Daughters of Jubilation Read online

  “Who would I tell?” I ask her. I can’t imagine braggin’ about it around town. “I mean, nobody would understand anyway if they ain’t our blood.”

  Mama swallows. She’s holdin’ somethin’ back.

  “What?” I say. “It’s true, ain’t it? Nobody knows about Jubilation except the Deschamps women, right?”

  She shakes her head slowly. “No. It ain’t just us. I’ve heard about it showin’ up in others,” she explains.

  This is news to me. I always understood it as our weird family affliction that we just have to endure. At least that’s how Mama explained it to me back in that church basement when I scratched that girl’s face. I thought it was only ours.

  “And… these others? They’re not related to us?”

  “Not that I know of. Though we are all God’s children, so I suppose we’re all related.”

  “Shouldn’t we know who they are?”

  “No,” she snaps. “That is why I want you to keep it to yourself. You gonna be volatile enough on your own. You don’t need no partners.”

  Damn. She makes it sound like I’m finna hold up a liquor store!

  “Do you think we should tell Grammie Atti?” I ask.

  “No indeed. Evvie, your grandmother is—she’d make all this harder than it needs to be. You know how she is,” she tells me, though I rarely see her, so do I really? I can’t help but wonder if Mama’s mostly worried about what her church lady friends would say if they knew her daughter was spendin’ time with crazy ol’ Athena Deschamps. That’s how a lotta folks see her anyway.

  “You don’t think she could help?” I ask.

  “We can handle it without her. Just keep it quiet. Never use it unless you have to.”

  I sigh. Mama don’t like usin’ magic for nothin’. She’s one a those good Christian ladies. Tell ya the truth, I’m surprised we been talkin’ about it this long, since she’s always avoidin’ the subject.

  “What about accidents? The times when I don’t mean for it to come out, but it does?”

  She eyes me, almost suspiciously. Like I’m lookin’ for an excuse to jube. Does she think this is fun for me?

  “If you keep your feelings under control, you shouldn’t be havin’ no accidents,” she warns.

  This makes no sense to me, cuz last time I checked, feelings aren’t something we can just control like a light switch. But I choose the path of least resistance.

  “Sure, Mama.”

  “You’re gonna have to be real aware a yourself, Evalene. You’re too old for accidents. This ain’t a blackout here and there no more. This is the real thing.”

  I fight hard to not roll my eyes. “I know, Mama.”

  “Oh, do you?”

  I wait a few seconds, and then I slowly rise, grab my purse, and head out to work.

  “Evvie,” she calls.

  She is drivin’ me crazy! I turn around to face her a little too fast, and somehow, the force of my feeling shoves my mother several feet backward. She has to grab the table to keep from fallin’ over. I can’t breathe. The last person I want to hurt is my mother.

  “I’m sorry, Mama. That was—”

  “An accident?” she whispers.

  I can feel a few tears burning in my eyes. I’m terrible with magic, and I don’t know how to get better. I dab at the corners of my eyes with a handkerchief from my purse, and I put it back in with shaking hands. Mama keeps starin’ at me, not speaking. She’s scared. So am I.

  “Mama, I have to go. I’m sorry. I—I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean to do that.” I honestly didn’t. As I grab the doorknob, she regains her voice.

  “Evalene Claudette Deschamps?”

  I draw in a breath. “Yes, Mama?”

  “Don’t hurt nobody.”

  5 Stranger

  I MAKE IT TO THE Heywoods’ at just six minutes past eight. I expect Miss Ethel to get on my case about it, but she don’t even seem to notice. She barely leaves me any instructions before she flies out the door, and what Clay said last night about her returns to my mind. What does she need to do so early? Her husband’s a dentist, and far as I know, she does not have a job to go to. Maybe she’s foolin’ around.

  “Evalene, I want some milk.”

  “Okay. What d’ya have to say first?”

  Abigail makes a face with her tongue hanging out. “Please,” she says, as though the word is choking her. I reach for her Donald Duck cup that nobody else in the house is allowed to use, and I fill it with milk. I set it in front of her, and she stares at it.

  “Now what d’ya say when somebody gives you what you ask for?”

  “Evalene, let’s have some ice cream,” Abigail says.

  “Nope. You just had breakfast, and the ice cream’s for after your supper.”

  She clenches her jaw and scrunches her eyes at me like a wildcat.

  “Mommy said I could have it. She said it before you came here.”

  “I don’t think so. She has never once said you could have ice cream durin’ the day, so why would she change her mind now?”

  Abigail blows air out through her cheeks, like I’m the most frustrating person on the whole earth. She takes a meager sip of milk, barely a drop, and then she dumps the rest out all over the floor, smiling at me.

  I close my eyes and take a deep breath. Looks like it’s gonna be one a those days.

  * * *

  I wash up the breakfast dishes and keep a clear view of Abigail out in the backyard on the swing set. The neighbor girl, Patty, has come over with her naked baby dolls, and they talk their little-girl nonsense. This oughta gimme a few minutes peace until they start to fight and I have to go out and separate ’em.

  With them still in my view, I reach over for the telephone and dial Anne Marie’s number.

  “Hi, Miss Alice, how you doin’? It’s Evalene,” I say into the receiver. She sounds happy to hear from me and asks how my summer’s goin’ and all that. She mentions she saw me in the paper and she’s so proud. I wonder just how long my dumb thirty seconds of fame is gonna last.

  “Thank you, ma’am,” I tell her. After that, she puts Anne Marie on the line.

  “Hello?”

  “Hey, Anne. How are you?”

  “All right.”

  “Your uncle still botherin’ ya?”

  “Huh? Oh that. Nah. I just been ignorin’ him.”

  “Good. Good for you,” I say. I’m not exactly sure what to say next, but somethin’ told me I should check up on her today.

  “Evvie? You there?”

  “Yeah. Yeah, I’m here.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Well, last night when we left the park, you seemed… a li’l bit down or distracted or somethin’. I sure hope we didn’t spoil Juneteenth for ya.” I glance out the window. A game of Mother May I. Patty is twirling in circles at Abigail’s behest. Naturally, Abigail is Mother.

  Anne Marie takes a second. She sighs. “I’m fine, Evvie.”

  “You sound kinda not fine.”

  I hear what I think is a laugh, but I’m not sure.

  “Anne? Are you upset? About me and Clay?”

  “WHAT?”

  “I mean—” Oh shit! Maybe I am way, way off base!

  “Why would you say that?” she asks, her voice guarded.

  I feel my pulse racing, and my hands shake. I did not expect such an intense reaction. The kitchen table starts vibrating, and the floral centerpiece on top bounces up and down.

  “If I’m completely wrong, I’m sorry, and I hope you’re not mad. I just wondered if maybe… you liked him. And you never told me. I just never, ever want a guy to come between us, ya know?” It honestly never crossed my mind that she might like Clay until I noticed her lookin’ sad last night when I left the party.

  The vibrating escalates. I reach for the vase, but the phone cord ain’t long enough, and I watch it tip over, spilling water, peonies, and daffodils all over the place.

  But then… she starts cracking up. No mistaking this for
something else: she is definitely laughin’. Instantly the table stops moving.

  “No! I am not interested in Clay. You don’t need to worry about that.”

  “Then what is it?”

  She clears her throat, which makes me think she’s about to lie.

  “Can we talk about it some other time?”

  Now she’s scarin’ me. She tells me everything. Why not this? I grab a dish towel to mop up the water on the floor. “Is it somethin’ serious?”

  “No…,” she says, but trails off like there’s more to the answer than a simple no. She sighs. “I don’t like Clay like that, Evvie. But I guess I do wonder sometimes what it’s like to be you.”

  “Why?”

  “Cuz everybody wants you!”

  Where did that come from? She’s never said anything like this to me before. “That is not true,” I tell her.

  “It is, actually.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “Because I have eyes and I can see with ’em. It’s hard sometimes, cuz it ain’t fair. But it’s not your fault.”

  I stop fussin’ with the flower mess and sit on the floor. I feel light-headed. Is this new, or has she always felt like this? I dab my forehead with the wet dish towel. I tend to feel a bit ill when I think I mighta hurt someone’s feelings without meaning to.

  “Evvie? You there?”

  “Anne? Can you come over here? I’m at the Heywoods’.”

  “Why?”

  Why? Because you basically just said you’re jealous of me, and I’m afraid you’re ’bout to drop me as a friend!

  “I don’t know. Talkin’ on the phone is limited. I wanna see your face.” It’s all I can think to say.

  “Maybe. Where is it again?”

  I have to pause and swallow. Feels like tears aren’t too far away, and I don’t understand why I keep gettin’ all emotional today.

  “Thirty-Five Sutton,” I tell her.

  Outside, a gentle breeze blows through the elm leaves. I spy some dandelion dust floatin’ on the air and settling in the pile of dirt where Abigail and Patty were just playing.

  Were. Just. Playing. They’re gone.

  I drop the phone and race to the back door, throwing it open.

  “Abigail? Where y’all at?”

  Nothing. A dog barks from somebody’s yard.

  “Abigail! Patty! Answer me!”

  Nothing.

  I run up and down the yard, snaking through the swing set, the sandbox, the seesaw, and around the front with the tacky wooden sheep lawn ornament announcing THE HEYWOODS. They’re nowhere. Nowhere. I run as fast as I can go down Sutton Lane, looking in every yard I see. Down one side and up the other.

  “What’s the matter with you, gal?” some old white man watering his grass calls out as I fly by him. They were just there! Where could they’ve gotten to so goddamn fast?

  I run right through Patty’s yard, her mama hollerin’ out the back door, leap over the low hedges back into the Heywoods’ backyard, and I look inside. I see a tall, pale figure walking toward the front of the house. There’s a strange man in the house! I wanna turn and run in the opposite direction, but I have to take care of Abigail. I rush in, ignorin’ all the alarm bells screamin’ inside me. But once I get all the way through the kitchen, dinin’ room, and sittin’ room, he’s gone.

  “Evalene!”

  I jump outta my skin.

  “Oh, Christ Jesus!” Abigail and Patty sit on the front hall stairs staring at me all innocent. So cool and calm, as if butter wouldn’t melt in either of their mouths.

  “I was scared to DEATH lookin’ for you,” I shriek, shakin’ like a tree caught in a hurricane. “How many times I gotta tell ya not to leave the yard without me?”

  “But we didn’t leave the yard,” Abigail argues, eyes wide and questioning. Both girls got their filthy hands wrapped around ice cream cones, vanilla for Abigail and zebra swirl for Patty.

  “Where did you get those?” I ask, tryna catch my breath.

  “The man,” Patty says, as if this is a dumb question.

  “What man?”

  Abigail scampers down the stairs and opens the door. Sure enough, out on the sidewalk, in the bright light of day, is the man I saw last night. He’s closer now. He is not a statue. His eyes are concealed by dark shades. His lips bend unnaturally into a ghoulish smile. He cocks his head to the left, and I don’t know why, but this gesture doesn’t look human to me, and I drag Abigail back inside as fast as I can before slamming the door and locking it.

  That pale face. It looks just as blank up close.

  “Why did you do that?” Abigail asks.

  I’m not sure how to answer that question. What did he do just now that was so wrong? I can’t explain it, but it felt like… it made me think of old stories I’d hear as a kid, about the boogeyman. They said he ate children who misbehaved so he could steal their souls. When I saw that man out there, I felt like I was lookin’ at a person who would surely eat me to steal my soul.

  “Ha-ha! You told me I couldn’t have it, but I got ice cream anyway, Evalene!” Abigail gloats.

  I lean against the banister, using it for support. I try to sound calm.

  “Do you know who he was?” I ask.

  “Huh-uh, but he was nice,” Patty says. “He got us ice cream from the ice cream man when you was on the phone forever, and then he made us hide with him. He said it was a game.”

  “He said you’d think it was funny. Isn’t he your friend?” Abigail asks me.

  I shake my head. “No. He’s not my friend. I don’t know who that man was.”

  “He knows you,” they both say in unison. A shiver passes through me. My throat is raw and dry. I hold my hands together to stop the shakin’. I’m scared, but above all, I’m tired. Tired and relieved that the kids are safe. I don’t even wanna think about this weirdo right now. Or ever. I slump down to the bottom stair, the girls above me. The man. The stranger bearing gifts. Who is he? And why does he frighten me more than any haint ever has?

  “Do not talk to grown-ups you don’t know. Don’t follow ’em, don’t hide with ’em, and don’t take ice cream or anything else from ’em. Understand me?”

  “I will if I want!” Abigail shouts back.

  I swear to baby Jesus in the manger…

  “Not if you’re smart you won’t. Smart folks know better than that. I thought you’s intelligent, Abigail. Guess I was wrong.”

  Abigail sticks her tongue out at me, but when she goes back to licking her ice cream, I can see she’s actually considering what I said.

  There’s a knock at the door. My heart stops, and so does my breathing. I jump to my feet and shuffle the girls into the kitchen.

  “Why’s there water and flowers on the floor?” Abigail whines.

  “Be quiet.” I hide them in the broom closet.

  I throw open every kitchen drawer searching for the biggest knife I can find, but before I can grab one, something zips past my face, and then I hear a loud thump. I run into the living room, and, between the door and the window, I see a seven- or eight-inch serrated knife sticking outta the wall.

  A memory overtakes me. I’m eleven, and I’m out in the woods with my grandmother. She hands me an arrow, and I shoot it straight into a tree trunk. Without a bow. Or my hands.

  “Do you know how that happened?” she asks me. I’m looking up at her, and she’s leaning down toward me. I feel nervous, like I done somethin’ wrong.

  Before I can answer, somebody grabs me from behind. Mama. She yells at Grammie Atti and tells her not to show me how to do anything else. She wants me to grow up right. Not like a heathen. Even now, I can hear my grandmother laughing at us in the background as Mama dragged me away.

  My current sixteen-year-old self yanks the knife from the wall and studies it. I did that. I made it happen without meaning to, or even knowing I was doing it. This is me. Has this always been me?

  If one of the girls had been in the path a that knife…

&
nbsp; Another knock at the door, louder this time. I peek through the curtain. Oh, good lord, it’s just Anne Marie.

  I open the door. “Hi,” I say, and pull her inside before slamming the door and locking it again.

  “What in the Sam Hill’s goin’ on in here?” she asks while I run to lock the back door. She follows me into the kitchen and stares at me standing there with that big ol’ knife.

  I glance down at it, stagger over to the counter, and throw it in a drawer.

  I open the broom closet. “It’s okay,” I assure the girls. I tell ’em to go wash their hands and play in the nursery for a while. For the first time I can remember, Abigail does what I say without argument, and Patty does the same.

  “We had an unexpected guest,” I explain to Anne Marie.

  “Was it the wolf man?”

  I hold my palm up to Anne so she’ll give me a minute. I know I shouldn’t, I really shouldn’t—I’m too young, and it don’t belong to me—but I open the liquor cabinet and pour myself a whiskey neat. I offer her the bottle, but she shakes her head in thinly veiled revulsion. I sip it as we sit in silence for a few moments. Eventually, Anne Marie busts out laughing.

  “What? It ain’t funny!”

  “I’m sure it ain’t. And I wanna hear the details and I promise I’ll stop laughin’, but I have to tell you—” She comes over to me and gives me a big, goofy kiss on the forehead. “It is so nice to see you lookin’ like an unholy mess for once in your life!”

  6 Stars

  I LEAN BACK IN THE tub and close my eyes, so glad this day is done and not ready to think about tomorrow yet. Me and Anne Marie had a long talk after I told her about losin’ the girls and the strange man in the house givin’ out ice cream. I don’t know if she got everything off her chest that she wanted to, but she said a lot. She was beatin’ herself up a bit for feelin’ jealous of me sometimes. Both because she loves me and because it’s one of the seven deadly sins. I told her envy was a deadly sin, not jealousy, and they’re two different things. I learned that from somewhere. She wanted to know the difference, and I couldn’t quite remember, but it’s somethin’ like wantin’ something somebody has versus already havin’ something and bein’ scared to lose it. She looked more confused after I explained it, so I told her to forget about it. I just asked her to quit bein’ hard on herself. We can’t help how we feel.