Reverend Pennycall’s face soured over. “I ain’t in the habit of telling lies Ma’am.” He walked out to the police car and grabbed something off the front seat. He walked back. He held out a dusty old black hat with a snakeskin band. “You evah see this befowah?”
Willis stood up from the stool, got his walking stick and put it under his arm. “Dat Mo hat.”
“Mmmmm. I thought it might be,” Reverend Pennycall said.
“Where’d you get that at?” Granny said.
“Them renegades burned a cross up Kingdom Church last night and left this on a stake. I’m reckoning they sending a message. I’m reckoning this here hat belonged to that niggah they hung.”
“I’m reckoning you done forgot your manners Reverend!” Granny was almost shouting at Reverend Pennycall. “I’m reckoning you done wore your welcome plumb out!”
“I’m sorry Ma’am, if I have. I’m just tryin’ to do ma job.”
“Why don’t you do it then? Why don’t you put that renegade bunch in jail? You know who they are!”
“I can’t just go around arresting folks Ma’am. Ya’ll know that.”
“Humph!” Granny said and looked at Willis.
“I’m sorry Ma’am. I’m sorry son,” Reverend Pennycall said. “I reckon I best be on ma way.”
“I reckon you best,” Granny said.
Reverend Pennycall looked up again at Moses’ paint job. “I see he’s missed a patch up there.” He took a step backward as if to study the place over the attic window.
Nobody said anything.
“Well, ya’ll let me know if he shows up.” He turned then and started walking away, his white hankie hopping up and down in his butt pocket.
“Walks like a fat ass duck, don’t he?” I said.
Willis wouldn’t even look.
When Reverend Pennycall got out to the police car he opened the door and looked back. “Ya’ll can’t work’em boys now Mrs. Wood, not till ya’ll talk to the judge.” He squeezed his belly in behind the wheel of the police car.
“He don’t know nothin’,” Granny said. “Bunch of rumors and old horseshit is all he knows.” Without looking at Granny or me, Willis walked himself down the steps of the porch and disappeared around the corner.
The day after Victor threw his fit he stayed in the trailer. Momma had to take his food out there. That was Tuesday. Granny’s calendar had said September with a big number 8, the same day Reverend Pennycall had come. The next day, Wednesday, Victor showed up to breakfast on a hangover.
He frowned at the coffee Momma set before him. He picked up a slice of bacon and smelled of it. He looked at me and put the bacon all in his mouth, all at the same time, chewing it with his eyes on me. Wormy bloodshot eyes.
I tried to eat my oatmeal. Some dripped on the table.
“You’re making a mess,” Victor said.
Momma reached over with a rag and wiped it up. “Orbie honey, be careful.”
“Coffee Momma,” Victor said. “And bring me the aspirin. This head’s killing me.”
Momma brought him his coffee and aspirin. She sniffled around like somebody with a cold, her hair rolled in big pink curlers. She was wearing her bathrobe, pink with white swans on the pockets. One of the pockets was all bulged out with Kleenex. She set the coffee and four white aspirins on the table next to Victor. That’s when I saw the shadows under her makeup, new bruises on both sides of her neck.
Victor watched me while he chewed his bacon. “What are you looking at?”
I wanted to ask him the same question. I looked at my oatmeal. A pad of butter floated on top. I poked it with my spoon.
Victor popped all four aspirin in his mouth, washed them down with coffee. “You managed to put one over on me, didn’t you? The other night. You and your little colored friends.” He leaned back, unbuckled his belt and slipped it off. He wrapped it around and around and set it coiled on the table next to his plate.
I pushed the pad of butter underneath the oatmeal, dug it back out again.
Victor grabbed hold of my wrist. “Look at me when I’m talking to you!” His breath was heavy with coffee and bacon.
“Let go of me!”
Something crashed behind me. I turned to see Momma trying to set the coffee pot straight. Coffee dripped through the cracks in the stovetop, sizzling down into the flames underneath.
Victor jerked me back around. “I said look at me!”
“Don’t do this a way,” Momma said, her voice empty of spirit, not telling Victor but asking. She stood with her back to the stove, a rag full of coffee grounds wadded in her hand. “It wasn’t him, hon.”
“The hell it wasn’t!” Victor pulled me off the chair. I tried to break loose.
“You’d like to hurt me wouldn’t you? Your old stepfather.” He picked up the belt with his right hand and let it uncoil to the floor. Then he gathered it into a loop and brushed the end of it along my cheek. “By the way, I’m going to keep that knife of yours. Yeah. I know what you’ve been up to. I know how important it is.”
“Victor, leave him alone hon,” Momma said, her voice trailing away. I felt like I was falling down a black hole with nobody to help me. No Daddy, no Moses, no Momma, no knife.
“This is going to hurt you way more than it’s going to hurt me,” Victor said. “I can guarantee you that.”
“Hey ya’ll! Somebody in there! Come get this door!” It was Granny. She was yelling from the front door. “We finished shaving out here!”
“Just in time, as usual,” Victor said. “Go on. Go let your grandmother in. We’ll finish this later.” He let go of my arm. The place where he’d grabbed me burned like fever.
“Do like he says, sweetheart,” Momma said.
I went around his chair and into the front room. Missy was in there sleeping — even with all the noise she was. Granny and Granpaw filled up the whole front door almost, one lumpy shadow with the morning light a glare behind them. “Come hold this door for us old people,” Granny said. “You get old, you’ll wish you was young.”
I went over and held the door open. Granny pushed Granpaw in the wheelchair over the bump into the front room. She looked at me. “What was all that ruckus about?”
“Nothing,” I said.
“Didn’t sound like nothing to me. Come on.” Granny pushed the wheelchair across the living room, through the kitchen door and up to the table. “Somebody in here mention a knife?” I squeezed around behind her and went off down to the end of the table away from Victor. Granny looked at me. “I thought I heard somebody mention a knife.”
“Victor did,” I said.
Granny looked at Victor. He was busy again, eating his eggs. He shoveled up a fork full and put it in his mouth. The belt was still on the table. “It was you walked off with my knife the other night,” Granny said.
Victor looked at Granny then continued with his eating. “It’s in safe keeping, Mrs. Wood.”
“What you keeping it safe for?”
Victor gulped and swallowed and wiped his lips with his napkin. “It’s safe, that’s all.”
Granny tied a rubber thing around the muscle of Granpaw’s arm. “Knives belong in a kitchen.”
“Tell that to the boy,” Victor said.
Granny reached around in back of her to the top part of the cabinet. She brought down the little black case with Granpaw’s medicines and the hypodermic needle she used to give him his shots. “I got plenty of knives. In my drawer yonder. Keeping one out won’t make a bit of difference somebody wants to stick you with one.”
“Mamaw now,” Momma said.
Victor sipped his coffee.
Granny squirted some of the medicine out the end of the needle. She put her mouth close to Granpaw’s ear. “Strode. Make a fist now, hon.”