Chapter 2 #3
“Baby J, look at this article about the first African-American to join a circus.”
I grinned at Mama’s redirect keeping Justus from correcting Granny and reminding her we were the ones who’d braved dust and cobwebs on her behalf.
I joined my family and looked on as Granny led us through page after page of her precious memory keepers. Her contentment was transformative. I reached for the cardboard box, hoping to find more books to supersize her peace as well as her smile.
The box held only one other book. The remaining space was commandeered by objects from Granny’s grand fashion era.
Silk scarves. Lace gloves. An empty bottle of Chanel No.
5. Purses. Painstakingly wrapped costume jewelry circa, as Granny would say, when she was young and sassy.
And a badly faded flier announcing a fashion show at the now defunct Miss Maeve’s Dress Emporium.
Thinking it odd to find these things here versus one of the trunks in which she kept such accoutrements, I unearthed a bomb ass patent leather clutch that was very Diahann Carroll.
I need a fancy gig to attend just so I can rock this. I loved anything vintage.
“Here, Mom. This smells funny. You can put it in the box if you want.” Justus removed that velvet pouch from about his neck and extended it to me.
Whatever it contained made its heft slight yet somehow solid. Its odor was earthy, old. My fingers immediately itched when he dropped it in my hand.
Girl, you better open it!
I grinned, imagining my nosey sisters urging me to get in Granny’s business. So, I did.
Slowly, I opened the sachet. Inside was a lace-trimmed handkerchief with the initials N.A.
embroidered on it. My hand switched from itching to pulsing as I undraped its folds to find a large elaborate sapphire brooch nestled within.
Knowing whether the stone was genuine took a backseat as a wave of warmth spread up my arm and down into my fingertips
“Ooo, let me see that, Nette.” Mama took the brooch from my hand, dispelling its warmth in the process.
“I remember this! When we were little Bert and I used to play dress-up with Mama’s things.
” Her smile held fond memories. “When we put her jewelry on you couldn’t tell us nothing.
But Mama never let us play with this. Queen Lazuli was off limits. ”
“Nana Nettie’s spirit ain’t nothing to play with.” Granny’s voice was suddenly strong, without the tremulousness of her condition. She sounded like her authentic, clear-minded self. Assertive yet gracious.
Mama and I exchanged a look as Granny took the brooch and returned it to the handkerchief I held.
I cradled it gently. “Was this Nana Nettie’s? And this isn’t sapphire? It’s lapis lazuli?”
“Nettie Amos is here.”
Prickly heat skittered across my palm at Granny’s claim of her great-great-grandmother, for whom I was named. I shuddered at its resurgence and fiery intensity and extended the brooch to Granny.
She inched to the edge of the sofa and pointed at the stone dominating the brooch’s center. “It’s yours to open.”
I shook off a shiver as Justus crowded against me, crouched towards the antique jewelry.
“Mom, there’s a latch.”
“It’s a veritable treasure chest.” Granny pointed at the tiny clasp near the stone’s base, inviting me to press it.
Feeling like an extra on an Indiana Jones set, I prayed this jewel was absent of vengeful spirits while manipulating the clasp.
It took a few tries before a tiny click sounded and the stone opened on a hidden hinge, revealing a circular cavity in the mooring of the metal backing to which it was affixed.
An indentation was filled with a pale, powdery substance.
“What’s that?” my mother and son questioned simultaneously.
Granny said nothing, merely looked at me, waiting.
I did like Shay said earlier and “faked brave” as I examined its contents. I sniffed it. Eyeballed it. Had the nerve to tap a finger in it and bring it to my lips.
Granny’s words interrupted my tasting. “Those’re the birthing ashes of my great-great-grandmother, Nettie Amos.”
I managed not to gag as my mother and I shrilled, “Birthing ashes?”
I’d reached my fill of spooky for the day. I’d gone from seeking memory keepers to ingesting my ancestors? My voice was low, slow, and uncertain. “Is this dried placenta?”
Granny angled her body to look past me as if focusing on the unseen.
“It’s birthing ashes,” she stubbornly repeated, returning the stone to its closed position.
“My mother always told me it’s Nana Nettie’s water sac.
” She smiled and pointed towards whatever arrested her attention in the distance. “Grandma Zinnie helped you find it.”
I fought the urge to turn to see who or what might be present. “Who’s Grandma Zinnie?”
“Didn’t you find her dressed in all her finery?”
“You mean the dress dummy?”
“Watch it now! Wasn’t nothing dumb about Grandma Zinnie. But, yes, those are clothes just like hers on my mannequin. My mama had a photo of her when I was a little thing, but I never tried my hand at making them until Grandma Zinnie visited me wearing them a few years back.”
“Granny, who is Grandma Zinnie?” I dared not ask who’d dressed the mannequin.
“You were too busy escaping the attic to properly make her acquaintance?” Chills raced through me as my grandmother cupped my face and leaned in, smiling softly. “Without Grandma Zinnie this family wouldn’t exist. She’s the one who saved us.”