Big Ma nodded at memories and finished wrapping the biscuits in silence. I didn’t disturb her from her memories; after several minutes, she said, “Cassie?”
“Yes, ma’am?”
“God got a way of bringin’ the right man into your life to give you the happiness and the joy and everything else He wants us to have in this life. Man who love you, Cassie, make love to you and give you babies, ain’t nothin’ like it. Time come that man to enter your life, don’t you turn your back on him. Not even if that man’s Moe Turner.”
I met Big Ma’s eyes, and let it be.
* * *
◆ ◆ ◆
The boys left before midnight on Wednesday. They wanted to get through as much of Mississippi as they could while it was still dark, before people were out and moving about and taking note of them. We received word from Dee’s brother Ola that they had made it back safely. He drove down from Jackson to let us know. Mama, Papa, Big Ma, and I were all thankful to hear the news, but Mama, no longer having to worry about the safety of her sons, became restless about her confinement. Although she was able to be up a few hours during the day, the doctor had ordered her to get plenty of bed rest for several weeks, which she begrudgingly did.
I had been shown by the nurses how to administer the exercises for Mama’s arm, but after a couple of weeks of bed rest and exercises Mama still could not fully use her right hand for writing, and she very much wanted to write. Mama loved writing. She was frustrated and grew increasingly more irritable. “Turn off that radio,” she ordered from her bed. She was sitting with a book on her lap, and several books lay next to her. “That noise bothers me. Sometimes I wish Stacey had never brought that thing into this house.”
We all understood that much of Mama’s frustration came from the fact that until she was fully recovered, she could not work. Since Mama had lost her job as a teacher at Great Faith, she had taught students needing extra help in their studies. After the boys left home, she had used their room as a classroom, and sometimes the room had been filled with students on a Saturday morning or after school. She also went throughout the community working with young people who weren’t able to go to school, children who were disabled in some way or whose parents couldn’t spare them from the family workload in their homes. She taught adults too, anyone wanting to learn. Sometimes people paid Mama; most people didn’t. They had no money to pay her. But Mama didn’t mind that. She just wanted to teach.
I sucked in my breath and went over and turned off the radio. “Mama, when Stacey bought this radio he just wanted us to be in the twentieth century and know what was going on in the world.”
“I never thought I’d say this, but I think I know enough.”
“As I recall, Mama, you and Papa and Big Ma used to sit here every evening and listen to the war news. You were happy to have the radio then.”
“And you know why that was. Your brothers were over there fighting in that war. But there were times I didn’t want to hear any of it. I was walking around scared most of the time. Now there’s news coming in from all over, United States and all around the world, and it hardly ever is any good news. I don’t need to hear it. Just the sound of it wears on my nerves.”
I went back to oiling the furniture. “That’s because you’ve been so sick, Mama. I figure having a stroke kind of makes things wear on your nerves.”
“And you know about strokes and nerves?”
“No, ma’am, I just figure it makes sense.”
“Oh, well, I thought maybe you were heading into the medical field now. It’s obvious you don’t want to teach.”
“Obvious?”
“You were graduated with the courses you needed to teach, yet you’re working in a grocery store. Our first college graduate in this family and you’re working at a grocery store.”
“Mama,” I said in exasperation, “I’ll have a teaching job in the fall. I’ll put this college degree to use soon enough, not that I want to teach.” Mama looked disappointed. I tried to explain. “You love teaching, Mama. You’ve got a passion for it, something I don’t have. Only reason I got the teaching degree was because everybody said that was the best thing and I’d always have a job if I were a teacher. I couldn’t figure anything else. Maybe I’ll teach a couple of years, but it’s not really what I want.” I could feel Mama’s disapproval. I finished oiling the furniture, and with the mopping already done, picked up the mop bucket and headed for the dining room door. “Anything else you want me to do for you, Mama?”
“Yes,” Mama said. “I want you to go empty that bucket, rinse out that mop, then come back in here and write a speech for me.”
“Ma’am?”
“The speech I was working on when I had the stroke, it still needs to be done.”
“Mama, I don’t know anything about writing any speeches!”
“Then I’ll teach you. That speech to the Women’s League is next month. I plan to give it, but I can’t write it. You can. I’ll give you my ideas, you put them on paper.”
“Now, Mama, writing a speech wasn’t what I meant when I asked if you needed me to do anything.”
“Course it wasn’t. But that’s what I want from you, Cassie, and that’s what I need. So come sit down at my desk and use your brain. That’s one of your many blessings, Cassie, your brain. I want my speech.”
* * *
◆ ◆ ◆
During the next weeks Mama taught me the basics of good speech writing, and she was a hard taskmaster. She did not want a good speech, she wanted a superb speech, and she wanted it done her way. I got a little tired of all her demands and attention to details, all the changes she wanted made, but finally I managed to finish the speech. Mama read it and told me it was good, but it could be better. She instructed me as to the strong points and weak points of the speech and then told me to rewrite it. I did. She awkwardly edited it with her left hand, using a brutal pen, and told me to make more changes. When we both were exhausted with the speech and with each other, the speech was what Mama wanted. Not only was it good, it was better than good. Mama said that she would be proud to give it, and, for me, that made all the weeks of writing worthwhile. By the time the speech was finished, it was nearing the time for me to head back to Ohio. Mama was much better and able to be up and doing more things for herself. The only physical sign that she had had a stroke was in her hand, but we were all confident that soon she would have full use of it.
“I’m really looking forward to making this speech,” Mama told me.
“I wish I could stay for it, but I need to get back to work.”
“I understand.” Mama smiled. “And come September, that teaching job’s waiting.”