BY THE time the men reached Bell land, Ephram had already tracked the red powder all over Ruby’s home — upon her fallen hair as he was sweeping it into a brown paper sack. He did not notice her watching eyes any more than the fact that he had tracked that same powder under her porch, where he hid the sack full of cotton candy hair until he had time to burn it, just as Celia had taught him to do his whole life to protect against conjure. Then he’d unknowingly spread specks of the powder all about the kitchen and the bedroom. His belly had already wrenched and cramped and sent him running to Ruby’s small toilet, where he rocked back and forth, grinding the red silt into the floorboards.
He did not know why he was suddenly aching and tired, not just his soles and the length of his feet, but his ankles and calves as well.
After he had shaved, brushed and washed himself off as best he could with the help of items purchased at P & K and a shallow small basin, the dull, exhausting pain seeped into his bones, making him have to sit down on the bed. When the malady reached his stomach again, sweat erupted in his temples and he almost doubled over. It was more than the usual pain; there was also a spreading sickly fear. It seemed to be pumping from his heart, through the smallest of his veins, so that it webbed through every part of him. He was empty and weak when the men arrived.
Chauncy, who didn’t fancy himself an errand boy, sent Gubber to knock on the door.
Ruby opened it, a lift of fear catching in her throat.
Gubber and all of the men stopped dead when they saw her. The caramel glow of her skin, the curl of her black hair, rolling like a frothy river past her shoulder blades. They remembered the girl who had first arrived in Liberty and suddenly felt dull and thick.
Except Chauncy. He glared at Gubber and said, “Go get that boy.”
Gubber, not knowing what else to do, nudged past Ruby and found Ephram sitting on the bed.
He walked to him, leaned over and whispered into his ear, “Celia say if you ain’t at Junie’s funeral she gone send for the Sheriff in Newton to haul Ruby off to Dearing.”
Ephram’s eyes rested upon Ruby across the room fiddling with the crackers and peanut butter. He thought about his mama and the one time Celia took him to see her after their daddy died. The locked gate, and then the next — like a prison except everyone there with a life sentence. They had brought his mother down in a light blue gown with stains that had been washed and dried more than once. Ephram thought about her hair matted and high, the burn marks on her temples, and the needle pricks up and down her purple arms. He saw her eyes, scorched, empty things that only looked at the ground or just past his shoulder. She smelled.
She had seen him for an instant. A look of bittersweet relief visited her face, her shoulders sloped and her graceful neck rose. She tried to lift her hands, which is how Ephram noticed that they were bound. She seemed to notice it in that moment as well. She began to cry and so of course he did as well. An avalanche of shame seemed to turn her head and then her eyes became vacant and she rocked softly until they led her away.
She had never looked once at Celia.
Ephram took the bag from Gubber without saying a word and changed quickly. A pair of dress shoes was missing, so Ephram kept his on. Ruby walked closer. Gubber stood between both of them.
Chauncy called from outside, “That fool coming?”
Gubber hollered back, “Directly.”
As the two men reached the porch, Ephram turned and looked at Ruby. The pain rose to his chest, making his breath shallow. She seemed as small as a child, standing in bare feet. Questions were written on her face that he did not know how to answer. But his eyes softened and in spite of the fear corded through his belly, he couldn’t help a smile stealing across his face.
He said, “Want me to pick up something on my way back?”
Ruby knew it was his way of telling her he was returning.
When he added, “Ice cream?” it felt like a declaration, an announcement that this was a place where laughter had plenty of water to grow, a bottomland for hope.
Ruby answered, “That would be nice.”
Gubber nudged Ephram. “Come on, man.” There was a general rustling outside.
Ephram then asked, “What flavor?” and something shifted inside of Ruby.
The idea of ice cream was more than she could imagine; choosing a flavor was like eating too much stuffing at Thanksgiving. She felt bloated and slow — suddenly exposed, instantly in danger.
Like a blast of heat burning through her, it was suddenly too much, this constant, unrelenting kindness, the gentle in the center of his eyes that never slipped and fell. His attention had filled the shallow bowl she’d set aside for joy. In that moment it cracked.
She leapt up, went to Ephram and kissed him, full on. Her hand sliding behind his neck, pushing her body against his, tongue down his throat.
Then she said, face inches from his, “Chocolate be nice.”
She did all this before God, her babies and a pack of wolves. Although Ephram was more than a little surprised, Ruby could feel the men in the yard, their hunger rising, as if she were a wounded fawn.
The pack took it in, then, escorting a dazed Ephram, moved away in unison. They pushed him towards the front. It was Chauncy who trailed behind, his eyes burning like a branding iron over her body. They landed upon her face.
Ruby looked right back at him, not saying a word.
Chauncy paused for another beat, long enough for Ephram to turn around. The men, then, walked down the red road, Chauncy uncharacteristically quiet as Ephram dropped flecks of red dust like bread crumbs along the way.
THE BODY of Junie Rankin was already laid out from the wake. The one person oblivious to the doings across town, Junie rested stiffly, a grin curling about his peachy lips, his wool navy duster and wing tips pressed and buffed to a shine. While everyone at the wake the night before had agreed that the Edwin Shephard’s Mortuary/Ambulance Service always did a fine job, they worried about Junie going to his maker in August wearing wool. Chauncy had said that the Lord might take one look at him sweating and heaving and think to send him where he might fit in better. But as it was Junie’s best suit and duster, everyone finally agreed that the Rankins and the funeral home had come to the right decision. Supra had put a small Bible into the casket with him just to keep on the safe side. This Monday the mortuary was represented by the junior, not the elder, Shephard. A slight, algae brown man with a drawn mustache, Edwin Shephard Junior bent low over Junie’s shrunken form, reapplying a dusting of Max Factor’s Fancy Pink blush. The Shephards were proud to be one of only two all-purpose ailment-to-bereavement transportation services for Negroes in the Liberty, Shankleville and Jasper area, answering police dispatches or personal phone calls when a loved one was in need of hospitalization, and then, depending upon the critical nature of the emergency, taking them to whichever destination was required, ER or the mortuary.
Several of the Church Sisters were plucking out the wilted flowers from last night’s arrangements and peeking to see who’d spent what and who’d gone and cheated Junie out of his floral due. Righteous Polk and her sister Salvation had had conference with Celia Jennings at the break of day. They had sat in prayer and then helped her bring her pies, figs and cakes to Supra Rankin’s home for the reception, where they had been added to the double-sided mountain of food that would become an avalanche after the burial. Now the two Polk women worked to add the perfect touches for the upcoming service. Righteous scooped a cup of pastel mints and poured them into the plastic crystal dish in the women’s lavatory. Righteous tried on the face she would use when she fell out at the casket. When she had it just right she thought about what Sister Celia had said that very morning and knew that Celia was correct. It was fine to pray and mission folks in times of weak trouble, but when a wave was about to crash down on a person’s head, that person would be a fool to hold out a flimsy umbrella. Serious action was needed, of that Righteous was sure.