Permanent Places

By Nell Baker

Janice is a poorly educated, physically abused young woman who finds herself alone, with a black eye and a small child, with no place to go but back to her questionable roots. Life is hard, but life is also sweet, as are the people who love her. This story is about survival, about love and hardship, but most of all about her indomitable spirit.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Page Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Aug 10, 2017
• ISBN: 9781640271487

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Permanent Places

Nell Baker

Copyright © 2017 Nell Baker

All rights reserved

First Edition

PAGE PUBLISHING, INC.

New York, NY

First originally published by Page Publishing, Inc. 2017

ISBN 978-1-64027-147-0 (Paperback)

ISBN 978-1-64027-148-7 (Digital)

Printed in the United States of America

Chapter 1

Where you and that young’un goin’? the old black man ast me, leaning down to where me and James set on the side of the road, with our suitcase beside us. James was so tard he was drooping over my shoulder, with his head hanging in what had to be an uncomfortable angle. His little eyes were closed and his mouth was drooling a warm line that was seeping down my collar, making a damp spot that was cool in the night air.

We goin’ up north a way just to visit my folks for a while. How can you tell a perfect stranger your husband busted your mouth, drove his fist into your right breast, and threatened to kill you because you spent too much for groceries? He was drunk, but that’s not really an excuse. Well, to my way of thinking, it’s no excuse.

All this time, the driver was getting out of his truck and picking up our suitcase, putting it in the back of his truck. He took James out of my arms and helped me stand and climb up into his truck. He put the baby on my lap then went around and got back in, slamming the truck door a couple of times before it caught.

You didn’t say, how far up no’th?

He turned his kind old eyes on me and waited patiently for me to collect my thoughts. Where was I going? I really didn’t know. I just knew I had to go somewhere.

Up around Smithville? You know where that is?

It’s about three hours from here. Jes’ so happen, I’m goin’ there myself. You just lucky, I guess.

I felt the tears start. I know I’m a crybaby, but nobody was kind to me in so long. I didn’t know how to keep a straight face. My friend pretended not to notice. He didn’t notice the black eye or busted lip either.

My name’s Ben. What’s yours? He offered me his big old warm hand and smiled.

Ja … Janice. And this here is James. Poor little tyke was dead to the world, little mouth hangin’ open. There were big circles under his eyes. I hadn’t noticed how peaked he looked. I guess I was so busy trying to keep us both alive.

Well, Janice, let’s go to Smithville, Mississippi. Ben put the truck in gear and pulled out on the highway. Tell you the truth, I wadn’t sure that old truck would make it to Smithville.

After a couple of hours of near-silent driving, Ben spotted a service station and pulled over. It was a slow drive, never more than fifty miles an hour, and I was beginning to wonder if we’d make it before daylight.

Ben got out of the truck at the self-service pump and filled the tank. I halfway suspected he was going to all this trouble on my account and felt bad because I didn’t have any money to even buy the gas.

Mr. Ben, I sure am sorry, but I won’t be able to pay nothing on the gas, I said, feeling more than a little cheap.

Don’t you never mind, girlie. I’m ain’t ast you to buy nothing. He finished topping off the gas tank, went into the station to pay for the gas, and come out with an armful of stuff out of the vending machines.

I figgered you and that boy could use a bite to eat, he said. He’d bought potato chips, peanuts, and several candy bars.

I thanked him and opened a bag of chips and tucked the peanuts into my pocket for James to have later. We hadn’t had supper. I’d been waiting for Jimmy to come home to eat. He was there so seldom at mealtime, and I’d gone to a lot of trouble to make up a new recipe. Jimmy complained we had chicken too often, but that was about all we could afford and stay on the strict budget he’d mapped out for me. It seemed like the grocery bill was the thing that set him off the most, especially when he was drunk, which seemed like all the time anymore.

Jimmy worked so hard and was so ambitious. I always felt really bad because I wadn’t of more help to him money-wise, but with only a grammar school education, there wadn’t much I could do except housework. With a baby at home, I couldn’t do much of that. People didn’t like for you to bring your kids to work with you, even though James was a good boy. And Jimmy wouldn’t hear of looking after him when he got in, which was just as well, I guess. He seemed to always be tanked up anymore.

Do you want some of these chips, Mr. Ben? I ast him, offering him the bag.

Naw, you eat ’em, he said. I already ate.

We were headed north again, traveling our steady fifty miles an hour. Mr. Ben had his window down, with the wind blowing in pretty fiercely, and I suspected he was trying to stay awake. I wished I knew how to drive. I’d have been glad to relieve him.

You know how to drive? he ast, almost as though he had read my mind.

Nossir, I don’t, I told him, wishing I’d let Jimmy teach me way back yonder when he wanted to. But he always screamed at me and kept me so nervous. I was kinda glad when he give up the notion.

Mr. Ben grunted and kept his eyes on the road.

I guess you gon’ have to talk to me, then, he said. The radio’s gone, and I need some noise to keep my head up. Where you all goin’ again, did you say?

Where was I going? To Grampa’s house? Who in their right mind would want to go to my Grampa’s house? I wondered. But it was the only place I knew that I could go and be welcomed—well, not be thrown out.

We’re going to my granddaddy’s house up around Smithville. I didn’t know if we were or not, but I had to say something.

What’s yo granddaddy’s name? Maybe I know him.

Oh, don’t think so. I reckon not, anyway. My granddaddy lives way back in the woods. Don’t hardly ever comes out but to go to the store once in a while. I didn’t want him to pin me down. If he found out who my granddaddy was, he might stop and let us out on the road. My grampa can be mean sometimes. But he always said I was more like his Molly than any of us young’uns and never hit me once. I guess I was about as safe with Grampa as with anybody.

We were easing on up close to what looked like civilization, and I was half a mind to get Mr. Ben to let us out somewhere it was light, then I thought of the walk we’d have, to get back to Grampa’s place. I knew I’d never make it with James on one arm and our suitcase on the other.

Mr. Ben, you can just let us out on the top of the hill here, if you don’t mind, I told him. We were comin’ to a place I recognized, where it was only about a two-mile walk through the woods to the old place.

I ain’t settin’ you down in the middle of nowhere like this, Ben said. Tell me where to drive you to.

It took some doing, but I finally convinced him there was no way to Grampa’s place through the woods that he could get his truck through. He finally pulled over to the side of the road, sighed, and said, You must be ole Dave Carter’s girl, huh?

Well, his girl’s girl, I told him, feeling ashamed that he knew of us and our whole family history.

Mr. Ben was busy tucking all the bags of junk food into my purse. I have to tell you, I was glad to have it. I didn’t know what the situation with Grampa was. We hadn’t hardly kept in touch in our family. It must have been at least five years since I had word of him, not since I got married and left home. Well, left home and got married is how it was.

Mr. Ben held out his hand and took mine and held it for a good minute or two. Don’t you let ’im do this to you no more, you hear? No man’s worth it. My own little girl got herself beat to death trying to live up to her marriage vows.

His voice got shaky, and I was afraid he was gon’ cry, but he didn’t. He just cleared his throat and started helping me get myself and James together. We didn’t have much stuff, but anything was gon’ be hard getting through that overgrown path. Looked like nobody had been out that way since no telling when.

Mr. Ben got out of the truck and come around to my side and took James out of my arms till I could get myself situated. I wrapped my old sweater around James’s legs, hoping more to keep off the mosquitos than anything. It really wadn’t cold.

By this time, morning was just breaking, with that cool gray light I always loved. I knew it was gon’ be hard going, breaking the old trail through the woods, but I wadn’t about to let Mr. Ben know. He’d done enough already. I took James in my arms and thanked Mr. Ben again.

Y’all take care of yourself. My name’s Ben Bates, and my phone number is in the book. If you need me, you just give me a call, you hear?

I nodded my head. I wadn’t about to tell him Grampa never did have a phone installed. He didn’t even have lights, last time I knew of. I didn’t figger anything had changed that much in five years either.

We set off down the path just barely visible in the light from the rising sun. Last time I looked back, Mr. Ben was still just sitting there where we left him. I wondered if he decided to take a nap before going on off home.

James was a little ole thang, but he was a deadweight draped over my shoulder: I dared not drop our bag; it had e’rything we owned in it. I did think maybe the baby would wake up and walk a little before long. And maybe I could hide our suitcase in the underbrush and come back later to get it.

The path had grown up something terrible in the five years I’d been gone. In the early morning light, I could only walk in the direction that seemed right to me, remembering the years I hiked through the woods to the road to hitch a ride into town. After about a quarter of a mile, I decided it would be better for me to sit and rest until it got really light, so I’d be able to find my way easier.

I spread my sweater down and laid James down on it, covering his legs and arms as best I could. He still hadn’t moved, and I was beginning to worry about him. His breathing was nice and even, though, and he didn’t seem to have a fever, so I finally decided he must just be tard out.

I laid down beside him, thinking we’d just wait there nice and quiet until it got all light. Next thang I know, the sun was high in the sky, at least ten o’clock. James was just beginning to stir and stretch, and I kissed him and blew on his neck. He smiled and scooted out of my reach.

Mornin’, sugar, I said, loving my little boy with all my heart. James has light-brown hair and eyes, like his daddy. He has my nature, though, easygoing and quiet.

Where are we, Mama? he ast, looking around with interest.

Guess what? I said. We’re goin’ home to see Grampa. Remember I told you about Grampa? Remember that?

James nodded, pretending he remembered, but I was sure he didn’t. Are you about ready to walk on? I ast him.

He nodded. I’m hungry, he said.

I rooted around in my purse for the peanuts Mr. Ben had got for us. It wadn’t much of a breakfast, but it would have to do until we could do better. James was pleased to get them and smiled his thanks.

We started out through the woods, walking real slow. It was a purty walk. The Pine trees stood halfway to the sky and the wild violets poked their heads through the pine straw. I must have got on the wrong path a couple of times but always found my way back. It was close to noon when James and I finally saw Grampa’s house in the distance. There was a curl of smoke coming from the chimney, and I figgered the old man was cooking his dinner. Grampa always cooked on a woodstove, got his water out of a dug well, and used kerosene lamps. Well, you know. The whole business. I wondered what conditions I was gon’ find him in. His conditions hadn’t been good the last time I saw him. I could imagine what they were like now, five years later.

It was one of those beautiful, sunny days we get in February. There was hardly a cloud in the sky. I took James’s big shirt off him and left him in just a T-shirt. He had long since finished the peanuts and had ate the potato chips and one of the candy bars Mr. Ben had hid in my purse.

Look, Jamesy, there’s Grampa’s house.

James stopped in his tracks. He looked the place over, and I saw the haunted look come into his little face.

Is Grampa nice? he ast in a quivery little voice. I could feel his little hand shaking in mine, and I knelt down and put my arms around him. He clutched me about the head and hung on.

Yeah, honey, Grampa’s nice. He is nice. I patted his back and smoothed his hair. Grampa was nice. Maybe a lot of other things too, but nice.

I took James by the hand and led him up the path to the ramshackle old shack Grampa called home. Nobody was in sight, and I wondered if the old man was out tending to his animals. I could hear the goats bleating somewhere in the back of the house, and a few scraggly chickens pecked halfheartedly about the front yard.

The porch was in even worse shape than it had been. Looked like nothing had been done to the place since I’d been gone. The front door was standing open, and I could smell the boiled-coffee smell that hung about Grampa all the time.

I knocked on the door and hollered, Grampa? Grampa! It’s Jaincy, Grampa. Are you home?

No answer. But I figgered he couldn’t be far off, what with the smoke in the chimney and the door open and all. I took James by the hand and led him in.

This is Grampa’s house? James ast worriedly.

Yessir, it is, I said, trying to sound cheerful.

There were dirty dishes everywhere, dirty clothes, dirty floors, dirty everything. And everywhere, that awful smell of mildew and squalor. And there was Grampa as dirty as everything else, lying in his big old chair with his eyes closed.

Grampa? I put my hand on his shoulder and stared down at his chest, trying to see whether he was breathing or not. He was, but just barely. His head was hot as fire, and his eyes were closed.

Well, I didn’t know what to do first. There I was, tard to death, with a four-year-old child and a dirty, sick old granddaddy on my hands. I got James to lie down on the messy old sofa and told him to try to rest. Hopefully, he’d take a nap, being as tard as he was and all. I knew I certainly could use a nap.

The only bed I could find had no sheets or pillowcases. I’d forgot how awful Grampa’s house was. The last five years, my living conditions had been better in some ways. Our place was clean. Beds were made, floors swept, dishes washed. And there was always good food to eat in the kitchen.

I finally give up looking for sheets and just about picked Grampa up in my arms and moved him to his bed. He was so frail, not heavy at all. And I was a good, hefty girl, from all that good eating, Jimmy would say. In fact, Jimmy said I was fat. I guess I am fat. But when you’ve never had too much to eat all your life, eating can become your best pleasure.

I got Grampa settled in the bed and threw an old army blanket over him, which he proceeded to kick off. I found aspirin on the apple crate by the bed. I guess he must have been doctoring hisself. I got a glass of water out of the water bucket in the kitchen and finally managed to get him to take a couple of aspirins. He drunk water like he was starving to death for it. I guess the fever did that to him.

James did fall asleep on the sofa, thank the Lord. I took off my shoes and pawed through our old suitcase until I found a pair of shorts and T-shirt and changed my clothes. This whole situation called for drastic action. After a cup of the thick stuff I found in Grampa’s coffeepot and a fifteen-minute rest, I got up and got busy.

The first thing I did was to draw a bucket of water out of the well out back. Grampa never had had electricity put in; he said what was the use with a perfectly good well. I wondered, though, what he intended to do when he got too old and feeble to draw up water from a well, which looked to me like was just about now.

Anyway, I put a dishpan full of water on the stove to get hot after stoking the little bit of fire still left there. He must have been taken suddenly, I thought, since he apparently had lit a stove and made coffee. Then I checked on the animals. You couldn’t leave things hungry. The chickens were pecking around the yard at what seemed to be fairly fresh chicken feed. The goats were bleating around the backyard fence, and I drew up another couple of buckets of water and poured into their drinking vat, which looked like an old kitchen sink somebody had throwed away somewhere. The feed house was an old tin shed that I remembered from the last time I was here, maybe five or six years ago. The feed barrel was nearly empty, and I scraped up the little bit off the bottom and poured it in the trough. One of the mama goats had twin babies that frisked about and nudged on her while she was eating. I ever thought they were the cutest things and reached through the fence to give them each a pat and a scratch.

Back in the house, I really didn’t know where to start. You never seen such a mess in your life. I figgered I better check to see what was there to eat, first. Jimmy would have said this was typical, always thinking about my stomach. But Jimmy wadn’t there, thank God, and people have to eat.

I found a new bag of beans, a little cornmeal, a little flour, some salt, and maybe half-a-dozen eggs in a bowl in the pie shelf. I wondered how old the eggs were, so I sniffed them, and they didn’t smell bad, I’d better crack them in a saucer just in case.

It was then about two o’clock in the evening. I checked on Grampa, and he was snoring. His fever seemed to be a little cooler. James was still dead to the world on the sofa. I threw a blanket over him and hoped he’d stay out for another hour or so. He don’t usually nap that much, but poor little thing had been through so much lately.

I put the beans on to boil. The dishwater was warm by this time, and I started washing dishes, going all through the house to collect them from the floor, the tables, the bed—wherever I could find them. It took me all the rest of the evening to get the kitchen even halfway decent. There was nothing in the kitchen to season the beans with but salt, but they were done and smelled right good to a hungry person. I made a corn pone the way Granny used to do, cooking it on top of the stove. Jimmy used to shame me for doing this, saying this was the way white trash ate. He never let me make it in his house. But I guess it’s all how you was raised.

Directly, I heard this awful racket in the front room and run to see what was going on. James had woke up and was sitting there with his blanket ’round him, with the dirtiest-looking mutt you ever saw washing his face with his tongue.

Hyer, now! I shouted. You get on out of here, mister. I rushed at him, shaking my fist and yelling loud enough to wake the dead, at least Grampa, if he was able to be woke up.

No, Mama, no! James was yelling just as loud as I was. He ain’t hurting me, Mama. Leave him alone.

By this time, the animal had backed up toward the door and was just looking at me. He was part collie, part everything else, I could see. Grampa always had some kind of mutt or another on the place. He always called these stray mutts Gyp, as I remembered. I guessed this must be his latest Gyp.

Ha, Gyp! I hollered. You get out of this house.

Gyp just stood there. I guess he figgered it was more his house than mine. Anyway, he stood his ground. Friendly, though, not mean. By this time, James was in full gear. He was up from the sofa and down on the floor, crooning over Gyp and petting anything he could get his hands on.

Well, baby, don’t pet that old dog until we see if he has anything. I got down on the floor and looked him over good. He didn’t seem to have mange or nothing, but he was about the dirtiest hound dog I ever saw. James couldn’t take his eyes or his hands off him. I knew I’d have to do something, ’cause it looked like Gyp was a house dog, and I could just see him and James sleeping together.

Let’s give him a bath, okay? James looked up hopefully, and I knew this sounded like a good idea to him.

What in, Mama? he ast. I guess he could see there wadn’t a bathroom on the place. It would have to be done outside in one of Grampa’s zinc washtubs. There was a sliver of brown soap next to the wash pan, and I picked this up along with a couple of coarse feed sacks Grampa had stashed away in one of the shelves. I figgered this must be his towels. I didn’t see nothing that looked like terry cloth.

James and I petted Gyp on the head until he calmed down, then I picked him up in my arms and toted him out to the fence, where I’d drawn the goat’s drinking water. James held him in place till I could transfer the water, warm from the sun, into one of the old zinc washtubs Grampa had stacked up alongside the fence. It took both of us to force that old dog’s hind end down into that water. We both of us soaped and scrubbed Gyp for several minutes. He finally settled down and just stood there shivering, taking whatever fate doled out to him.

I poured fresh water over him till it run clear, and then I picked him up in my arms, wrapped him in the feed sacks, and we