Love Knows No Color Pt. 20

Barbara picked up the kids that evening, mercifully taking them for a couple of days. I was in a daze the whole weekend. Even though I helped Shavonda man our booth at Juneteenth in Market Square, my heart wasn't in it. She took pity on me, and had Tamika help us out on Sunday. I wandered downtown Pittsburgh, ending up at the point staring out at the meeting of the rivers, watching the boats and trains pass by. At some point, Shavonda rang my phone to see if I was alright. I wasn't but I didn't tell her that. Soon, I felt an arm go around me. She'd left Tamika in charge of the booth, and brought me a cold drink and chicken sandwich from Oyster House. She knew I loved those.

I held on to her with tears in my eyes, not caring that we were in public. Silently, I ate my sandwich while she gently rocked me. Grandma was gone, and I'd never gotten to introduce her to her new great granddaughter.

Monday, I informed work that I'd need Wednesday, Thursday and Friday off due to a death in the family. My boss Nick wasn't happy, but legally I was entitled to three days' unpaid leave. I worked Monday and Tuesday but I don't remember much about them. Coming home Tuesday evening, I found Shavonda and Shaunice in the kitchen. Shavonda had straightened her hair, and it stuck out in every direction as Shaunice worked to braid it for her. She looked so adorable like that, and I told her so. "No, Jason," Shavonda laughed. "I look a hot mess."

"Definitely hot," I said, bringing a smile to her face. Shaunice looked at me like I had three heads. She always had her hair done up so that there was never a strand out of place, in elaborate styles that must have taken a lot of time and money to do. Shavonda had always preferred simpler, natural looks. In the entire time I'd known her, she'd never had extensions put in, though Shaunice had tried to talk her into it. It was her natural beauty and the fact that she was unashamed of the way she looked that I found so compelling. Shavonda was refreshingly honest in both her look and her personality.

I fed both Miracle and myself, doing my way to keep out of the ladies' way. Miracle had the applesauce she loved, and a bottle, yet she was still hungry. I made myself a bowl of box mashed potatoes, and some bouillon cube gravy. When it had cooled enough to eat, I shared it with my baby. Miracle really seemed to like the potatoes, but not the gravy. I guess it was too salty for her. After we'd eaten, I took her and the kids downstairs where we ran trains until Shavonda was done.

When she came downstairs, I was awestruck by the simple beauty of her new hairstyle. Shaunice had taken Shavonda's straightened hair, and worked it into two braids which ran along each side of her head above her ears, ending in two short tails at the back of her neck. It gave my queen a youthful look, yet elegant at the same time. I reached out to touch it, but Shavonda slapped my hand away.

"Don't you dare!" she exclaimed. "This has to last through the funeral. I'm not going to have you ruin it. Because nobody down there knows how to do braids like this. So you keep your hands off. After the funeral, I'll let you play in my hair, but until then keep your hands to yourself."

That night, after we'd put the kids to bed, we showered together. Shavonda put her hair in a shower cap so it wouldn't get wet, but other than that it was a normal bath where we freely soaped each other up, enjoying the slick feel of our bodies in the lather. Once out of the shower, she immediately put her hair in a headscarf for the night. She was serious about not letting it get messed up. Too tired and numb to make love, I just laid my head on her naked chest while she gently rocked me to sleep.

The next morning, we loaded up the Jeep, strapped the kids into their car seats, and hit the road. Shavonda took the wheel, and I napped as best I could. This trip, instead of stopping at the diners for breakfast and lunch, we hit the drive throughs of the fast food places. Brittany and Ethan were giddy. We never took them to McDonalds or Burger King. I placed a few french fries on the tray of Miracle's carseat, and watched with a smile as she grabbed one in her tiny hand and brought it to her mouth.

We stopped at the New River bridge to stretch our legs, and to admire the engineering on the giant arch bridge, just like we always did. I had Brittany take a picture of Shavonda and me, in matching black jeans and red t shirts. She was getting old enough I could trust her with my Nikon. Hitting the road again, we pushed through to White Sulphur Springs. Shavonda mentioned ice cream, so instead of making the trek over the mountains to the farmhouse, we continued east on 64 to Covington, VA.

I'd remembered Jim Brody's invitation to stop in and say hi, so we made a beeline to the police station to see if he was on duty. He was, but out on patrol, so we arranged to meet him at the Food Lion.

Pulling into the parking lot, I could see the patrol car waiting for us. I parked, then introduced Jim to my family. He took an instant liking to Shavonda. "How'd you get such a beauty, Jason?" he teased. "I'd seen her on the store video, but I had no idea she was this gorgeous." Shavonda flashed him that ear to ear smile that made her irresistible to me.

We talked for a while, catching up on our lives. A lot had changed in the area since the carefree days of my youth. There had always been a lot of alcoholism in the area, but the opioids were a new thing. Drug overdoses, while still not that common, were exponentially higher than just a few years previous. Heroin, almost unheard of when I was in school, had become a problem. And most of it had started with the prescription pain killers doctors prescribed. People were getting addicted to them, then switching to the cheaper heroin when they couldn't get their prescriptions filled.

Officer Brody regaled us with tales of his police work in what should have been a sleepy small town. Having a major interstate highway running through the town had changed that, making access to the rest of the country as easy as driving a few hours on cruise control. There was not an overwhelming amount of crime in the area like there was in the big cities, but there was enough to keep a small police force busy.

Jim was an open-minded person, which was why we'd been friends back in high school. He'd gone on several adventures in the mountains with me, and had more than a passing interest in trains as well. He had his own small model railroad in his house, but lived miles from the nearest railroad. Visiting me, with the main line cutting right through our pastures had been a treat.

One adventure in particular had stuck in our memories. One summer morning, we'd been down at the iron bridge when a long slow freight started up the mountain. Jim had grinned at me and said, "Want to go to Wolf Creek?" That was all I needed to hear. The train was moving just a little faster than we could run, but we grabbed a ladder as an empty grain hopper passed by and quickly swung aboard, hiding in a cubby hole in the end of the car when we went through populated areas or when another train passed by in the opposite direction. We had a beautiful ride down the mountain, and along the New River to the yard. As the train slowed to a crawl to enter the yard, we hopped off, and explored the town.

After a leisurely lunch, we headed back to the tracks in time to see another train making its double prior to departure. We found another car similar in design to the one we'd ridden in on but carrying plastic pellets instead, and quickly got out of sight until we started moving. We had our ride home. The way we figured it, there would be leaks in the air line, and if we turned the air valve on the end of the car all the air would slowly leak out of the rear of the train, applying the brakes on all cars behind us. We'd be able to bring the speed down to where we could jump off, leaving a puzzled train crew to wonder why their train had come to a stop several miles later.

It would have been a good plan, but we hadn't counted on having a helper locomotive added to the rear end before we started back up the mountain. As we came over the top at KR, I leaned over the end of the car and turned the angle cock, effectively preventing the headend locomotives from replenishing the air supply in the rear of the train. But the helpers were also tied into the air line, and they kept the pressure up. The crew must have been puzzled by the inability of the head end crew to control the brake application, but the train rolled on, not slowing as we rolled through Ray tunnel. We were probably going about 40 mph when we passed under the iron bridge, far too fast to jump without personal injury. We were stuck on board until they stopped to cut the helpers off at Moss Run, just outside of Covington. We were stuck. There were no phones around, other than the ones in the office at the railroad yard. And we certainly didn't want them to know we were there and question how two filthy teenagers had managed to show up in the middle of nowhere needing to use the phone. They'd probably realize what we'd done and we'd be in trouble with the law.

Knowing my dad worked the 10 to 6 shift at the paper mill in Covington, we made the best decision we could given the circumstances. It was now midafternoon, and we had a couple of hours to get to the mill before we'd be stuck for the night. So, we started off down the tracks, making it to the paper mill just before the shift change. Imagine my dad's surprise when he saw the two of us waiting for him. On the 30-mile ride back to the farm, he kept asking pointed questions about what how we'd gotten there, why we were so dirty, etc. We did our best to give generic answers.

"Look," Dad said. "I already know the answers to my questions. You may as well fess up. I know you hopped a train and couldn't get off because it was going too fast. And I know that you had to walk from the yard to here. Now, I'm not going to say anything to your mother or Jim's parents. But if she figures it out I'm not going to help you two either. Promise me you'll never do anything like that again."

With that out of the way, we opened up. I told him about how beautiful of a ride we'd had, until we couldn't get off the train, and how scared we'd been once we knew we were trapped aboard the train.

Jim laughed at the memory. "We sure had fun back then." He changed the subject. "You may be interested to know that Randy Patton got 60 days for disorderly conduct, and property damage. It seems that when he hit that door frame, he cut his hand in addition to breaking several bones. He bled all over the floor, and the store had to replace the floor tiles."

"Serves him right. But how did he go to trial so quickly?" I asked. "In Pittsburgh cases take up to a year to make it to court."

"Down here we don't play around," Brody replied. "We don't have a very big caseload. Besides, he decided to plead guilty, saving us a trial. It wasn't the first time he'd been before the judge, and if he'd have asked for a trial the judge would have buried him under the jail. He's sick of Randy."

We bid Jim Brody goodbye, promising to talk again at the class reunion, and went inside to get our traditional fudge ripple ice cream. The store personnel either didn't recognize us, or they didn't care, and our visit was uneventful. I took the wheel, and at Shavonda's request instead of taking the direct route to Waiteville, we made a short detour past Moss Run. She wanted to see where our adventure in train hopping had ended.

We arrived at the farm about 5 that afternoon. Nobody was out front to meet us, but Grandma and Mom were out on the back porch sipping sweet tea. Mom definitely looked the worse for wear, and we wordlessly hugged her before putting the ice cream in the freezer and unloading the Jeep. We let the kids run wild like we normally did, and showed Mom and Grandma how well Miracle was crawling now. They'd also bought a playpen for her so we were able to set her down without worrying about what she'd get into.

Shavonda reached into her purse and handed Mom a small pendant box. Mom opened it and gasped. "We just got our screen printing equipment week before last, and these are the first finished printed pendants I've done. I did one each for you, Nora, and your father. I hope you like it."

"It's beautiful," Mom said with tears in her eyes. "Thank you so much."

The pendant Shavonda had done was a tribute to Grandma Duncan. She'd taken my photo and turned the contrast up to the point it was almost like a drawing, and put the picture inside the 'Gone But Not Forgotten' pattern. The result was a single-color rendition of Grandma's smiling face. She did this knowing that Nora and probably Grandpap as well didn't like her. Shavonda was not trying to score points with them. She was trying to give them something to remember the good times with a woman she'd never met, but who had been an integral part of the family. It was a touching gesture that was so typical of who she was.

Not long after we'd gotten there Dad arrived home from the paper mill. He walked in the door weary. It was painfully evident how much Grandma Duncan's death had affected the family. Where we would normally have been happily talking and cutting up, tonight the whole house felt subdued, as though everyone in it was struggling with a heavy weight. Everybody seemed in a daze. Mom had not made a dinner like she normally would have, and Dad and Shavonda fired up the grill, cooking burgers for everybody as the shadows lengthened into dusk. We watched the sun set behind the tall mountains above us, the sky turning orange, then pink, and finally purple before fading into inky blackness. Everybody went to bed early, leaving Shavonda and me alone on the porch.

I laid my head on her shoulder as we silently looked at the stars. After awhile, Shavonda said "You know they say when somebody dies a new star is created. Which one do you think is your grandma?" I smiled at the thought of her up there, looking down and keeping watch over us. We sat awhile longer before heading off to bed.

In the morning, Shavonda and I were up early. By the time the others came downstairs, we had pancakes, bacon and eggs ready for them. Shavonda had even put on a pot of coffee, while I made a pitcher of ghetto Kool Aid. We all sat down in a communal meal, everybody seated in the chairs and around the table on the back porch. The summer morning was warm, with the hint of a breeze in the air. The weather was forecast to be mild and clear, with highs in the mid-70s. Evidently, God had smiled upon the funeral.

After breakfast, we took turns in the bathrooms and got ready. After sharing a shower, we dressed the kids, Brittany inn a floral print dress with cute buckled shoes, and Ethan in a dapper little suit and tie. Miracle was in a cute little blue dress Shavonda had gotten especially for the occasion. Shavonda herself wore a tasteful black velour dress that came down to her ankles, with a v neck that barely showed cleavage, and matching open toed 3 inch heels. The height of the heels was carefully chosen so that we'd be equal height, symbolic to the equality of our marriage. I myself wore shoes, dress pants and a button-down shirt, all black, with a white tie.

"Y'all look wonderful," Mom complimented us as we paraded our family down the stairs into the living room. "Von, I love what you did with your hair," referring to her braids. "You look elegant today."

Around ten, we all piled into our cars, and I followed Dad down the road. We followed the valley to Paint Bank, before turning onto the state highway and winding our way over the mountains to New Castle. Upon entering the small, remote mountain village, we found the funeral home near the county courthouse. Parking the cars, we gathered outside before taking a deep breath and venturing inside the home.

I could hear the words as we entered. "What is she doing here?" and "How dare he bring her." I didn't know who said them and I really didn't care. I know Shavonda heard them as well, but she didn't acknowledge them in any way. I was here to say goodbye to my Grandma, and Shavonda was there for my emotional support. What anybody else thought of us was irrelevant.

We walked hand in hand to the front of the chapel, to where Grandma Duncan lay resting in her casket. She looked peaceful, almost like she was asleep. Tears welled up in my eyes as it hit home that she'd never wake up, that I'd never again hear her distinctive laugh, or enjoy one of her cakes.

"Grandma," I said to her, "You never got a chance to meet them. I'd like you to meet your great granddaughter Miracle." Shavonda, who had held the baby on her hip, handed Miracle to me and I held her aloft above the coffin. "And this is my wife, Shavonda. You should have come to our wedding. You'd have liked her. I know you would have. She's a good person. I wish you'd have gotten to meet her." Shavonda stepped forward beside me as I balanced the baby on my hip and placed my arm around my queen.

"Jefferson," I heard from behind me. Turning, I saw that Grandpap had hobbled over with his cane. "Thank you for coming."

"Grandpap," I said. "I'd like you to meet Shavonda and Miracle. They have made me so happy."

Shavonda smiled and reached into her purse. She removed the pendant box and handed it to Grandpap. As he opened the box, she said, "I made this just for you, so you'd have something to remember her by. I'm sure you miss her terribly." He read the inscription on the pendant, and looked at the likeness of the woman he'd loved for so many years. Shavonda took the pendant out of the box, and gently placed it around his neck, fastening the clasp in the back.

"Thank you," he said gratefully. then offered his hand. Shavonda took his hand, then pulled him into a hug.

"I'm so sorry for your loss. Jason has said nothing but nice things about her. If you need us, let us know how we can help." Shavonda said tenderly. "I only wish I could have met her."

We sat in the pews for the memorial service. The preacher spoke of the goodness of man, and how Jesus was proud of the woman he'd just called home. "Remember the good works she did when we had her with us, and know that she'll continue to do them in heaven, in service to God."

After the sermon came a couple of hymns. The congregation stood and sang them, with Shavonda's voice rising loud and clear above the congregation. One by one, they stopped singing and just watched and listened to her. By the end of the second hymn, she was singing solo.

We left the funeral home in a procession of about 20 cars, winding up the butt end of a horseshoe shaped mountain on a winding two lane road, threading our way through a narrow gap in the mountain at the apex of the horseshoe. Once through the gap, the mountain surrounded us on three sides as we entered a broad anticlinal valley that stretched between the two limbs of the mountain as far as the eye could see. After a couple of miles, we were at the cemetery, which stood on a low hilltop within the valley.

After everybody had left their cars and gathered around the gravesite, the preacher said a short prayer. The casket, which had been removed from the hearse upon its arrival and set on straps that held it aloft above the grave. After the ceremony, the straps were unwound and the casket slowly descended into the ground. I turned away, unable to watch. Shavonda held me tight as we made m=our way back to the Jeep.

As we were putting the kids and Miracle into their car seats, Grandpap came over to us. "We're having a little buffet back at the church. I'd appreciate it if you and your family would be there." I shook his hand and told him that we'd come. He smiled at me, then at Shavonda, then turned and hobbled back to the rest of the Duncan family.