Solemn Read online

  For Landon and Akila’s one o’clock wedding, Solemn unfastened her cornrows the morning of to display a tough, crinkly crown throughout the day. She arose earlier than her parents, to be ready before she was rushed. She pinched a bit of her daddy’s Old Spice deodorant, aware of herself now and taking no chances. She wanted to wear a baby-doll dress she bought at Dillard’s with Desiree. Now it had already grown pilly, tight around her upper arms and frivolous to her behind. She was left with a hand in her mama’s closet for permission to wear a yellow dress imprinted with raised vines and cherry blossoms. She had no shoes to match. She stuffed three crunched sheets of toilet paper into the toes of her mama’s cork wedges and also borrowed a golden cross. She matched.

  Solemn had an unusual lack of possessiveness to her brother, fed by the fact he was already gone anyway. She had a companion lack of fascination with his new bride. Akila would stay on in Bledsoe as she had been, until Landon completed another year. Then, lest he go off into the smoky places a half-arm’s length away on the maps, he’d make up his mind if he would like to be stationed near home. The transition was none at all. Only a statement. It spoke to Solemn in confliction—of what Akila sighed she should not do and what Bev was occasionally driven to scream she wished she never had done. The effect of the day on Solemn was uneventful. Her interests were not peaked toward the direction of boys and men. Nor was it peaked toward a longing for her own day when she might be so carefully spoken to and of. Solemn most resented the absence of attention a part in the party would have given her: a solo, to share she wanted to sing, a distinguishable maid-of-honor or bridesmaid dress, so she was not a thief in the morning, and a verse in the Bible to read, so she was not sweating into anger from the front pew while Akila’s cousin read his part from Numbers, to mispronounce the word that was her name.

  Battle of the Cross Baptist Church left it to three ceiling fans and a straight-back piano to clutch its worshipers’ attentions. A scarce wedding was somewhat different. It wasn’t obligatory, or damning if skipped. People would not mind waiting. There had been no RSVPs sent back or spoken. Waste of paper and tongue. Bev made the date. Akila spread the word. The show went on. Bev filled her twelve pews with the congregation, her few living aunts, some of her high school friends, close cousins, a few Magnolia Bible College classmates, a remaining grandmother. Landon’s friends—dressed in black—stood up in the back. Akila’s side was only half-filled. They claimed they had not known in time. What her family lacked in concern and care the abandoned and hungry made up for in cheer. Strangers waited as well, wondering of the food after …

  “Dearly Beloved, we are gathered here today to unite this man and this woman in holy matrimony, so that thy days may be long and thy lives may be fruitful upon this good earth. For God says, ‘What I have joined, let no man put asunder.’ And this union will make whole and holy the institution of family, created and mandated by God, so that the natural proclivities toward one another and inclinations we are born with can be directed aright. And for their parents, who have grown and sown these lives under cover of God’s thunder and word, to be secured and comforted in the continuation of their names as servants of the Lord. Am I right, congregation?

  “And today, for us all who have come to congratulate this blessed couple and partake as witnesses, we are reminded of the power of the Lord our God to give and to take away, to join and to divide, to create and to destroy, to cure and to plague, to comfort and to strike, to bless and to condemn. For we are merely shadows walking the Earth with the spirit of the Lord within us to light us into whole beings. Only that spirit can turn your light on, nothing else. Not money. Not love. Not a big ole house or fancy car. We are of no consequence and no reason. We are of no point and no result.

  “Now, lest I take attention from this handsome couple before me, Landon and Miss Akila, I would be remiss not to take occasion today to remind ye sinners that the right hand of fellowship is always extended here at Battle of the Cross. Our door is always open. We receive you how you come. Don’t be shamed to say you have sinned. Join the club. Or carry on in denial and secret and arrogance that you are so faultless. The hand of God reaches down, to grab hold of you and determine your destiny down a path to the scorching fires of hell or an invitation to the Pearly Gates of heaven. You decide.

  “You decide when a pack of cigarettes shows its ugly face, to breathe the Devil’s breath into the miraculous temple the Lord your God has blessed you with. You decide when the temptation to guzzle the nectar of inebriation calls out to you past the liquor store. You decide when you claim somebody or something you can’t name forced you into bars yonder ’round. You decide when you are intoxicated by the whiff of a married woman’s perfume or a single man’s cologne and your loins get the best of you. Am I right, congregation? Don’t get quiet now. Everybody was laughing and singing a minute ago. Now, you quiet. When you give up what you want, God gives you what you need.

  “Party’s over. No more fun. Too much work: to have a holy revival, a daily Sabbath, a period of fasting, a solemn assembly, a resurrection. But, we have a choice. We can fall down, like David and Job and Moses and Samson, but we can get up in a new day. We can fast the vices away. We can purify lying tongues and covetous eyes. We can run off the Devil and the commotion he brings with him. This very community we stand in today has reeked of God’s displeasure. We have witnessed the fires, the floods, the murders, the storms, the tornadoes, the burglaries, the crashes, the wars, the shootings, the stabbings, the vagrancy, the molesting, the rapes, the abused children. In the bottoms of wells, in the rooms of motels, in the middle of fields on Easter. Signs are everywhere. They are provided for you. Don’t say you weren’t warned. Don’t claim you didn’t know.

  “Now, so I can get back to this dear couple standing here, who have made the right decision to sanctify themselves before the Lord, thrown themselves down to the mercy of God to say they have sinned but demonstrated their repentance, I ask again: Who shall walk with the Lord God and ensure new generations fight this battle of evil on earth? How long will you stay bedazzled by earthly concerns? How long will you ignore the Holy Spirit and allow your dirty minds to dictate your course? How long will you submit to materialism and sexism and agnosticism and every other ism you can’t control? When will you next find out your hands and your minds have gotten you into turmoil you can’t just tiptoe away from? Be quiet. Don’t tell nobody. Forget. Whisper. When? Will it be today? Will it be tomorrow? Will it be next week? Will it be next month? When?”

  Over an hour later, no new baptisms were scheduled. However, Akila and Landon had somehow pranced out of the church doors to showers of rice and applause. Among the last they passed to hug was Solemn—curious as how to stand before them now, joined as one. Landon, boisterous as ever in uniform, pulled her off her feet. Akila tore Solemn into her arms until she, finally, smiled wide enough to make a promise.

  Bev stood still and unemotional in her peach Le Suit—notating the invited who didn’t show: that phony white woman, Ruby; the Longwoods, her father’s negligent people, Redvine’s fat-ass and gossiping sisters. To stay off that, she preoccupied herself with the particulars: if the few volunteers she scared up put the tables out by now, and the borrowed burners on low, and the thistle on back of the chairs, and the stagger grass on top of the tables to poison the flies. Redvine took well wishes from the driver’s side of the Malibu, aluminum cans trailing the back of it. Landon would drive it tonight, off to the Days Inn in Kosciusko. The lodge had a pool and restaurants close by. Landon returned to Kentucky via Greyhound Tuesday morning, the first bus in the a.m.

  Back at Singer’s, more than the number who could fit into the church for the wedding appeared at its after party. They had only been told “The pond.” Nobody would have expected pork and grilled chicken not to draw a mixed crowd. Hence the months of saving and special invitation to the butcher. The pewter pail serving as a wishing well ran just as dry as the one no one ever used anymore, though some relatives of t
he couple mentioned it more than once. Hall Carter offered to it, as did Alice Taylor.

  Otherwise, guests loaded off unopened Christmas gifts and room clutter. Some made effort to get their kids out of shorts into school clothes, to at least look like they had prepared. Even more scoured their coolers and fridges for a dish to offer. There were impromptu salads, leftover potpourris, half-full barbecue sauce jugs, extra pop, pans of hopping John, potatoes mashed in a hurry. The beer and cakes went without saying. There was reminder to the smaller children, with chocolate-stained mouths and frosted fingers, to not reach for the bride. What had begun as an early morning, tossed and turned with all that was forgotten, became a tonight to divvy out what burst into too much.

  Just from the grins on both their faces and careful passings of their son it was clear Akila and Landon loved each other. Whether they would sustain it was the bet. But for their day they walked in perfect step from table to table and flourished the manners family singed into their behinds. Akila had sewn herself a jacket for the evening. She also bargained a petticoat under her empire-style white gown and three-foot train, launched off on-site to the delight of her audience. Landon and his fellows, cognizant of their last and only resort to enlist in the military, sidelined the original purpose of their meeting to help the children light red, white, and blue sparklers from the Fourth of July.

  Solemn aimed for the edges of it all, nervous from the commentary she heard from relatives she only saw from time to time: “She gon’ be taller than all us pretty soon,” and “My goodness, she talk so proper now,” and “Bet them boys all over her,” and “Oil of Olay clear that acne right on up,” and “Where’s my sugar?” Some plays of new music moved her to dance. But a few overeager cousins, more citified, ran her back to a bench. Bev told her to go ask who needed help with slicing more cake or shooing flies. But the helpers all liked overwork, for ownership and praise. And the fly poison held up.

  When the sun set the atmosphere around them to steel gray, Solemn looked toward the Longwoods’ trailer. But, even up close, she wouldn’t have been able to tell if their lights were on. Did Stephanie peek out in itching to join them, her old friends? Had the Longwoods heard the announcements and fled to a prior engagement or family getaway, just to be polite? The boat and truck were there. The Imperial was not.

  When the sky darkened so the citronella candles served a dual purpose and the un–newly married couples started to tsk in their mates’ directions, Solemn longed for a dance with Landon or her daddy. Just one dance apiece. Under the moonlight. With everyone watching. With silence and regard. But Landon was always hunched up under Akila. Or she was giggling on his lap. Or they were at yet another table to outline all their plans excluding the evening’s. The new mothers-in-law kept hold of Landon Junior. Redvine stayed involved in earth-shattering conversation with men who passed beers and improvised collective moneymaking schemes. Inside jokes. Men stuff. Unburied secrets. And Solemn caught sight of her father, in the odd mixture of lights and perfume and music. His profile cut out from the rest of the world like dark paper set on white. He waved at her and it hurt. He ballooned into more and larger than he was, stepping up with knees tall as rooftops and arms wide as … no. It was not real. She knew that now.

  Solemn’s ill-fitting wedges slipped and she almost tripped farther down the steep, past the party point, heading to the well now. For no reason, Solemn went. Behind her, the trees developed an anatomy akin to ideas and visions the preacher’s sermon had created. She did not look back at them as she walked away, on her own. For much of the year, it hadn’t been inspiring or worth it to make the trip. She had checked back often, but the little noses and feet of the dolls never pointed back up. But now Solemn needed confirmation what had been there at the well had actually been there and indeed it all had once included herself. Still, no one had thought to cover it. The flies and smaller depended on it for peace. A few conscientious residents might walk by it with a lawn mower, just so no one could say they had not. No one, until maybe today, had given any thought to redeem it as a centerpiece or landmark. It had been before, and always. It was why it had been built. Now, it sat before Solemn slumped down to a once-known lullaby.

  “Solemn, Solemn!”

  When Solemn turned to her name, Akila was there with her smile and wide eyes in the night. The dress Solemn had her hand in selecting stood out halfway up the steep with a stretch of bodies, joy, humor, and satisfaction behind it. Akila waved out to her, as if she had not seen her in such a long time or Solemn was onboard a boat for a voyage no one else had ever thought of. Her new sister waved wildly and earnestly, triumphant in a search through her guests and from her husband’s side at last. “Come on … hurry, hurry up!” Akila shouted down to Solemn. “I’m ’bout to throw my bouquet!”

  2

  THE FUTURE

  EIGHTEEN

  A wispy echo of tight little baby feet with smooth, soft soles, a few mistakings of spines in the pantry for a tiny thigh, a few months of hungering for more than day labor, wonder of what (if anything) his dutiful daughter remembered—all distracted his focus.

  Redvine was the only man in the house now, a thought he hadn’t fussed with since the two years before he married Bev. He missed his son. Then after Solemn happened to hold the hand of a girl gone down at the Festival (now less attended for it), he had less strength to compete for a daily spot at the electronics plant or a weekend odd job around Bledsoe. It was taking too much gas to get to Kosciusko just for nothing but a look. While he couldn’t necessarily complain too much—my kids good, never gave me too much trouble, wife rarely scrap, I ain’t been perfect, they love me—Redvine had to admit: he was slowing down. He could still be playing off high roller, had the future not been so guerilla. Now the Malibu and trailer and fine wedding were leftovers cooled. The duffel bag he once carried out the door to work held the stuff they piled to send to Landon: his mama’s cookies and notes, DVDs, CDs, boxer shorts. Change.

  The utility and just plain living bills piled. Work did not.

  Mostly because Akila had gone on to take the baby, and there was no one to look after Solemn, and tuition money went extinct did Beverly permanently lose her classes at the Bible college. She settled for shelving books in the library. Lots of free books, more than welcome. The trailer had no room for them. Sometimes in twos or threes they hogged up books for the Oprah club, on account of it being on the TV and in the stores and something big in the world. Gave her something to read besides Landon’s notes. She even thought about asking a few other high-attendance ladies to potluck with her after church, for a ladies’ book club, like Stephanie thought of and they tried to plan. Bev figured the books were too hard. Nothing like the Bible, or a few of Landon’s teachers gave like Sounder and Roll of Thunder, Hear My Cry. She saved those books. In January One Hundred Years of Solitude by a Spanish man and a white woman’s The Heart is a Lonely Hunter in April. She heard a book in Russian was coming up. She wanted Ann Rule next and thought to write a letter to the Harpo station in Chicago. But she was too scared of her English. Bev knew Stephanie would read the books in a heartbeat. Forasmuch as it appeared Solemn and Desi were the twosome to note, she was the grown woman who most missed her friend. So much more marvelous she had felt.

  The boredom expanded. Unfaith took root.

  Landon stayed on in the service, stationed at Camp Shelby in Hattiesburg with Akila now, a daughter to add to his son. Though none of his notes and letters would admit (since, really, “Uncle Sam just a stepping-stone”), he wished for deployment. But with the steadiness and comfort and tax breaks, he was able to Western Union cash to Bledsoe. Fully adult. He set up a credit union account for Solemn, monthly deposits, inaccessible to her until she turned eighteen. Just fifty dollars a month, six hundred dollars a year, pamphlets about compounded interest in the holiday cards.

  He hadn’t killed anyone yet. Mysteriously, he began to believe America. Change.

  Dandy snoozed all night, well as day. Unsynced.
r />   More and more often, with the well water unattended and abandoned, brown boys frolicked in the Singer’s pond, underpants wet against their drawers and the lines of their bodies drawing Solemn to wonder more. They laughed and shouted and splashed, foofaraw and kidding akin to what Solemn wanted. But she had no girls. Akila was gone now. Married. Desi slipped on to bigger public school, under straw boat hats to mark the present her parents gave her after she had her miracle. Famous now. Stephanie and Theo pulled the white-and-blue dory alongside their wide trailer; its anchor rested in Bermuda grass along with the pitchforks and garden tools. By end of a school year, with no festival to get her through the last leg of the effort, Solemn saw a deck of other gals switch between the peach and fig trees. Desi’s father lifted and pulled the boat to back of a pickup. Then, Stephanie rode all the other girls behind in the Imperial, headed for the river most likely. When the Longwoods returned at night, they went past Solemn without stopping for even a wave. She thought to tear that boat apart plank by plank, down to the aluminum bottom and hull. Mr. Longwood was outside within the week after she imagined such, started on a dog-eared cedar plank fence to go around the yard, as if they had watched behind her back for her dreams. Solemn resented them even further.

  She lived in antonym now. Letters and numbers remained squiggly and squirmy. She had lived with it all so long she lost capacity to become alarmed by it, and accustomed to it, like baby weight or adult teeth. Yet it still rendered her world different and difficult from the power to expect. More than relief and lifted weight was emptiness and buoyancy. It gave way to a restlessness and prickling stress to shake things up a bit. It zoned her into the television waiting for Viola Weathers to appear, to acknowledge she had tried to help and done her part for Pearletta. And she had—all around Singer’s and outings into town she looked for her, waited for her, took the face on the flyers to good mental note and genuine care. Yet and still, the barefoot woman never showed up.