The Rites of Passage Excerpt (Chapter Four)

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The sound of broken branches and rustlin’ leaves were on my path to this new Innocence. Usually, I would walk the dirt road but like anyone who is running the Shelter automatically knows where to find them. They could be wailin’ alone in a familiar place they’ve known from their life, or wanderin’ lost and confused on the dirt road, or both, and hadn’t realized they’d died. These Innocence aren’t just ordinary children but did horrible things in their adult life. It’s up to me to see these children go through their journeys to make sure they get to the Promised Land.

            For this Innocence, their fear led me through the woods. Big bold trees with branches covered with leaves had blinded an openin’ path. I moved through the hoard of broken branches, hearin’ them crunch with each footstep. The closer I was comin’ to this Innocence, the more I was aware of their emotions. They were more than scared, and couldn’t comprehend what was going on. The first thing any Innocence would think is what they’re seein’ or feelin’ a dream. Usually, it would take a few days to see their past unfold on them until they realized their Earthly life is no more. And I haven’t met one who knew otherwise.

            I knew I’d been gettin’ close by the faint light appearin’ through the leaves. As I made my way to a patch of grassy land, I stopped dead in my tracks. I stood frozen of an unexpected revelation and inched closer as I gazed at a light brown shack with a tin rusted roof. The porch had a lone oak rockin’ chair, three wooden thin beams to support the roof, and a bunch of pretty potted plants. I was in fascination at the house because this was my home in Tulla Springs. I don’t get it, I thought as I looked around the few acres land. The barn that still chipped in red paint remained in its place. Even the dried pigs' pen seemed to be untouched.

            “Hello” I called out. No one responded except for the sound of the usual critters like crickets and a squirrel scurryin’ across the grass. I went to the porch, and as soon as I took my first step on the loosened plank, it creaked like it did in life. Then I stopped and looked around the land. Ev’rythin’ still looks the same. Baffled at what was takin’ place, I went inside the screen door to a settin’ from 1914 or before. All were still in its place, the grainy wooded kitchen table with five chairs to match, the wood burner stove, and couple of rockin’ chairs in front of the fireplace. “Hello?” My voice echoed through the shack as I studied the past.

            Slight rumblin’ moved inside the girls’ room. With caution, I inched toward the slightly opened door. “You can come out, I won’t hurt you” I called out. Then I pushed the door, openin’ slow enough to remember the hinges needed oil. “Hello?” I said again. I smiled at the few happy memories. The full-sized bed the girls’ slept in was made up with the crochet quilt that a member of the church had made. The dresser that had brushes, ribbons, and a few of their ragdolls were left like it was yesterday. Even the scent of butter and vanilla floated in the air from bakin’ the girls’ their favorite desserts. “I don’t understand” I wondered, tryin’ to piece together the mystery.

            I then noticed some snifflin’ comin’ from behind the opened door. Unaware of whom this person was, I opened the door as the creakin’ sound grew louder, to discover it my daughter, Mattie Jean. She wasn’t the Mattie Jean I remembered that carried her cane with arthritic pain, vibrant gray hair, and stout. Instead, she was a little girl that was trapped back in 1914, shiverin’ in the corner. “Momma” said in her voice, with a southern drawl.

            “Mattie Jean?” I questioned, unsure if what I was seein’ an image of the past, or if she was really the Innocence. I kneeled and extended my arms so I could be sure my eyes weren’t playin’ tricks on me. “Mattie Jean”. My voice quivered as she tilted her head, tryin’ to make sense this as well. “It’s me, your momma” I said, reaching my arms to her. Sittin’ in the corner with her knees curled to her chest, she rose up and stood for a moment as she continued to wonder who I was. “It’s okay, baby, I’m really here” I promised.

            Mattie Jean walked her dark brown boots I bought at the General Store in town. She had her arms at her sides, wearing the white dress with big ruffles like I’d just sewn it yesterday. A few tears had escaped from her eyes, streamin’ into the corners of a widened smile. After a moment of realizin’ I wasn’t a threat, Mattie Jean shown a grin. She rushed into my arms. “Momma, where ev’ryone at?”

            “Baby, they’re all at the new house” I explained as she rested her head on my shoulder.

“What new house?” she looked back up.

“Baby, you’ll soon see”

The warmth of her body had let me know that she was a real Innocence. But why? As I said, most of the children have done terrible things in their adult life or suffered a traumatic experience as kids. One theory had dawned on me—Arthur’s abuse. I released from our embrace to get a good look at Mattie Jean. She had dark, brown eyes like mine and Gladys, agate skin color, and medium-size braids with blue ribbons tied to each end. “Come on, Mattie Jean, it’s time to see the others” I wiped my tears, gettin’ up as I took her hand.

“Momma?” asked Mattie Jean, looked up to me like all of the other Innocence who was scared and confused. “What about daddy?”

I paused and carefully answered her without sayin’ too much of Arthur’s afterlife. “Well, baby, he’s around, and you’ll see him real soon, okay?” She nodded with a relivin’ smile and replied, “Okay”. I gripped her hand as we exchanged more smiles, and then I asked her was she ready to go to the new house. “Yes’um” grinned Mattie Jean, and we headed out the door.

 ©2014, Imani Wisdom

Pink Noire Publications, LLC