Black Cat

  Whether it had been Mama's plan or the plan our spiritual family had given her, it was all coming to pass. She had provided Baby Celeste with sufficient cover and she had maintained the existence of Noble, who could never be permitted to die. If Noble's death was ever validated. Mama would die herself. I thought, Never before had I felt as trapped, as locked away, as I did that day of Dave's funeral. So much was lowered into the ground with him, especially any hope that I would be resurrected. that I would be who I was.

  I had dreamed and fantasized about my eventual revelation. In my mind it was to be a secret between Dave and me, a secret he would keep until, he promised, he found a way to get Mama to accept it. I knew now just how much a fantasy that really was.

  And so I didn't shed tears for Dave as much as I shed tears for myself again. I had done it so many times before, for so many different reasons.

  In what did my hope lie now? Where was the new beginning Dave had promised? As I sat there thinking about all this, my front-page-of-a-newspaper face caught the attention of our visitors and mourners. They made a point of stopping to speak with me, to encourage. me.

  "Dave was a fine man. I'm sure you'll miss him very much" the store manager. Mr. Cody, told me. "He talked about you often. He was quite impressed with you. Noble."

  "Thank you." I said.

  "If you ever want to start working, come see me.Ill have a job for you at the store."

  I couldn't even begin to imagine something like that, but I thanked him anyway and promised I would go to him if I did start looking for work off the farm.

  Eventually. they all left and we were as alone as we were before Dave had come into our lives. Now it was almost as if that had all been a dream. In the weeks that followed. Mama donated all of his clothes, shoes, and hats to the local thrift shop. which gave its proceeds to charities. The darkness I had felt around us before Dave had come sweeping into our lives with his laughter and plans for our new future gradually returned. I could look out the window and practically see it seeping in our direction like a river of ink.

  The only bright spot in our world now was Baby Celeste, Dave's death, the morbidity that followed on its heels, the funeral, none of it appeared to touch her as it touched me. Nothing gloomy could take hold of her. Her eyes continued to be cheerful, her smile soft and loving, and her little laugh and voice like the laugh and the voice of a cherub.

  Mama was right about her after all, I thought. She is everything now. We are here for her and for what she is destined to do.

  Weeks wove into months. I plodded with heavy footsteps about the farm, tending my chores, working hard to deliberately exhaust myself so I would sleep better at night. Mama, on the other hand, was as cheerful as ever, making her wonderful dinners, continuing Baby Celeste's early education, and playing her piano and singing as if Dave were still here, sitting beside us, listening and smiling with a face frill of love.

  Maybe he was. I thought, but not with any real confidence.

  I watched time pass, and I waited like someone who knew deep in her heart that she had little or no control of what tomorrow would bring.

  16

  Betsy Comes Back

  .

  It was late spring, only a few short degrees of

  rising temperature left before it would feel more like summer. Despite the loss of our local customers. Mama wanted to develop an even bigger herbal garden, perhaps to show her defiance. Mr. Bogart was more determined than ever to reinforce what he thought was her good work and answer her critics. He did find her more outlets. I didn't mind the added work: I still welcomed the distraction.

  Baby Celeste worked beside me every day with her little hoe and rake. She mostly enjoyed inserting the seeds into the wet, prepared earth. I watched her do it. She focused so clearly and firmly on each seed as if she could easily envision the plant to come. Her soft, sweet lips moved with each planting-, making it appear that she was reciting some prayer Mama had taught her. I had little doubt she might have done just that.

  A little after two in the afternoon months after Dave's funeral, we both heard the sound of a van turning onto our driveway. Pausing, we watched it approach the house. It was a quite beat-up, white van with a cracked windshield. As it drew closer, it rattled louder, then finally squeaked to a stop, the disturbed dust rising to encircle it, seemingly to keep it from coming any closer.

  For a long moment, no one emerged. I moved to Baby Celeste's side and watched and waited. Finally, the passenger-side door opened and Betsy stepped out with a baby wrapped in a blue blanket cradled in her arms. She wore a red-and-black bandanna around her forehead and her hair was long and string-v. She was dressed in a one-piece, tie-dyed garment and wore a pair of sandals. The driver, a tall, thin man with a black ponytail streaked with Gray halfway down his back, emerged, went around to the rear of the van, and produced two well-battered suitcases, one tied closed with a rope. He set them at the foot of the porch steps before returning to his van.

  Betsy spoke to him, stood up on the balls of her feet to kiss him, then remained there watching him get into the van, back away, turn around, and drive off. She stared after him and waved as if she were watching the love of her life, her last hope, depart. Then, she turned and looked our way.

  "Noble!" she cried. "Help me with these suitcases." I looked at Baby Celeste. She wore the strangest expression, a mix of amusement in her eves, but a tightness in her lips.

  "C'mon, Celeste," I said, taking her hand. "Looking at you makes me feel like I never left this place," Betsy said as we approached. "You're still in that stupid garden."

  "You have a baby?" I asked.

  She smirked and turned the infant, who was, remarkably, asleep.

  "It's not a sack of potatoes. This is Panther. I named him myself, seeing as I gave birth to him in a motel called The Panther Inn. Fortunately for me, the owner's wife was a nurse. Even so, it was a filthy mess." Betsy moved the blanket off Panther's face. "Look at his hair. Black as the inside of a witch's heart,' she said, laughing. "That's what Wacker said. He's the idiot who just brought me here. He believes in some of that hoodoo, voodoo junk your mother believes in, but he took care of me for nearly a month. Then he read his astrological chart and decided it was time we parted ways. Good riddance. I say. He was getting on my nerves anyway. Why are you just standing there with your mouth open? Take in my suitcases. Where's my father? Is he at work or what? I've got to show him his new grandson."

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  I couldn't speak.

  "Oh, forget it," she said impatiently. She started up the stairs

  I reached for her suitcases and followed as she entered the house. Baby Celeste remained alongside me, just as transfixed on the events unfolding.

  'Dad!" Betsy screamed when she stepped into the entry-way. "Im back!" She woke her baby, who immediately began to cry.

  Mama appeared at the top of the stairway and looked down at her. I stepped up behind Betsy. Baby Celeste still right beside me, but now with her arms around my leg as if she were anticipating an earthquake. The suitcases weren't heavy so I continued to hold them. For a long moment. Mama just gazed at her. Then, she began a slow descent, speaking as she took each step.

  "Why haven't we heard from you? Where were you?"

  "Away," Betsy said, raising her voice over the baby's cries and bouncing him too roughly. I thought.

  "Why didn't you ever call or write your father?"

  "I ran out of stamps and small change. Where is he? Is he at work?"

  "No, he's not at work," Mama said, reaching the bottom steps. "He'll never be at work again."

  "What's that supposed to mean? Panther, would you wait," she told her baby, turning him and then cradling him in the crook of her arm. The moment Panther set eyes on Mama, his crying subsided.

  "Ive got to feed him and I don't breast-feed. It spoils your shape," Betsy told Mama. Then she looked back at me. "I bet Noble was breast-fed. Maybe he still is," she added with a gleeful smile.

  "I
see your experiences have done little to make you mature and responsible," Mama said.

  "Right. So where's my father?"

  "Your father passed away months ago. Mama's words felt so heavy, even for me."Sometimes, death is so hard to take, it feels like an illusion. I couldn't count how many days, how many times during a day, I expected to see Dave appear and think all that had happened was just a bad dream.

  "What? 'What's that supposed to mean? Passed away where?" Betsy looked at me and then back at Mama.

  "Your father died. Betsy. He had heart failure. It shouldn't come as a shock to you, considering all you did to make him miserable. to put darkness and pain in his poor troubled heart."

  Betsy shook her head. slowly at first, and then so vigorously, I could feel the pain in my own neck.

  "You're lying. You're just trying to make me feel bad. Where is he?"

  Betsy turned to me again and I quickly shifted my eyes to avoid hers. "We'll take you to the cemetery, if you like," Mama said dryly. Betsy stepped back, continuing to shake her head.

  "No. you're lying." She looked at me. "She's lying. right? She's just trying to make me feel bad about not calling."

  "I see you went ahead and gave birth. Now that you have a child, you had better think of changing your ways," Mama continued.

  He can't be dead. He can't." Betsy said, stamping her foot. "Stop saying that."

  "Not saying it doesn't stop it from being true. You won't be able to bury your head in the sand here. I'm sure your father's death wasn't a result of his having made such a choice, but it happened. Noble and I and Baby Celeste are still not recovered from the shock ourselves," Mama told her, still speaking in calm, measured tones. "He was a gentle, loving man. He should have had a long and happy life, but his troubles were too many and too deep...

  "No," Betsy said in a loud whisper, her eyes large and full of fear.

  "I did my best for him. Now," Mama continued. "if you have even an ounce of morality, an iota of a sense of right and wrong, and any sense of regret and repentance, you will try to be a mature and

  responsible person. Do you have bottles and formula for the child?"

  Betsy continued to shake her head and, then, suddenly stopped as if the words had finally settled in her brain.

  "You can't blame airy-thing on me. If he was sick, it wasn't until he came here to be with you, until you put a spell on him. It was your fault, yours!"

  "Quite the contrary, I'm pleased to say. He had the happiest and best days of his life living here. When you weren't aggravating him, that is. If you have formula for the child and diapers,Ill see to him while you rest in your room. Later, well discuss how things will be."

  "No," Betsy said, backing up farther until she was against the door. She turned slightly and put her hand on the doorknob, poised to bolt from the house.

  "You can leave if you want to, but don't expect any help from us. Your father left explicit instructions in his will. I serve as the trustee of your inheritance, which trill not be fully turned over to you until you reach the age of twenty-five. Until then. I will dole out money to you according to your needs and your behavior. Obviously your baby's needs will come under a different category. You and this child have a home here as long as you assume your responsibilities and do not create disturbances or any trouble at all. Nothing must be abused. Now. I repeat, do you have formula for the child? If not. Ill prepare something."

  "No.' I don't want you giving him any of your junk," Betsy cried, taking her hand off the doorknob and embracing the baby.

  Mama glared at her. Then she turned to me.

  "Noble, would you be so kind as to take Betsy's suitcases up to her room. Your room," she told Betsy. "is in far better shape than how you left it. I expect it to be kept that way. Do not leave your garments scattered about. Do not let the room fill with dust. Do not leave food in the room, and do be sure you wash your linen and your bedding once a week at minimum. You will set the table every night and you will clear it and wash the dishes. If you break one dish, even chip one, I will deduct the cost of it ten times from your trust fund.

  "I want the kitchen floor washed every day and the furniture in the living room dusted and polished twice a week. Well all, meaning you and Noble primarily." Mama inserted with a smile. "do the windows every weekend."

  Betsy stared, her mouth moving but nothing coming from it.

  "Furthermore," Mama continued, "we are not here to serve as babysitters for you while you go off rioting and carousing in the villages and towns, Should I so much as smell alcohol or see anything resembling drugs. Ill fine you a thousand dollars per incident to be deducted from your trust fund. And I especially don't want to hear any gossip or complaints about you while you're living under this roof.

  "You're to invite no one here. I don't even want anyone driving onto this property. Is all this

  understood?"

  Betsy didn't respond. She simply stared.

  Mama nodded as if she had answered anyway. "Good. Now. I would once again suggest you give me the baby to feed and go take a rest, clean up, put on something appropriate and not something ridiculous like you're now wearing, and then, if you wish, well take you to your father's grave so you can pay your respects. If not, you'll set the table for tonight's dinner. Does this child have a name or haven't you had the wits to think of any?" Mama asked, nodding at the squirming infant.

  Betsy looked more stunned now and not as defiant. She glanced at me, then she looked down for a long moment. deciding, I felt sure, whether to turn and run down the driveway or to obey Mama. The despair she felt, the loss of any real choice, and her own helplessness hammered down any residual defiance. Her shoulders sagged under the weight of her desperation and defeat and she bowed her head.

  "There's formula and bottles in the suitcase Noble has in his right hand. It has all the baby's things in it."

  "Good. Now what did you say the baby's name is?" Mama asked in an almost friendly, happy tone.

  "Panther," Betsy muttered.

  "Excuse me?"

  "Panther. Panther!" Betsy shouted at her,

  Mama shook her head. "Well, I suppose the pain of giving birth gives you the right to name the poor thing, even if its a ridiculous name." She moved forward with her arms extended and waiting for Betsy to hand over the baby.

  Betsy hesitated, then she nearly tossed him into Mama's anus before charging up the stairs, cryingand sobbing loudly. Mama watched her, then turned back to me.

  "Take the other suitcase up to her room, Noble. Put the baby's suitcase on the table in the kitchen first. however."

  I nodded and did what she asked. Then I went upstairs and knocked on Betsy's door. She didn't respond. I could hear her sobbing so I opened the door and brought her suitcase to the closet door. She was lying facedown on the bed, her face buried in the pillow.

  "Here's your suitcase." I turned to go.

  "Wait," she said, catching her breath. "How did my father die?"

  "He got very sick. We thought he had the flu at first. Mama did all she could with her medications."

  "I bet she did."

  "Your father wanted it that way. He took some medicine he had from the pharmacy, but nothing helped and he died." I made no mention of the cause being the contradictions created by the mix of cures. Let her learn it from someone else. I thought.

  "Why did he put all that junk in his will? Why did he do this to me? Did she make him do it?"

  "No. Actually, it came as a surprise to us." It had to me.

  "I won't live like she wants me to. I won't and I won't be her little slave."

  "For the time being, it would be better if you just did what she asks. It's not so terrible."

  "Leave it to you to say something that stupid." She wiped the tears from her cheeks and sat up. She took a deep breath. "I'm not going to stay here long. I don't care. I'll find a way."

  "What happened to your car?"

  "I had to sell it. I ran out of money."

  "I see. We
ll, don't you know who the father of your child is?" I really meant it as a way for her to get some additional help.

  "I know what that's supposed to mean. You think I just sleep around with someone new every other day?"

  "No. I meant that whoever he is, he should bear some of the burden and responsibility."

  She looked thoughtful. "Well. I'm not sure. I think it was a guy named Bobby Knee or something. I met him at a party and it was after it would have happened. Bobby Knee was just passing through. I can't even remember whose friend he was."

  "But I thought you were going with Roy then or..."

  "Oh, you're so native. I didn't say I was going steady with anyone. No one's going to own me. Ever!" she cried. "Especially not your weird mother."

  "You're lucky you have her helping you." I said angrily. I started out.

  "I bet she killed my father somehow. I bet she did!" she screamed after me, then she started to cry again.

  I closed the door softly behind me. My own heart was thumping. Despite her meanness and her bad behavior. I couldn't help but feel somewhat sorry for her. And what sort of a future would that child she had named Panther have?

  When I went downstairs. I found Mama and Baby Celeste in the living room. Mama was feeding Panther and Baby Celeste was beside her, captivated by the infant's suckling.

  "I brought up her suitcase. Mama."

  They both looked up at me and smiled.

  "Im surprised at how healthy-looking and adorable this child is," Mama said. "She certainly doesn't deserve a baby." She nodded at the ceiling. She looked down at the baby again. "I'll have to watch him," Her eyes slowly lifted toward me. "Well have to be sure nothing evil has settled within him and used him to enter our world. There might be a reason why that horrid girl returned to us just now."

  The heaviness of her threat and warning surrounded my heart like a sticky, murky mist. I looked at the unsuspecting infant in her lap.