The Mighty Miss Malone (21 page)

He pointed at the orange glow and bowed. “Now, lay-deees and ladies, next stop, a place called Wonderful!”

You’d need a really exploding imagination to call this camp anything like Wonderful. But it was OK.

We asked the first person we saw how we should get a place to stay. He said, “Look for Stew, white lady with a long gray braid. She’s at the crick.”

Stew was leaning on a stick by the water. She saw us and limped over. She stuck her hand out. “My name’s Donna Stewart, everyone calls me Stew. You’re new here, you need a place to stay?”

We introduced ourselves and Mother said, “My mother-in-law lives in Flint and since we got here so late we thought we’d better stay.”

The woman said, “There’s plenty of room, and you’re welcome to stay as long as you need.”

Jimmie said, “It’s not going to be long—”

Mother tugged at her earlobe, the Malone signal for “Stop talking … start listening.” She said, “My husband is going to be here in a bit.”

Jimmie was confused but had sense enough to keep quiet.

Stew said, “Fine, let’s find you a place.”

We followed Stew along one of the trails that led back to the fire. She and Mother walked slowly ahead of me and Jimmie.

“I twisted my ankle on a root a couple of weeks ago, you gotta watch where you’re going. This your first time staying in a camp?”

Mother said, “Is it that obvious?”

Stew laughed. “Painfully.”

Jimmie whispered, “Dang, see what being seen with two soft little cream puffs like you and Ma has done to my reputation?”

I slapped his arm.

Stew said, “Where’re you from, if you don’t mind me asking?”

Mother stuttered around a bit before she said, “Uh, Lancaster, Pennsylvania.”

She was very bad at lying. Which is a good thing.

I guess. Jimmie nudged me. “
What
?”

I whispered, “I’ll tell you later.”

In camp people said hello to us, then came up to Stew to
say things like, “…  And you know we’ve asked them three or four times to stop, and nothing’s been done. My husband is about to take matters into his own hands and no one wants that.…”

Or, “Sorry to disturb you, Stew, but have you heard anything on that job …?”

Or, “Thank you so much, Stew, we owe you big.…”

Or, “Anyone going in to the post office tomorrow …?”

She was patient and kind with each person.

Jimmie said, “Wow, Stew! It’s like you’re the mayor or something!”

She laughed. “Well, let me know when the next election is so I can be sure not to run again!”

She walked us toward the fire. “Now, you don’t want to choose a spot so close to the fire that you get smoked if the wind’s wrong, but it’s nice to be close enough that you can hear the fire burning down. How do you feel about music?”

Jimmie said, “We love it.”

“Good, that’s another advantage to being close to the fire, some nights folks sing and play instruments there. I warn you, though, the quality varies, it depends who’s in camp.”

Jimmie looked at me and made his eyebrows do that crazy up-and-down dance.

Stew asked me, “You’re about twelve, thirteen?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

We stopped in front of a tent that sat between two cardboard, wood and cloth huts. There were boxes set like porch chairs outside the tent.

She said, “This is the Smalls’ place. They’ve got a girl named Loretta that must be around your age. The places on both sides are open. Take your pick.”

Mother said, “It is for just one night, so …”

The opening of the hut that caught my eye was closest to the fire. There was a cloth pulled to one side that you could drop down to cover where the front door was supposed to be. Even in the dark I could tell the cloth was gingham. It was too dark to be sure if it was blue.

I walked over to touch the material. It was a little dirty and a lot stiffer than Mrs. Needham’s dress, but it was still beautiful. And it
was
blue.

Mother smiled. “Deza, which one?”

I said, “It’s got to be some kind of a sign!”

Stew said, “Good choice. All we ask is that you not leave anything outside your place, that you respect your neighbors’ privacy, any garbage goes to the dump, which is that way, and finally we ask that you”—she looked square at Jimmie—“not water any of the trees or plants, there are latrines near the dump.”

Jimmie said, “I don’t—”

Stew interrupted. “I’m not singling you out, young man, it’s a general rule.”

We said goodbye to Stew and set our bundles in the hut.

Mother said, “We’ll just open the one with blankets.”

I can’t believe how something as easy as sitting in a couple of boxcars can get you so tired. We opened the bundle that had the bedding in it and even before it settled to the ground I was
surprised to see Mother standing over me saying, “Sleep well, my lamb. Tomorrow we’ll be with your grandmother.”

I heard Jimmie say, “Sweet dreams, sis,” and I wanted to answer him, but before I could open my mouth, I was out so quick that I didn’t have time to think about the first night in my life that I wasn’t sleeping in a real bed.

The blue gingham curtain was the first thing I saw and I wondered why Mrs. Needham’s niece’s dress was hanging that way. I yawned, stretched my legs, and the hard ground reminded me I wasn’t in Gary.

It was morning and I could hear the very pleasant singing of birds and voices outside. It sounded like Jimmie, a couple of girls and a pack of robins.

I stretched my arms and looked to where Mother had slept. She was gone.

I smoothed my hair back, pulled my dress over my slip, dipped my washcloth in baking soda and ran it over my teeth, then put my shoes and socks on.

I pushed the curtain aside and walked into the bright morning sunlight. Along with the birds’ singing there was the soft smell of firewood in the air. I blinked to get my eyes used to the light.

“Hey, sis! Come and meet our neighbors.”

Jimmie was sitting in front of the tent next to our place.

He said, “Loretta and Kathleen Small, I’d like to present to you the Mighty Miss Malone!”

“My name is Deza.”

The oldest one said, “Hey, Deza, nice to meet you. Jimmie says you’re twelve?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Are you going into seventh grade?”

“Yes.”

“Good, we’ll be in school together.”

I looked at Jimmie. Why hadn’t he told them we weren’t going to be in the camp that long?

Kathleen said, “You don’t have no idea how great it is to see you! I thought since Katherine Williams moved off I was gonna be the only colored girl in seventh grade.”

“There are only white kids in seventh grade?”

“There’s only eight of
us
in the whole school.”

That was going to be different.

“What’s that like?”

“Most of ’em treat you OK, you find out real quick who’s the prejudice ones, especially the teachers. But you don’t have to worry, I’ll look out for you, Deza.”

She was talking to me but looking at Jimmie.

“Thank you. Jimmie, where’s Mother?”

“She’s gone to Flint to find Grandma.”

Loretta said, “She’s with my momma. Ma might get her some work cleaning offices or working at the Durant. She’s gonna have to show she can work good for a while, then she’ll get paid. I get to help sometimes too, maybe we can get you some work, Deza.”

“That would be great, but I don’t think—”

Jimmie said, “I was waiting till you got up, sis, I’m gonna
head into Flint and see what I can get percolating. Y’all two girls take good care of my baby sis.”

They both had dreamy eyes when they said, “We will, Jimmie.”

Yuck.

He handed me a knife, a apple, a hard piece of corn bread and a tin cup full of water. I didn’t know how hungry I was. I cut the apple into small pieces and dipped the corn bread in the water to soften it up a little so my teeth wouldn’t hurt when I chewed. It went together with the apple real nice. But when you’re hungry
any
two things together are real nice.

Jimmie rooster-strutted away.

Kathleen said, “Your brother sure do look good!”

I changed the subject. “What do you do all day here?”

Loretta lost interest in me and left the second Jimmie was gone. Kathleen said, “Most of the grown-ups go into Flint every morning to try to find work. Us kids got lots of chores to keep everything tidy and safe and neat out here. These folks here are crazy ’bout keeping neat, don’t dare drop nothing or leave nothing outside your place or they act like you robbed a bank.”

Kathleen looked up and said, “Morning, Miss Stew.”

I stood up like Mother and Father say you’re supposed to whenever a adult comes up to you. She was leaning on her walking stick and smiling.

“Morning, girls, I see you’ve made a new friend. Young lady, I’ve forgotten your name.”

“I’m Deza Malone. Remember? From Lancaster, Pennsylvania?”

“Sit, sit, Miss Malone. Have you been explaining to Deza how we do things here?”

Kathleen said, “I was just fixing to, ma’am.”

“I’m making my rounds. Come with me, Deza. You can learn a little about the camp.”

I went, even though we weren’t going to be here long enough for me to need to learn anything.

We started walking along one of the trails.

“You ever seen a camp before, Deza?”

“There was one in Gary, but only three or four families lived there. This place is huge.”

“It is, and that causes problems. Everyone who’s been on the road for a while comments on how clean this camp is, and it’s not by accident. We work hard at keeping it that way. We may be poor but that isn’t any excuse to live poorly. Cleanliness costs next to nothing.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

We walked past hut after hut and tent after tent. Some of the places looked like Father or some other real carpenter had put them together, some of them looked like they’d just tumbled down off a tornado. Miss Stew showed me where she lived with her little boy, it was just like all the other places, neat and tired.

The strangest-looking place was made out of stacked old automobile tires.

Stew said, “The Goodyear Mansion. Smells terrible inside once the weather gets hot.”

Another place we passed was called the Ford Mansion. It
wasn’t anything but a old panel truck with the wheels gone from it.

She showed me where the outdoor toilets were and where we’d go to do dishes.

There were more little kids than any other kind of people in the camp. It seemed like they’d been glued to each other, leaning heads on each other or hooking arms or holding hands. They had eyes like really old people, and they all looked tired and beat and hungry.

“Ma’am, how do people eat here?”

“Not very well, I’m afraid. You’re on your own for breakfast and lunch. There’s the mission in Flint, but it’s not the most welcoming place. We throw together a community pot when we can, Sundays, Wednesdays and Fridays for sure, maybe a couple other times a week depending on what folks can catch. We’ve been doing good lately and having supper nearly every night.”

Every once in a while Stew would stop at a place and ask, “Anyone home?”

If a child answered she’d ask them to tell their mother about some piece of trash or something left near their hut. If no one was there she’d write something in a notebook she carried.

“So your mother’s going to look for your grandmother?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

I remembered what Epiphany’s mother said about not letting anybody know our business. Miss Stew seemed kind and of a good character but it’s better to be safe than sorry.

“Ma’am? Does Flint have a library and what’s the limit of books I can check out?”

“Of course! It’s ’bout a twenty-five-minute walk from here. But you won’t be able to check out any books unless you’ve got a Flint address to put down. You a big reader?”

“I live for books! One day I may even be a writer.”

“You don’t say? I’ve got plenty of
Reader’s
Digest
s you can read. I like ’em because they don’t let all the extra words writers want to cram in a story get in the way.”