Reverend Jenkins spoke. “Rosa Lee Carter, do you believe that Jesus was the son of God . . .” And before I knew it, a toweled hand was cupped over my nose and mouth and I was bent backwards under the water. Ma Pearl had said to make sure we closed our eyes, but I didn’t. I knew it was no more than a couple of seconds that I was under there, but it seemed as if I were staring up at that few inches of water covering my face for an eternity. Above the water loomed a clear blue sky, which I took as a sign that one day my life would be as clear and beautiful as it was.
Two days before the baptism, I had asked Ma Pearl to show me my birth certificate. I had never seen it, because she kept it locked away in her chifforobe. I never had a reason to ask for it before, but I wanted to see for myself what name Miss Addie had scribbled there. And just like Papa had said, the name, written in Miss Addie’s crooked lettering, was Rosa Lee. So when Reverend Jenkins asked which name I wanted on my baptism record, I told him “Rosa” because that was my name. The name that was recorded upon my birth. Rosa Lee Carter. The name I would carry with me to Saint Louis when I started my new life.
I came up out of the baptismal waters of Stillwater Lake gasping for air. But I hadn’t choked. I was happy to feel the warmth of tears rolling down my cheeks, because it was commonly believed that the truly saved would cry after baptism. When I came out of the water, Ma Pearl draped me in towels.
By the time I wiped my face and looked out at the lake, Queen was already in the water and facing the crowd. She looked peaceful rather than afraid. Maybe being the last one was good for her. I just prayed she didn’t choke.
And she didn’t. She came up out of that water like the queen she was meant to be. Regal and proud, despite the trouble she had gotten herself into.
Chapter Thirty-Three
SUNDAY, OCTOBER 2
AFTER THE BAPTISM AND THE CHURCH SERVICE THAT FOLLOWED, a large gathering of people came over to enjoy Ma Pearl’s chicken and dressing. With her having three grandchildren baptized in one day, she was the envy of all the mothers of the church.
Baptism, it seemed, had even changed Queen. Or maybe it was that little issue of the trouble she found herself in that changed her. Either way, she surprised us all by joining Hallelujah, me, and Fred Lee as we sat in the shade of the ancient oak tree in the front yard. Fred Lee, as usual, didn’t have much to say. But Hallelujah, in the presence of the Queen, couldn’t seem to shut his mouth. And I wanted to punch him in it.
Although he had previously been talking about how colored folks in the South would soon have to stand up for their civil rights, for Queen’s entertainment he began to prattle about some up-and-coming rock-and-roll singer he’d heard who was sure to become a favorite of both coloreds and whites.
“Elvis Presley, huh?” Queen said absently as she stared off into the distance.
“Yeah, out of Memphis,” Hallelujah said. “Came from Mississippi, though. Tupelo. Just got out of high school a couple of years ago and already got a music contract. Heard he was just up in Clarksdale last month . . .” He babbled on.
Queen nodded but said nothing.
Fred Lee seemed more interested. Staring buck-eyed at Hallelujah, he said, “I didn’t know you liked white folks’ music.”
I held back a chuckle. Hallelujah wasn’t any more interested in white folks’ music than I was in being Mrs. Robinson’s maid.
Hallelujah beamed. “Oh, it ain’t just white folks’ music Elvis sings. He’s got his own style.”
Sometimes he sounded like such a fool when he got around Queen. Besides, if this Elvis fellow was on the radio, I was sure Queen had already heard of him, as much as she had her ear pressed to that thing, running down Ma Pearl’s “batt’ries.”
“I even hear that colored women are starting to name their sons after him,” Hallelujah continued. “Can you imagine a colored boy named Elvis?”
Queen snapped her head my way and shot me a dirty look. I shook my head discreetly to let her know that if Hallelujah was throwing any hints her way, it wasn’t on account of me. I hadn’t told him a thing about her. Oh, I wanted so badly to tell him. To let him know there was no point in trying to impress Queen anymore, as she was already ruined and unfit to marry a preacher’s boy. But it wasn’t my business to tell. Time and Queen’s growing belly would do that eventually.
“That ain’t Aunt Ruthie, is it?” Fred Lee said, pointing up the road.
We all leaned forward and peered up the road to the west, in the opposite direction of the Robinsons’. Anybody with eyes could see that it was Aunt Ruthie and her brood of young ones stirring up a small puff of dust on the road.
“I hope she didn’t walk seven miles with them chi’ren again,” Queen said, leaping up from her chair.
“There’s no sign of a car anywhere,” I pointed out.
Queen ignored my sarcasm. “I hope Slow John didn’t beat her again,” she said. Without another word, she stormed across the yard toward the road. Within seconds she had joined Aunt Ruthie and begun gathering the children in her arms. In that instant, I knew, despite all her other shortcomings, she was going to make a fine mother.
When they reached the yard, Aunt Ruthie acknowledged us with a nod. Otherwise she kept her head down. Her right arm was wrapped with one of the baby’s diapers, and there was blood on the sleeve of her faded plaid dress.