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Authors: Jennifer L Ray
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trunk and
went to sleep. Etta didn't see her and put all
them quilts from the clothes line on top of the
child. Our Willetta aint gone never wake up no
more. Them covers just smothered the life
right out of her. My heart is broke and Etta
look like she done lost her soul. Sylvia Jean
lookin like she waitin on us to explain
somethin."
#
Martha Thompson listened to the wind swell
against the cursed house she was sleeping in. Vows
were made for breaking, because she had sworn
years ago never to step foot in this house again and
here she was. She had turned the light off
immediately upon donning the dressing gown
Willetta gave her. She didn't want to see the walls
that had held her mother captive for so many years.
She didn't belong here anymore than her son or her
mother had. But once again the old house acted like
it had arms. Long arms that reached out and
grabbed you and pulled you back in for a crushing
hold.
Martha felt an old hankering that she had
been fighting for many years. She wanted some
whiskey. It didn't matter the brand, just as long as it
could do what it was supposed to do. Numb her to
everything. The few months she had spent back in
Mississippi had almost undone all her powerful
reserve and painstaking changes. The sight of
tractors, pine trees, dirt roads, rundown shacks, and
cotton fields grated on her nerves.
#
Martha remembered her last conversation
with Mama Jean. She was too old for rage now, but
just seasoned enough to feel real sorrow for what
was said and done in the past. The kind of sorrow
that comes from understanding too much about a
thing, knowing both sides, and having sense enough
to know that nobody won.
"Martha, Stanley is gone have to marry
Anita. She pregnant and he did say he want to
make up for what he did," Jean had said.
She had a white handkerchief balled up in
the palm of her hand. The dress she wore hung
from her loosely. Martha had never seen a more
grief-stricken woman. She had lost down to bone
since the accident one week ago. They were sitting
in the old metal chairs on Jean's porch. The funeral
was over and the townspeople had brought their
pies, cakes, and casseroles and headed back to town
before the night fell.
"Now Jean, you know I loved my nephew,
but Stanley just about done gave hisself heart and
soul to Maureen Jones. It was an accident. He
loved Richy too. Don't make this no harder than it
already is."
The transformation that came over Mama
Jean had been something to see. Martha never
forgot the raw hate that swept across her face as she
stood and stared down at her.
"You ain't nothing but a drunk. You don't
know nothing about lovin a child. Aunt Willetta
raised Stanley. Stanley alive and Richy dead.
Stanley got that drinkin habit from you. You gave
him his first taste. We all know that and if he hadn't
been three sheets to the wind out driving that
tractor, my son would still be alive. You tell
Stanley what he got to do and then I don't want to
ever see your face again."
Martha had stumbled to her feet. She was
only slightly inebriated. She understood the
conversation, but was having trouble keeping a hold
on it.
"Now wait a minute. You can't tell me to
leave my own land and my own house. I know
what you tryin to do. You just mad cause grandma
left you and your momma them journals and my
momma got the land and Aunt Oliva got the money.
You can't have my inheritance, Jean."
Jean turned slowly and stared daggers
through Martha. Martha stumbled backwards under
the fierceness of it.
"Them journals done gave me sight. I got
power over Aunt Olivia's money and your land. I
could tell you, Aunt Willetta, and Aunt Olivia some
stuff that could make you hate grandma and
grandpa and wish to God you were never born. So,
do as I tell you. Get Stanley to marry Anita and you
leave Mississippi." Her eyes narrowed to thin slits
before she finished. "It's for your own good,
Martha," she said finally in an eerie whisper.
#
Martha shifted onto her side and
went to sleep. Etta didn't see her and put all
them quilts from the clothes line on top of the
child. Our Willetta aint gone never wake up no
more. Them covers just smothered the life
right out of her. My heart is broke and Etta
look like she done lost her soul. Sylvia Jean
lookin like she waitin on us to explain
somethin."
#
Martha Thompson listened to the wind swell
against the cursed house she was sleeping in. Vows
were made for breaking, because she had sworn
years ago never to step foot in this house again and
here she was. She had turned the light off
immediately upon donning the dressing gown
Willetta gave her. She didn't want to see the walls
that had held her mother captive for so many years.
She didn't belong here anymore than her son or her
mother had. But once again the old house acted like
it had arms. Long arms that reached out and
grabbed you and pulled you back in for a crushing
hold.
Martha felt an old hankering that she had
been fighting for many years. She wanted some
whiskey. It didn't matter the brand, just as long as it
could do what it was supposed to do. Numb her to
everything. The few months she had spent back in
Mississippi had almost undone all her powerful
reserve and painstaking changes. The sight of
tractors, pine trees, dirt roads, rundown shacks, and
cotton fields grated on her nerves.
#
Martha remembered her last conversation
with Mama Jean. She was too old for rage now, but
just seasoned enough to feel real sorrow for what
was said and done in the past. The kind of sorrow
that comes from understanding too much about a
thing, knowing both sides, and having sense enough
to know that nobody won.
"Martha, Stanley is gone have to marry
Anita. She pregnant and he did say he want to
make up for what he did," Jean had said.
She had a white handkerchief balled up in
the palm of her hand. The dress she wore hung
from her loosely. Martha had never seen a more
grief-stricken woman. She had lost down to bone
since the accident one week ago. They were sitting
in the old metal chairs on Jean's porch. The funeral
was over and the townspeople had brought their
pies, cakes, and casseroles and headed back to town
before the night fell.
"Now Jean, you know I loved my nephew,
but Stanley just about done gave hisself heart and
soul to Maureen Jones. It was an accident. He
loved Richy too. Don't make this no harder than it
already is."
The transformation that came over Mama
Jean had been something to see. Martha never
forgot the raw hate that swept across her face as she
stood and stared down at her.
"You ain't nothing but a drunk. You don't
know nothing about lovin a child. Aunt Willetta
raised Stanley. Stanley alive and Richy dead.
Stanley got that drinkin habit from you. You gave
him his first taste. We all know that and if he hadn't
been three sheets to the wind out driving that
tractor, my son would still be alive. You tell
Stanley what he got to do and then I don't want to
ever see your face again."
Martha had stumbled to her feet. She was
only slightly inebriated. She understood the
conversation, but was having trouble keeping a hold
on it.
"Now wait a minute. You can't tell me to
leave my own land and my own house. I know
what you tryin to do. You just mad cause grandma
left you and your momma them journals and my
momma got the land and Aunt Oliva got the money.
You can't have my inheritance, Jean."
Jean turned slowly and stared daggers
through Martha. Martha stumbled backwards under
the fierceness of it.
"Them journals done gave me sight. I got
power over Aunt Olivia's money and your land. I
could tell you, Aunt Willetta, and Aunt Olivia some
stuff that could make you hate grandma and
grandpa and wish to God you were never born. So,
do as I tell you. Get Stanley to marry Anita and you
leave Mississippi." Her eyes narrowed to thin slits
before she finished. "It's for your own good,
Martha," she said finally in an eerie whisper.
#
Martha shifted onto her side and
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