Page from a Tennessee Journal (AmazonEncore Edition)

against the wall finally entered his ears along with cries from either Lottie or Henry. He couldn’t tell which. He spun his wife around and closer to the kerosene lamp on the table. His hand ran roughly over her stomach. The hardness greeting his touch caused him to throw her down on the table.
    “Papa, no.” He thought it was Lottie’s scream this time, but it could just as well have been Doug. He pushed whoever it was away before he pulled Annalaura off the table and spun her around again. This time his arm flailed out at the other side of her face. The taste of someone else’s blood felt strange flying onto his own lips.
    “You ain’t betrayed me, Annalaura. I know you ain’t.” He doubled his fist and smashed her in the right eye.
    She began to slide down the wall again.
    “You is the best woman in all this world.” Pulling her to her feet again, his fist pounded at her left breast.
    “You is the sweetest, smartest woman on all God’s earth.” There was moaning in his ears, but it wasn’t coming from Annalaura. He had the strange impression that it was his own pain leaping out of some deep place.
    “I would give this world fo’ you. I done everythin’ fo’ you.” This time his fist found her nose, then her chest, her ear, her eye.
    Each time she slumped to the floor with her arms limp at her side. He pulled her to her feet. Still she said nothing.
    “You gonna tell me, woman. You gonna tell me the bastard’s name who give you this.” He punched her in the stomach, the forehead, and with doubled fist, aimed back at her stomach.
    Annalaura bent over and dropped to the floor, drawing her knees as close to her chest as she could.
    “Kill me. Kill me, now. Just don’t let yo’ children see.” She lay there with her eyes closed, ready.
    “You damn right I’m gonna kill you, but I’m gonna kill that nigger first. I’m gonna kill him and make you watch.” He reached down to drag her to her feet again when he felt something sharp jab him straight in the backside.
    “Let her be. You ain’t got no right to hit my momma. It was all ’cause of you.” The voice crackled between boyhood and manhood.
    John dropped Annalaura back to the floor and turned to look into the face of a wild-eyed twelve-year-old. The trembling boy held the pitchfork in his hands, and his eyes held the determined look of a man.
    “Cleveland? Cleveland, is that you, boy?” He stared at his eldest, torn between joy and the most misery he had ever known. “Yo’ momma, she…” Without taking his eyes off the boy, he gestured behind him to the fallen Annalaura.
    “She did it fo’ you. She did it fo’ you.” The boy’s voice shook.
    In his fear for his son, John searched out his other children. Over in the sleeping alcove, Doug held both Henry and Lottie close. Henry had his head buried under the bedcovers as he turned his back on the scene. Lottie and Doug sat frozen in terror. John knew it couldn’t be helped. Someday he would explain their mother’s betrayal, someday…Cleveland’s words started to notch their way into his brain.
    “Did it fo’ me? What did she do fo’ me, son?” He gained control over his voice.
    “You ain’t no good. You ain’t no damn good.” Cleveland jabbed the pitchfork in the air. “You left us all here to starve and freeze. You took all the money and all the food. What was she supposed to do?”
    “Shut up, Cleveland. On your pa’s life, shut up.” Annalaura swayed despite her grip on the back of the chair.
    John, startled, looked down at his now open palms. He lifted his head. Confusion roiled in his belly. The cupboards were full, his children wore new shoes and fresh clothes. He turned back to Annalaura.
    “What did yo’ momma do fo’ me?” He glanced down at the floor where he stood. When he left, it had been full of knotholes. Now the boards were closely spaced, knot free, and good-sized rugs covered the sleeping places. How did Annalaura come by them? No Negro in Lawn over had money for such fancy this time of year, nor at any other time. No Negro…
    “Cleveland, what did yo’ momma do fo’ me?” Fire and ice fought inside him.
    “Cleveland.” Annalaura croaked out the command.
    John stared at the sleeping quarters. Where a thin sheet of cloth had been their only privacy, now stood a full wall and proper doorway.
    “We was hungry,” Cleveland called out. “We ain’t had nothin’ to eat but some dandelions in a whole pot of water. He gave her money