been sincere. I knelt and traced my fingers over the etchings in the stone. I touched my brother's name and felt peace settle inside of me. I wasn't sure if the peace was Baxter's or mine.

Reluctantly, I pulled my hand away. I closed my eyes for a moment, preparing myself for what I was going to see. Beside my brother's headstone was one other headstone. It was the same size as his.

I didn't want to read the words etched into its surface. But I needed to. I crawled across the grass and settled before the headstone. I closed my eyes and slowly opened them.

Spicey Harrell. 1923-1945. Beloved Daughter. Beloved Sister.

Goddamn, but that wasn't what I expected to read. I pushed to my feet and kicked at the stone. "No. No. No. No."

Calm down, Spicey.

Baxter's words just infuriated me more.

Why are you surprised to find yourself?

"I was expecting to find Mama's grave," I yelled.

Keep your voice down, for crying out loud. We're in a cemetery.

"Oh, shut the hell up, Baxter. I know where we are. Shit." I pointed to the ground. "I'm buried right there. I know where we are. How about we go find where you're buried at and see how you react." I stomped across my grave, glaring at my headstone. I crossed my arms to stop myself from tearing at the earth to see what was beneath it.

Spicey.

I wanted to ignore him. I tried to force out his thoughts but I couldn't. We were too connected.

Spicey. There's only two graves here.

"Don't you think I can see that? I'm not dumb." My hands dropped to my sides. My fingers curled into fists as I screamed. Then my mouth clicked shut. I bolted from the spot, walking around my grave and my brother's grave. I walked past a few more headstones and then returned to my own.

"Oh, my God."

Well, would you look at this? It's finally dawned on her.

"Oh, shut up, you," I said quite loudly.

"Are you okay, miss?" asked a voice behind me.

I spun around and made eye contact with a young, white woman dressed in a military uniform. She had black hair and olive-colored skin. Concern shone in her hazel eyes. She held a bouquet of flowers.

You see what you did. You see!

"I'm sorry, ma'am. I was overcome with...." With what? Annoyance, that's what. I couldn't exactly tell her that. "Cemeteries. They always bring out the worst in me."

The woman smiled sadly. "I understand. They get me worked up, too." She glanced down at my grave and nodded in its direction. "A relative?"

I shrugged. "Of a sort."

Her eyes scanned the words before she said, "Wow. She was really young."

I nodded. "Indeed."

Her eyes flickered back to my face. "Do you know how she died?

"She was murdered," I answered.

Oh. Don't you dare start with that. You know good and damn well that I didn't murder you. It was an accident.

"Finally! You admit it!" I yelled.

The woman retreated a few steps. She glanced away from me as if she feared I was insane. She looked ready to leave when I raised my hand and motioned for her to stay.

"I'm sorry. It just took a while for that to settle in," I said, nudging Baxter internally.

The woman just stared at me for a moment. Then she finally said, "Oh."

I laughed. That only caused her to look at me even more strangely. I pointed at her flowers. "Are those for a loved one?"

She looked down at her hand. She seemed surprised that there were flowers there. "I brought these for my husband." She looked to my face. "I was distracted when I heard you scream. I wasn't sure if something was wrong." The look in her eyes told me she was convinced that something was wrong. Likely my head.

"Where's he buried?" I said, pointing my head towards the bottom of the hill where the White folk was buried.

She didn't seem to notice my gesture. Instead, she walked past me. "He's over here."

I think Baxter and I were both dumbfounded. Either they had integrated this cemetery or this woman was married to a colored boy. I stood back and watched her from a distance.

She stopped in front of a grave. Removing her hat, she sat down on the ground. Then she leaned forward and placed a kiss on the cold stone. "Hi, baby."

Her words were low and intimate. We felt like we were intruding on their private moment. Turning on our heels, we walked away from the grieving widow.

As our souls separated, my mind drifted through the decades that I had been confined to Colsen's farm. The many moments I had spent thinking about my mother and wondering if she had survived that night. Now I knew the answer and rather than freeing me, the knowledge further heightened my sense of guilt. Even though my death had not been my fault, I felt as if I had abandoned her.

Sorrow and self-hatred flamed inside of me. Before I could fall into a black pool of despair, I felt a comforting hand graze my arm. I turned in Baxter's direction.

His blue eyes were dark and rich. Soothing. I inhaled deeply, bracing myself for Baxter's greedy need to be the center of my attention. I had expected him to say something bold; instead, he traced his fingers along my cheek and he said, "I miss my mama, too."

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

January 11, 1971, Twiggs County

Oh God. Not again.

"What are you complaining about now, Baxter?" We were standing outside of my mama's new store. Well, it wasn't exactly new. It was just new to me as the last one had been burnt down to the ground that night so long ago. The store was much larger now, with bigger windows and large glass doors.

We hid under the old hanging tree, the place where my brother had been murdered. As we stood there, I almost thought I heard his voice whispering in the blowing wind. But it was just dead leaves rustling across the cement sidewalk.

I looked across a flower garden—which had not been there during my lifetime—and watched my mother as she taped the sign with the day's special onto a window. Her hair had thinned and turned completely white. She looked so frail to me, but her movements were brisk and unhindered as she went about her work.

Shit.

"Would you hush?" I wanted to force out Baxter's thoughts, but it was hard to tell where his began and mine ended. It seemed like the more we came together, the more our souls grew entwined. We had been standing there for hours, just looking at the store. Since the moment Mama had stepped outside, Baxter had been cursing and fretting.

I couldn't believe that I was staring at my mother.

We should probably go now before she sees us.

I knew he was right. I wanted to beg for a few more minutes, but we had been there long enough. We should have returned to the farm a long time ago.

Just as our souls began to unravel, a colored couple, who looked to be in their early thirties, stepped out from the side of the building. Their appearance stopped our escape as they nearly bumped into me. They were startled by my appearance as much as I was startled by theirs.

"Do I know you?" asked the woman.

I ducked my head as she began to peer into my face.

"No," I said.

She placed a fingertip under my chin and pushed my face upward. Her eyes narrowed as she tried to recall my face. "I swear we've met before."

"No, ma'am. We haven't," I said, trying to pull my face away. But her entire hand curled around my face, holding it in place.

I could practically feel Baxter pacing inside of me.
This isn't good. Not good at all.

The man looked at me and then looked back at his woman. He gave us a queer look before he turned and threw his hand into the air. He began waving towards Mama. "Miss Della! We're here."

Mama's head snapped up. She caught sight of the man and grinned at him. "Rosco Harper. You old bum. You'se supposed to been here hours ago." Mama stepped off the porch and began to make her way to where we stood.

The woman was peering at me. My eyes were focused on Mama. Mama was looking at Rosco, but she scanned our little group. She looked me over and seemed to dismiss me, but then her gaze rushed back to my face.

We stood there, gaping at each other. Then Mama began to crumble. Her knees gave out underneath her.

The woman dropped her hand from my face then and rushed to my mama's side. The man knelt down and placed Mama's head in his lap. While their attention was focused on her, Baxter slipped out of my body and we returned to Colsen's farm.

I stood in the center of the living room as my mind replayed the moment when I connected with my mother. I looked down at my hands, regretting I hadn't had the chance to touch her.

Baxter paced back and forth. His hands combed through his hair. "She saw us. She really saw us. There was no mistaking that."

I looked at him, feeling quite peaceful. He, on the other hand, seemed frantic. "Why are you so worked up?" I asked.

Baxter placed his hands on his hips and glared at me. "Your mama saw us."

"So what?"

He shook his head. "She saw us," he said slowly.

I mimicked his stance by placing my hands on my hips. "So what."

He looked at me for a few more minutes, and then he raised one of his hands and wiped it over his face. He stood there cupping his chin in his hand for a while. Then he looked back at me. "We can't go back into town."

"Of course we can," I countered. As I knew he was going to say something, I placed my hand over his mouth. I looked deep into his eyes and said, "It don't matter if anyone sees us. What can they say? I saw Spicey walking around town. No one would believe them. People'll think they're just crazy."

Baxter began to relax under my hand. I wasn't sure if it was my words or the fact that I was touching him. He took my hand away from his mouth and placed a kiss on my palm. "We shouldn't be careless, though. We left behind a lot of people that cared about us. It wouldn't do any good to get them worked up."

"It don't matter," I repeated. We stood there, looking at each other. He still cradled my hand in his. I should have pulled away from him. But I didn't. Rather, I angled toward him, raised my head, and brushed my lips against his.

Baxter stepped back to place distance between us. He finally dropped my hand so he could touch his mouth. He closed his eyes as if savoring the moment. I took advantage of that by placing my lips across his hands again.

He stood there frozen in place. His hands stayed at his sides. His lips were firmly closed.

When I sighed against his mouth, he pulled away and looked at me with frightened eyes. "Why did you do that?" he asked.

Why had I done that? I thought about the question. In the normal course of things, when a person sees their mama, the last thing they feel is lust. But for me, something about seeing her had made me feel alive. I never wanted the feeling to end. I figured kissing Baxter would somehow continue this sensation.

And if I was honest, it did. Just a little.

"You kissed me," he said.

I nodded. I knew I looked pleased. "I did."

"Why?"

My gaze drifted over his body. I brought my fingers to the front of his shirt and flicked at a few of his buttons. "Because I wanted to, that's why."