Part 3: Mama and Barney

They All Live Happily Ever After

Listen to the audio narration on YouTube at: https://youtu.be/nkJh8XO67Vg

Mama an’ Barney’s house sat six miles from the Rock Island Arsenal, where the guns under their kitchen floor were manufactured, but it was just 50 yards from Rock River, a tributary spillin’ into the Mississippi less than a mile from their front door.

Loaded down with weaponized metal, Mama ran outside, recallin’ how Barney insisted that livin’ by the river could come in handy someday. He never seemed to worry about the danger it might mean for their two little girls. His world stopped at the edge of his own ambition, leavin’ Mama to carry the rest. Deep waters an’ hot guns didn’t mix well with the family life Mama dreamed of, but Barney couldn’t — or wouldn’t — see it.

That’s when she realized the cliff edge that would end her life with this man was right in front of her. In the past, she found a way to stay on this side of that edge. This time, she’d step over it. That decision brought unexpected relief that surprised her, and with it came the certainty that she had done her best, that it was time to go.

The fadin’ sunlight streaked the sky in orange an’ purple, but Mama barely noticed as the rustle of leaves an’ the distant rush of the river filled her ears. Each step felt heavier, like the weight of the guns wasn’t just in her arms but on her chest. This wasn’t the life she’d imagined, not for herself, an’ not for her girls. They ran down the hill as twilight descended.

“Give ‘em to me, Darlene!” he barked, his voice cuttin’ through the quiet like a whip. Mama watched, both impressed an’ unnerved, as he heaved each crate into the water. Fear gives you power.

The sound of heavy metal hittin’ the river echoed louder than she expected. Heart racin’, Mama looked around wonderin’ who else mighta heard Barney’s contraband sink into the darkness, but they were the only ones here. She let out a long breath, the tension in her chest loosenin’, but only a little.

Walkin’ back up the hill, Mama stopped for a minute. It was late April, an’ the warm weather brought more color to the riverbank than she’d ever seen before. The river’s whispers were calmin’ an’ maddenin’, like it knew the secrets she couldn’t tell. The warm breeze against her face made her want to listen to the water an’ pretend none of this was happenin’.

The beauty all around her betrayed the ugliness her life had become. Her legs ached from the climb, but it was the heaviness in her chest that nearly buckled her. Before goin’ back to face two little girls waitin’ on supper, she leaned against the Eastern Redbud tree that grew between their house an’ the riverbank, an’ closed her eyes. Its rough bark pressed into her back as she took a deep breath, tryin’ to steady herself.

Twelve years ago, she stood under a trio of redbud trees growin’ in the front yard of the old homestead, where Daddy read the funny papers on Sundays an’ she had been a happy child. A hedgerow of lilacs lined the front boundary an’ a star magnolia grew in the far corner where their dirt driveway led from the house to the main road.

Ever’ spring promised a riot of color an’ a sensory dream come true. The sweetness of floral lilac mixed with the citrusy aroma of the magnolia. The redbud’s magenta blooms had little need for fragrance. Their beauty was sufficient.

She leaned into the past. A dozen years hadn’t diminished her memory of that place.

Barney walked past her interruptin’ her thoughts. “What’s for supper, babe?” he called over his shoulder, like throwin’ guns into the river was just another way to spend an evenin’.

Thinkin’ of her girls, one tied to her chair an’ the other playin’ babysitter, Mama’s relief boiled over into red-hot anger. He could act like nothin’ had happened, but she couldn’t. Leavin’ behind the redbud she loved, she followed him up the hill, climbed the stairs, an’ stepped into the house.

It was Friday an’ she had the day off. Mama did their weekly shoppin’ the night before, after pickin’ up her paycheck. Lookin’ in the icebox earlier that afternoon an’ seein’ Sunday’s after-church dinner, she decided to make it Friday’s chicken supper. This was her girls’ favorite meal an’ lucky for him, Barney’s too. Her Mama, my Granny, would be proud. This is how a woman should cook, she’d say. Mama wasn’t so sure anymore, but tonight, it felt like the right thing to do.

The hot water sittin’ on the back of the stove was nearly ready for corn on the cob, an’ the potatoes she cooked before the madness started would take no time to mash down with butter an’ cream the milkman left that mornin’.

Mama moved with purpose, her anger simmerin’ beneath the surface, but her hands steady. This wasn’t just any supper, it was part of the plan, a way to secure the ground beneath her feet.

Grabbin’ the chicken out of the ice box, Mama tossed it in a brown paper bag that she had filled with flour an’ spices, just the way Granny taught her.

She twisted the top of the bag, her knuckles white as she imagined how it’d feel to wring Barney’s neck. But supper wasn’t the place for it, not with her girls sittin’ at the table, starin’ at her like she was their whole world. “Easy does it, Darline,” she thought. “You can hate him later.”

Her cast iron skillet was heatin’ up with Crisco an’ a touch of bacon fat from breakfast, another one of Granny’s secrets. “You cain’t never go wrong with bacon, Darline.” Granny said when she finally agreed to show Mama how to make the ‘best gall-durn chicken’ her Daddy ever tasted. Now she was makin’ it for Barney. He didn’t deserve it, not really, but this supper wasn’t about him, it was for her girls an’ givin’ ‘em somethin’ to hold onto that felt like home.

Three-year-old Bonnie, still tied to her highchair, an’ Bunnie sittin’ in a big-girl chair next to her sister, watched their Mama ease pieces of chicken down into the hot fat. The sizzle comin’ outta the pan promised somethin’ good for their growlin’ bellies.

Bunnie had peeked in the icebox when her Mama an’ Daddy were down at the river. Four cups of chocolate puddin’ with whipped cream on top sat next to a bottle of milk. Bunnie was still smilin’, thinkin’ of dessert.

Barney started drinkin’ before the chicken hit the pan. Mama didn’t complain. She listened to every gulp, countin’ on him passin’ out early. The more he drank, the better the chances that he’d be in a deep sleep soon after fillin’ his belly. He was nearly through his six pack when Mama put the steamin’ food on the table an’ they ate their last supper together.

The sizzle of chicken an’ the giggles of her girls kept her focused as she thought about what was to come once ever’body, but Mama, was sleepin’.

The G-men Barney warned about never came. By the time she washed the dishes an’ cleaned up the kitchen, Barney was snorin’. That’s when Mama packed their bags.

Her hands shook as she folded the last of their clothes, glancin’ toward the bedroom where her husband’s snores rumbled like thunder. One wrong sound could end this before it even began.

“Where we goin’?” Bunnie asked.

Seein’ Mama pack a suitcase made Bunnie’s tummy tickle. It happened a lot, just not at night, most times. “We’re goin’ on a little adventure, but you can only see what happens if you close your eyes an’ go to sleep.” Mama told her.

“Really? How do I do that, Mama? If my eyes are closed, I won’t see nothin’.”

Mama smiled at her little girl’s clever reply, but her heart ached for what she couldn’t explain. “You will this time, I promise. Sissy is already there. Lay down, baby. We’re gonna dream our way outta here.”

“OK, but tell me the story about ‘The Elves and the Shoemaker, Mama,” Bunnie said in a sleepy voice.

“They make shoes for the poor shoemaker an’ his wife to sell, an’ then the wife makes tiny little clothes for the elves. They didn’t even know each other, but they helped anyway. Ever’body is happy at the end, aren’t they, Mama? They all live happily ever after, don’t they?”

Mama brushed a stand of hair away from her daughter's face. “Yes, Susan, they do.”

Her voice didn’t waver, but she wondered if she could ever give her girls a happily-ever-after. She tucked the thought away, focusin’ on Bunnie’s peaceful face as her eyes began to close.

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Bonnie was sleepin' minutes after Mama put her in a makeshift crib made from an old dresser drawer, deep enough for a toddler. Bonnie was tiny an’ she fit in the deep, blanket-padded bottom drawer perfectly. Mama had nailed the back of the dresser to the wall for safety. An’ now that the story was finished, Bunnie was sprawled out on a mattress on the floor next to her sister, breathin’ slow an’ even. Barney snored from the other bedroom, where on most nights Mama woulda joined him. Not tonight.

An hour later, she was ready. With their bags safely stowed in the trunk of the car, Mama went back inside. She held her breath as she walked across creaky floorboards that once hid guns that now lay at the bottom of the river. Her husband never stirred.

Mama scooped a sleepy-eyed Bonnie out of the drawer an’ carried her out into the night. A mix of relief an’ fear surged in her chest. She wasn’t sure what waited for ‘em beyond that house, but she was gonna find out; she couldn’t stay here. Bonnie was light as a feather, barely stirrin’ as Mama tucked her into the back seat.

When Mama lifted her, Bunnie woke briefly blinkin’ up at her face. ‘It’s OK, baby,’ Mama whispered, settlin’ her into the front seat. Bunnie’s eyes drifted closed again, trustin’ her Mama as her daddy slept, oblivious to his family’s exodus.

Mama sat in the driver’s seat for a full minute, lookin’ at the light of the moon shimmerin’ on the river below the house. The shadow of the redbud stretched across the hillside, its branches pointin’ to the future like a hand guidin’ her way.

She’d left her husband three times in six years. One humiliation after another had nearly broken her. Through Barney’s drinkin’, an’ gamblin’, an’ cheatin’, she always found a way to get back on her feet an’ make it work. But when Barney got in trouble with the Feds, her hopes to keep her family together died forever. This time, she wasn’t comin’ back.

As she drove away from the man she thought she would love forever, Mama allowed herself a rare moment to remember. The hope-filled lilacs an’ magnolias of her childhood were so different from the shadows she lived with now. Ever’ memory offered a sweet escape an’ a painful reminder of what she’d lost. This strengthened her determination that the shadows that had chased away her childhood joy would never darken the lives of her girls.

By Christmas Mama mighta felt single, but her marriage to Barney would take years to end. It was like unweavin’ a garment, each thread takin’ its time to unravel. Even when the last thread was cut, it wasn’t the clean break she wanted. That would take a lifetime.

Listen to the audio narration on YouTube at: https://youtu.be/nkJh8XO67Vg