Knee-Deep in Wonder by April Reynolds

see you in an hour.” Queen Ester stood in the doorway. “Oh, and about Annie b? I still ain’t going.” She left, and Helene heard the stairs groaning in response to her feet. A moment more, and Helene was sure Queen Ester would have laughed at her only child for rushing down here to try and throw her in a black dress and claim her as her own.
    So why aren’t I worried? she thought. Why didn’t I tackle her and say she can’t run away until I hear what I want to know and in the right order, like a broken stick pieced back together? Why didn’t I do that? Why didn’t I walk away when she said the dead spoke to Chess and he heard and followed, till he went into the lake, breathed in water like air, holding some young boy he mistook for his wife, who he didn’t love or cheated on even if he did? Because it could really happen in this house—the dead poking their heads out from closets could really happen right here. Helene noticed the stillness, the absence of her mother. Longing smashed against her chest, and then fast on that followed anger and bravado. Liar, she thought. Why won’t you tell me? Maybe because you won’t share him. Maybe because you’ve got that big patchwork quilt of history that you want to give me bit by bit, but never all the pieces I need to make me whole.
    He said it, I know he did. Lies birth lies, like English ivy, tangled greenery that goes on leaping long after it’s forgotten its purpose, that only wants to climb the wall to show you it can. Before I leave, if I leave—no, when I leave—you’ll tell me just how it happened that this man was mine all along and no one told me different. How it happened that everyone—Helene stopped. She suddenly realized that everyone meant just that: everyone.
    Uncle Ed. Perhaps he didn’t know. Perhaps he’s just like me; he heard what they told him and didn’t check their faces. Uncle Ed didn’t lie, surely. Maybe Aunt Annie b, because she could be that mean, that spiteful, but not Uncle Ed. He didn’t know. A hurtful thought formed and Helene’s logic could not sweep it away. He’s a smart man, isn’t he? Of course he is. Well, no one can be that blind for that long. He knew; he just didn’t tell. It’s not the kind of secret a bunch of women can hold together. He knew and he never said a word, not a word. Must be nice to be a man in the South. Right or wrong, you’re always right. Able to dodge responsibility like a boxer. Yes, that must be nice.

6
    BY 1930, LIBERTY had been living in Lafayette County without Sweets for five years. Five years without someone to sass her and tell her to quit on that every time she wanted to kiss her baby girl under the chin. Five years without back talk, insults, and smirks. Without someone saying, “Who sings night-night songs to a baby that can carry her own tune?” After her husband’s departure Liberty fell headlong in love. Suddenly everything about her daughter was charmed and precious. Who more than Liberty treasured the sound of Queen Ester’s footsteps as she ran down the hall? Or the way her little baby girl chewed her lunch with her mouth open? Just beautiful.
    It had begun simply enough. One night it occurred to Liberty that she didn’t have to wait until morning to see Queen Ester. Nothing stood in her way, certainly not Sweets, she thought, as she got up from her bed and tiptoed to Queen Ester’s room. As she opened her daughter’s door, she called out softly in the dark, “Baby, you come get in bed with me if you like. I’ll sing you one more song fore bed.” Liberty was enchanted with the look of wonder and pleasure that stole across her daughter’s face when she woke up. She don’t want to wait till morning either, Liberty thought, watching her girl fling off her covers. If what make her that happy make me happy, what’s the harm? She waited a