Rainwater

EIGHTEEN

It was later—much later—when she heard his car. By that time she had put Solly down for the night, finished her mending and preparations for tomorrow’s meals, and whipped herself into a full-blown panic, which he dispelled the instant she unlocked the screened door to let him in.

“I’m all right. When the drugstore closed, some of us hung around, making ourselves visible in the hope there wouldn’t be any more incidents tonight. There weren’t.”

“Thank heaven for that.”

“Yes, but the general consensus is that the fire was set as a warning to anyone in the Negro community who might be plotting revenge for Brother Calvin. As you might guess, Mr. Simpson had been rather outspoken about the lynching. There was a prayer meeting held at noon today. He prayed that God’s wrath would rain down on those guilty of his pastor’s murder. Which, by the way, Sheriff Anderson ruled a suicide.”

“That’s ludicrous.”

“Everyone knows better. That’s why tension is so high.”

While Ella was worried about the volatile situation, she was selfishly relieved to have Mr. Rainwater back safe and sound. She wanted to throw her arms around him and tell him so, but a wavering voice came from the top of the stairs.

“Is everything all right in town, Mrs. Barron?”

She turned to see not one, but both, of the Dunne sisters peering at them over the banister. “Yes. Fine,” she said, struggling to keep the disappointment out of her voice. She’d been hoping that Mr. Rainwater could come directly to her room upon his return. Now, that was impossible. She was being cheated of time with him, and she wanted to rant over it. Instead, she said calmly, “Mr. Rainwater has just come back.”

He headed for the staircase. “Ladies, I’m pleased to report that the fire is out and that it was contained to one structure. It’s a sad loss for Mr. Simpson, but at least there were no casualties.”

The sisters murmured their agreement.

He was halfway up the staircase before he glanced down at Ella. “I apologize for making you wait up to let me in, Mrs. Barron.”

“I would have been up anyway, Mr. Rainwater. Good night.”

It was the longest hour of Ella’s life, because each minute that passed was one that she didn’t have with him. She despaired that, once he reached his room, he’d been overcome with fatigue and fallen asleep. The thought of having to forfeit a night with him almost brought her to tears.

She didn’t recognize this hysteria in herself. Twenty-four hours ago, she had been a circumspect lady, conscientious of each stray curl that escaped her bun, worried over the impropriety of accepting his gift of a book, uneasy with his using her given name, fretful over being seen riding with him in his car. Now she was afraid that he wouldn’t share her bed again.

When he knocked, she practically flew across the room. She opened the door; he slipped in. “Did they hear you?”

“I don’t think so.”

She was seized by a sudden shyness, barely breathing, trying to make out his shape in the darkness. But then he reached for her and pulled her to him. When their lips met, her timidity dissolved.

Their desire for each other was such that they didn’t even undress, which made the fevered coupling seem even more illicit than it had last night, when they’d slowly, almost reverently, helped each other remove their clothing before lying down together. Somehow, disrobing had seemed more decorous than now, when their groping and grappling through their clothes produced moans of pleasure mixed with frustration.

Only afterward did they undress. But their nakedness stirred their passions again, and their hands couldn’t remain still. When kisses left them breathless, his mouth moved to her breasts. She enfolded his head in her arms and held him fast, wishing that her breasts had milk so that she could nurture him, sustain him, heal him.

The grief overcame her suddenly and cruelly. She began to sob. “Don’t leave me.”

He raised his head and touched her cheeks, feeling tears.

Her hands clutched at him. “You can’t. You can’t leave me.”

“Ssh, Ella.”

“Oh, dear God, please.” She hugged him tightly, a bit mad in her desperation to hold on to him absolutely and forever. “I can’t bear it if you leave me. Say you won’t. Swear you won’t.”

“Ssh. Ssh.” He held her against him, rocking her in his arms like a child, rubbing his lips against her hair. “Don’t ask me for the one thing I can’t give you, Ella. If I could, I would. But the one thing I can’t give you is time.”

He continued to hold her until she quieted. When he eventually pulled back so he could look at her, he brushed strands of hair off her face and ran his thumbs across her cheeks. “This is the first time, as well as the last time, I’ve loved. And it’s perfect, Ella. Perfect.”

Her heart was full to bursting, so full she couldn’t speak, but he understood what she felt without her having to say a word.

He understood everything.

In the morning, she was ashamed of that outburst. She had asked the impossible of him, and knew that it broke his heart as much as it did hers that he couldn’t grant her fervent wish. But dwelling on her emotional breakdown, and chastising herself for it, would have been an even greater waste of their time together. So she pushed it from her mind and thought instead of the miracle of making love with him and to him. Loving him was the dearest of gifts.

Following breakfast, he offered to assist her with the cleanup, and she accepted. Not because she needed the help in Margaret’s absence but so they could share a room. He kept an eye on Solly while she did general housekeeping. A few days ago, it would have been vastly important to her that a tabletop was polished just so, or that each corner was thoroughly swept.

But her priorities had changed. She did only what was necessary to keep the house tidy and nothing more, not wanting to spend her time scrubbing when she could be looking at Mr. Rainwater instead. That was really all she wanted to do: look at him and record for memory his smile, the disobedient lock of hair, the various inflections of his voice, each eyelash, and every line in the palms of his hands.

After lunch, she fried two chickens, made potato salad, and baked a cake to contribute to the meal following Brother Calvin’s funeral service. Mr. Rainwater stayed in the kitchen with her while she worked, helping with the chopping and slicing. Solly played at the table.

Ella pretended … Well, she pretended lots of things.

When the picnic food was ready, Mr. Rainwater went to his room to change clothes. Ella dressed herself and Solly in their Sunday best.

“Well, don’t you look nice, Solly,” Miss Pearl exclaimed when Ella walked hand in hand with him into the parlor where the sisters were listening to a concert on the radio.

Again, Ella marveled that they detected nothing out of the ordinary. How could that be, when everything was so radically different? The changes that loving Mr. Rainwater had wrought were so vital, she couldn’t believe they were undetectable. Even when they were apart, she felt his body against hers, as though it had left an indelible imprint on her. She wondered how it could possibly be invisible.

“The table is set, and a platter of fried chicken is on the kitchen table,” she told the two sisters. “Potato salad, cucumber salad, and tea are in the icebox. If I’ve forgotten something, please help yourselves. Leave your dishes. I’ll clean up when we get back.”

“I still question if it’s … appropriate for you to attend this funeral, Mrs. Barron.” Miss Violet’s expression was one of a reproving schoolteacher. Her lips were pursed so tightly, Ella wondered how she was able to enunciate.

“Sister’s right, Mrs. Barron. It might not be safe,” Miss Pearl added, for some reason whispering.

“We’ll be perfectly safe.”

Miss Violet released a long sigh. “Well, if you’re determined to go …”

“I am.”

“Then I’m glad Mr. Rainwater will be by your side.”

“I’m glad of that, too,” Ella said.

He appeared then, carrying the picnic hamper and a cake box. Ella took the box from him. “You ladies enjoy your evening,” he said, tipping his hat. Then he escorted Ella and Solly out the front door and to his car.

They were early, but the church was already packed when they arrived. Cars and mule-drawn wagons were lined up along the street for blocks in both directions. Every pew in the sanctuary was filled. Standing room also proved inadequate, so there was a spillover crowd standing in the churchyard, looking in through the windows.

Many of the people Ella recognized from shantytown had chosen to remain outside. Some whites, too, apparently shared the Dunne sisters’ reservations about attending. They were there, but they stayed clumped together and segregated for the most part. Her heart warmed to see Lola and Ollie Thompson and Mr. and Mrs. Pritchett among those who went inside.

Because of the circumstances of the preacher’s death, Ella had thought there would be law enforcement officers nearby to guard against a disturbance rising from any quarter, but she saw no one in uniform.

Mr. Rainwater found the absence of lawmen unusual, too, and remarked on it. “Since the sheriff is in cahoots with the criminals, I had hoped he would keep his distance. But I’m surprised that he did. I would have thought he and his deputies would be camped nearby, if for no other reason than to intimidate. Or even to gloat.”

Jimmy appeared in the open doorway of the sanctuary and waved them inside, where Margaret had saved them seats. Ella feared that Solly might panic when he was jammed in between her and Mr. Rainwater, but when he began flapping his hands at his ears and showing the initial signs of a fit, Mr. Rainwater took several nickels from his pants pocket and scattered them upon the worn cover of a hymnal. Solly focused on them immediately and began rearranging the coins to his liking.

Ella smiled across the top of her son’s head at Mr. Rainwater. He smiled back.

Ella had attended the funeral service for Margaret’s husband, so she wasn’t surprised by the vocal outpourings of grief. Brother Calvin’s young widow was inconsolable. The choir sang long and loud. It seemed that everyone who had ever known the preacher had been invited to give a eulogy, and after the scheduled speakers had had their time at the pulpit, anyone who felt led to speak was invited to do so, and many did. The visiting preacher’s homily escalated into a lengthy sermon.

Miraculously, Solly remained quiet and docile, occupied with the coins throughout the service. Ella’s underclothing grew damp with perspiration. She used the hand fan that she’d been given when she came in, but it was insufficient. The heat inside the church became more intense as the service progressed.

However, her own discomfort was nothing compared to Mr. Rainwater’s. At first, she’d become aware of his fidgeting. Then she noticed him frequently reaching inside his suit coat to rub his side. His face grew pale and bathed with sweat, which he dabbed at with a handkerchief, sometimes pressing it hard against his lips.

He caught her watching him and smiled reassuringly. “Just a twinge,” he mouthed.

But she knew it was more than that. As much as she’d admired Brother Calvin, she wished for a swift conclusion to the service so she could take Mr. Rainwater home. She would insist he give himself a shot to relieve the evident pain he was suffering. Perhaps they should stop at Dr. Kincaid’s office before they went home.

As soon as the last amen was said, Ella maneuvered Solly into the aisle, paying no heed to his squealing protests when she scooped up his nickels. “I’ll leave the food we brought,” she said to Mr. Rainwater when they were stopped by the logjam of mourners at the door. “But let’s not stay. Let’s go home.”

“Why? Solly feels claustrophobic because of the crowd. He’ll calm down once we’re outside.”

“It’s not Solly I’m worried about. I know you’re in pain.”

“I’m fine.” Seeing her consternation, he surreptitiously reached for her hand and squeezed it. “I’m all right, and it would hurt Margaret’s feelings if we didn’t stay.”

So they stayed. There was no grave-site service because Brother Calvin’s coffin was being transported to Houston for burial. Tables were set up beneath the trees shading the churchyard. While Mr. Rainwater minded Solly, Ella added their food to what others had brought.

The people of shantytown began to leave, but Mr. Simpson, the deacon whose building had been destroyed the night before, stood on a tree stump and announced that everyone was invited to stay and partake of the meal even if they hadn’t contributed. The people who had come empty-handed were hesitant to accept the charitable invitation, but ultimately their embarrassment wasn’t as strong as their hunger pangs, and they shuffled to get in line.

“Not as good as yours,” Mr. Rainwater said as he bit into a fried chicken drumstick. “But word must have got around. The platter you brought was empty.”

They’d gone through the line to get their food, then Ella had spread a quilt on a grassy spot at the edge of the churchyard. He appeared to be feeling somewhat better. He wasn’t sweating as profusely, but there was still a sheen of perspiration on his face. His complexion looked waxy, and his lips were rimmed with white. He looked as he had the day she’d discovered him lying in his bed suffering excruciating pain.

“You’re not hungry?” he asked, nodding down at her plate. She’d barely nibbled at the food.

“It’s the heat, I think.” But it wasn’t the temperature. It was him. She was worried sick about him.

He saw through her fib. “Don’t fret over me, Ella.”

“I can’t help it.”

“I love you for your concern, but I don’t want to cause you one moment of heartache. Ever.”

Peering deeply into his eyes, she said hoarsely, “You will.”

He returned the drumstick to his plate. Staring into near space, he said, “Then I should never have come to you.”

She shook her head furiously. “No. Oh no. It would have been like not reading the book because of the sad ending. I had a choice.” Not caring who saw, she reached out and stroked his cheek until his eyes met hers again. “I wouldn’t have missed loving you. Not for anything in the world.”

They gazed at each other, communicating without words, apart from their environment, unmindful of anything going on around them. The spell was broken when, simultaneously, they became aware of Solly’s restlessness. “He needs the bathroom.” She stood up and took her son’s hand.

“Where’s the nearest one?”

“It’s an outhouse, I’m afraid. Behind the church. I’ll be right back.”

“I’ll clean up here and meet you at the car.”

It was deep twilight by now. Stars were out. The moon was a china plate rising above the rooftops. The crowd had thinned considerably. Even those who had stayed to take down the tables and collect dishes and trash had departed. She had been so wrapped up with Mr. Rainwater, she hadn’t noticed.

Jimmy and Margaret drove past in his ancient jalopy. Margaret waved, calling out, “I’ll see you in the morning, bright and early.”

Hurrying Solly along, Ella led him by the hand down the side of the church toward the rear of the building. The two outhouses were a distance from the sanctuary. One was marked for men, the other for women. Ella knew that one would be as bad as the other, and she dreaded taking Solly into either.

It was dark behind the church, where the area was enclosed by tall shrubbery. She considered letting him go in the bushes but knew that he would balk because of his innate fastidiousness. Besides that, she didn’t want to risk him being seen making water in the outdoors. If a normal boy did, people would smile and say boys would be boys. If Solly were caught doing it, there was no telling what the repercussions would be. It could be said that, because he wasn’t right in the head, he was a deviant.

The stench assailed her when she opened the flimsy door to the women’s outhouse. Holding her breath, she guided Solly inside. The cubicle was dark, which was probably a blessing, but it was a disadvantage to her getting his shorts unbuttoned. That accomplished, she stood him in front of the hole. He was barely tall enough for the stream to clear the bench, but he did his business without mishap.

Hastily she buttoned up his shorts. “Good job, Solly. Good job.” She must remember to scrub both their hands with soap and hot water as soon as they got home. If she could convince Mr. Rainwater to stop at Dr. Kincaid’s house on the way, they could wash there.

Determined to persuade Mr. Rainwater to see the doctor tonight, she pushed Solly through the outhouse door and quickly closed it behind her.

“Hey, Ella.”

Startled, she spun around. Conrad Ellis was there, his shoulder casually propped against the exterior wall of the building. The deputy’s badge was pinned to a uniform shirt, and he was wearing a leather holster with a pistol in it. His birthmark looked as dark as ink in the faint light. A cigarette dangled from his lips, which formed an insolent smile.

He tilted his head toward the small enclosure. “Niggers sure know how to stink up a place, don’t they?”

“What are you doing here?”

“Official duty,” he said, tapping the grip of the pistol with his index finger like a gunfighter about to draw. “Keeping the niggers from running amok.”

Ella’s heart was beating hard and fast, but she realized the worst thing she could do was to show him her fear. She took Solly firmly by the hand and started walking quickly away.

But Conrad wasn’t having it. He stepped in front of her, blocking her path. “What’s with you these days? You think your shit don’t stink? You’re too good to say a polite hello to old friends?”

“If I say a polite hello will you get out of my way?”

He took the cigarette from his mouth and threw it in the grass, grinding it out with the toe of his shoe even as he took a step closer to her. “Depends.”

“On what?”

He leered. “On how polite you’re willing to get.”

Instantly she understood his intention. She opened her mouth to scream, but he lunged and slammed her into the wall of the outhouse, clamping one of his hands over her mouth.

Something landed hard on the ground beside her, and she realized that, in his forward motion, Conrad had also knocked Solly aside. The way Conrad had her pinned against the outhouse wall made it impossible for her to move her arms, but she extended her fingers as far as she could, groping hopelessly to touch her son even as she struggled to free her mouth from Conrad’s hand. Overpowering him was impossible, but if she could scream, someone would hear her.

“You should be nicer to me, Ella, you really should.” All insouciance gone now, he was panting like an animal. “Like you’re nice to that boarder you’ve got. How come you’re giving him what you never gave me, huh?” His damp breath smelled of whiskey, but she was powerless to turn her face away.

A sound of outrage issued from her throat when he squeezed her breast with his free hand, but that only made him maul her more roughly. “How come you like that pale pantywaist instead of me? If you wanted a man, why didn’t you call on me?”

He managed to work his hand between their bodies and push it between her legs. She tried to evade his crude thrusting motions, but she couldn’t back up, and he was pressed against her so solidly, she couldn’t move from side to side. The unforgiving buckle of his holster was gouging her belly.

And Solly, was he hurt? When he was shoved to the ground, had he been knocked unconscious? Looking out the corner of her eye, she tried to see him, but her entire field of vision was filled with Conrad’s face, congested with rage, bloated from liquor, his small eyes smoldering with resentment and cruelty.

She heard, coming from somewhere not too distant, the sound of revving engines, a sharp whistle, and then someone calling Conrad’s name. Either he didn’t hear it or he ignored it. Grunting with the effort, he pushed her feet apart with his, making it impossible for her to close her legs. To her horror, she realized that he was fumbling with his fly and muttering curses of frustration when he couldn’t get it open.

Her mind was screaming, This cannot be happening to me. But it was, it would, if she didn’t stop it.

Suddenly, she ceased struggling and went limp. Confused, Conrad staggered back. It was only a few inches, and he relaxed his hold on her only marginally, but Ella used that split second of his befuddlement to cram her knee into his crotch.

He opened his mouth to scream, but only a thin gasp of agony came out. He clutched his groin with both hands and dropped to his knees, then toppled facefirst onto the ground. Ella covered her face with her hands, partially to block out the sight and sound of him as he writhed in pain at her feet, partially to regain her breath, slow down her pounding heart, and pull herself together.

She heard the rumble of racing motors coming nearer, the squeal of tires, men laughing and whooping drunkenly. Conrad’s crowd. Closing in. She had to move, get away from him before his friends arrived. But she couldn’t move just yet. She needed a few more seconds to collect her wits.

“Ella?”

Her name. Shouted in Mr. Rainwater’s voice. His dear, dear voice. It was a blessed sound reaching her despite Conrad’s choked sobs.

“Ella?”

Conrad’s groans intensified.

And then there was another sound. An abrupt cracking sound that was inexplicably wet-sounding, like the splat of a ripe melon being busted open.

Conrad’s moaning abruptly ceased.

Ella lowered her hands from her face.

Conrad still lay on the ground at her feet. But he was no longer moving. The back of his head had been split right down the center of his skull. It was too dark now to distinguish color, but the lumpy matter inside the crevasse glistened, and the liquid spilling out of it and pooling on the ground appeared as black as motor oil reflecting the moonlight.

Over him stood Solly, a large, bloodstained stone in his hands.

Ella clapped her hand over her mouth, although she continued to make strange cooing sounds of profound horror. She sank to her knees, looking in turn at Conrad’s gaping skull and her son’s placid, angelic face.

“Ella!”

She saw Mr. Rainwater’s shoes skid to a stop beside Conrad’s still form. His breath left his body in an audible gush. He knelt beside Solly, and Ella watched as he removed from her son’s small hands the stone with which Conrad Ellis had been brained. Only then did she raise her eyes to meet Mr. Rainwater’s and saw in them the disbelief and alarm that matched hers.

“Good job, Solly.”

In unison, they turned and stared aghast at the boy, who’d spoken the words. He was staring down at the damage he’d wreaked, having no comprehension of what it signified except an end to suffering, and speaking the words of commendation that recently had so often been repeated to him. They had penetrated his mind, had been recorded, and now he called them forth. “Good job, Solly. Good job, Solly. Good job, Solly.”

“Oh God!” Ella crawled over to him and clasped him against her, pressing his face against her breasts, muffling his incriminating litany. Having lived for the day she would hear him speak, now she wanted to shush his sweet voice, silence that chant that would condemn him. “Ssh, Solly. Ssh. No, baby, no.”

On the street in front of the church, they heard shouts and laughter, the slamming of car doors, breaking glass, running footsteps. Lantern light flickered through the trees.

Someone called in a singsong voice, “Con-rad? Where are you?”

“Come out, come out, wherever you are.”

“Let’s go nigger knockin’!”

Solly was now screeching and trying to escape Ella’s grasp. His hands were flapping at his ears like the wings of an injured bird. Above his head, she frantically looked at Mr. Rainwater. Their gazes locked and held for no longer than a few seconds.

And then he did the oddest thing.

He dipped his hands in the blood that had collected under Conrad’s head.

Ella gaped at him with bafflement as he slowly came to his feet, the stone in his hands, and turned toward the onrushing group of men who were now rounding the corner of the church, led by the sheriff himself.

Still several yards away, one of the men drew up short. “What the hell? Conrad?”

One by one, the others saw what had brought their friend to a standstill. They stared at Ella, Solly, and Mr. Rainwater, trying to register what their minds refused to accept.

Then the pack surged forward as one, yelling and cursing. Two of them tackled Mr. Rainwater, following him down when he fell and pummeling him with their fists.

“Stop! No!” Ella screamed. “Leave him alone.”

But nobody was listening to her. They were like rabid dogs, salivating, waiting their turn at Mr. Rainwater.

“Hold off, hold off!” Sheriff Anderson elbowed his way through them, pushing bodies aside, until he hauled the last man off Mr. Rainwater. Gripping him beneath his arms, the sheriff pulled him to his feet. But he couldn’t stand on his own, so two of the men held him upright while the sheriff jerked his bloody hands behind his back and cuffed them. His head was bowed low over his chest. A ribbon of blood hung from his lower lip. He swayed on his feet.

Ella, finally grasping what was happening, made a low keening sound, then croaked, “No.”

The sheriff turned to her. “One of these men will see you and your boy home, Mrs. Barron. They’ll stay with you till I get this character locked up. Then I’ll come around to question you.”

“No! Mr. Rainwater didn’t do anything.”

“Ella.”

“It wasn’t—”

“Ella.”

Wildly her eyes swung to him who spoke her name as no one else ever had. His head was raised now. He was looking directly at her. Quietly he said, “Do as the sheriff says. This is the way it’s to be.”

Realization of what he meant to do came to her slowly as she stood there breathing hard, sobbing dryly. Furiously, she shook her head. “No!”

As distraught as she was, he was perfectly composed. “It’s all right.”

She looked down at Solly, who, since she had released him, had calmed down and was no longer screeching but was still flapping his hands at the sides of his head and chanting in a whisper, “Good job, Solly.”

Then she looked back at the man who’d touched her son, reached him, when no one else had, even she.

She looked at the man who had touched her.

His image began to waver as her eyes filled. Again she shook her head, saying feebly, “No, no.”

His eyes had never looked more serene. Certainly never more loving. Slowly he nodded. His lips moved, and she read the word on them. Yes.