Celeste on the screened porch, and Celeste noticed
her charcoal black eyes had a blue ring around the iris. Celeste followed her
inside, noting too the lone rocking chair on the porch. She was directed to
put her book-bag in a small bedroom where her suitcase and the children's
books already sat just beyond the curtain that took the place of a door. There
was a small sitting room directly across a hall of sorts from the bedroom.
In the kitchen, Celeste joined Matt at the small table dressed with a
checkered cloth. She pushed her memories of home and Momma Bessie's
china and crystal out of her mind as Mrs. Owens set down a plate of food
then took the seat between them, closest to the hot gas stove. She grabbed
their hands and prayed over the food. Beyond the back door and some
yards from the house, that cool-looking patch of woods beckoned. Great,
grand trees with delicate branches and long, long needles. They were the
only thing she'd seen that reminded her of Michigan, though these pines
weren't shaped like Christmas trees. A mysterious wood. How far back did
it go? Was there another road beyond those trees, another cleared stretch
of sandy soil with shanty houses up and down?
As hungry as she was, the hot biscuits oozing butter, pork-laced greens,
and smothered chicken gave Celeste pause. Even Momma Bessie lightened
her cooking in the heat of summer. But this was a special meal for Mrs.
Owens, and she should eat no matter how it made her feel. She drank the
iced tea and ate the food, staring out the back way and praying silently for
a breeze. There was a wide work counter on the rear porch with two tin
tubs, one inside the other, beside a big box of Tide and a jug of bleach. A
water pump. Off the kitchen, another floral curtain marked a door. It had
to be this woman's bedroom.
"They're probably going to dredge the rivers up around Meridian if they
don't find 'em soon." Matt chewed and drank his iced tea in long gulping
swallows. Periodically he took breaks from shoveling food into his mouth
and pressed a knot of towel-wrapped ice cubes to his head. "Those boys
went missing over by Philadelphia." Celeste thought again of Matt's beating
on the road. Only the grace of God protected them from some unknown
fate. There was no other help on that highway.
"They start looking in all those rivers and creeks, they gon find plenty
people supposing to have left here for someplace else and never heard from
again." Mrs. Owens ate sparingly. Dribbles of sweat sprouted on her upper
lip. "Nobody speaks it, but they all know."
"They've already found some remains. There was a photo in the Jackson
paper of the police throwing some bones in an unmarked grave." Celeste's
words hung over the table like a dead calm on the ocean. She wiped her
mouth on the thin paper napkin, wishing she'd kept her bone story to
herself. Bones all over Mississippi. "Those cops who stopped us said we had
them in our trunk."
Matt reared back in his chair, surely tight with all he'd eaten. "They
didn't believe that."
"I didn't think they did." Celeste picked up her fork and plowed into
the rich hot food again.
"They was just trying to make life hard for you is all. Slow you down."
Mrs. Owens took a long swig of iced tea and poured more into her jelly-jar
glass, taking a dainty sprig of mint from a saucer and shoving it down into
the tea. Just like Momma Bessie did in summer, only there were no lemons
on this table and Momma Bessie's house had never been this hot. Out the
back door in Detroit was a spread of green grass and roses, peonies, an
apple tree. Mrs. Owens would be the same kind of woman if she lived like
Momma Bessie lived. Stark but warm at the same time, loving but severe.
What brought these women to that place? Bones, Celeste thought, the lost
and the found.
Then there were only chewing sounds and the small clanks of forks on
plates and ice in glasses speaking into the dimming evening air. The red
her charcoal black eyes had a blue ring around the iris. Celeste followed her
inside, noting too the lone rocking chair on the porch. She was directed to
put her book-bag in a small bedroom where her suitcase and the children's
books already sat just beyond the curtain that took the place of a door. There
was a small sitting room directly across a hall of sorts from the bedroom.
In the kitchen, Celeste joined Matt at the small table dressed with a
checkered cloth. She pushed her memories of home and Momma Bessie's
china and crystal out of her mind as Mrs. Owens set down a plate of food
then took the seat between them, closest to the hot gas stove. She grabbed
their hands and prayed over the food. Beyond the back door and some
yards from the house, that cool-looking patch of woods beckoned. Great,
grand trees with delicate branches and long, long needles. They were the
only thing she'd seen that reminded her of Michigan, though these pines
weren't shaped like Christmas trees. A mysterious wood. How far back did
it go? Was there another road beyond those trees, another cleared stretch
of sandy soil with shanty houses up and down?
As hungry as she was, the hot biscuits oozing butter, pork-laced greens,
and smothered chicken gave Celeste pause. Even Momma Bessie lightened
her cooking in the heat of summer. But this was a special meal for Mrs.
Owens, and she should eat no matter how it made her feel. She drank the
iced tea and ate the food, staring out the back way and praying silently for
a breeze. There was a wide work counter on the rear porch with two tin
tubs, one inside the other, beside a big box of Tide and a jug of bleach. A
water pump. Off the kitchen, another floral curtain marked a door. It had
to be this woman's bedroom.
"They're probably going to dredge the rivers up around Meridian if they
don't find 'em soon." Matt chewed and drank his iced tea in long gulping
swallows. Periodically he took breaks from shoveling food into his mouth
and pressed a knot of towel-wrapped ice cubes to his head. "Those boys
went missing over by Philadelphia." Celeste thought again of Matt's beating
on the road. Only the grace of God protected them from some unknown
fate. There was no other help on that highway.
"They start looking in all those rivers and creeks, they gon find plenty
people supposing to have left here for someplace else and never heard from
again." Mrs. Owens ate sparingly. Dribbles of sweat sprouted on her upper
lip. "Nobody speaks it, but they all know."
"They've already found some remains. There was a photo in the Jackson
paper of the police throwing some bones in an unmarked grave." Celeste's
words hung over the table like a dead calm on the ocean. She wiped her
mouth on the thin paper napkin, wishing she'd kept her bone story to
herself. Bones all over Mississippi. "Those cops who stopped us said we had
them in our trunk."
Matt reared back in his chair, surely tight with all he'd eaten. "They
didn't believe that."
"I didn't think they did." Celeste picked up her fork and plowed into
the rich hot food again.
"They was just trying to make life hard for you is all. Slow you down."
Mrs. Owens took a long swig of iced tea and poured more into her jelly-jar
glass, taking a dainty sprig of mint from a saucer and shoving it down into
the tea. Just like Momma Bessie did in summer, only there were no lemons
on this table and Momma Bessie's house had never been this hot. Out the
back door in Detroit was a spread of green grass and roses, peonies, an
apple tree. Mrs. Owens would be the same kind of woman if she lived like
Momma Bessie lived. Stark but warm at the same time, loving but severe.
What brought these women to that place? Bones, Celeste thought, the lost
and the found.
Then there were only chewing sounds and the small clanks of forks on
plates and ice in glasses speaking into the dimming evening air. The red
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