Fields of Gold

CHAPTER TWO

I would say that the best memory I have of my Daddy is his singing. On nights when he wasn’t too tired from the fields, he would light his pipe and tell us to gather around as he made ashcakes in the fireplace. This was despite the fact that we were usually full from Mama’s cooking. Tessy and I would sit in the rocking chair, the one granddaddy used to sit in before he died. I would remember how the sounds of him dipping snuff all night would tie my stomach into knots. When we all had a hot cake to blow on, Daddy would lay his pipe on the hearth and “serenade” his best girls, as he called us. Even Mama would stop bustling around the kitchen and sit down to nibble on a cake, watching Daddy through dark, calm eyes. Daddy only sang the blues on occasion because Mama didn’t approve. Usually he would sing church songs. Mama’s favorite is Amazing Grace, and when he would sing that, she would smile a small, private smile, while she wiped greasy fingers on a white table napkin.

I would hold my hands over Tessy’s ears at night when they would fight. Even though she was six, she didn’t like sleeping alone and she usually ended up in my bed when Mama and Daddy put her out. Mama’s stern voice would always insist on Daddy keeping his voice low, saying that he wasn’t to wake the babies. At twelve, I would have objected to being called a baby, but I wasn’t supposed to be listening to grown folks conversation in the first place. It was usually the same fight:

“God knows we don’t need money bad enough, for you to be singing those heathen songs at that God forsaken-”

“Leona! You have to let me be a man! I have to make ends meet for this family. Maybe you’ll be happy in a cotton field all your life, but I-”

“What, Walter? You’re better? You’ve always thought that haven’t you? Always had your nose turned up at the rest of us for being content with our lot. You’ve always had your eyes turned toward the North, meanwhile you can’t see to put one foot in front of the other!”

“Let up on me, Leona, you hear? Let up! I’m going to keep on singing at Fat Back’s! It’s honest money. I’ve put my hours in at the fields. I’ve paid my dues! So for God’s sake, let up!”

“Let up?” my mother’s voice cried out. “I haven’t got down on you yet! And I didn’t ask you how many hours you put in, because I’m right beside you. But what I want to know about is you being a decent Christian and the head of this house!”

My father’s voice would be weary then. “I haven’t missed a Sunday yet, Leona, and no one, not even you, is going to tell me that I’m not a good father to my kids.”

“And what about the one on the way?” Mama asked.

Now that was different! She had never said that before. I pressed my face into the pillow, as Tessy rolled into the corner, snoring softly.

“Oh, Leona,” Daddy said.

He sang Mama’s name over and over like a forbidden blues note. After that, the glow from the oil lamp faded, and all I heard was the wet sounds of kisses and a short low sob.