Perfect Peace Read Online Free

month, to endure another day, Emma Jean induced her own labor. Unable to find Henrietta, Gus told her that she’d have to birth the child alone, so she did. When she saw its penis, she looked heavenward and mumbled, “Damn you.” Then she screeched, “Gus! Come get this!” He knew it was another boy. “You name him whatever you like. It don’t make me no difference.” Gus said, “Well, people gon’ call him mister somethin’ when he get grown, so we might as well start callin’ him Mister now.” Emma Jean would have hollered had she had the strength. After waking from a nap and hearing the other boys call him Mister, she decided to let the name stand. Gus wrote
     
    Mister Peace, August 16, 1935
     
    in the family Bible and closed it with finality. “When I have my little girl, I’ll name her something pretty,” Emma Jean promised herself.
     
    “We almost got the shoulders out,” Henrietta said. “If you can give me one more good push—”
    Emma Jean raised herself, almost to a full sit-up position, and roared, “AHHHHHHHHH!” then collapsed heavily. “Oh my God!” she gasped. “This has gotta be my little girl. It’s just gotta be.”
    “Let’s just get it here first,” Henrietta cautioned. “Then we’ll see what it is.” She dabbed Emma Jean’s forehead with a cool, moistened cloth.
    Gus didn’t have to worry about this ever again, Emma Jean thought. Boy or girl, she had had enough of childbearing for the rest of her life.
    After one last, feeble push, Henrietta said, “Dear Jesus! Here it is.” Slowly, she lifted the baby, showing Emma Jean her seventh son.
    Emma Jean closed her eyes and trembled. What had she done to make God mock her so, she wondered. Hadn’t she been an obedient daughter, even when her mother beat the shit out of her? Hadn’t she fed and clothed her children to the best of her ability? Hadn’t she married and loved—well, not loved, but at least respected—a husband whom she was sure no one else had wanted?
    “He’s jes’ as cute as he can be, Emma Jean,” Henrietta pacified, after severing the umbilical cord. “This one’s kinda golden. Not as black as the others. Soft, curly hair. Yep! He’s a beauty.”
    Emma Jean wouldn’t look. All she could think about was the promise she had made as a child to love and pamper a daughter the way someone should’ve loved her. She’d dreamed of stroking a little girl’s hair and binding it with golden ribbons, then sending her off to be admired by the world. But that couldn’t happen now. How would she ever spite her mother without a daughter of her own?
    “Don’t be disappointed, honey. A healthy child’s a blessin’, don’t care what it is. And this one’s the cutest one yet. Plus, a house full o’ boys is always a blessin’.”
    Henrietta sat the newborn in a small basin of lukewarm water and began to rinse the guck from him. “Yep, he’s the prettiest! Just look at all this hair, girl!” Emma Jean’s silence compelled Henrietta to add, “All dese hyeah boys sho nuff gon’ take care o’ you one day. You mark my word. Boys take care o’ they momma!”
    Emma Jean ignored Henrietta. She certainly loved her boys, especially Authorly, but she couldn’t foresee a future without the daughter she’d imagined.
God must think this is funny
, she thought.
Why does He love to watch people suffer? What kind of God is He anyway? Aren’t people supposed to get
something
they want before they die, especially if they’ve never had anything?
    Henrietta wrapped the infant in the pink towel Emma Jean had bought weeks ago at Morrison’s, and handed the baby to its silent, stoic mother. Emma Jean received the bundle like one receiving an eviction notice. She shook herhead as tears welled, but she refused to cry. What would’ve been the point? Why couldn’t she ever have what she wanted? After six boys—six!—didn’t she deserve a girl?
    “I may as well go tell the menfolk now,” Henrietta slurred. “At