The First Lie

  Henry Allen could always talk me into things. I put my fingertips on the plancher again. “Let’s just ask her more questions about herself, only not about the … you know”—I lowered my voice—“the dying part.”

  So we asked her about her people and where she grew up, but the plancher didn’t budge. Ruby was done talking to us. It was worse than when she told us about getting killed, because every time we asked a question and waited for her answer, something brushed against the windows and it started to sound like ghosts to me. Like they was trying to get in.

  “I think when you took your hands off, she got mad,” Henry Allen whispered. “You asked a question and then didn’t listen to her answer and instead got her stuck here forever. And now we’re doomed.”

  “Don’t say that!” I leaned across the board to hit his arm. I was afraid he was right. I felt Ruby inside the church with us, swooping around our shoulders. I felt her brush past my hair. Our lanterns flickered and the darkness was like a thick black blanket coming down over us. “How can we get her back where she belongs?”

  “I don’t know,” he said. “Put your fingers on it again.”

  I did.

  “Ruby,” Henry Allen said, “we’re right sorry we messed you up. We didn’t mean nothing by it. Can we help you get back where you belong?”

  The plancher didn’t move at all and the dark blanket fell tighter over us, making it hard to breathe. All of a sudden, for no reason at all, Henry Allen’s lantern blew out.

  “Shit!” he said, scrambling to his feet. “Let’s get out of here!” He grabbed the board and the plancher and I grabbed my lantern and we ran for the door and out into the graveyard, heading for our bikes.

  “Pray!” he said as he jumped on his bike. “Pray real hard!”

  I rode after him, saying the Lord’s Prayer over and over again, but I could still feel Ruby swooping around me, her breath, hot and damp and nasty on my neck, and I started to cry.

  We didn’t stop pedaling till we got to Deaf Mule Road where it ran through the Gardiners’ farm. I wiped the back of my hand over my eyes as we got off our bikes. My heart was still pounding hard and I had no wind at all, but moonlight rested on the empty brown fields and they looked beautiful to me. They looked like home.

  Henry Allen laughed. “We just scared ourselves silly for no good reason,” he said, like he didn’t believe anything that had just happened.

  “What do you mean, ‘no good reason’?” I asked. “What do you think made your light go out?”

  “Gust of wind.”

  “A gust of wind inside the church?”

  “I’m just saying it was all our imagination, what happened back there,” he said, though he didn’t sound convinced. “Look how windy it is tonight. The door was unlocked, so maybe a window was part open, too. Who knows?” We started walking our bikes up the road so we could talk. It was real dark out, but I could still see the outline of his face. He’d been my best friend my whole entire life, but every once in a while, I’d catch a look at him and see him like he was new to me and it would make me feel shy all of sudden. Lately, I’d been wondering how it would feel to kiss him. I was sure he wasn’t thinking no such thing himself.

  We was quiet for a bit and I felt like maybe we lost Ruby somewhere on our wild bike ride. All that praying we did probably got rid of her. I never prayed that hard in my life.

  “You know it could be Eli,” Henry Allen said as we walked. “You got to face that fact.”

  I shook my head. “If that baby comes out colored … I don’t know what’ll happen. Mary Ella will ruin everything. Your daddy’ll kick us off the farm, just for starters.”

  “No, he wouldn’t.”

  It was amazing Mr. Gardiner hadn’t kicked us out of the tenants’ house already. An old lady and two girls wasn’t much use on the farm, and soon one of them girls would have a baby to take care of. We wasn’t like Eli Jordan and his family that lived in the other tenants’ house. They was a hardworking bunch of boys, for sure. We all used to play together—me and Henry Allen and Mary Ella and all the Jordan kids. We’d fish or play tag or ball. That was before we got old enough that “mixing the races,” as Nonnie called it, wasn’t right. I had the feeling Mary Ella never got that message.

  “It could be anybody’s baby,” Henry Allen said. “You know how Mary Ella is.”

  “But Ruby said…” I shut up, worried that if she was still around us, she might perk up at the mention of her name. “Never mind,” I said. “Let’s not talk about it no more.”

  We split up then, him riding to his house, me riding to mine, and by the time I got home, I’d nearly forgotten about Ruby altogether, especially when I heard Mary Ella screaming for Mama and Nonnie shouting at me to call Mrs. Werkman. Now, as I rode my bike to the Gardiners’ house, the wind howling around my head, I wasn’t thinking about anything other than my sister, all tore up with pain. What Mrs. Werkman could do for her, I couldn’t figure, but we needed some kind of help, for sure.

  The Gardiners’ farmhouse was dark. Even the little stuck-on room at the back—Desiree’s room—was dark, and I guessed Henry Allen had already got the Ouija board back where it belonged and was up in bed. As I got closer, though, I could see a flickering light coming from one of his windows and knew he hadn’t got into bed quite yet.

  You could fit about six of our little houses into the Gardiners’ house. I dropped my bike in the dirt, then ran up the front steps to the big porch and rang the bell. It made a buzzer sound that I could hear through the door. I pressed it twice but no one came. Then I knocked and waited another minute before I finally started pounding on the glass window in the door. I’d never done nothing like that before—wake the Gardiners up in the middle of the night. Mr. Gardiner being a farmer and all, he’d be getting up soon anyway, but not this early.

  Through the glass, I saw Henry Allen coming down the stairs in the same overalls he’d had on when I left him. His mother was right behind him. Henry Allen gave me a panicky look when Mrs. Gardiner opened the door, like he was worried I’d gone crazy and was going to say something about the Ouija board and get us both into trouble.

  “Ivy!” his mother said. “What’s the matter?” She had on a blue robe and her dark hair was loose around her shoulders instead of in the bun she always wore.

  “I think Mary Ella’s going to have the baby.” I was winded from the ride and the words came out in a rush. “And Nonnie told me to come over to call Mrs. Werkman, but I think she’s confused and I should really call Nurse Ann, don’t you?” The Gardiners knew Mrs. Werkman and Nurse Ann. They knew pretty much all there was to know about my family. We’d lived on their farm since Daddy was a little boy.

  “Come in, dear.” She reached for my hand and drew me into the house. “You’re ice cold!” she said, wrapping both her hands around mine. I’d forgotten my gloves. “Henry Allen, you put some milk on to heat. This girl needs something to warm her up.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Henry Allen said, but before he walked away, he gave me a look that said Don’t say a thing about tonight, like I might of. It made me mad he thought I was that stupid.

  “How close is she?” Mrs. Gardiner asked. “Mary Ella? How close to having the baby?”

  I shivered. “I don’t know how to tell, ma’am,” I said. “But she’s hollerin’ a lot and—” I thought of how Mary Ella’s hair looked like a halo, how her spirit might be leaving her body right this minute, and my voice closed up. “Nonnie said to come over here fast,” I said. “But she said to call Mrs. Werk—”

  “Yes,” Mrs. Gardiner said. “I believe she’s right, except that Mrs. Werkman’s office will be closed until morning, so—”

  “I have the number for her house,” I said, pulling the card from my coat pocket. “But she ain’t no nurse. Nurse Ann always said she’d come when it was time for the baby.”

  “Don’t be troubled, dear.” Mrs. Gardiner smiled one of them I’m a grown-up and I know what’s best smiles. “Come into the kitchen
.” She wrapped her robe closed tight and led me toward their kitchen, an arm across my back. Henry Allen already had the milk heating in a pan on the stove. He glanced at me, looking less nervous than before, now that he knew I wasn’t there to get us in trouble.

  Mrs. Gardiner sat me down at the table and put the phone in front of me. “Nurse Ann is in agreement,” she said. “Mr. Gardiner and I spoke to her and your grandmother and we all feel that Mrs. Werkman can arrange Mary Ella’s care best.”

  I shook my head. “She ain’t no nurse!” I felt like everybody except me had lost their minds. “This is an emergency. Mary Ella needs a nurse!”

  Henry Allen poured the milk into a mug and put it on the table in front of me. I could smell the night on him—the wintry air and the scent of the church—but Mrs. Gardiner didn’t seem to notice.

  “Would you like me to make the call for you?” she asked.

  Again, I shook my head. I felt funny calling Mrs. Werkman in the middle of the night, but I was afraid Mrs. Gardiner couldn’t explain it good enough. She was acting way too calm to describe the mess Mary Ella was in. I dialed the phone—it was only the third time I’d used a phone in my life. It rang for a long time. Nine or ten rings, and Mrs. Werkman sounded half asleep when she answered.

  “This is Ivy Hart,” I said.

  “Ivy!” she sounded awake all of a sudden. “Is it Mary Ella?”

  “Yes, ma’am. I think she’s having the baby soon. She’s hollerin’ something awful. Should I call Nurse Ann to come over? I don’t have a number for—”

  “No, you don’t need to call her,” she said. “She won’t be delivering the baby. Mary Ella needs to go to the hospital, instead—”

  “Why?” What was going on? All along, the plan was for Nurse Ann to come when it was time. She was supposed to deliver the baby right in our house.

  “Mary Ella needs to have her appendix out after the baby’s born,” Mrs. Werkman said, “so she has to be in the hospital for them to be able to—”

  “What?” I shouted. “Nobody said nothing about her ’pendix!”

  “Well, the last time I spoke with Mary Ella, I could tell she needed to have an appendectomy—have her appendix removed.”

  I was too shocked to speak. When I was eight years old, a girl in my school died of a busted appendix. I’d never forget the terribleness of it. What if the same thing happened to Mary Ella?

  Mrs. Werkman kept talking. “I’ve been in touch with Nurse Ann so she knows, and Mary Ella’ll be well taken care of at the hospital,” she said. “I’ll call over there right now so they’ll be waiting for her. I’m sure Mr. Gardiner can take her. All right?”

  “All right.” I hung up the phone and looked at Mrs. Gardiner. “She said Mr. Gardiner should take her to the hospital.”

  Mrs. Gardiner turned to Henry Allen. “Run and fetch Eli,” she said.

  “No!” I stood up so fast, some of the milk sloshed onto the table. “Can’t Mr. Gardiner take us?”

  “He’s got a chest cold,” Mrs. Gardiner said. “Took him half the night to get to sleep. Eli can drive the truck just fine.”

  “But it’s almost morning!” I said. “Mr. Gardiner’ll be getting up soon, won’t he? Please?” I didn’t usually push like that. Not with the Gardiners, who held our past, present, and future in their hands. I didn’t have no right to push, but I didn’t want Eli Jordan anywhere near Mary Ella right then.

  Henry Allen stood at the kitchen door, one hand on the knob, waiting to hear what to do. “Go, son,” Mrs. Gardiner said to him, and he didn’t look at me as he grabbed his jacket from the hook next to the door and headed outside. “And you, Ivy,” she said. “Go home and get Mary Ella ready. Hurry now!” She gave me a little shove toward the door.

  “Nonnie won’t like it,” I said, more to myself than to Mrs. Gardiner as I ran out of the room, but I knew we had no choice. We hardly ever did.

  * * *

  I raced out of the Gardiners’ house and headed back down Deaf Mule Road on my bike. On the other side of the field, I saw a small white light bouncing through the darkness and knew Henry Allen took his bicycle to get to the Jordans’ house quicker. I pictured him pounding on their door, waking up Lita Jordan and her boys.

  I rushed into our house. Nothing was any different from when I left. Mary Ella was still shouting and hollering, sometimes calling out for Mama, and Nonnie was still trying to calm her down and mopping her forehead with the rag.

  “You talked to Mrs. Werkman?” Nonnie asked when I ran into the bedroom.

  “I did.” I had to bend over to catch my breath. “She said for somebody to drive Mary Ella to the hospital. That she needs her ’pendix out! How can she know—?”

  “Who?” Nonnie interrupted me. “Who can drive her? Is Mr. Gardiner coming?”

  “He’s sick,” I said. “Henry Allen’s gone to get Eli.”

  Nonnie’s eyes got real big. “Oh, Lord,” she said. “Now, ain’t that just perfect.”

  Mary Ella moaned and I didn’t know if she was in pain or upset about Eli. Nonnie looked over at me where I stood in the doorway. “Get some things ready for her to take to the hospital,” she said.

  “What kind of things?”

  “Nightie. Clean underwear. Toothbrush. You know. Use your head!”

  I gathered up everything I could think she might need, but I’d never spent the night at a hospital so I didn’t really know what to pack. I put her things in our clothespin bag; we didn’t have no suitcase. Back in the bedroom, Nonnie tried to get Mary Ella to sit up, but she kept saying “It hurts! It hurts!”

  “She’ll never be able to walk through the woods to the truck,” Nonnie said.

  “Maybe Henry Allen could get the wheelbarrow and we could move her that way?” I looked through the bedroom window. The sun was starting to light up the sky a little, and I saw Henry Allen and Eli coming out of the woods. I ran through the living room and out to the porch.

  “She can’t walk to the truck!” I shouted to them. “Henry Allen, what about the wheelbarrow?”

  Henry Allen stopped walking, but Eli kept right on coming. “I can carry her,” he said. I thought he could do it. He was so big. Nothing like the boy that played with us when we was kids. He climbed onto the porch in one big step. He was at least five inches taller than me and brawny and dark, except for his eyes, which was the color of honey. “Where’s she at?” he asked, but he didn’t need me to answer, because her hollering told him the way to the bedroom.

  I ran into the house after him.

  “You can’t come in here!” Nonnie shouted when he reached the bedroom.

  “Excuse me, ma’am, but does she need to get to the truck or not?” Eli asked.

  Nonnie stood up and tried to neaten the mussed-up housedress Mary Ella was wearing, tugging it as low on her legs as she could get it. Eli waited till she stepped aside; then he moved next to the bed and reached down for my sister. Mary Ella didn’t look at him the way I did—like he’d turned into a stranger since we was kids. She raised her arms to him so he could lift her up, her eyes never leaving his.

  “It hurts, Eli,” she said. They was the first calm and quiet words I’d heard out of her mouth all night.

  “She got a coat?” he asked as he lifted her from the bed.

  “I’ll bring it!” I said, relieved to have something to do. Me and Nonnie gathered up her coat and the clothespin bag and Nonnie’s purse and hustled out of the house after him.

  Henry Allen tried to help Eli as they walked toward the woods, but anyone could tell Eli didn’t need no help. He carried Mary Ella like she weighed no more than a feather pillow, her yellow hair spilling over his arm, me and Nonnie scrambling to keep up.

  Eli had to put her in the truck bed so me and Nonnie could sit with her. Eli took off his jacket to put under her head and Nonnie and me spread her coat out on top of her. Henry Allen waved to us and we was off. Me and Nonnie held Mary Ella’s hands while she cried and shouted words that made no sense except for ever
y once in a while, that “mama” that made my heart ache. I thought about how much she must be hurting, with the baby getting ready to come out, plus her appendix being sickly.

  Eli drove quick except where there was bumps in the road. He seemed to know where they was and slowed down to go over them as careful as he could.

  “There, there, child,” Nonnie kept saying over and over to Mary Ella, her voice shivery in a way I never heard before. I didn’t know what to say myself.

  “You’ll be okay,” I tried. “Everything’ll be okay.” But I was getting more and more scared.

  We was halfway to the hospital when Mary Ella started going real quiet, which was worse in a way than all the hollering. Daylight was on us now, and she stared straight up at the sky.

  “She don’t look right,” Nonnie said, leaning over Mary Ella to peer into her face.

  She didn’t. She kept staring at the sky. I could see the feathery white clouds in the blue of her eyes and it was like looking into the sky myself. It was like looking at heaven. Mary Ella stopped blinking. She was real still, just staring that faraway stare, going quiet, and I thought, She’s dying. All of a sudden, I felt Ruby in the truck with us. I remembered what she said. Mary Ella would have 0 children. Zero. Ruby floated around me the way she did in the church. I felt her around my neck and in my hair, and I waved my arms to get her away from me.

  “Get out of this truck!” I shouted at her. I pressed my body over my sister’s to keep the evil away. If Mary Ella died, it was my fault for taking my fingers off that plancher thing. For messing with a Ouija board to begin with. For sneaking out with Henry Allen. My fault, all of it. She was all I had left of my family, besides Nonnie. We was night and day different, but right then I would of killed to protect her. Right then, I felt all that love for her that went missing sometimes.

  “What are you doing?” Nonnie tugged at my shoulder. “Who are you talking to?”

  I shook my sister’s arm. “Mary Ella!” I shouted, but she still stared at the sky like she was already in heaven herself. I couldn’t lose her. I was sure the baby was already lost. Zero, Ruby’d said. Zero.