Chapter One - Push!

“Push, honey. Push!” 

Lightening crisscrossed the rain-stained window. Thunder rolled over the trembling shack.

“Just a little more!” coached the elderly midwife. “Push!" Sweat beaded on the young woman's strained dark skin as a blinding flash streaked through the fractured wavy glass window consuming the flitting oil lamp shadows. She, barely beyond childhood herself, did not flinch but continued to push. 

“I’ve got that water boiling on the stove, Miss Beulah,” announced the woman of the house.

“Get it. And clean towels. OK, child, just a little more - push! Here comes. Here comes!"

Another flash; the house shook; dishes rattled; the newborn’s lungs filled.

“Waaaaa…”   

“Here,” shouted the woman over the storm. “The water and towels."         

“What is it, Miss Beulah?” the new mother cried out. “Boy? Girl?” The old midwife hesitated. Stared. Caught her breath. “Is it OK? Miss Beulah? Is my baby OK?”          

“It’s a girl, child. A healthy baby girl,” she calmly answered, then discreetly made the sign of the cross on the newborn’s pale tawny forehead. “Here,” she said, handing the baby to its young mother. The smile melted from the mother’s face. “She’s a gift from God, child,” reassured Miss Beulah. “A gift from God.”                    

“Does God condone what I’ve done, Miss Beulah? I’ve sinned! She’ll be cursed for life for my sin, Miss Beulah!” 

“Hush, dear. The Lord is merciful. The Lord done gave you a fine baby girl. Don’t be worrying about such things.” How her own heart ached as she said those words, doubting their truth. “What you going to call her?” 

The faintest smile crossed the mom's darkened face: “Camilla.”      

Just then, the old grandfather clock donged twelve times.

“Just in time to welcome the new year,” said Miss Beulah. "Happy 1938, Camilla.”   

*******

1940 - Two Years Later.

“I don’t like that Hoodoo witch hangin’ round, Flo! I don’t. She creeps me out.”

Florence ignored him as she often did.                

“You hear me? I am the man of this house, ain’t I?!”

“Shut up,” she said calmly. “I don’t see no man, and this is hardly a house.” Flo gestured with her head to the ancient sharecropper cabin, its floors worn, walls deteriorating. She continued ironing the shirts she took in to make ends meet. “And you quit speaking ill of Miss Beulah. She’s a fine woman.”    

“She got the evil eye!”

Florence swung the broom at her husband. “What did I say?! Now, instead of trashing good people, why don’t you make yourself useful for a change? Like preparing that garden you promised me? Or getting those pigs from Mr. George? Huh? And have you found yourself some work, Henry? We’re going to starve here! Especially now there’re three. And the steps in front? You’ve been promising that forever.”

“Wouldn’t be three if your damn sister hadn't…” Henry mumbled as he shuffled to the back of the house. “We got nothing to eat?” he shouted as he rummaged through the rusted out refrigerator.  

“What I’m talkin’ about.”

Squeals of delight drifted in through the back door. “That kid… your sister ever gonna come claim her?” 

“You know she’s in no state to do that, Henry. No money or man. She’s family. Family, Henry. And we take care of family.”

“Just sayin’, older she gets, the more she eats… Just sayin’.”

“Get ready, Henry. Church starts in an hour. We’re all going today, and I don’t want to be late.” 

“Now you know better than that, Flo. I ain’t got no need of some loud-mouth, sanctimonious nigga telling me what I should be doin’ and not doin’. Y’all go on. I got better things to do.”

“Like burn in Hell,” Flo muttered under her breath. “Camilla!” she shouted through the open door. “Come in and wash those hands. We’ve gotta get ready for church.”

Two-year-old Camilla grabbed her Raggedy Ann by what was left of its red hair and pulled herself up the back steps. 

“Ooh, child, come here.” Flo took the wet washcloth and scrubbed the toddler's face and hands. All the while, Camilla clutched the doll to her chest. “You love that baby, don’t you, hon? I’d say you’re a natural-born mother.”

The walk to the church was a mile and a half up the dirt road that ran in front of the house. The lazy Sunday sun came slanting through the pines that lined the old sawmill road. Scattered oaks and maples showed off their oranges and reds. Fall in the South.

“Can’t beat a cool Sunday morning like this, can you, C?” Camilla just zigzagged alongside, plucking fallen leaves from the sandy road as though each was a precious jewel.        

I looked over Jordan and what did I see

Coming for to carry me home

A band of angels coming after me

Coming for to carry me home

Singing and clapping greeted them as they approached the tiny whitewashed wooden structure with the white cross atop. Several horses stood solemnly tied up under the large oaks outside the Ebenezer AME Church, their buggies still hitched. Most churchgoers walked. Flo reached down and lifted Camilla into her arms. “My, you're gettin' heavy, girl,” she grunted and carried Camilla up the creaky steps onto the landing. The heavy door groaned in resistance as Flo pulled it open, releasing a wave of voices: 

Coming for to carry me home

Swing low, sweet chariot

Coming for to carry me home

Miss Beulah nodded from her self-assigned back row seat as Flo slipped in next to her. It was safer to sit in the back in case Camilla got restless. But for now, the child was fine, standing on the worn pine pew, dancing and clapping with the others in the languid golden light glimmering through the yellow plastic windows. A few of the congregants in the one-aisle church turned and stared at the child. It was Camilla’s light skin that intrigued them: while it made her a favorite with some, she was a target of gossip for others. Flo just focused ahead and sang louder.         

The singing stopped, and the pews groaned with the weight of the saints.        

“Ain’t it a beautiful morning?” asked pastor Jake. Praise Jesus! The congregation shouted back. Praise Jesus!  “And ain’t it good to know we have a savior that looks out for us?” Yes, Lord! “A God who loves even the poorest among us?” Amen! “That will never forsake us?” Many stood, waving their hands. Thank you, Jesus, thank you, Lord! The Spirit was quick in acting this Sunday morning. 

“But sometimes we get down.” Uh-huh. “Despondent.” Yes, yes. “Lose sight of our Savior.” Amen. “Sometimes we might question God and ask, ‘why isn't life fair?’” Yes, Lord. “So I ask you, Brothers and Sisters: Is life fair?” Silence. "Maybe you think it isn't. Maybe you think, Pastor Jake, I am a child of God, and God should make it easier for me,” Uh-huh. "balance the scales for me,” Yes, Lord. "take down my enemies.'” Amen! Amen! "But is that the way it works? Is life fair?” Silence. "Ask Job. He was a righteous man.” Amen! “The most righteous in the land.” Yes, Lord! “And was life fair for him?” Silence. "No! 'Cause you see, suffering comes on the just and the unjust.” More silence. 

Pastor Jake stepped down in front of the podium. "Some of God’s children are born with black skin; some with white. Some are barely scraping by while others prosper.” Amen. "Is this fair? You may argue with God and say it isn’t. Job did. But brothers and sisters, we live in a world that has fallen away from God.” Yes, Lord. “A world that has sinned against Him.” Amen! "And so we suffer, not only for our sins but for the sins of others.” Amen! Amen! 

"Job suffered mightily.” Yes, he did. Yes, he did. “But through all his trials and tribulations, he never cursed God.” No! "Do not curse God, brothers and sisters.” Amen! "When The Man spits on you, calls you nigger, runs you off the street, turn the other cheek.” Amen. “Show him we are children of God!” Amen. Praise Jesus! Some in the audience waved their hands in the air; Flo squirmed. 

"Now we've all been prayin’ for young Luke Granger.” Yes, Lord. “We've been prayin’, and God has answered.” Silence. “God has answered and, you know brothers and sisters, He doesn’t always answer like we want Him to.” A low murmuring swept through the congregation. “I got word just this mornin’ that they found him.” Silence. “Found his body..." Gasps “...caught up in some brush down Cow Castle Creek.” More gasps. “He was strangled and beaten.” The horror from the congregation swelled. “This was not the answer we hoped for. No. But let this be a call for us to continue to pray, to pray without ceasing, to pray for those who did this dreadful deed.” 

Flo fumed. Bullshit! she thought. I pray for them to burn in hell! She had known Luke well, knew what a hardworking, ambitious young man he was, that he would never have stolen anything from anybody.  

“We, in this time of trouble, must not lose sight of the Lord,” Pastor Jake shouted over the din. “Like Job, we must not lose faith!” More rumbling. A few scattered tepid amens. “These are tests, brothers and sisters, just like Job was tested. God is testing our faith!"

“I can’t take no more of this nigga’s crap,” Flo whispered to Miss Beulah as she picked up Camilla and left the church.

Camilla skipped along ahead of Flo, lost in her own little world. Flo followed, weeping. She had known the dead boy since he was born. In this tight-knit farming community on the outskirts of tiny Kluzman, everyone knew everyone. These hardworking people, though barely able to scrape enough to get by, seldom complained. Luke was from one such family: hardworking, proud, always ready to help a neighbor, but hand-to-mouth poor.  

To help out, 12-year-old Luke had made deliveries for Easterling’s Groceries on Main Street after school. Riding his pieced-together bike, Luke carted groceries to mostly older citizens of Kluzman. The day he disappeared, he delivered a large bag of onions and tomatoes to Al Feller’s “Barbecue Shack” on the edge of town. But when he arrived at the business, it was closed, no one in sight. Rather than leave the produce on the doorstep and risk it being stolen, Luke placed the package just inside the front door which was unlocked. Word was that a neighbor saw him come out of the Barbecue Shack - a black person entering a white establishment being a crime in itself - and reported it to Mr. Feller. Al Feller claimed there was money missing from his cash register. Luke never showed up at home that night. 

Job, my ass, Flo fumed, I’m no Job, and I’m in any no mood to be tested, not by anybody! Camilla was skipping far ahead when Bang! The sound came from the direction of the church. Oh, God! Flo froze. Bang! Bang! They’re attacking the church! KKK! “Camilla!” she screamed. “Come here! Camilla!” The young girl stopped and turned. Flo grabbed her up just as a car approached from the direction of the church. She scoured the area for a hiding place, but there were no trees, and the only structure along this stretch was the shack that served as the parsonage, and it was across the road. The ditch! She held the child tight and leaped into the shallow ditch. “Let’s play a quiet game, C,“ she whispered to the little girl ducking into a tight ball. The car slowed and stopped just feet away from her head. Camilla squirmed. Florence tightened her grip. 

“Everything OK, Florence?” 

Mr. George. Flo gazed up at the red Nash Ambassador idling noisily in front of her. The older couple in their Sunday finest peered down at her.                                       

“You OK?” He asked again through the open car window.

“Yes, sir, Mr. George, sir. We’re just fine, sir. I dropped my, uh, earring and was looking for it, sir.” 

“Well... alright then,” he said and drove off.

Flo relaxed her grip on Camilla, who just stared up at her, confused.

“Child, what kind of world has your mom brought you into?” Flo helped Camilla to the road and brushed off the clay-red dirt. “C’mon.” Then under her breath, “Yes, sir… no, sir… thank you, sir… Damn! You own practically all the land in the county, and you can’t even see it in your Christian self to help us fix the leaking roof on our falling down shack or offer us a ride?”

By the time Flo reached home, she was exhausted and still in a foul mood. Henry was sitting on the front porch, smoking a cigarette and drinking. “Those white assholes killed the kid!” Flo raged.

Henry turned to her. “Kid?”

“Luke!” Flo screamed. Camilla ran to the back of the house. “They claim he stole from Feller’s barbecue joint, so they killed him.”

“Well,” Henry slurred, “did he?”

“You good-for-nothing...! Of course not! And even if…! Oh... forget it!"

Henry threw back the remainder of his glass. “What you makin’ to eat?"

“Making to eat? Make it your own self!” Flo screamed at him. Just then, Miss Beulah came walking by on her way home. Florence shouted, “Camilla! CAMILLA!” Camilla ran to the front of the house. “Come on, child. Let’s walk Miss Beulah home.”

Florence grabbed Camilla by the hand and hurried to catch up with the weathered woman in her sixties. “Miss Beulah!” Florence called out. Miss Beulah turned, smiled, and held out her hand for Camilla. The three walked silently down the dusty mile to the old woman's one-room shack.  

A lone bottle tree leaned next to the rickety old steps. “House ain’t much, but it keeps the weather off me,” Miss Beulah said, pushing the bright blue door open. “My daddy built this when I was a wee thing. Best he could do. Come on in, child. Sit down.”  

Florence had been in the little one-room structure a number of times before. But today she saw things she had never noticed before: the light filtering through the cracks between the boards, the old newspaper that served as wallpaper pulling away in many places, the statuettes scattered about on every flat service, the clean worn wooden floors, the worn lumpy mattress that served as the old woman’s bed and couch.

Miss Beulah stepped to the back of the house. “Want to go look at the chickens?” she asked Camilla. 

“Careful,” Florence called to her as the child toddled out and down the back steps.

Miss Beulah reached over a shelf beside the rusty wood stove and began pinching herbs from various tins, sprinkling them into her cratered copper kettle. “I can tell you’re not feeling well, Flo. I’m going to make you a tea.”

“Thanks... Miss Beulah. How long have you had the sight?”

“Since I can remember, shug, for as long as I can remember. Was born with the veil.”

“Veil?”

“The sac. A child born covered in the birth sac is born with it, the sight. It’s God’s gift. God’s gift.”

“What else can you see, ma’am? Spirits? The future?” 

“I see just whatever the good Lord wants me to.” Miss Beulah smiled. “Now, the herbs and roots, I learned from my mother. She was a root doctor, what some call a ‘hoodoo’ woman,” she said, continuing to stir the concoction. "We came up from St. Helena Island just off the coast of Beaufort after a really bad hurricane. Poppa said he wasn’t going to rebuild anymore, said we were moving to higher ground. Well, he just kept moving and moving - and here I am.”

Just then, a cacophony of clucking filled the backyard.

“Camilla!” Flo called out.

“She’s not hurtin’ anything, Shug. Say, why don’t y’all stay for lunch. We could have one of those birds with some greens.”

“Thank you, ma’am, but I don’t want to be a burden.”

“Nonsense. Now drink some of this.” Miss Beulah set the steaming dark brown liquid on the little table in front of her. Then, out of nowhere, “It’s not much, this little house, but you and the girl could stay with me if you wanted."  

“Ma’am?”

“Your man?”     

Flo took a deep breath. “He runs around, Miss Beulah. Drinks all day, hardly works… But what else I got?”

“You’re a strong, hardworking woman, Flo. Do you really need him?” Miss Beulah placed her hand on Flo’s knee. “And you gotta think about the child, too, hon.”

“Camilla? You think…? Henry?” Flo shifted in her chair. “No, he’s not like that.”

“Does he hit you?”

Flo wrinkled her forehead. "He’s not mean, Miss Beulah - not when he’s sober, anyway. Just got bad habits. Gambles, too.” Flo shook her head. "Boozin’ and gamblin’.” She choked back a sob. "He’s… I… I got nothin’ else, nothin’ else, Miss Beulah.”      

Miss Beulah strode over to the side table cluttered with candles and pictures and charms that served as an altar. “Take this,” she said handing Flo a sachet tied with a purple ribbon. "Sprinkle a little around the child’s bed and the rest around your house. And this,” Miss Beulah peered deeply into Flo’s eyes, “this is to protect Camilla from the evil eye.”         

Florence stared at the tiny palm-shaped amulet, a primitive eye carved in the center. “Is she in danger?” pleaded Florence. “What do you see for her?” she implored. 

“The future’s not set in stone,” she assured. “In the end, God's in control. But tie this around her wrist, and may it always protect her.”

Flo slipped the amulet into the pocket of her dress.

"Now, let’s see about that chicken,” Miss Beulah announced and walked out the back door, picking up an ax as she approached the chicken yard.

Moments later, Camilla screamed.