Cane River Part 33

"T.O., I've never told you about the gift I had when I was young, because I thought it had left me for good." Philomene's eyes were bright, almost fever bright, T.O. thought, but unclouded. "I used to be able to see the future. Now it seems to have come back, at least a little, and it concerns you."

T.O. was soothed by the calm certainty in her voice and the heat of her hands.

"I see a woman standing in front of a large room, people as far as the eye can see, young and old, black and white, men and women. She talks, and they listen with their whole minds. There's respect in that room, and the woman in the front comes from us, from you. I tell you this, T.O., so you know that you and yours are going to be all right. Don't waste what came before. Add to it."

T.O. didn't know what to say. He held her hand in his until she fell asleep.

Philomene died later that night. Emily insisted on a family celebration, and then, just as it had been with Joseph, Philomene's name dropped from his mother's everyday speaking as well.

Grandmother Phelman died Nov 1912.--Cousin Gurtie Fredieu, written family history, 1975

On a pleasant evening the following spring, Emily, Mary, T.O., and Eva lingered around the kitchen table after supper. Joe had left the house to go courting, and Josephine had gone off to bed early with a headache. While the dishes soaked in the sink, Emily brought out a fresh gallon of home-brewed muscadine wine. She filled a gla.s.s tumbler for each of them, and Mary retrieved the black and white bones for dominoes.

"Do you know how to play, Eva?" T.O. asked, careful in his tone. Since her belly had gone big with their first child, she was less predictable in how she reacted to him.

"I'll be fine," Eva replied. "No need to know French to play dominoes."

It took T.O. by surprise how fast with numbers Eva was. She held all of her bones in one hand close to her bosom, propped up over her smooth, round stomach, carefully watching every play on the table with intense concentration. She won the first game with apparent ease, beaming with delight.

T.O. felt a nice, rosy glow. His wife was happy, he was happy, all seemed right with the world.

"Very lucky," Emily said, mixing up the bones for a rematch.

Eva won the second game as well.

"You need to try a little of my wine," Emily said, nodding toward Eva's untouched tumbler. "Loosen you up a bit."

"I do fine without it, Miss Emily," Eva said. "I'm surprised you can hold so much liquor, you're such a little woman."

Emily motioned for Mary to pour more into T.O.'s gla.s.s as well as her own.

"I never have been able to hit one hundred pounds." Emily turned to T.O. and switched to French. "That time, weighing myself on the cotton scales? Ninety-nine. If I had known I was so close, I wouldn't have spit out my tobacco."

It was an old family joke, and they all laughed. Except Eva.

Eva noisily sc.r.a.ped her chair back from the table, took her tumbler full of wine, and poured it out in the sink, then began to wash the dishes they'd set to soak earlier.

"Maman, let's talk in English," T.O. interrupted, casting a nervous eye over to Eva. let's talk in English," T.O. interrupted, casting a nervous eye over to Eva.

Emily ignored him and continued on in her silken voice, the strong rise and fall of her Creole patois dominating the room.

T.O. knew that Eva wouldn't think of disrespecting his mother by talking back to her, but the time was fast approaching when he would have to take a stand between these two women, his mother and his wife, before they ground him to dust between them.

"We need to find a place of our own to rent," Eva said.

Their first year of marriage had been a constant battle of wills between Eva and Emily, although harsh words were never spoken directly.

"But there's plenty of room for us here," T.O. protested. "And help with the baby. We don't have enough for our own place."

Eva wore a stubborn scowl, with her lips pursed tight and not open to challenge. "We are both young and strong. It may not be considered proper in your family, but there is nothing wrong in taking in other people's was.h.i.+ng and ironing, as long as they pay me for it. And I can take care of Joseph Lee myself."

"I know you and Maman Maman don't always see everything the same way, but-" don't always see everything the same way, but-"

"T.O., we have another child on the way. I appreciate what your mama has done for us, but I'm raising our children my own way. They will will be Baptist, and they be Baptist, and they will not will not speak French." speak French."

The years pa.s.sed, T.O. taking odd jobs and Eva in charge of the family and their small farm outside Colfax. By the time Eva's childbearing years wound down, they had five children. There were four boys, Joseph Lee, Theodore, Henry Earl, and I.V., and the youngest, an untamed girl named Willie Dee. Strict and full of direction, Eva brooked no interference from anyone in raising them to be morally strong, neat, clean, and respectful.

T.O.'s family still spent occasional Sunday afternoons on Cornfine Bayou. After Eva and the children walked the two and one-half miles back from church in Colfax, T.O. hitched the mule and they all drove to Aloha. The young ones loved to visit the farm back in the country with their grandma 't.i.te, a spirited old woman who always had an inexhaustible supply of thick striped canes of sweet peppermint candy.

LR. Henry Earl, Joseph, I.V., Theo Billes.

Willie Dee Billes.

47.

C OLFAX OLFAX , L , L OUISIANA OUISIANA -1936 -1936 D eep in thought, Emily unscrewed the lid from the top of the Red Rooster tin, slowing her pace as she walked to make sure she didn't drop the last of her snuff. Her grip wasn't as steady as it used to be. It was twenty-nine years and four months to the day since her Joseph was taken, and even after all the time without him, lately she missed him with a ferocity that unnerved her. She felt an urgent need to talk to Philomene about her unsettling longings, but Emily had had to do without her mother's council and comfort for twenty-four years. eep in thought, Emily unscrewed the lid from the top of the Red Rooster tin, slowing her pace as she walked to make sure she didn't drop the last of her snuff. Her grip wasn't as steady as it used to be. It was twenty-nine years and four months to the day since her Joseph was taken, and even after all the time without him, lately she missed him with a ferocity that unnerved her. She felt an urgent need to talk to Philomene about her unsettling longings, but Emily had had to do without her mother's council and comfort for twenty-four years.

She took the time to pinch together the final bits of moist dark-brown tobacco that remained in the tin, expertly transferring the stringy blend between her inside bottom lip and gum in one fluid motion. A familiar rush hit as the thick, syrupy liquid rose in her mouth. She spat just once, forcefully, into the fallen pine needles and dirt under her feet, a short, accurate shot. One more spit before getting on the bus, and she would be fine until she got all the way to Colfax. Everyone knew that Emily Fredieu could hold her juice.

Yesterday a mud dauber's nest had fallen from the roof of the house, a powerful and unlucky sign. And then Josephine, in a rare fit of pique over a stuck jar lid that refused to budge, had declared, "If I knew then what I know now, I would have married the darkest man I could find and had a house full of babies of my own." Out of nowhere. As if the fact that neither daughter ever married were her fault. Emily had decided at that moment to come to town today.

Josephine Billes.

It wasn't often anymore that Emily could be persuaded to leave the home place for any reason, even to keep the graves clean, but she had been feeling lately that if she didn't keep moving, G.o.d might think she was done and come to collect her early. Besides, wandering through a store would almost be like breathing in Joseph once again. Between the strength of the omen and her a.s.sorted pains, she had been able to sleep only fitfully last night and had been up long before the rooster's first crow this morning. She wondered whether this was how her mother, Philomene, had felt at this age. Or her memere memere Suzette. Or even the dark old woman Elisabeth. The women in her family all had a grip on living they didn't let go easily, no matter the limitations. Suzette. Or even the dark old woman Elisabeth. The women in her family all had a grip on living they didn't let go easily, no matter the limitations.

The three-mile walk through the Louisiana piney woods out to the road to catch the bus to Colfax seemed longer than she remembered, demanding more than her knees wanted to brace, more than her heart wanted to sponsor. She could have sent either Josephine or Mary to do the erranding when she saw they were getting low on Red Rooster or waited until Sunday when the relations came to call. They were all willing to do for her if she asked.

Trading her country time for town time put Emily in a reflective mood. Josephine's outburst yesterday notwithstanding, they got on well in the country, she and her daughters, growing most of what they needed to eat, using the muscadine grapes to make their own wine to drink, keeping the farm, having supplies they couldn't grow or make themselves brought in. Joe Jr. had died in World War I, but T.O. frequently brought his children to visit. Despite being off in the backcountry, they seldom wanted for weekly visitors, family of one sort or another from the white side and the colored side both. Going to town usually meant something new and pretty to see, even if Colfax seemed to be shrinking instead of growing. When the sawmill pulled out, the town had gotten a bit of a hangdog temperament to it, as if it knew its best days were behind.

A black squirrel jumped from one tree to the next not far ahead of her, his mouth swollen with nuts. How she still loved her woods, even after all these years, even after most of the virgin pine had been plundered and the sun was free to burn through. It wasn't as if she didn't have other places to compare it with, like most of the untraveled country folks around these parts. She had been sent all the way to New Orleans when she was a girl and had learned to read and write in both English and French. She had tasted the city, the real city. Not many in her circle made that claim.

Emily reached the road that could take her to Natchitoches or Montgomery to the north or Colfax to the south. Years ago gangs of men had carved out the ugly thoroughfare, wide and asphalted. It was convenient, no doubt about that. The world had been a smaller place before these things they called progress reached them, steamboats instead of railroads, horses instead of automobiles, but the improvements tended to be hard-edged and drab, one of the worst possible sins in Emily's book.

She slowed her step and looked in first one direction and then the other. There was no traffic, no other person out walking. The bus line conformed to some sort of schedule, but she knew the bus would show up in its own good time, and all she had to do was wave it down however far she had managed to get along the road. She turned south on the hot asphalt, kept a steady pace until she finally heard the rattle of the bus behind her coming along Highway 71.

As always happened when she knew she would be judged by strangers' eyes, she wished she were taller and more imposing. She was almost five feet, missing the mark by less than an inch. And she still hadn't managed to tip the scales beyond one hundred pounds. Her waist had thickened with the pa.s.sage of time, but even without her corset she could have invited an admiring arm around it if she had ever so decided. Her hair was pulled back and up, severely, and arranged in a topknot to keep it off her neck in the heat, but if left free it still hinted at the saucy brown color of her youth. It could reach almost to her waist. Sometimes she washed it just to see her old glory turn dark in her hands again while it was wet, before it dried and turned back to grayish white.

She wished she had on one of her serviceable long-billed bonnets, but she wouldn't wear them to town anymore since her granddaughter had told her they weren't fas.h.i.+onable. She wore a smaller bonnet, not as good to keep the sun off, but a pretty little thing. Her feet had spread from a lifetime of work and narrow shoes, but when she bought store-made shoes, she still needed the smallest possible adult size. And seventy-five years old or no seventy-five, she knew the touch of beauty was still with her. The unflawed clear white skin with almost no wrinkles, the sharp but delicate features, the French nose, the beautiful long straight hair with only the insinuation of the natural curl that might start minds thinking about the possibility of cafe au lait.

The dingy silver country bus distinguished itself from the dust swirls that preceded it, and Emily lifted up her hand in a wave. The driver stopped. It had been over five years since she'd last taken the bus, and it seemed more crowded than she remembered, whites in front, colored in back. She looked carefully at the pa.s.sengers as she climbed the steps, including the bus driver, and when she didn't see anyone she recognized, she took her place in front and settled in for the ride, grateful to be off her feet. They were all strangers around her, outsiders who would probably never think to stop at Colfax, pa.s.sing by on their way to some bigger town. Those who carried on conversation did so in English. It was an annoyance, but switching away from the easy Creole French in her head was one of the prices to pay to go to town.

Someone had left a copy of this week's Natchitoches Reporter Natchitoches Reporter on the seat beside her, and it was open to the "Letters to the Editor" column. Emily didn't put much stock in keeping up with events reported in the newspapers, even when someone brought one out to the farm for her. They seemed to have so little to do with anything genuine or important, but today she needed to stay alert. It wouldn't do to drift off and miss the Colfax stop nine miles away. She read to occupy her mind. on the seat beside her, and it was open to the "Letters to the Editor" column. Emily didn't put much stock in keeping up with events reported in the newspapers, even when someone brought one out to the farm for her. They seemed to have so little to do with anything genuine or important, but today she needed to stay alert. It wouldn't do to drift off and miss the Colfax stop nine miles away. She read to occupy her mind.

"They're trying to get the name of Highway 71 changed to FDD Derbanne Highway," Emily said excitedly, pointing out the article in the newspaper to the woman sitting across the aisle from her, a bosomy matron in a flowered dress, white-gloved hands clutching her purse. "These are my people they're talking about."

The woman smiled at her politely, indulgently, but didn't encourage further conversation, leaning back and closing her eyes to signal that she was resting and unavailable.

The words had come out in French. Just as well, Emily thought. It had been both foolish and dangerous to talk to a stranger in the front of the bus.

Emily sat back and read the article through again. Francois Dion Despres Derbanne was a distant ancestor who had helped set up Natchitoches as a trading post years before New Orleans existed. Her Joseph had told her all about the explorer when he had laid out her father's bloodline for her, and she had spent countless hours as a teenager rolling that beautiful name over her tongue and begging him for more stories. Francois Dion Despres Derbanne. It had to be the same man, and it was his same blood running through her. She folded the newspaper carefully and pushed it deep into her bag.

The b.u.mpy ride of the bus on the country road created its own rhythm, and Emily relaxed into it. She had become much more dreamy of late than she could ever recall being before, and often sharp, fresh memories of fifty or seventy years ago crowded out the necessities of today. Sometimes they gave her great pleasure, like good friends come calling.

The bus s.h.i.+fted gears abruptly, and Emily looked out the windows at the thinned woods on each side. Joseph had owned all of this at one time, and she had helped him get it.

The Colfax stop was close.

Good thing.

She needed to spit.

48.

E mily stepped off the bus. Colfax, Louisiana, the sign said, population 1,400. The weathered sign hadn't changed for at least twenty years that she knew of, and it was already 1936. She still had a long walk down the wide, dusty road to the other side of town. mily stepped off the bus. Colfax, Louisiana, the sign said, population 1,400. The weathered sign hadn't changed for at least twenty years that she knew of, and it was already 1936. She still had a long walk down the wide, dusty road to the other side of town.

Across the street from Tumminello's general store, a loose knot of men idled around the grandstand, swapping stories, and Emily heard a short burst of laughter behind her as she entered the relative darkness of the store. Some of the men were old enough to know who she was, but she felt a little reckless today.

The very smell of the place a.s.saulted her, triggering memories, good and bad. The store was empty except for the bored-looking young white man behind the counter. This young one didn't know her. She always sent someone else in to pick up supplies, but Colfax was a small town, and her story might be known, if not her face.

She wandered around the store, drinking in the remembered magic of places like this while the boy eyed her.

"Can I help you, ma'am?" He had round owl-like eyes, dark slick hair, a thin nose that took a sharp downward curve near the tip.

She could see herself through his eyes, another old-line French-woman come down from the country, dressed better than most, back straighter than most, who might not have enough money to buy the goods on the shelves. Many of the folks around Colfax didn't have much, and he had a right to be suspicious. Why should he know about the $1,300 in cash she had sewn in her mattress, more than some of these farmers had seen in a lifetime?

"Thank you," Emily said to the boy. "I need to browse a bit before I'm ready."

She wandered down the two aisles slowly, and after she filled up on the sights and sounds and smells of the store, she got down to business. She needed a new pair of shoes. Riding in the front of a bus where no one knew her was one thing. Trying on a pair of shoes in a general store where she could be recognized at any moment was another. She wasn't feeling that rash. She picked out the smallest pair of women's shoes she saw, matching their general outline to the bottom of her own overrun shoes, and carried them up to the front of the store.

"I haven't seen you in here before," the boy behind the counter said, taking the shoes from her. "You from Colfax?"

"I'm from up the road. Aloha. It's been a long time since I was here. My name is Emily Fredieu."

"Glad to see you in the store, Mrs. Fredieu. I just started here not too long ago myself. I'm still getting to know everybody. Will this be all for you today?"

"Add five tins of Red Rooster snuff, please."

"Yes, ma'am. Anything else?"

"Eight ... no, ten sticks of peppermint candy. My granddaughter is coming to visit this afternoon, and she has a sweet tooth as demanding as mine."

"A little girl?"

Emily laughed, thinking of how her outspoken granddaughter, Willie Dee, would react to the question. Willie was high yellow, her brown eyes always seeming to blaze with curiosity, reminding Emily of T.O. in his youth. That and her long, slender fingers. But she had also gotten a heavy dose of s.p.u.n.k and her big feet from Eva. Her granddaughter considered herself fully grown, with a quick tongue and the sa.s.sy arrogance of a fifteen-year-old accustomed to being chased by all of the local colored boys. "Not so little anymore. She's bringing her latest beau out to see me. One of the Tademy boys."

[image][image]

Willie Dee Billes Tademy, Nathan (Ted) Tademy.

"Another family I don't know."

The boy stacked her purchases on the counter. He took his stubby pencil and began to add up her total as he talked. "You picked a good time to come in. There's going to be a rally across the street starting soon. Jim Fletcher running for police jury."

Emily was suddenly wary and anxious to be back home. "How much is it going to be?" she asked.

The bell over the front door of the store shrilled loudly, and Emily startled. A well-dressed but overly powdered older woman entered, dominating the room. She eyed Emily sharply and then turned to the clerk.

"Five pounds of flour and two pounds of coffee."

"Let me finish up here with Mrs. Fredieu, Mrs. Fletcher, and I'll get right on it."

"Excuse me? You'll help me now. Miss Emily will be glad to wait."

Nathan Tademy and Willie Dee Billes with daughters Joan and Theodorsia.

Willie Dee Billes and Nathan (Ted) Tademy.

Eva and T.O. Billes, front. Children LR. Henry Earl, I.V., Willie Dee, Theo, Joe.

Billes children. LR. Henry Earl, Theo, Willie Dee, I.V., Joe. Lalita Tademy off to side.

Emily Fredieu and daughter Mary Billes.

Nathan (Ted) Tademy.

Eva and T.O. Billes (back) children and grandchildren, 1954. Lalita Tademy, far left, hands on hips.