Oleta

Oleta took a sip of the lukewarm coffee as she walked back into the kitchen. She moved over to the yellow and white kitchen table made of Formica and chrome, with four matching chairs. One of her chores growing up was keeping the chrome bright and shiny. She smiled as she took a seat and let her mind drift back. She recognized that she was drifting back into the past a lot since the death of her grandmother. Oleta thought back to the first time she sat down at the table. Oleta was six years old.

Earlier that morning, her mother, Rose, had been preparing her for what was supposed to be a short visit to her grandmother’s house. A quick visit she’d promised. Rose told her, “We might have to stay a week, maybe a couple of weeks tops… a month at the most, sweetie pie.” Oleta didn’t want to stay with her grandmother. She wasn’t the least bit bashful about telling her mother that she didn’t want to go over there.

“But Mama, can’t I stay with you?” asked Oleta, “I ain’t no trouble. You said so yourself.”

“Oleta, when you gonna learn to do what I say—not what I do. I’m da mother here. If I’da listened to my mama when I was your age, I might be livin’ on easy street…what da hell! I’ll tell you one thang for damn sure, she didn’t put up with none of my shenanigans, and she shor ain’t gonna put up with none of yours.”

“I don’t want to stay over there, Mama. When she laughs, she hurts my ears. And then she is always pinchin’ me. Why she gotta pinch me all the time for?”

“Well, you better learn how to move faster, that’s what I had to do. Like it or not, we gonna go over there. We ain’t got no place else to go! You understand what I’m telling you? We ain’t got No Place Else to go. And as long as you’re there, you betta mind your grandmother.”

“But—”

“BUTT be damned, girl! And don’t be talkin’ back no more, neither. Cuz you up and sass Mama, Oleeta, she gonna be done slapped all da black offa you. Mama don’t take no shit off of nobody. You don’t believe me? Ask your Uncle Frank.”

“You damn straight!” answered Frank, her brother, as he shuffled cards at the table. Frank, a tall, light-skinned, handsome man, wore his hair slicked back in a conk. Rose was a beautiful, soft, almond-colored woman who wore her hair long and straight down her back. She was a small woman, with big, brown soft eyes, wide hips, and a tiny waist.

“How you thank I git to be dis color? I usta be darker dan Joe over there, girl,” said Oleta’s uncle pointing across the table at Joe. Joe Henry was black, almost blue-black as some folks called it.

“Listen to your Mama, Leeta. One day I sassed your grandmother, and she slapped all the black off me,” continued Frank. The grown-ups laughed, but Oleta didn’t see the humor in it. “Joe, you gonna cut da damn cards or jes keep sniffing after Rose like you some hungry, stray dog sniffing at a T-bone?”

“Niggah please,” barked Joe cutting the cards.

“Oh man,” laughed Frank, “You dun gon and nailed the last nail in your coffin now, shor nuff. Don’t you know you don’t niggah around none of da wimman in my family?”

Frank and his girlfriend, Sara, were regular visitors at Rose’s tiny apartment. They were sitting at the table with Joe Black, an ex-boyfriend of Rose, drinking and playing tonk. Tonk was a popular card game that started in the 1930s in southern Louisiana by Jazz and Blues musicians and spread to the black honkytonks and bars. Rose’s brother Frank spent his off-hours drinking, playing cards, and slapping dominoes. He wasn’t one to shy away from a friendly crap game, either. Frank was Rose’s half-brother from her mother’s first marriage. Frank worked nights as a porter at the Union Station and early mornings as a baker’s helper in a small bakery on 31st and Woodland. Sara was a numbers runner.

Frank was married. He and his wife, Mary, had two daughters, JoAnn and Vidella. Frank loved his family but loved the excitement of the streets of Kansas City more. He would return home to his family whenever the sporting life got to be too much for him, or his money ran low.

Since he was a good provider for his family, Mary always let him come back home. He also helped Rose from time to time. Rose worked the clubs on Prospect and Troost, sometimes doing legitimate work and other times not so legitimate work. She drank too much for steady employment, which resulted in her needing money to pay rent or grocery money for her and Oleta. A few times, she’d called on Frank to bail her out of jail. The charge was usually solicitation or prostitution.

“Dat woman crazy, but she’s my mama and I love her to death. You’ll see Oleta, you and Mama gonna git along, jes fine. And anyway,” Frank winked and said, “Rose gonna be dere all da time with y’all.”

Everyone around the table burst out laughing when he said that. Joe slapped Frank on the back. Oleta knew why they were laughing, but she didn’t think that was funny either. Rose wasn’t laughing either. The joke was that Rose never was around much and would probably be around even less now.

“I don’t mean no disrespect, man, but your mama’s sumpthing else. I ain’t met a yeller woman yet that wasn’t mean as hell, and that you don’t have to watch your back around,” said Joe.

Rose looked up from her packing and said, “Joe you jes’ mad cause my Mama saw you for what you are—a lying, stealing, no count and up to no good, trifling negro livin’ out da back of a big-ass fancy car and flashing a hustler’s bankroll.”  A hustler’s bankroll was a big wad of bills. There would be one or two large bills on the outside and the rest singles. “Which ain’t foolin’ nobody but dat nasty heifer you been shacking up with ever since I threw your dirty ass outta here. And she’s dumb as beans.”

Frank leaned back in his chair and laughed. Sara snickered and poured herself another drink.

“Whoa, woman, don’t be so cold. You ain’t got no call to talk to me dis way,” pleaded Joe, “dat ain’t no way to talk to a man.”

“‘scuse me, did I forgit to mention lazy-ass man,” taunted Rose.

“Rose I didn’t mean nothin’. Shit woman, show a colored man some respect,” pleaded Joe, “you ain’t got no call to talk to me like dat.”

“Well Mister Negro, don’t be talking bout my mama in my own place! I’m not about to let you do it,” spat Rose, “I won’t stand for it.”

“He didn’t mean nothing by it Rose,” said Frank, “We jes drankin’ and talkin’ shit.”

“Frank, she your mama, too. Ya’ll betta find sumthing else to talk shit ’bout or you can find someplace else to talk shit. Oleta take your liddle noisy butt to bed. Now!” warned Rose.

Oleta knew by the tone in her mother’s voice that Rose meant business. She knew this was one of those times she shouldn’t talk back to her mother either. After saying good night to everyone, Oleta went to bed. Oleta fought off Father Sleep as long as she could so she could eavesdrop on the grownups conversation. The next thing she knew, Rose was shaking her awake. Rose had on the same dress from the night before, which wasn’t unusual. She told Oleta very clearly and quietly, “to get her liddle butt in gear and get dressed and keep her mouth shut. Rose told her she’d have to “hold it” till they got to where they were going. A single bathroom was at the end of the hall. Rose didn’t want to risk waking up any of the other tenants or running into the landlord in the hallway.

“I need you to be a big girl for Mama. We gonna have to be real quiet,” whispered Rose handing Oleta two bags, motioning her toward the door. Oleta helped her mother carry their belongings to the waiting car. Oletta didn’t recognize the driver, but she didn’t know all of Rose’s men-friends. Rose sat up-front with the stranger, and Oleta stretched out in the back seat and fell asleep.

She woke up in Big Mama’s house the following day, which was to become her new home. Six years-old Oleta walked downstairs and then into the kitchen, wiping the sleep out of the corners of her eyes. She had visited her grandmother before. She was afraid of the tall, mulatto, bigger-than-life woman with massive hips and a big booming voice. She sensed her mother wasn’t comfortable around her either, which made her even edgier.

“Where’s my mother at?” asked Oleta looking around the kitchen.

“Still sleep,” smiled her grandmother, “your Big Mama just fixin’ to have a cup of coffee. Can I por you a cup, Miz Leeta?”

“Grown-ups drink coffee. Little kids don’t drink coffee and I’m a little kid,” said Oleta.

“Well, dat’ll be our liddle secret,” said Big Mama and winked at her, “and I just took some cinnamon rolls outta da oven. You like cinnamon rolls, Miz Leeta? People say my rolls melt in your mouth. Come on, sit down at da table with me so we can git to know each other. We all gon be living under da same roof.”

Their morning coffee get-to-gather was the first of many secrets they shared with one another over the years. Oleta’s fear of her grandmother melted away that morning. Time passed quickly. In no time at all, Big Mama was not only Rose’s mother but Oleta’s mother as well. Rose was seldom there, and when she was, she was usually asleep. If she objected to Big Mama taking over the raising of her child, she never said anything. As the years passed, boarders moved in and moved on, as did the men in Rose’s life. The one constant thing in Oleta’s life was her grandmother.

It was at the kitchen table her grandmother first told her stories of Brer Rabbit, Brer Fox, and the rest of the gang. It was here they listened to gospel music on the radio tuned to KPRS in the mornings. Big Mama told her about the people’s lives whose names were written in front of her Bible. She shared what life was like down south and the names of famous black people that they didn’t teach Oleta about in school. Oleta loved her grandmother’s stories, even the sad ones about the relatives she would never meet.

Oleta poured herself another cup of coffee. She added creamer and sweetener. Oleta drank her coffee brown and sweet, just as her grandmother had.

“Let me put a liddle more sugar and Pet milk in your coffee, Miz Leeta. Chile, don’t ever drank your coffee black,” Oleta imagined her grandmother saying to her, as she had when she was growing up. “Brown and sweet, Leeta dats how men folk likes dey lady friends,” Big Mama loved to say.

When she fixed Oleta coffee, she’d add plenty of sugar and Pet milk to the cup. “And I knows dat for a fact.” Then she’d wink, pinch Oleta and laugh. Oleta would rub her arm, thigh, or whatever piece of skin her grandmother had been quick enough to grab.

“Darn Big Mama that hurt,” pouted Oleta one morning, trying to rub the pain away.

“Honey, dat ain’t nothing but one of Big Mama’s love taps, you know dat. And don’t let dat fast mouth of yours get your liddle behind in trouble.

Your darns and dangs is sounding more and more like damn to me, and I know you don’t think you grown yet. Yeah, like I was saying brown and sweet….” Oleta never understood what that expression meant to her grandmother since she was neither sweet nor brown.

Rutha Mae Brown was light skin and had a full head of thick wavy, shiny, black hair. She wore it cropped. She said life was too short to waste it fussing over hair. Two days after her death, Oleta found a large tin box wrapped in white tissue paper. She was going through her grandmother’s things, trying to dress her for the funeral. Big Mama had left instructions as to what clothes she wanted to wear when buried. Vidella, Joann, and Oleta decided who would be responsible for doing what. Vidella would do Big Mama’s hair and makeup. Joann would oversee all the funeral arrangements, and Oleta would dress her. Oleta set about looking in places she’d never been in her Big Mama’s bedroom and closet for the items on her grandmother’s list.

Oleta found the tin box in the top drawer of the blond chifferobe. Inside the tin box, she found newspaper clippings, documents, old family photos, old letters, army medals, and what appeared to be various legal documents. There were also four birth certificates in an envelope. One belonged to her, another was her mother’s, and the third one was her grandmother’s birth certificate. The fourth belonged to Big Mama’s sister Pearl, who had been dead for many years. What little she’d heard about her hadn’t been good. Oleta was surprised at finding her grandmother’s birth certificate. Most black babies were born at home in rural southern areas around the turn of the century and didn’t have birth certificates. The birth certificate stated that the girl Rutha Mae Rice weighed eight pounds and was mulatto. Oleta thought, “Mulatto doesn’t mean brown, Big Mama, neither did the sweet part, which never made any sense to her either. Big Mama was anything but sweet.” The naked truth was Mother Brown had a way of intimidating just about anyone she set out to intimidate-everybody except Oleta’s mother, Rose.

“Chile, don’t ever drink your coffee black. It might grow hair on your chest.”

“Well Big Mama, that wouldn’t be befittin’ behavior for such a fine and proper, young black lady like myself,” Oleta answered to the empty kitchen. She stood and turned to the empty chair beside her and said, “That would just be dreadful” (like she’d seen the fancy white women do in the movies when she was growing up). She pushed her chair from the table, stood up, crossed her legs behind her, stretched out her arms at her sides, and bowed from the waist. Oleta playfully curtsied, just as she had many times for her grandmother. This time she lost her balance and fell.

“Oops! Weight shifted,” She giggled. “Oh my, this is dreadful!” remarked Oleta, still imitating the white stars of the silver screen. She laughed as she grabbed one of the chairs and pulled herself up. This was the kind of playacting she and her grandmother had done when she was a kid.

. . .

Out of nowhere came tears. Oleta was tired of crying, but the tears kept coming as if they had a mind of their mind. Feelings of awkwardness and stone-cold unhappiness had begun two weeks earlier after learning that her grandmother had been hospitalized.

“Your grandmother is ill,” the doctor told her on the phone, “I suggest you-“

“I will be there,” Oleta replied and hung up the phone.

She left the next night on the red-eye. But before leaving home, she’d been able to arrange what she could of her immediate affairs and made an appointment to meet with the doctor. The plane ride from John Wayne airport to Kansas City was long and tedious. Oleta closed her eyes and thought about this woman she dearly loved. She was trying to remember everything her grandmother had told her of her early life before coming to Kansas City.

Rutha Mae Rice was born in 1903 in Hope, Arkansas. Back then, blacks jokingly said to other blacks about Hope, Arkansas, that they hoped to get out. Rutha Mae was the third child born to Fanny and Arliss Rice. She had two older brothers, Pete and Matt, which were from her mother's first marriage. Fanny's first husband drowned when she was only eighteen. Having no family to speak of, she found work as a maid in the home of the Rice family. She and her small two small children lived in the former slave quarters. What initially seemed like a God-sent turned into a living hell for the next seven years. While in their employ, she had two more children, Rutha Mae and the youngest, Pearl. WH     She never had any male friends because Mr. Rice had discouraged her from having them while employed. Mr. Rice said, " he didn't want no useless niggers hanging around." The children bore a strong resemblance to the Rice men and, unlike their mother, were very light-skinned. When Fanny was twenty-five years old, she met Arliss, a sharecropper. Arliss was forty years old and had never been married.

They courted. Arliss made Fanny a promise to love and take care of her and her children as if they were his blood. For that, Fanny loved him, and they were married. Both Fanny's grandparents and Arliss's parents were former slaves. Like most ex-slaves once freed, Arliss's parents had taken the surnames of their former masters.

By 1920, little had changed since the signing of the Emancipation Proclamation for blacks in rural southern towns and communities at the turn of the century. Many families remained on the land that they and generations of slaves before them had been born, suffered, endured, and died. At the turn of the century, the large plantations that had once been the backbone of the South's economic structure continued to be worked by black men, women, and children. Families lived in one or two-room shacks or lean-tos reminiscent of slave quarters.

Most of these dwellings had no plumbing or running water. An outhouse stood not too far from the shack. A nearby creek or common well provided freshwater. There was usually a makeshift fireplace or pot-bellied stove used to cook all the meals and heat the shack during the harsh winters. To keep the wind, rain, and snow out of the shack, they stuffed rags and paper in the cracks in the walls. Most families had a garden on the side of the house. Their garden crop consisted of corn, squash, sweet potatoes, and any other produce they were lucky enough to grow.

Blacks worked under harsh conditions beneath the unrelenting, hot sun in the fields owned by whites, just as blacks who came before them had. In their final days of pregnancy and new mothers toiled right alongside men and children from sun up till dusk six days a week. Rutha Mae's mother taught her to pick cotton before her tenth birthday. The more cotton picked, the more money went on the books for your family. Her brother Matt knew more about picking cotton than anyone she knew. He was one of the best cotton pickers in the area and boasted he could reap as much as four hundred pounds in a day.

Rutha Mae and her sister, Pearl, paid close attention whenever Matt found time to give them tips on picking cotton.

"Don't y'all be goin and eating too much when da dinner bell rings. Cause y'all still gots da hottest part of da day in dem fields left to work. Dat fool Pete did one day and was sick as Miz Lucy's dog. I swear in all my born days, I ain't never heard tell of a grown man dat stupid. His own Daddy say he's two bricks short of a load."

His two younger sisters nodded in agreement. Rutha had heard Papa say one day that that whole family didn't have a grain of sense between them. She knew Matt would get a good laugh out of that, so she told him and Pearl. Matt grinned, slapped his knee, and said, "Y'all got to leave out early with me in da mornings. I be da first one out in da fields. Looka here, sometimes I git outta here round four' clock in da mornin'. Dats when da dew is heaviest on da cotton and dat makes it weigh in mor."

Rutha Mae turned to Pearl and said, "I'll do it if'n you will, Pearl."

"I will if you will," Pearl glanced down at her sore feet and answered reluctantly.

She was nine months younger than Rutha Mae. She was rubbing a mixture of camphor oil and lard on her swollen and blistered hands. Picking cotton wasn't only back-breaking work, but it was brutal on the hands and feet. It had been a sweltering summer causing the cotton bolls that surround and hold the cotton lint to be smaller. The cotton bolls were also tighter, making it much more difficult to remove the precious cotton. It slowed down the picker's time and made the work more tedious. Pearl and Rutha Mae were already working ten-hour days alongside their parents. The idea of working an additional two hours a day was nothing she was looking forward to doing.

Then she thought of Beau, whom she'd been meeting secretly. With the extra money, surely Papa would let her order a new dress from the Sears and Roebuck catalog at the dry goods store. Rutha Mae had different reasons for wanting to make more money. She dreamed of leaving Hope one day.

"Sho we'll do it, den," answered Rutha Mae eagerly. At thirteen, Rutha Mae had big plans. She dreamed of going up north one day and knew it took money to leave. She didn't know when she was going, but the more money on the book for her family put her that much closer. Pearl didn't say a word but nodded in agreement. "But Matt, you gotta promise to git us up when you git up in da mornin'."

Sharecroppers had to wait till the crops were harvested before receiving their meager wages. Whatever supplies and essential foods they needed before the fields were harvested were signed for at the general store. The landowners usually owned the general stores. The landowners used Jim Crow laws and other strategies to keep blacks tied to the land. Politicians, many of whom were also landowners, supported these laws. The local courts upheld laws, and the sheriff enforced them. A majority of the black's meager wages went toward paying back the landowner for anything they'd signed for at the general store, thus keeping them tied to the land and indebted to the landowners. Her family worked for Mister Marcus Rice. They also lived on his land. They shopped at his general store. It was part of the vicious, cruel cycle into which blacks had been born.

"The hope to get out" grew stronger as more and more blacks said goodbye to the land. They gambled on never seeing their family, friends, and church again.

It was a tricky decision and a difficult choice they made. Some that left promised to send for their family members after they got settled and found work. Rutha Mae's oldest brother Pete had been one of the first men working for ole man Rice to leave. He'd been living and working in St. Louis for two years. The Great Black Exodus to the North was clearly underway. People packed up their few belongings and traveled to the large northern cities seeking a better life. Northern newspapers like the Chicago Defender and the Christian Defender encouraged southern blacks to move to the "land of hope." It wasn't unusual for the family sitting next to you in last Sunday morning service to have "high tailed it up North" the following Sunday. When relatives returned to visit on special occasions, primarily funerals, the talk would be about life up north. They swore Mr. Ford was paying men $5.00 a day to make cars up north. Black wives, sisters, and daughters were finding work in factories, laundries, and hotels.

The day came when the younger brother, Matt, told his family he was leaving home. He and his friend, Pervis, were going to St. Louis to join Pete, who'd gone to work in the slaughterhouses in St Louis.

Pete wrote to Matt saying they were looking for men to work in the stockyards. The family had just sat down to supper when he made the announcement.

Her parents looked at each other and nodded. They looked as if they'd been expecting this. Pearl and Rutha Mae stared down at their plates and finished eating in silence.

Arliss walked over to the pot-bellied stove in the center of the shack. He pulled a knife from a pocket of his tattered overalls. Reaching underneath the stove and using the knife to pry apart two small wooden planks, he brought out a rusted tin can used to hide the family's money.

Papa walked back over to the table and sat down. He carefully took out the money, turning the can outside down to make sure he hadn't missed a single precious cent. He counted out $18.93, which was all of the family's money until Mr. Rice's cotton crop came in. Arliss Rice pushed $7.93 across the table to Matt.

Matt pushed to money back across the table to his father, "Pa I can't take dis money. It will leave y'all in a bad way. I figure y'all all gon need it with me leaving and all. It's gonna still be a spell fore' harvest. Me and Pervis can git by."

"You gonna need dis here money, sur enough. Your Mama and me don talked bout it and we want you to have it now. We did da same for Pete," said Arliss, nodding. Matt looked at his father and then across the small table at his mother. She was smiling and nodding in agreement.

"I'preciate it, Mama and Papa. I'm gonna send money home as soon as I'se able to," continued Matt.

"How you boys planning on gitting dere?" asked his mother.

"We was gonna walk dere if we had to. We was holdin' on to what liddle money we had, so we could catch a ferry when we got to the river. Den we was gonna work our way some till we got to St. Louis," smiled Matt, "Now dese here money changes thangs and gonna make thangs a whole lot mo easier for us. Dis sho nuff gon git us dere quicker so we can git dem jobs. We gon be able to eat, too." A big grin spread across his face as Matt went around the table. He spun his mother around the room.

"Oh Happy Day!" He shouted, "OH HAPPY DAY!" The girls joined in by clapping.

After all the commotion had settled down, Matt's parents asked him to do one thing before leaving. They wanted Matt to tell Mr. Rice he was leaving. Matt protested but understood why his mother and father wanted him to visit the old man. He knew they were still tied to the land and the people who owned the land. After dinner, Matt, Pearl, and Rutha Mae walked slowly to the Rice house. The three walked in silence, each locked in their own thoughts. As they neared the house, Matt told Rutha Mae and Pearl to wait for him at the bottom of the hill leading up to the house. They did as they were told.

Matt returned shortly and was upset. The girls had never seen him this mad before. As Matt walked toward them, he kicked rocks, dirt, or anything else in his path. Their brother was cussing. The girls had heard cursing before, but never like this and certainly not from anyone in their family. Rutha Mae and Pearl giggled, which is what young girls have always done when they don't know what else they're supposed to do. First, they giggled quietly to themselves. As the giggles grew, the girls covered their mouths and tried to keep them inside.

"I hate him," spat Matt, "I know we ain't suppose to hate, but he ain't got no call to talk to me da way he did. He ain't got no call to do a lot of da things him and his brothers don done to dis here family…to Mama." He looked reproaching at Rutha Mae and then at Pearl. His sisters looked away, embarrassed. Their family never talked about certain things involving the Rice family.

"The whole damn lot of dem ain't fit to roll with pigs," said Matt, "Everybody in da county knows dey folks weren't no more den beggar trash before Mr. Lincoln's War."

"You ever coming back to see us?" wondered Pearl.

"Why shor nuff. I reckon I'd miss hearing y'all cackling like two young hens," smiled Matt. The two girls ran over to where Matt was standing, joined hands, and circled him singing:

"A giggling woman and cackling hen

will never come to a good end. What y'all say?

I say, a foolish woman and a cackling hen

Will never come to a good end."

With a solemn look on his face, he said, "I'll be back to take y'all North, too! And if I'se don't come back, I'll send for y'all."

"Mama and Daddy ain't gon leave dis farm. Dis dey home," remarked Pearl.

"Girl, you don't thank I don't know dat, "said Matt rubbing his hand through his thick hair. He looked in the direction of their shack and said softly, "I can't make em go to a better place. Ole folks know dis here life and how thangs work…down here. It be real hard for dem to leave what dey know."

"I wants to go, Matt," shouted Rutha Mae. She turned to face her sister and asked, "Pearl you gon go with me? Pervis Jones gon be up dere."

"So," said Pearl.

"So. So sew your pants up!" laughed Rutha Mae, gently jabbing her sister in the side, "If you don't go, some other gal gon steal him from you."

"I ain't studding dat ole Pervis. Dat boy stuck on hisself. He don't want to be nobody's husband no way," insisted Pearl.

Matt slapped his thighs and doubled up in laughter, "my liddle sistah and Pervis?"

Rutha Mae stomped her foot and looked squarely into Pearl's eyes, "You going or not?"

"I dunno," she answered honestly, "I might could."

Matt pulled his sisters to him and embraced them. The three of them broke from the embrace and continued walking toward the shack in silence.

Matt was the first to say something, "I can't wait to git outta here."

"When you goin Matt?" asked Rutha Mae.

"In da morning," replied

"What happened when you went to see him?" asked Pearl chewing on her bottom lip. "He ain't kilt is he?"

Whatsoever he said to you", hesitated Pearl, "We have never seen you so tore up.

"Hell nah, he ain't dead," answered Matt.

"What he say, Matt?" asked Rutha Mae.

"He say da muskrats and da boll weevils and lazy niggas is da curse of an honest white man," replied Matt.

"Who da honest man he talking 'bout," laughed Pearl.

"Ole Man Rice 'bout as honest as he is ugly," joined in Rutha Mae,

"Yeah," said Pearl, "Daddy say, white folks don't know nothing 'bout honest… y'all reckon?" They all fell silent for a few minutes pondering Pearl's question.

"Why dey make me go see dat ole peckerwood?" asked Matt, not expecting an answer, "ain't it enough jes knowing what he's done to our mudder?"

The two girls looked at each other but said nothing. They were not about to speak out of turn about their Mama and Daddy to anybody, not even Matt. They walked along in silence for a few minutes. Matt seemed to calm down. Pearl was the first to speak.

"Do you think there's two heavens…one for white folks and one for us?" asked Pearl.

Matt and Rutha Mae burst out laughing at her seriousness.

"Don't matter none, cause Rice got no more chance than a pig in a dog race makin' it into heaven," laughed Matt. Rutha Mae and Pearl laughed, too.

"I gots to git outta here. I'll send for you both once I git settled and dats a promise. I want my baby sisters up North with me," explained Matt.

"What 'bout Mama and Daddy, Matt?" insisted Pearl, "I don't think they'll leave here. Dis is home for dem. What we gon do? Dey gittin' old and Daddy think Mistah Rice still gon let him have dat piece of land he promised him," said Pearl, "if Daddy stays Mama stay."

"Let's jes wait and see," smiled Matt. Some owners were so desperate that they promised land to the sharecroppers if they agreed to stay on. "First we gots to git me gon," laughed Matt. In one quick move, he yanked both their head rags off their heads and ran toward their shack.

"Ah! You gon git it now!" yelled Rutha Mae playfully. The girls picked up their dresses and raced after Matt toward the shack.

As the stewardess asked her to buckle her seat belt, Oleta snapped back to the present moment. After landing at Kansas City International, she hailed a cab and went directly to the doctor's office. She'd heard nothing past him saying, "Your grandmother is dying, Miss Brown. There's little we can do now but keep her as comfortable as…." Oleta's mind was racing. SAY WHAT! BIG MAMA NEVER TOLD ME. Dr. Levy, somebody must have screwed up. You've got my grandmother confused witah somebody else's grandmother. Oleta cocked her head to the side and read the patient's name on the front of the chart. RUTHA MAE BROWN. The chart had her grandmother's name on it, so that must mean…. Oleta's stomach turned over, and the sour taste of bile filled her mouth. That was awful and interesting; it must be something I ate on the airplane. They didn't feed us on the plane! As she swallowed and took a few deep breaths, Oleta tried to focus. She forced herself to concentrate. She watched Dr. Levy's mouth moving, but nothing was coming out. She thought, "Odd, isn't it? This is all too surreal to be happening, so it must be a dream, a bad nightmare. I will pinch myself, and then I'll wake up." "Ouch!" said Oleta rubbing her right arm.

"Miss Brown, are you alright? Can I get you some water?" Dr. Levy didn't wait for her to answer.

He swiveled his chair around and opened the door of his small office refrigerator behind his desk. He reached inside and pulled out a bottle of Perrier. He walked around to the front of his desk and placed the bottle of water in her hands, and then he sat on the corner of his desk facing Oleta. Oleta looked down at her arm and saw that she had drawn blood. This was not a dream. It was the real deal. "Oh Shit!!!!" thought Oleta as she raised the bottle to her mouth and guzzled it down.

"May I have another, please."

"I'm sorry you had to find it out this way. Of course, you can," said Dr. Levy handing her another bottle. "Your grandmother told me how close the two of you are, so naturally I assumed that she'd told you." Pancreatic cancer, he told her. He proceeded to tell her more about her grandmother's condition. He went over lab work and x-rays while Oleta stared at him blankly.

"Hold it together," she told herself, "Why wasn't this diagnosed before now?"

"Early diagnosis of this type of cancer is sometimes difficult…and Dr. Stokes was treating Mrs. Brown for her diabetes and- "

"I'm going to get a second opinion," said Oleta.

"I am the second opinion. Your grandmother had to be sure. Your grandmother is a very intelligent woman and she can be stubborn at times as I'm sure you already know," Dr. Levy smiled weakly.

"Now what, doctor?" sighed Oleta.

"There's little we can do now, but keep her as comfortable as…." Oleta looked up and saw the doctor's mouth was moving, and she heard quite clearly everything he was saying. She'd heard enough. He'd given her grandmother a death sentence. What more could he possibly have to say to her. Cleopatra had the right idea. She knew how to handle bearers of bad news effectively. Oleta closed her eyes for a moment and imagined herself jumping up on the desk, knocking him to the floor, tearing the chart out of his hands, and feeding it to him. No, no, before ripping out the pages in the chart and stuffing them into his mouth, she'd make him take it all back, all those things he'd just said about Big Mama dying.

"We talk all the time, doctor. I call her four or five times a week. I come to Kansas City two or three times a year—just to see with my own eyes if she needs anything. I've tried to get her to come live with me in California but she wouldn't budge. So instead she agreed to stay with me for a month every summer. Last year we went to Maui while the house was being painted". She told me she was just coming in to have some tests run.

"Dammit!" she leaned forward and asked, "I wonder if she told anyone?"

"I don't know. Miss Brown, you don't have to explain anything to me," replied the doctor.

"She…she should have told me," blurted out Oleta.

"Maybe she couldn't. Who knows, maybe in her own way she was trying to spare you. Maybe she was waiting for the right time. Your grandmother is a proud woman."

"She didn't have a right to keep that from me!"

"No, Miss Brown, she does have a right."

You should have told me, Big Mama," thought Oleta," you would have expected me to say to you if I was dying. If I'd pulled something like this, I would have never been able to live it down.

Then again, I wouldn't have had to tell you. You would have known it. You would have. You'd hear it in my voice and caught the first thing to California.

It was true; Big Mama knew when she was hurt or in trouble. Sometimes it was downright scary as hell. Growing up, Oleta had never been able to keep anything from her grandmother. Big Mama knew about her first fight on the playground in second grade at Horace Mann Elementary. She knew about it before Oleta got home with the teacher's note in her pocket. In the tenth grade, Oleta smoked the first and only cigarette in her entire life. Big Mama knew about it the same day she did it. She knew the night Oleta lost her virginity to Marvin Ray Phillips in her senior year in high school.

Big Mama took one look at her, and the following day Big Mama made Oleta an appointment with a white doctor. She'd worked for his family for years, planning and cooking for special occasions and holidays.

His office was located in the prestigious Plaza district in Kansas City, Missouri. The examination was bad enough in itself, but the worst part was having to listen to the horrible things he said. He told her repeatedly how lucky she was because Rutha Mae was her grandmother; he didn't make it a practice to see colored patients and had agreed to examine her only because of Rutha Mae. He told her how lucky she was because, unlike most colored girls her age, she wouldn't end up with a house full of kids. After all, she was barren. She didn't understand what barren or some of the other words he'd used meant. Oleta made mental notes of words she'd look up in the dictionary later as she laid on the examining table with the white sheet draped over her naked body.

During the whole awful nightmare, Oleta never made a sound. She knew she'd sinned, and she was old enough to know this had changed her somehow. She wasn't quite a woman, but she was no longer a girl, either. She'd heard somewhere that God doesn't like ugly. So she'd figured this was God's way of punishing her—cause she'd never seen a man as mean and ugly as that doctor was before in her young life. As she lay on the cold table, she wondered what had happened to make him hate her so.

And her grandmother had permitted him to touch her down there. Sex wasn't sounding good,

If this was what sex was all about, Oleta was beginning to have second thoughts about it. In the first place, having sex with Marvin Ray hadn't been the least bit romantic. It had been quick and painful. She didn't even know if he'd done it right. She'd asked Marvin if he'd done it right, and he said he had. Was it supposed to take longer than three minutes, she'd asked him? She knew she was supposed to be enjoying what he was doing to her, so she crooned, "Oh…Ooo…Ah…Oh"—instead of "ouch! Stop! Please STOP!" Oleta was sore for days afterward. She didn't know whether to blame Marvin or the doctor.

The elevator operator was the only other black person Oleta saw that day in the building. She remembered he had gone out of his way to be extra nice to them. He'd called her 'Miss.' First time in her young life, anyone had referred to Oleta as a miss (which made her wonder if he knew, too, what she and Marvin had done). He escorted them outside and hailed a Yellow Cab for them.

"Chile, what a man and woman do together is nat'ual. God gave dat to us. Lord knows I wish you woulda waited, but what's done is done. Don't make no sense in crying 'bout it now—da train done already done left da station. I ain't 'bout to condemn you and say you going straight to hell, cause God will forgive anything if you ask Him to. Many of women don what you and dat boy did. You ain't da first and you shor ain't gon be da last. Don't let dem ole birds at church fool you, acting all high and mighty-like dey some kind of Mother Mary or sumthing. Dey seem to get a kick outta scaring young women dat slip and make mistakes. Shit baby, we all fall short of what the Lord wants for his children. Nobody's perfect. But what's wrong is when you use your body disrespectful like Rose does and dat girl down da street who keeps havin' all dem babies—all by dis different men.,"

Big Mama took Oleta's hand in hers and kissed it. "Always remember that a woman's reputation is worth a pot of gold and dat you can tell me anything. Don't keep no secrets from me, Chile, because together we can always figure out what's da best thang to do."

"No secrets between us, I promise," Oleta breathed a big sigh of relief. She was glad they were talking about this. She needed to talk to somebody about what happened in the back of Marvin's daddy's car. She needed to know if sex was always this awful and messy Oleta didn't hold back anything.

"Young boys," smiled Big Mama, "jes don't have control over dey tally whackers yet. If it had been a firecracker, he more den likely wouldda blown his finger off. Don't worry none, it gits better, Oleta."

Oleta smiled, thinking back on that day.

The long cab ride home gave them plenty of time to talk, which was another of many secrets they shared. True to his word, Marvin did not kiss and tell, either.

Big Mama had suffered the last month of her life. The strong medication kept her doped up, and the times she was lucid, she was in severe pain. The tall, strong, robust woman, Big Mama was reduced to little more than a bald, shrunken ash-colored, ghostly skeleton of a human by cancer. Toward the end, she was hardly recognizable even to Oleta. 

She knew her grandmother was holding on for her sake. 

To lessen the pain, Dr. Levy had ordered morphine to keep her as comfortable as possible. Oleta and her cousins didn't like her all doped up, but they reasoned it was better this way. Cancer left the room smelling of flesh, ravaging her grandmother's body. The day came when Oleta could no longer stand to see her suffer. There had been so many visitors-some she recognized, and most she didn't. Her cousins Joann and Vidella were daily visitors. Oleta knew her grandmother was holding on for her sake. She took her shoes off, lowered the bed rail, maneuvered her way through the many wires and IVs connected to her grandmother, and got in bed with her. A nurse passed the door, paused briefly, smiled at Oleta, and went on about the business of nursing the living.

It was Oleta's turn to give comfort. 

The two women needed to talk this "death thing" through. Oleta held her frail body as best she could and spoke softly. She told Big Mama not to worry about her. She wondered if she sounded assured, confident, and capable of handling what lay ahead. 

"I'm a grown woman, Big Mama. Remember you taught me how to take care of myself. You taught me so much. I'll be fine, after all I was raised by the best." 

They talked. Big Mama's swollen tongue made it difficult for her to speak. She spoke slowly so Oleta could understand her.

"Home…I wan you to …to-"

"I know, but you see my life is in-"

 "You're lost…not happy," said Big Mama.

As they continued, Big Mama would go in and out of unconsciousness. One moment she'd be talking to Oleta, and the next, she'd be talking to someone else in the room though they were alone. They cried. They consoled each other as best they could. Suddenly Big Mama's eyes widened, and she said, "Matt, wait up! Oh Leeta, it's so beautiful, chile. Oh! I wish you could see it. Leeta, I don't want to leave you jes yet…Frank, who's dat with you? O thank you, Lord!" Rutha Mae closed her eyes.

Oleta gasped for air. "Big Ma-...."

"I'se still here, Miz Leeta…."

Oleta told her it was time to pay a visit to Rose in heaven in between her sobs. Rose was Oleta's mother. She reminded her of how Rose never did take much to church people. And church people never seemed to have a kind word for her. Heaven was probably full of them, and Rose was perhaps bored to death. They both laughed at that one. 

Oleta kissed her over and over again. 

In between kisses, Oleta told her she loved her and needed not to worry about her. Big Mama asked her to say the Lord's Prayer. She did. Big Mama smiled and died.

Oleta hated lying to her grandmother. 

All the while she was saying those things to her, she knew three things for sure: her grandmother needed to be released by her, love; Oleta was not ready-in, no way imaginable, to face life without her, and there was no way in hell her mother, Rose, was in heaven.

Oleta pushed herself back from the support of the kitchen counter, turned, and walked down the long hallway leading to the living room. She paused for a moment, peaking into the small bedroom off to the right, which had been her bedroom for ten years. Simple but solid furniture graced the room. There was a mirrored mahogany dresser, a queen-size bed, and matching nightstands.

Directly across the hall was a large bedroom that belonged to her grandmother, Rutha Mae Brown. She stepped into the living room, paused, and ran her hand across the old RCA television console, checking for dust. There was none. It was an old habit she'd picked up from Big Mama.

"Bett' not be none, I keeps a clean house, you know," her grandmother would say with pride.

Since her grandmother had passed, Oleta had dusted every piece of furniture in the house daily. Sometimes she'd forget which part of the house she'd started working in, and she would dust twice. As she went about the house, she realized that every room and everything in the house could bring on memories. Oleta picked up the framed photograph of Rutha Mae Brown from the curio table and thought back to the funeral day. Surprisingly, the funeral went off without a hitch. Everyone said it was a good funeral. Rutha Mae was put to rest without any surprises.
Excellent.

Aren't people supposed to lose weight when they're in a depression? Leave it to me to get it half-ass-backward. She'd read somewhere that the four major causes of depression were: moving to a new location, getting fired or being unable to work, a relationship break-up, or the death of a loved one. No. No, she'd seen it on television. She couldn't remember which. It was one of them because it was a late-night rerun. Oleta would watch talk show reruns when she couldn't sleep until she drifted off. The show's topic had been the four leading significant causes of stress, not depression. Oh shit, Oleta! Don't matter what the hell it's called or where you noticed it.

You've got two out of four of them, and that's not right. Oleta knew if she didn't call her job soon and tell them when she'd be reporting to work, she'd be at three out of four. But she couldn't make that call until she knew when to leave Kansas City. And she didn't have a clue. So, Oleta decided not to take an indefinite leave of absence….not yet. She had accumulated a lot of sick leave over the last five years. She'd been using the sick leave and was almost out of it. If the sick leave ran out, she'd use the two remaining weeks of vacation she had left. If that ran out, she'd cross that bridge when she got to it.

She went back to the living room and sat in Big Mama's chair. She leaned back, closed her eyes, and thought about Matt. Though she never knew him, she felt she knew him.

Two days after her death, Oleta found a large tin box wrapped in white, tissue paper. She was going through her grandmother's things trying to dress her for the funeral. Big Mama had left instructions as to what she wanted to be buried in. It was decided between the three of them who would be responsible for doing what. Vidella would do Big Mama's hair and makeup. Even though the funeral was already paid for, Joann would oversee all the funeral arrangements. Oleta set about searching in places she'd never been in her Big Mama's bedroom and closet looking for the items on her grandmother's list. Oleta had found the tin box in the top drawer of the blonde chiffaroo. Inside the box she found were newspaper clippings, documents, old family photos, old letters, a marriage license to her first husband, Earl Simms, and what appeared to be various legal documents. Oleta wondered where was the marriage license for her and Lucky Hall Brown. There were also four birth certificates in an envelope. One belonged to her, another was her mother's and the third one was her grandmother's birth certificate. The fourth belonged to Big Mama's sister Pearl, who had been dead for many years. What little she'd heard about her hadn't been good. Oleta was surprised at finding her grandmother's birth certificate. Most black babies born were born at home in rural southern areas around the turn of the century and didn't have birth certificates. Then Oleta thought of the circumstances with Rice and understood. The birth certificate stated that the girl Rutha Mae Rice weighed eight pounds and was mulatto. She went back to the birth certificates.

"I'll be damned", she shouted. There wasn't any second marriage license because there wasn't a second marriage. She had Rose out of wedlock and Rose had her out of wedlock. She smiled thinking back to when she was seven years old and asked about her linage.

"His name was Lucky Hall Brown. He was a cab driver. Your grandfather was a gallivanting man on his way to Chicago. We got married before he left town", stressed Big Mama.

"Big Mama I don got you in a lie, a big lie." she laughed. She wondered how her grandmother had kept the secret all those years. That would make her and Rose bastards. She laughed even harder. Oleta thought about it. There was so much love in the house growing up, that a man wasn't really necessary.

Mulatto doesn't mean brown, Big Mama. The sweet part never made any sense to Oleta either. Big Mama was anything but sweet. The naked truth was Mother Brown had a way of intimidating just about anyone she set out to intimidate - everyone except Oleta's mother Rose, when she was alive.

Oleta wondered if she'd ever really understood her grandmother. She knew she was a woman who had had a tough life when she was young. Big Mama as put it, had a very low tolerance for laziness, bad manners or for people that just plain-ole-got on –her nerves. She just didn't like foolishness. She was the same way with everybody: her family, the neighbors, or the white people she worked for. Rutha Mae was not going to cow-tail to no nobody-man, woman, child or black, white. Oleta decided that she would keep the secret. No wonder I am the way I am with men and have never gotten married.

"Leeta dats why me and your Uncle Matt left Arkansas," Big Mama had explained to her, "Your Uncle Matt, God rest his soul, showed me that I didn't have to be so scared all the time and hold my head up high, like I'm trying to teach you." She talked often about those days:

"Earl weren't much in da bedroom, sex didn't matter much to me then, but it did later on. He was old and all-but he was hell on wheels in da kitchen. He could cook. He had cooked on ships all over da world in his younger days.

Earl, rest his soul, was one of the first peoples your Uncle Mack met when we first got to Kansas City back in 1915. He took us around da city and showed us how thangs worked up here. I can't tell you how many, poor, country, black boys and men don got into trouble with da law or mean white folks once dey got up here. Dere would be low down, no count black peoples looking for some new fool to take advantage of, too. I guess you could say that Earl took us under his wing. Matt and Earl jes took to each other. I was glad that my brother had a friend. He got Matt a job over where he was working and Matt worked dere till he enlisted in da Army. Earl ended up renting one of the rooms upstairs from us”.

"After Matt and Pervis got to St. Louis, they went to work in the stockyards," her grandmother had told Oleta. "Matt was sending money home regularly. Dat lidddle money he was sending us, shor made thangs easier on Daddy. He didn't come home da first Christmas, but dat next Christmas he came home. Pete came home, too. By dis time, Pete had gotten married and had two babies by den. He had got work with da railroad and had moved his family to Chicago. His wife was expecting again, so she had stayed home with da babies. I remember it; Miz Leeta, jes like it was yesterdiddy.

"In all my life, it was da bestest Christmas in every which way. Matt and Pete brought presents for everybody. Me and Pearl got new dresses and shoes, and Pete brung daddy a pipe and some tobacco, and Matt gave him some overalls. Mama got two new dresses and a black hat. It was da funniest looking hat, like the fancy women in da Sears Roebuck catalog wear. Matt said dats what da women was wearing in St. Louis. Mama got da biggest kick outta dat. Dey could only stay a few days; dey had to go back to dey jobs and all. Broke my heart when it was time for Matt to leave, but den dats when him and Pete say dey wants us all to come up North.

"Da four of us knew that Daddy and Mama wouldn't go nowhere. Dey were tied to the land. Lots of folks was like dat. There was no way Mama and Daddy was gon leave. Pearl said she wouldn't leave dem and den, too…she was seeing dis boy, Beau who worked in town. I asked Mama and Daddy could I go. I wanted to git outta Hope, Arkansas so bad it hurt, chile. Dey was scared, with me being so young and all. I'd be traveling all by myself. Matt tolt em, "If you have a weak mind, you won't make it-but Rutha Mae ain't like dat. She's strong, and she's a smart girl." Dey listened to Matt and Pete. So we talked 'bout it and talked some more…we talked 'bout it most of the night. It was decided dat come da next summer; Matt was gon send for me to come up north with him. I jes couldn't believe it. Daddy was gon let me go. And he did…hallelujah, praise be…he shor nuff did," smiled her grandmother.

"Leeta dats why me and your Uncle Matt left Arkansas," Big Mama had explained to her, "Your Uncle Matt, God rest his soul, showed me that I didn't have to be so scared all the time and to hold my head up high like I'm trying to teach you." She

"We was goin' to live in St. Louis, but things had gone bad.... real bad in dat town. I never spent time in St. Louis, except the train. I never got off the train. My poor brother lived and worked, though," said her grandmother, "til that night." It was bad, Miss Oleta." The horrible, fatal East St. Louis Massacre of 1917 was an incident waiting to happen. As World War I raged on abroad, blacks could find work in almost every industry in northern cities. There were growing concerns among whites that their jobs were being threatened. A rumor had spread that a great number of blacks had purchased guns to kill whites. There was another rumor of a black uprising. On July 2, 1917, an estimated mob of over a hundred white men, women, and children charged through East St. Louis massacring blacks. People were shot, clubbed, stabbed, burned, maimed, tortured, and terrorized. Corpses were hung for public display. Some of the blacks fought back but were eventually overpowered and killed. Whites who tried to help blacks were threatened at gunpoint, and bricks were thrown at the policemen and the military. There is no clear evidence of how many people were killed that day, but a conservative estimate that over one hundred blacks lost their lives.

Unaware of the rioting, most blacks were caught off guard. Dragging victims from their homes, churches, and public streetcars, the violence continued. Matt, her brother, and Pervis, his best friend, were on their way home. The two of them saved money by sharing a room in a cheap boarding house near the stockyards. Matt had made arrangements to move to a larger room in the same boarding house. Rutha Mae arrived at 7:15 p.m. Missouri Pacific Railroad Train out of Pine Bluff, Arkansas later that evening. Two years earlier, Matt and Pervis had arrived in St. Louis on the Arkansas Midland Railroad Company.

As the two of them talked about Rutha Mae joining them and joked about old times, three older, well-dressed white men approached them. Brandishing a gun and wearing a menacing grin, one of the men show Pervis in the head. Another of the other men laughed, "Get a nigger?" The other two fellows cried out, "Get another." The man pointed the gun at Matt, but Matt jumped him before he could get a shot off. Matt and the man struggled, and the gun went off. The man went down on the ground. The gun had fallen next to Matt's feet, so he picked it up. Firing at the other two men, Matt wounded one of them in the shoulder while the other man ran off into the shadows. Matt looked at the man on the ground. Pervis was dead. The first man he'd shot had a hole in his chest the size of his fist. Left lying on the ground, the third man was begging for his life.

"Please don't kill me. Take the money. Don't belong to me no way. I tried to tell them not to take that money. Don't kill me…I got a wife and two little girls at home waiting for me. Please take the money….'" he said as he tried to hand Matt a cashbox of money.

Matt heard an explosion and then another. He looked in the direction of Relay Depot and saw the city on fire. At this moment, the full impact of what had just transpired in the last few minutes hit him. There was nothing he could do for Pervis. He had killed a man, a white man, and wounded another white man. Matt felt a tightness in his chest and gasped for air.

"So much money…please," pleaded the wounded man.

"Why. Why?'" stammered Matt.

"Riots, nigger taking our jobs and I hear tell the police ain't safe neither." answered the white man.

Matt stooped down and snatched the cashbox from the man. He was crying. Matt knew there was nothing left for him to do but run. He ran and knew he'd be running for the rest of his life for killing a white man. A few blocks ahead, he met up with another group of blacks escaping from their burnt-out communities. By way of the Eads Bridge, they stayed low to the ground, hiding; he used the building as cover. Rutha Mae was scheduled to arrive at 7:15 p.m. There he hid and waited until it was time to meet Rutha Mae's train. He purchased a ticket for his sister and himself to proceed to Kansas City. As Rutha Mae's train pulled into St. Louis Union Station, her brother joined her on board.

"Me and Pervis …we jes walkin' and talkin'.…on our way home. We don't know nothin' bout no riot. Pervis dead, baby girl. Some white men kilt him," Matt whispered to Rutha Mae. They were seated in the rear of the colored section of the coach headed for Kansas City, Missouri. "Dey wouldda kilt me, too 'ceptin I jumped one of em first. Rutha Mae I don kilt a man…a white man. Do you know what dat means?"

Rutha Mae nodded. Her eyes welled up with tears. She drew her brother close to her and let him rest his head on her shoulder.

"What happened to the other white men?" asked Rutha Mae.

"I shot one and left him dere. Da other one musta run off to git help. He gave me dis here money. Said it weren't their money no way. My guess is dey stole during the rioting. I got da money hid real good on me, but I want you to take it in case dey lookin' for me. And da gun. Best put it in your shirt or sumthang. Baby girl, I saw some of the most awfullest thangs."

"Shss," Rutha Mae said softly, "lay your head down in my lay and rest." She noticed dried blood on his pants, and she covered it with her long skirt. She knew she was no longer a girl. No, she was a woman now, and her brother needed her. Rutha Mae had traveled alone, crossing over into Cairo, on up into St. Louis, and now she and Matt would make their new home in Kansas City. It was nightfall when they arrived in Kansas City.

"Earl, rest his soul, was one of the first people your Uncle Mack met when we first got to Kansas City in 1917. He took us around da city."

"I didn't know nothin' when I first got here. And even though Matt had been up North, he was still pretty green. We was just two country coins, and not enough sense between the two of us to make a nickel. And dat money. We had never seen dat much money. Didn't even know how to count that much money. Ump. Ump. Ump. So I did what he asked me to. I carried dat money everywhere I went, and nobody ever knew. We prayed on it, and Matt decided to tell Earl how we come by da money.

"After Matt and Pervis got to St. Louis, they went to work in the stockyards. Matt was sending money home regularly. Dat lidddle money he was sending us, shor made thangs easier on Daddy. He didn't come home da first Christmas, but dat next Christmas he came home. Pete came home, too. By dis time, Pete had gotten married and had two babies by den. He had got work with da railroad and had moved his family to Chicago. His wife was expecting again, so she had stayed home with da babies. I remember it Miz Leeta jes like it was yesterdiddy.

“In all my life, it was da bestest Christmas in every which way. Matt and Pete brought presents for everybody. Me and Pearl got new dresses and shoes. Pete brung daddy a pipe and some tobacco; Matt gave him some overalls. Mama got two new dresses and a black hat. It was da funniest looking hat, like the fancy women in da Sears Roebuck catalog wear. Matt said dats what da women was wearing in St. Louis. Mama got da biggest kick outta dat. Dey could only stay a few days; dey had to go back to dey jobs and all. It broke my heart when it was time for Matt to leave, but den dats when him and Pete say dey wants us all to come up North.

"Da four of us knew that Daddy and Mama wouldn't go nowhere. They were tied to the land. Lots of folks was like dat. There was no way Mama and Daddy was gon leave. Pearl said she wouldn't leave dem and den, too…she was seeing dis boy, Beau who worked in town. I asked Mama and Daddy could I go. I wanted to git outta Hope, Arkansas so bad it hurt, chile. Dey was scared, with me being so young and all. I'd be traveling all by myself. Matt tolt em, "If you have a weak mind, you won't make it-but Rutha Mae ain't like dat. She's strong, and she's a smart girl." Dey listened to Matt and Pete. So we talked 'bout it and talked some more…we talked 'bout it most of the night. It was decided dat come da next summer; Matt was gon send for me to come up north with him. I jes couldn't believe it. Daddy was gon let me go. And he did…hallelujah, praise be…he shor nuff did," smiled her grandmother.

"Like I said, Matt told Earl bout the money. Earl asked us what we wanted to do with da money. We knew what we wanted: a house of our own. The three of us prayed on it. Earl was da one dat talked to da white family dat me, and Matt bought dis house from. We didn't know how to talk to white folks, and we shor couldn't explain how we come into dat money. Mister Smith, that's the man's name we bought the house from, and Earl had worked together for years, and Smith's wife was real sick, and all the kids was grown and gone to New York, Pittsburgh, and other parts. He wanted a whole heap of money for it, $2,000. We didn't let da cat out da bag right off dat we owned dis house. Back den a black man bet not be caught pass twenty-seventh & Pasoe after dark. They would let us go between Tenth street, and I believe.…, um, Twenty-seventh street. And den from Prospect to Troost dere wasn't no problems. So you shor 'nuff couldn't buy a house anywhere you felt like it. I wanted to pay Mr. Smith $500.00 to keep a secret for a while that we were the new owners-since Matt was still nervous and all. Matt and Earl thought that was a good idea.

I also brung up how much Earl wanted to work the deal and counting the money and all dat. He didn't stutter but said he thought $500.00 would be fair. Earl and Matt shook on it, and I shook on it, too. After dat Matt, Earl, me, and Smith jes went on like he still owned da house and we was jes minding it for him. He'd stop by all da time like he was looking over his property, and he'd stay and have dinner with us. He passed away, he did."

"He was always scared for us. He was worried dat da white men would and git him fur what happened in St. Louis. Dat's why he joined da Army and went off to fight dem mean ole Germans in da First War" said Big Mama. "Whew! There was signs in windows and ev'ry where you went saying 'I WANT YOU and ENLIST TODAY,' with a picture of old Uncle Sam staring right at ya. One day, Matt ran into the house, grabbed me up and spun me around, and told me, `I gon serve with da 93rd. We gon make da world safe for democracy. Don't you worry none cause I'm gon come back. While I'm gon, Earl gon see to it dat you'll be alright and help you run da house and all. By the time I git back, what happened in St Louis will be all forgot, baby girl. I'll come back a hero and won't be havin' to look over my shoulder all da time. I jes gotta go.'

"I started crying. My brother pulled out his big, white handkerchief and wiped my tears and told me to blow my nose. Jes like he did when I was liddle. He told me not to cry. I ask him what democracy is. Matt jes said dis was a good thang for him to do. He jes knew thangs was gon be different when he and da rest of da black soldier boys came back home. But it wasn't."

"`Dey'll have to respect us den, baby girl,' Matt told me," said her grandmother, "But they didn't. Thangs got worse for black folks. I hear tell a lot of our boys got lynched-still wearing dey uniforms."

"Was he gone for a long time, Big Mama?" asked Oleta.

"Baby, he died a few months later," replied Big Mama, "He was kilt in a place called Chateau Thiery, over there in France. The Frenchies was so grateful to our menfolk for what dey done for dem and all, dat dey don't care if a man is black or white. Our young, black boys saved dey families, dey homes, and dey country. I thought I would surely die da day I got word dat Mack got killed. Earl took care of thangs and me. He sent word to Daddy, Mama, and my sister, Pearl, that Matt had got his self kilt. He got a French metal for fighting with, what da Frenchies's call gallantry, dat means your uncle was very brave. I sent da metal to Mama and Daddy. Den after dey passed away, and Pearl made sure I got it back.

"In his enlistment papers, he had named me as his wife. Wasn't like I was lying to Uncle Sam cause Matt done dat his self. I jes didn't see no reason to go tell da government nothing different. Then da checks start coming from da government's widow fund. Earl and me would send half da money back home. I figured Mack wanted dat. Dem was some lean times after Matt died. I cried all the time and moped around da house."

"After we moved in here old Sam Hopkins got bombed out. He was president of da Square Deal Realty Company here in Kansas City. Dey got da point across loud and clear. Keep us out of dey neighborhoods. I wouldn't be surprised if it still dat way somewhere in this country. Why dat boy Sammy Davis and da one with da T.V. show I like so much. Nat King Cole. Nat and Sammy both had more money than Carter's got pills. Dey can buy a house in a fancy, white neighborhood all dey want—but dey could not live dere. I read some years back where Nat King Cole had all kinds of problems livin' in one neighborhood. I guess Sammy Davis thought cause he done turned Jew and all, dat he could git away wit it. But baby, some white folks can't stand Jews neither. Dat's why Big Mama is always tryin' to tell you not to forgit who you are. Cause soon as you do, chile, somebody gon remind you and you gon git hurt.

"Like I was saying, we paid for it out of dat money, signed da papers saying it was ours, and den da men went down to City Hall and finished making it legal and all. He'd stop by all da time like he was looking over his property, and he'd stay and have dinner with us. I always figured da poor ole codger was lonely 'cause his wife died a month after we moved in. Man loved Earl's cooking. After a while, I guess da neighbors got used to us being here. We kept our yard all pretty and everythang. We was nice to dem, and most of dem was nice to us. Most of it was the sweet apple and cinnamon rolls I took over to dey houses every other day.

"Matt liked having Earl around da house. He liked listening to Earl's stories about his travels. I did too. Earl'd been pretty much all over da world. Dat was da only time I can remember seeing my brother smiling. Sometimes dey'd go fishin' or out to one of da joints on Vine. Dey'd meet me after church on Sundays. Dey'd come by all dressed up, and da three of us would go to Parade Park or dinner. Dere was lots going on back den. Folks would go to Estelle Park at 17th and Vine, where we'd have relay races and picnics. There was always a baseball going on unless it was raining. We had everything in our communities dat da whites had, just not as good. We couldn't go into dey communities anytime we wanted—unless we was working. Dey could go anywhere dey wanted since dey had da money, and dey had da police. We had da police, too, but things was different den. Still, it was better den being down in da Bottoms and a hell of a sight better den Hope, Arkansas.

"Sometimes I'd look in Matt's eyes and I'd see the sadness still dere, like it had been since St. Louis. Matt ran into some real bad trouble in St. Louis right before we came here…so…he never could be…be...."

"—happy, Big Mama?" asked Oleta.

"Happy. My poor brother could not be a happy man. He always thought dey was looking for him."

"Did he do something bad Big Mama?"

"No, Leeta, he didn't do nothing bad. Your Uncle Matt was da finest young man I ever knowed, black or white. I pray I'm gon meet him up in heaven when I git dere. My sweet Jesus, but we gon have a good ole time.

"He was always scared for us. Dat's why he joined da Army and went off to fight dem mean ole Germans in da First War. Whew! There was signs in windows and ev'ry where you went saying, "I WANT YOU and ENLIST TODAY, with a picture of old Uncle Sam staring right at ya. One day, Matt ran into the house, grabbed me up, spun me around, and told me, `I gon serve with da 93rd. We gon make da world safe for democracy. Don't you worry none cause I'm gon come back. While I'm gon, Earl gon see to it dat you'll be alright and help you run da house and all. By the time I git back, what happened in St Louis will be all forgot, baby girl. I'll come back a hero. I won't be havin' to look over my shoulder all da time. I jes gotta go.'

"I started crying. My brother pulled out his big, white handkerchief and wiped my tears, and told me to blow my nose. Jes like he did when I was liddle. He told me not to cry. I ask him what democracy is. Matt jes said dis was an excellent thang for him to do. And democracy, he wasn't sure what it meant, but it was good for us. He jes knew thangs was gon be different when he and da rest of da black soldier boys came back home. But it wasn't.

"`Dey'll have to respect us den, baby girl,' Matt told me," said her grandmother, "But they didn't. Thangs got worse for black folks. I hear tell a lot of our boys got lynched-still wearing dey uniforms."

"Was he gone for a long time, Big Mama?" asked Oleta.

"Baby, he died a few months later," replied Big Mama, "He was kilt in a place called Chateau Thiery, over there in France. The Frenchies was so grateful to our men folk for what dey done for dem and all, dat dey don't care if a man is black or white. Our young, black boys saved dey families, dey homes and dey country. I thought I would surely die da day I got word dat Mack got killed. Earl took care of thangs …and of me. He sent word to Daddy, Mama and my sister, Pearl, that Matt had got his self kilt. He got a French metal for fighting with, what da Frenchies's call gallantry…dat means your uncle was very brave. I sent da metal to Mama and Daddy. Den after dey passed away Pearl made sure I got it back."

"In his enlistment papers, he had named me as his wife. Wasn't like I was lying to Uncle Sam cause Matt done dat his self. I jes didn't see no reason to go tell da government nothing different. Then da checks start coming from da government's widow fund. Earl and me would send half da money back home. I figured Mack wanted dat. Earl knew I needed to keep busy, so he talked me into taking in borders. I told him I didn't know nothing 'bout running no boarding house. He told me he'd teach me how. And den when I asked him how we was gonna git da boarders he said he'd take care of dat, too. There was still $300.00 left in my stash, so we bought beds, dressers, and chiffarobes for the borders. He had already taken me shopping to buy furniture for our home and clothes for me. True to his word, he did. We had nice borders. Not a single one of dem gave us a problem. Cause for one thang, dese was people Earl worked with and dey respected Earl a lot. Dey was clean; some of dem went to church- some didn't, but dat was none of our business and dey paid dey rent. We would sleep four men to a room, and four single ladies shared da big room upstairs. A retired pastor and his wife stayed downstairs in da room off from da living room. Dat was Rose's room when y'all moved in with me. You know your Mama, chile, coming in at all kinds of hours. She didn't want to wake up nobody.

"I believe dat was one reason why da neighbors didn't trouble us none because cinnamon rolls and pies Earl and me usta take em. I was busy from morning till night cooking, cleaning and washing for all those people. Earl was right as usual, I didn't have time to sit around and mope and feel sorry for myself. And like I always say, idle hands is da devil's workshop. It is hard for dat ole devil to catch you if you keep moving. Ain't dat right Miz Leeta?"

"Yes. I mean yes, ma'am."

"About eight years after Mack died, Daddy and Mama bought da house and a hundred acres off ole Mister Rice dat we'd been sharecropping for all dem years. After all dem years of listenin' to dat ole man promisin' to give him land, he had to buy it. The only thang ole man Rice gave him was some of rusty, busted-up machines. Daddy came down with pneumonia four to five years after he bought da house and land. And Mama... and Mama was trying to take care of him; she was bad sick. Thank God Pearl was still der. The last time I went back home was when Mama was dying, and so was Daddy. Cancer. I made my mother a promise dat I would take care of Pearl…I made her dat promise, baby. Pearl and Beau had married and would tak over Daddy's land and work it.

"Bout dat time me and Earl got together. He said he didn't like me messin with da boys my own age I was talking to. "Earl said dem boys was out for one thang," He Said, "I like dat one thang too, but I want to marry you." He promised he'd make me a good husband. I said I didn't know nothing 'bout being no wife. He said he'd teach me how. I really didn't want to marry no old man, but I was afraid of losin' everything, and I knew Earl would be good to me. I figured Matt could rest then, knowing I was in good hands and all. Matt had always made me stay pretty close to the house other than going to the church or the store cause he didn't want nothing bad to happen to me, too. Kansas City back den would'da put Sodam and Gomorrah to shame, baby. It was a wide-open town, and Tom Pendergast and his peoples saw to dat. And dat ole, devil Pendergast had his hands in everything dat went on in dis town.

Some people say he controlled da whole state. You worked if Boss Pendergast said you could work. Chicago had dey Boss Daley and we had him. Boss Pendergast kept Kansas City alive during da hard times in da Depression.

"So I married Earl Simms. I became Mrs. Rutha Mae Simms. Like it sposed' to be dat way. When I wasn't busy working round da house he made me go to school, and he'd drive me there and pick me up. Earl said my high yeller skin and my long hair was a magnet to menfolk.

Said he didn't want no wife of his being ignorant. He'd say it real joking-like. He was like dat, you know. Always had a smile on his face and telling jokes. And he helped people. Let's say somebody lost dey job and couldn't pay dey rent--Earl wouldn't put em out… he'd give dem a chance to get back on dey feet. Or say… somebody needed a place to stay for a little while… we'd find a way to put dem up. And if dey was out of work, we'd put dem to work to do round here.

"I'd had Frank by den, so I was glad for da help. We'd put dem to painting, fixin' stuff up, helping fix da meals—dats how I got my vegetable garden. After Rose was kilt, I rented da room to an old couple from Oklahoma. Dey'd lost a farm, and dey jes loved workin' in da garden. Dey didn't have much money, and we worked it out. For years we used to grow our own vegetables out in da back. I had a big vegetable garden. And all we didn't use, we canned for the winter months, or we gave to people. Before Earl died, he got da idea to plant dem fruit trees cause he liked my pies.

"He said I was a better baker than him, which was high praise coming from a man like Earl. He said he wanted me to be able to read and know my arithmetic so nobody could beat me out of everything we'd worked so hard for. Earl made a trip to the bank to help secure my saving accounts. And he taught me how to drive his old Chevy truck. I was blessed to have such a husband."

"What he die from, Big Mama?"

"Just old. Worked hard all his life. He died in his sleep one night. I had already woke Frank up and got him dressed. Earl liked us to eat our meals together. I fixed breakfast for us like I did every morning… early—we always ate our breakfast before the boarders came down for breakfast. Earl hadn't come down, and dat wasn't like him. Dat man got up fore da sun did, seven days a week. So I went upstairs to wake him up. We lived on da top floor back den. He'd passed away in his sleep, and I didn't even know it. I don't think he knew it. He looked awful peaceful—like he was still sleeping. I guess you could say he was, huh? Me and Frank was glad he died the way he did. The funeral was beautiful. All the peoples came to pay their respect to Frank and me. Praise be.

"I guess you can say he was a good man," agreed Oleta.

"Big Mama what's it like to be dead?"

"I don't rightly know for sure, baby. And I ain't in no hurry to find out neither. I'll tell you dis, Miz Leeta, when a person does die, all da flesh and stuff is what passes away. But da best part lives on, right?"

"Your soul lives on," said Oleta, "huh, Big Mama?"

"Right, baby...Be thou faithful unto death and I will give thee a crown of life…Revelations 2:10. And da soul of da believer goes-"

"To heaven," said Oleta. She took her grandmother's hand in hers and kissed it.

"I love you, Big Mama with all my heart."

"Your Big Mama loves you, too, Baby," smiled Big Mama. She liked this, talking about her past. No one had ever asked her before. The stillness of the night, the moon was bright, and the stars twinkled as she continued talking. But then she asked Oleta to go inside to look at the clock over by the wall phone and come back and tell her what time it is?

"It's 10:05," Oleta said.

"We best go to bed and I'll tell you some more," said Big Mama.

"In his enlistment papers, he had named me as his wife. Wasn't like I was lying to Uncle Sam cause Matt done dat his self. I jes didn't see no reason to go tell da government nothing different. Then da checks start coming from da government's widow fund. Earl and me would send half da money back home. I figured Mack wanted dat. Earl knew I needed to keep busy, so he talked me into taking in borders. I told him I didn't know nothing 'bout running no boarding house. He told me he'd teach me how. And den when I asked him how we was gonna git da boarders he said he'd take care of dat, too. There was still $300.00 left in my stash, so we bought beds, dressers, and chiffarobes for the borders. He had already taken me shopping to buy furniture for our home and clothes for me. True to his word, he did. We had nice borders. Not a single one of dem gave us a problem. Cause for one thang, dese was people Earl worked with and dey respected Earl a lot. Dey was clean; some of dem went to church- some didn't, but dat was none of our business and dey paid dey rent. We would sleep four men to a room, and four single ladies shared da big room upstairs. A retired pastor and his wife stayed downstairs in da room off from da living room. Dat was Rose's room when y'all moved in with me. You know your Mama, chile, coming in at all kinds of hours. She didn't want to wake up nobody.

"I believe dat was one reason why da neighbors didn't trouble us none because cinnamon rolls and pies Earl and me usta take em. I was busy from morning till night cooking, cleaning and washing for all those people. Earl was right as usual, I didn't have time to sit around and mope and feel sorry for myself. And like I always say, idle hands is da devil's workshop. It is hard for dat ole devil to catch you if you keep moving. Ain't dat right Miz Leeta?"

"Yes. I mean yes, ma'am."

"About eight years after Mack died, Daddy and Mama bought da house and a hundred acres off ole Mister Rice dat we'd been sharecropping for all dem years. After all dem years of listenin' to dat ole man promisin' to give him land, he had to buy it. The only thang ole man Rice gave him was some of rusty, busted-up machines. Daddy came down with pneumonia four to five years after he bought da house and land. And Mama... and Mama was trying to take care of him; she was bad sick. Thank God Pearl was still der. The last time I went back home was when Mama was dying, and so was Daddy. Cancer. I made my mother a promise dat I would take care of Pearl…I made her dat promise, baby. Pearl and Beau had married and would tak over Daddy's land and work it.

"Bout dat time me and Earl got together. He said he didn't like me messin with da boys my own age I was talking to. "Earl said dem boys was out for one thang," He Said, "I like dat one thang too, but I want to marry you." He promised he'd make me a good husband. I said I didn't know nothing 'bout being no wife. He said he'd teach me how. I really didn't want to marry no old man, but I was afraid of losin' everything, and I knew Earl would be good to me. I figured Matt could rest then, knowing I was in good hands and all. Matt had always made me stay pretty close to the house other than going to the church or the store cause he didn't want nothing bad to happen to me, too. Kansas City back den would'da put Sodam and Gomorrah to shame, baby. It was a wide-open town, and Tom Pendergast and his peoples saw to dat. And dat ole, devil Pendergast had his hands in everything dat went on in dis town.

Some people say he controlled da whole state. You worked if Boss Pendergast said you could work. Chicago had dey Boss Daley and we had him. Boss Pendergast kept Kansas City alive during da hard times in da Depression.

"So I married Earl Simms. I became Mrs. Rutha Mae Simms. Like it sposed' to be dat way. When I wasn't busy working round da house he made me go to school, and he'd drive me there and pick me up. Earl said my high yeller skin and my long hair was a magnet to menfolk.

Said he didn't want no wife of his being ignorant. He'd say it real joking-like. He was like dat, you know. Always had a smile on his face and telling jokes. And he helped people. Let's say somebody lost dey job and couldn't pay dey rent--Earl wouldn't put em out… he'd give dem a chance to get back on dey feet. Or say… somebody needed a place to stay for a little while… we'd find a way to put dem up. And if dey was out of work, we'd put dem to work to do round here.

"I'd had Frank by den, so I was glad for da help. We'd put dem to painting, fixin' stuff up, helping fix da meals—dats how I got my vegetable garden. After Rose was kilt, I rented da room to an old couple from Oklahoma. Dey'd lost a farm, and dey jes loved workin' in da garden. Dey didn't have much money, and we worked it out. For years we used to grow our own vegetables out in da back. I had a big vegetable garden. And all we didn't use, we canned for the winter months, or we gave to people. Before Earl died, he got da idea to plant dem fruit trees cause he liked my pies.

"He said I was a better baker than him, which was high praise coming from a man like Earl. He said he wanted me to be able to read and know my arithmetic so nobody could beat me out of everything we'd worked so hard for. Earl made a trip to the bank to help secure my saving accounts. And he taught me how to drive his old Chevy truck. I was blessed to have such a husband."

"What he die from, Big Mama?"

"Just old. Worked hard all his life. He died in his sleep one night. I had already woke Frank up and got him dressed. Earl liked us to eat our meals together. I fixed breakfast for us like I did every morning… early—we always ate our breakfast before the boarders came down for breakfast. Earl hadn't come down, and dat wasn't like him. Dat man got up fore da sun did, seven days a week. So I went upstairs to wake him up. We lived on da top floor back den. He'd passed away in his sleep, and I didn't even know it. I don't think he knew it. He looked awful peaceful—like he was still sleeping. I guess you could say he was, huh? Me and Frank was glad he died the way he did. The funeral was beautiful. All the peoples came to pay their respect to Frank and me. Praise be.

"I guess you can say he was a good man," agreed Oleta.

"Big Mama what's it like to be dead?"

"I don't rightly know for sure, baby. And I ain't in no hurry to find out neither. I'll tell you dis, Miz Leeta, when a person does die, all da flesh and stuff is what passes away. But da best part lives on, right?"

"Your soul lives on," said Oleta, "huh, Big Mama?"

"Right, baby...Be thou faithful unto death and I will give thee a crown of life…Revelations 2:10. And da soul of da believer goes-"

"To heaven," said Oleta. She took her grandmother's hand in hers and kissed it.

"I love you, Big Mama with all my heart."

"Your Big Mama loves you, too, Baby," smiled Big Mama. She liked this, talking about her past. No one had ever asked her before. The stillness of the night, the moon was bright, and the stars twinkled as she continued talking. But then she asked Oleta to go inside to look at the clock over by the wall phone and come back and tell her what time it is?

"It's 10:05," Oleta said.

"We best go to bed and I'll tell you some more," said Big Mama.

OLETA slowly eased herself into her grandmother's favorite chair—the big, brown, over-stuffed, La-Z-Boy recliner. The prized recliner sat directly in front of the television console. Oleta smiled, remembering the day she'd got the chair for Big Mama. She'd bought it with money she'd saved from a summer job at the local Penn Valley Community College during her sophomore year. The following month she'd left to attend school in California. Big Mama had made a fuss over the chair, but she'd always made a fuss over anything Oleta did for her. She remembered back to the day she purchased it.

"Do you really like it, Big Mama? Because if you don't…."

"Miz Leeta, I'm as pleased as a basket full of possum heads." Even though Rutha Mae Brown had lived all her adult life in Kansas City, she'd never stopped using the colorful, southern expressions she'd grown up with within Georgia. Oleta leaned back in the chair and raised her legs. "Don't get too comfortable," she told herself. This was not the time for relaxing because there was so much left to do, and important decisions had to be made

"T.C.B…Leeta, you gots to take care of business when dey's business to be taken care of. You see, chile, dats where so many black people mess up," her grandmother had told her time and time again.

Big Mama referred to herself as a Black woman long before groups of progressive, young people and the politicians did in the late sixties and seventies. She said Negro was just a fancy word for nigger and she just out and out hated the word colored. She swore she would have joined the NAACP quicker than you could say, Jackie Robinson, if and when the NAACP dropped the word colored. Oleta fixed her eyes on the black and white picture. Then, finally, she said out loud, "I miss you, ole girl. How can I possibly get through all this without having you to talk to?"

Oleta looked intently at the photograph in her hands as if waiting for an answer to come. She set the photo back down on the curio table. Then, pulling the steno pad and pen out of her pocket, she wrote: #27 Call the Kansas City Star and the Kansas City Call newspapers to stop deliveries: #28 Get someone to prune the roses; #29: Get the same person to cut the grass; #30. Water the lawn today—correction, water the lawn every day.

The phone ringing interrupted her thoughts. She decided to let the machine pick it up. The answering machine picked up the call on the third ring. Oleta listened to her grandmother's voice come across loud and strong in her recorded message:

"Hi. I'm not able to come to the phone right now, but leave your message. I'll call you back later on. I hope you have a blessed day," said her grandmother's recorded voice.

"Hi Baby, this is Sister Dean from your grandmother's church. I'm just calling to see if you need anything. I'd like to invite you to services this Sunday. You call me if you need me to come pick you up or if you need anything. My number is 555-9909. I hope you're not in that big ole house by yourself, child. Bye now."

"No thank you," thought Oleta, "they don't give up." There were calls every day directly from the church or individual members, neighbors, and friends of her late grandmother. People were still leaving flowers on the porch. Neighbors and women from the church stopped by with hot plates of food for her. They were all friendly, and each had a story of Big Mama's kindness. There were bowls and platters of fried chicken, okra, fried catfish and perch, greens, and pinto beans leftover from the funeral day. Oleta added to the list: #29

Clean out the refrigerator.

She had every intention of going back to California once she completed her work here.

"Big Mama, what am I supposed to do with this big-ass house? You always found time to tell me what to do about everything else," she said angrily, slamming her hand down on the arm of the chair. Oleta caught herself talking out how her grandmother's affairs were to be settled. Oleta just didn't have any idea of how long it was going to take. A part of getting her affairs in order involved deciding what to do with the house. Her grandmother had left it to her, along with $20,000 and $20,000 to Joann or Vidella, her cousins. She hadn't seen Vidella since the funeral. Once Vidella, now 41 years old, had been the prettiest of the three of them, but now she looked like death warmed over. The last three years had been terribly hard on her. Two years ago, her youngest son had been killed in a drive-by shooting. The other son, Charles, who was 26 years old, was in prison for dealing drugs. Frank was the only remaining son. Joann, 39 years old, told Oleta that Vidella lived in an apartment in the worst sections of town. Joann had retired from the Post Office after twenty years of service last year. It seemed to Oleta that Joann's life had been turned upside down due to her daughter's crack cocaine addiction. Child Protective Services had taken her children into protective custody. Joann was raising her four children, ages nine, six, three, and ten months old. She and the children lived in what had once been considered a nice block, Twenty-seventh and Wabash. But, unfortunately, the drugs and the street violence had practically taken over the neighborhood. She tasted the sour bile rising from her stomach.

Oleta got sick to her stomach every time she so much as thought about selling the house, but sometimes that was all she thought about. In fact, Oleta was thinking about it at least thirty times a day. Even though she had never said it directly to her, Oleta knew it had been Big Mama's wish for her not to sell the house. If it had been so important to keep the house in the family, why hadn't she given it to someone who needed it? Wondered Oleta. Her grandmother knew she didn't need it. I have a home, and it's not here. I decided, not you, Big Mama, because you don't always know what's best. I chose where I wanted to plant my roots a long time ago.

Oleta raised her right hand to the back of her neck and touched her hairline. Speaking of roots, Oleta, girl, you're overdue for a touch-up. Don't even think about giving yourself a perm. The last time you tried to do that, you ended up wearing wigs for the next six months. She was wearing a very short hairstyle. Oleta was the only one with nappy hair in the family. She tried running her fingers through the thick, coarse hair at the nape of her neck but wasn't able to.

Oleta's mind flashed back to when she was little and seated in a kitchen chair next to the stove. Big Mama was warning her to sit still, or she was going to fall off the stack of phone books she sat on. She remembered the sizzling sound of grease as her grandmother ran the heavy, iron-pressing comb through her hair. Big Mama would turn the radio off on hair day. She didn't want to be distracted.

"Set still, chile. Pull your ear back, so I won't burn you," Big Mama would scold, "If you had your way 'bout it, you'd be lookin' good in da front. But anybody sitting in back of you, ain't gon see nothing but a field full of nappy hair and b.b. shots."

"But Big Mama that hurts," whined Oleta, squirming in her make-shift seat.

"I don told you to sit your liddle, black behind still so I can get through. For such a pretty girl you got the nappiest head of hair. I never in all my born days had to work dis hard to press somebody's hair - no wonder you so hard-headed. And I think it just keeps growing out of sheer spite….hold still! I'm gon keep on keeping on till I'm don, you hear me? Be da job big or small, do it well."

"….or not at all. Right, Big Mama?" thought Oleta. Once a task has begun, do not stop until it's done. I'm going to do the best I can, Big Mama. You had to know that moving back here was not part of the big picture for me. If you have a plan for the house, please let me in on it please. You, of all people, ought to understand that you were the only reason I ever came back to Kansas City. After all, you were the one who told me, 'Don't let any grass grow under your feet…live your own life and make your own choices'….but you won't stop interfering. You're dead, and you're still trying to run things, dammit!

Oleta looked up at the ceiling and whispered, "I'm sorry Big Mama. It's just that I don't know what to do. The rational thing to do would be to call a realtor," said Oleta. No, several realtors. Why take any chances? "You've always been a rational person, haven't you?" Oleta asked out loud, "Well, haven't you?" The question demanded an answer. "Damn straight, I'm as rational as they come." The wishy-washy, I-can't-decide-what to-do-state-of mind she found herself stuck in was not like her, and it irritated her. She'd always had little patience for indecisive people and damned if she hadn't become one herself. Weeks ago, she wanted to go back to California. Now she wasn't sure if she was happy there. Oleta wanted to unload the house, this albatross around her neck. If it meant selling it, then she'd sell it. The problem was could she stand the guilt if she actually went through with it? After all, Oleta prided herself with being the only female department head at a very large software company in southern California. She had over one hundred and fifty employees in her division. In a short five-year period, Oleta had worked her way up through the ranks at Contec Software Inc. by proving she could make strategic, important decisions.

She had wanted to have a houseful of boys.  Boys.  She thought about the boys with whom she'd grown up.

The fellows: Tommy, Leroy, da Twins, Nem, and Fat Freddie. Oleta figured if anybody was going to make it big, it would have had to have been Larry Jackson.  Mrs. Jackson would have seen to it.  Oleta used to have a crush on Larry growing up. She knew that Larry Jackson would make a good husband for her.

During the summer vacations, the only teacher Oleta saw was Mrs. Jackson.  Mrs. Jackson had been Oleta's favorite teacher in elementary school, and she lived just a few houses down from them.  She had been in her third-grade class at Horace Mann Elementary. It was Mrs. Jackson who encouraged Oleta to carry a small notepad at all times.  That way, she could write down new words as she heard them and look them up in the dictionary later.

"Hi, Miz Jackson."

"Hello Oleta.  How is your mother?"

"Oh, she's fine.  Can Larry come outside and play?"

"Oleta, are you alright?

"Yes Ma'am," said Oleta scratching her legs feverishly. "I mean yes."

Mrs. Jackson was a modern-day Negro woman.  She would begin teaching fourth grade at Horace Mann Elementary School. She strongly discouraged her students from saying ma'am and sir.

She told her students those days were behind them as a people.

When Oleta was at school or with Miz Jackson, she answered yes or no.   She knew she had better say yes Ma'am or no ma'am around Big Mama.  Oleta knew if she didn't, she'd be out in the backyard looking for a switch for her to tan Oleta's behind.  Even Rose still said ma'am and sir around her.

"Are you sure you're alright?" asked Mrs. Jackson.

"I'm okey-dokey," replied Oleta, using one hand to scratch the back of her neck and the other hand to scratch her thigh. "I was laying down in the grass in my grandmother's back yard looking for four-leaf clovers.  I started at the front end of the yard—you know the part where it faces the alley?  And then I worked my way all along the fence on the side of the house.  I thought I had one, but I went in the house and showed it to Big Mama, and she said it was a five-leaf clover with a broken-off leaf.  Then she took a whiff of me.  Then she says, 'When you put dem clothes on?'

Then I told her yesterday.  Then she says, 'How come when you got so many nice clothes dat me, and your Mama don bought you, you up and still be wearing day-old musty clothes dat you don ripped and ran and played in yesterdiddy.' Then I say it made more sense to me to put on the same clothes because I knew I wasn't done gittin' dirty yet.  Then she put her hands on her hips and cocks her head to the side, and yells, 'Have you don loss your mind?' She always say that. And the next thing she always say is, 'Chile, is you crazy?' Then I say, 'No ma'am.' Then she made me go wash up and change my clothes all over again. So when I went back outdoors, for the life of me, I couldn't 'member where I left off."

A frustrated Oleta raised her hands in the air and shook her head.  Mrs. Jackson was always amused by how Oleta could take some little trivial thing and blow it up into something bigger than life.  She was careful not to talk down to Oleta.   She realized Oleta was very intelligent and mature for her age.

"So what did you do?" asked Mrs. Jackson. She had taught Oleta in her second-grade class two years earlier.

Oleta slapped her hands together and sighed and, "I pretty much had to start all over again. You have no idea how easy it is to miss one of em." Oleta went back to scratching herself and leaving white finger marks on her ashy, brown skin.

"So," sighed Oleta, "I went to one end of the—ouch!  One end of the fence, you know where da front gate is by the mailbox?  And I worked all the way to the other end of the fence, not finding one single four-leaf clover.  Shoot!  You got any four-leaf clovers in your yard. I'd be happy to pick em for you. I'm pretty good at it. I just haven't found one yet.  If anybody ever needed a four-leaf clover, it's me.   Maybe Larry can come outside and help me find some." Oleta was scratching in and around the many braids in her hair. "Must have been a lot of chiggers in the grass. I hate chiggers; they eating me up.  Can Larry come outside and play?"

"Slow down, Oleta.  I never met anyone who spoke as fast as you do." pointed out Mrs. Jackson.

Oleta couldn't tell if Mrs. Jackson meant that it was a good thing or a bad thing.  She was used to people telling her to slow down.  Whether she was eating, walking, running, talking, or reading, someone always found time to tell her to slow down. She figured for Mrs. Jackson to mention it must to some sort of compliment, after all, She was educated—she was a school teacher, for goodness sake.

"Who else is playing?" asked Mrs. Jackson.  The whole neighborhood knew Mrs. Jackson was very protective of her only child, Larry.

Her husband had been killed in the Korean War. In the last school term, she became the first black teacher to work in an all-white school in another area of town.

"Me… uh… I mean to say Tommy, Leroy, da Twins Nem and I will be playing.  Oh! And Fat Freddie. Tyrone's sick. He's got the chickenpox.

"Where will you be playing?" asked Mrs. Jackson.

"In the raceway." answered Oleta.

The raceway was a vacant lot that had been taken over by the older children of the neighborhood and then passed down to them.  Once a month, the parents made the neighborhood children pick up trash, broken bottles, and cans.  The vacant lot is where the kids played baseball and kickball, held their foot races, and settled differences between each other.

As usual, not waiting for a response from whomever she was talking to, Oleta plowed ahead and said, "I believe I'm gon have to go by my house first and—"

"I'm going to have to go…." said Mrs. Jackson correcting Oleta.

Oleta smiled patiently at Mrs. Jackson, "I'm going to have to go home and rub some alcohol on myself (she paused choosing her words carefully) before these chiggers eat me up alive."

"You want some alcohol?" asked Mrs. Jackson.

"No ma'am, I jes couldn't." Mama always used to say if somebody offers you sumthang. You jes smile and say, 'No, thank you kindly.' That don't count if they are your relatives.  You can take all you can get from your relatives. That's if they got anything worth having.

"Is Larry gon…I mean going to come out and play?" Oleta sat down on the front porch steps, her back to the woman, and continued scratching.

" Oleta, do you remember what happened the last time Larry played with you and the boys?" she questioned.

Oleta's jaw dropped, and her hands stopped moving for a moment or two.  How could that Larry Jackson go and tell his mother about what happened? Nobody had got hurt, she'd seen to that!  A snitch.  A rat.

Larry low-down dirty, snake in the grass Jackson!  Oleta decided right then and there she wasn't going to marry him now, no matter what!  Not even if he was the last boy on earth.  She wouldn't now, no matter what.  There went all her plans for becoming Mrs. Larry Jackson, and she would have made him a good wife, too. She turned and stared up at Mrs. Jackson and thought, You not gon be my mother-in-law now, Miz Jackson, and I don't care how smart you are!

She went back to scratching. Oleta knew for her not to get caught in a lie, she'd have first to find out how much and what Larry had tattle-telled to his mother.   She wasn't above lying if it meant getting out of a jam—she just didn't like getting caught in one.  Oleta was fit to be tied.  First, after all her trying, she hadn't been able to find one single four-leaf clover; here again, was proof that she needed some good luck.

Then, the chiggers were eating her to death, and now this!  My little young brains can just take so much.

She gave Mrs. Jackson one of her best impish smiles and said, "The last time, Miz Jackson?  Let me think now." Oleta rubbed her chin with one hand and scratched her head with the other. "What did Larry say?"

"He said you and the neighborhood boys tried to hang him from your grandmother's porch like you'd seen it done on television.  Is that true Oleta?"

"We pulled straws and nobody got hurt.  He didn't have to do it.  As soon as I saw him choking and flopping around I told them to take him down.  But Fat Freddie was showing off about how he had learned to tie a tight rope in the Boy Scouts.  He did to!  It was so tight we couldn't get him down fast.  I didn't know what to do.  My grandmother was at work.  So I ran in the kitchen and snatched a butcher…I mean I got a butcher knife and I saved his life. It took him a few minutes to catch his breath. He didn't seem that bad when he went home. He didn't even thank me, Miz Jackson.  I was the only one who came up with the idea to blow in his mouth and hit him in the chest until he came back around. Only thing he did was yell at me…well not yell really cause he couldn't hardly talk. He said my breath stank.  Now, that wasn't very polite."

"He still has a rope ring around his neck," said Mrs. Jackson.

"He does? Wow." said Oleta wishing she could get a gander at that.  Maybe she could go get her Brownie Camera and take a picture of it before it wore off.

"Wasn't it just two, three weeks ago that Arliss fell out of a tree and broke his arm? Arliss's mother told me that you talked him into climbing up in the tree."

"Well me and the fellows were watching Superman—"

"Oleta you do know that Superman is make believe?"

"Oh, I know it, but Arliss don't.

He bet me a Butterfinger that he could prove he could fly-if it was windy.  He lost."

"Oleta, what we gonna do with you?" asked Mrs. Jackson shaking her head.  You have a ready-made excuse for everything.  Seems to me you've developed the art of pontificating your way out of just about any situation you get other people into."

"Pontifi—"started Oleta reaching into her overalls and pulling out her notepad. "How do you spell that word? Oops, I mustta lost my pencil in the grass."

Mrs. Jackson reached into the pocket of her terry cloth housecoat and pulled out a pencil and notebook, "Here, I'll write it down for you."

"And, it's what are you going to do with me?" smiled Oleta. "Is Larry going to come out and play?" Oleta took the slip of paper Mrs. Jackson handed her, folded it, and stuck it in her back pocket.

"No, I'm going to keep Larry in for a while," said Mrs. Jackson.  She ignored the fact that the soon-to-be fifth-grader had just corrected her grammar.

"Well, I better be getting on home. Good bye, Miz Jackson." said Oleta heading down the walkway.

"Oh, Oleta!  Tell your grandmother hello for me." Mrs. Jackson called after her.

"I shall, indeed!" said Oleta, not bothering to turn around.

She heard the screen door close as Mrs. Jackson went inside. That's when Oleta turned and glanced back at the white, two-story house.  Larry stuck his head out from between the white, laced curtains and waved at her.  Oleta poked her tongue out at him and walked back to her house.

As soon as she walked in the front door, her Grandmother took one look at her and said, "Go catch some bath water, young lady.  And you better throw dem clothes in da dirty clothes basket like you got some sense. Git!".