Willie B. Johnson Reed
Willie B stepped out of Mrs. Richardson’s Lincoln Continental.
“I wish you’d get Wilson to fill those ruts with gravel so I wouldn’t have to wash my car every time I drove up your driveway.”
Willie B. knew Missus didn’t do the washing. She said, “Yes, Mrs. Richardson, I’ll tell him. He’s been busy trying to get some steady work, and he says he’ll buy the gravel and all the other things we need around here as soon as he gets a steady paycheck.”
“Hmm, yes, well I might need to drop you off and pick you up down at the road.”
She pointed her chin at the windshield and gunned the car, raising a fantail of muddy water that splashed onto Willie B.’s legs.
Knowing that Mrs. Richardson relied on the convenience of coming to get her maid any time, any day, for whatever chore needed doing, and understanding that until they got a telephone, she’d have to keep coming to the door, Willie B. Reed didn’t give another thought to the empty threat. She accepted the woman’s habit of rubbing her nose in the poverty that made her dependent on the little money she earned from the family who lived in the big plantation house next door.
Mama Sally stood shaking her head while waiting on the porch holding baby Richard.
“Hi Mama, I guess Mrs. R. got up on the wrong side of the bed today.”
“Maybe that woman needs a new mattress. Seems like she suffers from the same problem most every day.” Her mother had witnessed similar hellos and goodbyes that all ended in some form of criticism.
Ignoring the bait, Willie B. said, “The new Sears catalogue came today. I’ll go down to the mailbox so I can hide it before the school bus comes. How’d you like to make us a cup of tea?”
Mama Sally laughed. “You think you can keep that a secret?” You never could pull the wool over my eyes, and now you think you can fool those kids?” She shook her head.
She put her face near Richard’s ear. In a stage whisper she said, “You hear that Richard, your Mama has a plan.”
“I’ll be right back,” said Willie B.
She hummed all the way to the mailbox keeping her feet on the ridges between the tire tracks, so they didn’t get muddy. She planned for this day every year, saving one dollar from her weekly wages for three months so she’d have enough for a down payment on layaway. Once she placed the order, she’d keep saving for the rest of the year, getting a ride into Vicksburg once a month from her brother Henry, so she could make regular payments on school clothes and Christmas presents. She never missed a payment, knowing that if she did, the company could cancel the contract and keep part of her money.
Right as rain, she saw it stuffed into their rickety mailbox–just like Mr. James, the postman said.
After she stashed the catalogue in her hiding place, she sat beside Mama on the porch and rocked her baby. Mama Sally asked, “How did you know it came today?”
“First off, I heard Mrs. Richardson talking to Mr. James about how people are a lot more friendly when he delivers the new catalogue than when he’s handing out bills. And then Jimmy, the youngest, was in such a rush to take their copy to his fort, he almost ran me over while I was hanging out the laundry. What a sight! Running past me and clutching the shiny new catalogue against his chest with those skinny arms. He flew on them little beanpole legs splashing so much mud, it was all I could do to shield the laundry.”
They chatted a little while longer until they heard the diesel engine of the school bus and Mama Sally stood to leave. Mr. Sam, the driver gave her a ride across the river every day so she could watch the baby while Willie B. worked at the big house.
That evening, after everybody was asleep, she took a piece of notebook paper from Junebug’s notebook, opened the Sears and Roebuck to the children’s clothes section and started making the list that fit her budget. Practical school clothes—two items for each child, plus one toy, and a new shirt for Daddy. Tomorrow they could find the catalogue, and she’d ignore their pleas, knowing that they’d all get something even if it wasn’t what they thought they wanted.
* * * * * * * * * * * * ** * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Nine months later and two weeks before Christmas, Willie B. waited by the mailbox for her brother, Henry, to drive her to make the last payment and pick up the gifts. She tried to keep her feet out of the muddy ruts, but the rain had soaked the ground to where even the ridges were muddy. One storm came after another for the past six weeks. So much rain and flooding, it was hard to find a dry spot anywhere.
He was taking a long time. Rain poured and her feet sank deeper. She worried that he’d forgotten, but that wasn’t like him. Today was the last day. If she didn’t make the last payment, they wouldn’t let her take the gifts, and would charge a heavy fee, calling it a ‘forfeiture’.
At least, since today was Saturday, the older children were watching the little ones. But the rain soaked through her coat and the mud reached her ankles. Henry never made her wait like this. Something must be wrong.
She waited, she didn’t know how long, until a pair of headlights appeared, too low to be Henry’s truck. Wilson Senior, her husband, was returning home from a day job. He pulled up next to her.
“Where’s Henry?” he asked. Willie B. shook her head.
“It can’t be good,” he said. I heard there’s flooding on Route 3. We better drive down there to see if they need help. Let’s stop by the house and tell Junebug to keep a watch on everything ‘till we get back.”
People built houses on stilts near the river because the Mississippi has a mind of its own. The delta belongs to the river—only letting people live there on its own terms. Willie B. and Wilson couldn’t drive very far past the bridge before the water spilled onto the road. Wilson turned up the driveway of the house on the highest ground, Mr. Sam’s, the place where people along the river stayed when it flooded.
By then, night fell. The power was out, but a lantern bobbed at the end of the lane, helping them stay on the road.
“Do you think Mama and Henry made it to Mr. Sam’s?” Willie B. asked.
“We’ll find out soon.”
Uncle Henry met them. He stuck his head in the car door. “What are you’ll doing out here at this time of night? You must be crazier than we are!” When he looked at Willie B., he remembered.
“Oh Willie B. I’m so sorry! We was so busy getting away from the flood. And then the truck broke down and we had to leave it and catch a ride with Grover. Last night, I was all set to pick you up, but this morning the river rose past the stilts and poured into the kitchen, sweeping away the table and chairs, turning it into a houseboat. That’s right—a leaky hulled houseboat, listing back and forty with all our food and clothes falling into the water. It was all we could do to save ourselves. Luckily we got out and made it here to Mr. Sam’s.
“Henry, we’re just relieved that you are safe! What about Mama Sally? Is she here?”
He smiled at her and nodded. “You know how tough is that lady! Come on inside and say hello.”
They had a house full, and Willie B. saw that they needed supplies. She gave Wilson the money she had in her purse and told him to go get fresh water and provisions while she stayed to help.
“Ain’t that the money for the Christmas presents?”
“What kind of Christmas is it gonna be if my children get new clothes and the rest of my family is struggling to keep from drowning? Now hurry up and get some eggs and milk and a ham bone. I’ll wait here, but we need to get ourselves back to the children as soon as we can.”
Henry wrapped an arm around her. “Thanks sis, you know we’ll pay you back.”
She shook her head. “We’re all family here, that’s all that matters is we’re here for each other.”
Luckily within a week the river settled back between the banks. The family all helped to make the house livable again, and Henry used the layaway money that Willie B. got back for parts for his truck.
They celebrated Christmas Eve at Henry’s with a big family potluck. Willie B. brought her famous sweet potato pie, Mama Sally served a candy-glazed ham, Mr. Sam brought greens and moonshine. The children played games and enjoyed eating as much food as they wanted.
The next morning, at church, all the aunts, uncles, grandparents, and neighbors joined for the Christmas service. Willie B. thought about the pictures in the catalogue, remembering how she had forced herself to look away, knowing she needed to be practical. Because she’d saved the money, Henry could fix his truck and keep his job. That felt right. But she still found it hard to shake the picture she’d held of her children tearing open presents, smiling at their new clothes, and clamoring over their new toys.
The service helped her forget their troubles. Even though she’d heard the story of the first Christmas every year for as long as she could remember, this year she cried thinking about Jesus’ humble beginnings. The choir sang all the songs she loved. Reverend Johnson stuck to the good parts of the bible and didn’t throw out the fury of his usual hellfire and brimstone sermons. After service, the church ladies served cake and punch, and all the children received a candy cane.
On the drive home, they chattered about the service, the music, and their neighbors.
None of the children seemed disappointed. When she had explained about the flood and about spending the Christmas money on helping Uncle Henry and Mama Sally, not one of them complained or cried.
She remembered their words and felt the impression they left on her heart. “Only out of the mouths of babes,” she thought.
The morning after finding Henry and Mama Sally at Mr. Sam’s, the seven of them had gathered in the kitchen. She’d said, “We put our Christmas money toward something more important than new clothes and toys. The old Mississippi almost swept away Uncle Henry and Mama Sally, but those two were too strong. It took the truck and most of their belongings and they needed our help. We won’t have any gifts from Sears and Roebuck year, but we have everyone we love right here in Redwood, and that’s all that really counts.”
They sat and listened like angels, and didn’t say anything. They each child let her know it was OK.
Junebug said, “I’m glad you helped Uncle Henry. He always helps us, I’m glad you helped him. I just want to know, do we still get to have a party on Christmas Eve and eat all we want?”
Dorothy asked, “Can I wear my party dress from last year?”
Bernice wanted to know, “Will you still make pie?”
The two youngest didn’t remember enough about Christmas to know what they were missing. Richard slept on her lap and Gina sat curled up close to Daddy.
Willie B. felt so much love and pride for her children—a love and pride she determined to tuck away in a part of her heart she could always find. She thought, Maybe I needed to lose what I thought I needed before I could find what I have.