Read Online Legend of Buddy Bush (9781439131824) by Shelia P. Moses - Free Book Online Page A

Uncle Buddy. A woman’s voice. But who? I go back to the corner of the jailhouse and peep to see who has come to see Uncle Buddy. Ican’t see her face good, but I don’t think I have ever seen her before. This strange lady takes an old wooden soda crate and puts it under the window. She stands on it so she can talk to Uncle Buddy through the bars.
    Her voice is soft and citified like Aunt Rosie.
    â€œIs a man named Goodwin Bush in there?”
    Uncle Buddy comes back to the window.
    â€œAin’t nobody in here but me, Nora.”
    So that’s Nora. She reaches her hand through the bars and touches Uncle Buddy’s face.
    â€œBuddy, are you all right?”
    â€œI’m fine now, sugar. But you can’t stay here.”
    â€œI know, but I had to come to see you.”
    â€œNow, Nora, you know what they saying about me ain’t true, don’t you?”
    â€œI know and don’t you dare try to explain nothing these country-ass white folks done to you.”
    â€œI will be out of here soon. Don’t worry.”
    I can’t see Uncle Buddy well; I can just see his hands touching Miss Nora’s face. She doesn’t say a word as she reaches in the bars farther and touches his face. Uncle Buddy’s hands leave herface and rub her neck. I don’t think I am suppose to see all of this, but my feet are stuck. My eyes are too. His big hands make their way down her neck to her blouse and before I know it Uncle Buddy is rubbing her right tiddie like he is a baby trying to get some milk. I think this feels good to her, because she is making funny faces and some strange noise. I wonder if she going to get worms for messing with Uncle Buddy. Because Uncle Buddy is the one who said boys give girls worms. This is too much. It is definitely time to get back to the store. Now, that’s some real grown folks business.
    I walk back to the store so fast after seeing Uncle Buddy. I want to feel sorry for my uncle Buddy, but judging from the noises he and Miss Nora making, he doesn’t sound too sad to me. When I get to the grocery store door, I peep in past the soda machine so that I can see Grandma. She is almost finished with her Saturday ritual. I say nothing about talking to Uncle Buddy. And I shoo ain’t going to tell her I saw Uncle Buddy give that woman the worms. Then the moment arrives that Iunderstand why Mr. Wilson put Grandma’s chair out for her.
    â€œMiss Babe,” he says slowly, like he know the question he is about to ask is none of his business. “What’s going on with that Buddy Bush mess?”
    â€œMess?” Grandma snaps back. She is mad.
    Grandma says white folks are always asking coloreds questions, but we can’t ask them anything. “Don’t even know where most of them live unless you they maid,” she says.
    â€œIt ain’t no mess! My boy ain’t done nothing wrong.” Grandma turns away from Mr. Wilson and puts her right hand deep into her green and white dress. Down to her bra where the money is. In that sock is more money than I knew one woman could put in her bra.
    â€œHow much I owe you today?”
    Mr. Wilson knows Grandma is mad.
    â€œThat’d be twenty-nine dollars and eighty-two cents.”
    She counts out exactly $29.82.
    Then Grandma turns to me.
    â€œCount it again, Pattie Mae.”
    I count it again.
    $29.82
    I hand her the money back.
    She gives it to Mr. Wilson, who is two steps from getting a Babe Jones cursing.
    Then she gives him a “Don’t ask me nothing else about my boy” look, and says, “Good day.”
    Grandma don’t like the fact that word has already got around in Rich Square that they have arrested Uncle Buddy. I swear I see smoke coming from under her coattail when she stands up. Coattail is what the women on Rehobeth Road call their dresses. Now, why can’t they just call a dress a dress? She never looks at them white folks as she walks out the