“Call me Momma Hazel.”
They walk in, looking around, comparing the colonel’s yard to this one, I imagine. My mother’s house is spacious but has only two rooms, and a cloth partition conceals the sleeping area in the corner of the largest room. Katherine and Vivian Jean are polite, but their eyes widen. The colonel’s yard offers many more amenities: carved furniture, wooden planks instead of beaten earth for the flooring, and no woven grass mats scattered about like here. The colonel’s walls have art pieces, beaded belts and headbands, machetes and hunting tools, and above a main rafter, as a sign of legacy, hangs an honored weapon from long ago—a powder horn.
Apart from four machetes and some gourds, I would never call them art. The only wall ornaments are garden tools and more machetes.
“Mi just made breakfast. Sit. Sit,” my mother orders.
Katherine and Vivian Jean obey, but I can appreciate the flash of concern in their eyes.
“Don’t worry, breakfast won’t be anywhere as spicy as last night’s stew.”
We take our seats. There isn’t a proper dining table inside, but there is more seating outside near the firepit my mother uses for cooking. I help my mother fill some bowls with sweet potatoes, taro, saltfish, and johnnycakes.
“Thank you so much. It feels so much less hectic here,” Vivian Jean says.
“You asked my Zinzi about Maxi Green?”
Vivian Jean looks away shyly. “She’s Jamaican and from Accompong, but she left many years ago.”
“Zinzi told me you thought your maid, Maxi, was related to us.”
“I’m sorry. I did think that, but Zinzi set me straight.”
“Zinzi thinks she knows everything,” Momma says, “but she doesn’t know everything about her father’s side.”
I lean forward on my stool. “I know enough.”
Momma hisses. “You don’t know this story.” She hobbles around, picking up bowls. “Maxi was exiled for betraying our community’s morals.”
Vivian Jean half-chuckles. “I would have never thought her capable of such a thing. …” She seems about to continue but stops. “What did she do?”
Seated nearby, Katherine takes Vivian Jean’s hand. “It’s okay. Whatever happened is long past.”
“That’s all you need to know,” Zinzi’s mother interjects. “The rest is a family matter.”
“You can’t just leave it like that, Momma Hazel. We’re too curious about what happened.”
My mother scowls. “Okay, since I’m sick, I wouldn’t want the story to end with me.”
“Momma,” I groan. Sometimes, she can be dramatic.
“Let me tell it,” she begins, “She was loose and kept heading to the beach to meet sailor boys. And you remember when Momma Jayden came here that last time?”
“Yes, I do,” I reply.
“Well, it was to help that girl Maxi, her niece, get off the island.”
“Why would she need herbs to get off the island?” I ask.
“Don’t brush aside the power of herbs and potions,” my mother says sharply. “She slept with a man she met on the beach, bringing disgrace to her family. Worse, she never showed remorse. Banishment was the only option. Momma Jayden wanted to protect her, to cleanse her spirit, and ensure safe passage for her voyage.”
I had to ask the question. It has been on my mind for years. “Then why didn’t I ever see Momma Jayden again?”
“She went with her to America. She was her talisman.”
“Maxi never mentioned her.” A sad expression grows on Vivian Jean’s face.
“She died shortly after they arrived in New York City,” my mother says, having taken the bowls and using a pitcher of water to rinse them over a large bin.
