"Wish I had a Bible chapter to give you, honey, but I went by the 2 0 bus station and gave away my last Deuteronomy and two Lamentations. Met a woman going to New Orleans. Any woman on her way to New Orleans can't have too many Lamentations. But I don't have a chapter left. I feel real bad about that."

"Oh, that's okay."

"I'll get some more run off tomorrow. I'll print you out an Obadiah.

Obadiah won't confuse you much. But I'm not going to leave you empty-handed now, honey. Come with me."

Sister Husband wheeled and started for the door, then turned and motioned to Novalee.

"Come on, Ruth Ann."

Novalee wasn't quite sure why she followed the blue-haired woman out the door and across the parking lot, but she figured it couldn't bring her much more trouble than she already had. Sister Husband marched her way to a banged-up blue Toyota pickup rigged to resemble a Conestoga wagon with a canvas cover over the bed. But the canvas was torn and the wire arches supporting it were bent, leaving the top drooping in the middle. On the side of the truck was a sign in white lettering: THE WELCOME WAGON.

Sister Husband opened the door and pulled out a straw basket with a red bow tied to the handle. She held the basket in front of her and pulled herself up tall and straight, like a soldier at attention.

"Let me be among the first to welcome you home," she said with the cadence and inflection of a bad public speaker. "And on behalf of the city, I would like to present you with this basket of gifts from the merchants and bankers to make this, your homecoming, as pleasant as possible."

"Thank you." Novalee took the basket.

"Look here, Ruth Ann. It's got matches, a phone book, emery Where the Heart Is 2 1.

boards. Here's some discount coupons and a map of the city. There's just one thing though. See this appointment book?"

Novalee nodded.

"I ran out of these last week. This was the only one I could find for myself, so I wrote two or three of my own appointments in there. My AA meetings. But if you aren't an alcoholic, then you'll know those dates aren't for you."

"No ma'am, I'm not."

"Good. I think that's good. But remember, we all fall. That's what the late Brother Husband used to say."

"Sister Husband. Can I take your picture?"

If the question surprised her, Sister Husband didn't show it. "Why, Ruth Ann. How sweet," she said. She took off her gla.s.ses and sucked in her stomach until Novalee snapped the camera. They watched together as the picture developed.

"Oh, looks like my eyes are crossed. I always take such awful pictures."

"No, it's good."

"You really think so?"

"Yes, I do."

"You're sweet, Ruth Ann. Real sweet."

Sister Husband gave Novalee a quick hug, then she climbed in the Toyota and started it up.

"I live on Evergreen, Ruthie. You'll find it on your map. Last house on the left. You come out there anytime you can. And bring that baby! You two will always be welcome."

"Thank you, Sister Husband. And I'm gonna put this picture in a frame to keep for my baby."

Sister Husband drove away, but Novalee stood in the parking lot 2 2 and waved at the little covered wagon heading west until it was out of sight.

Back inside the store, Novalee stopped at a wooden porch swing displayed near the door. She ran her hand across the dark wood and thought of cool yellow porches and morning glories thick on white trellises.

"Old man out on Sticker Creek makes porch swings out of hickory."

She turned toward the voice and the big black man sitting on her bench.

"Those won't last," he said. "Threads'll strip in that soft wood.

You want a swing that'll last, go out on Sticker Creek."

"Where's that?" she asked.

"You new in town?"

"Yes. No. Well, I haven't been here very long."

"A newcomer then."

He smiled and scooted over on the bench, an invitation for her to join him.

He was the blackest man Novalee had ever seen, so black his skin reflected light. She thought if she leaned close enough, she could see herself in his face. He was dressed in a suit and had a briefcase on the floor beside him. Novalee had never seen a black man with a briefcase before.

She put her plastic beach bag and the welcome basket between them, giving herself little room at the other end of the bench.

"My name's Whitecotton. Moses Whitecotton."

"Oh." She started to tell him hers, but changed her mind.

"Some of my family shortened their name to White. But that's not their name. Name's Whitecotton."

"Why'd they change it?"

2 3.

"They found some shame in it. Said it was a slave name. But it's theirs. And it's mine."

Moses Whitecotton was still for a moment, staring off at something Novalee couldn't see.

"Name's important," he said. "Keeps track of who you are."

"I guess so."

"That's right. Name's an important thing. You picked a name for your baby yet?"

"No, but I got some I'm thinking about."

"Well, take your time. Can't rush a thing like that. Name's too important to hurry."

Novalee reached into her beach bag and pulled out a package of Life Savers, then she put the bag on the floor, under the bench. The top Life Saver was green, her favorite, but she offered it to Moses Whitecotton.

"Thanks, but I'm a diabetic. Can't take sugar."

"You know," she said as she popped the Life Saver into her mouth.

"I've been thinking about Wendi, with an i, or maybe Candy, if it's a girl."

"Get your baby a name that means something. A st.u.r.dy name.

Strong name. Name that's gonna withstand a lot of bad times. A lot of hurt."

"I never thought of that."

"I used to be an engraver . . . trophies, plaques. Cut gravestones, too. You do a thing like that, you think about names."

"Yeah, I guess you would."

"See, the name you pick out is gonna be with your baby when nothing else is. When n.o.body is. 'Cause you ain't always gonna be there."

2 4.

"Oh, I'm never gonna leave her. The way some people just leave, go right out of your life. I'm never gonna do that."

"But you're not gonna live forever. You're gonna die. We're all gonna die. Me. Her. You."

Novalee swallowed her Life Saver.

"You're dying right now. Right this minute." He looked at his watch, said, "Right this second," then tapped it with his finger. "See there? That second pa.s.sed. It's gone. Not gonna come again. And while I'm talking to you, every second I'm talking, a second is pa.s.sing.

Gone. Count them up. Count them down. They're gone. Each one bringing you closer to your dying time."

"I don't like to think about that."

"You ever think about this? Every year you live, you pa.s.s the anniversary of your death. Now, you don't know what day it is, of course. You follow what I'm saying?"

Novalee nodded, but just barely, as if too much movement might break her concentration.

"Look here. Say you're gonna die on December eighth. Course, you don't know know the date because you're still alive. But every year you live, you pa.s.s December eighth without knowing it's the anniversary of your death. You see what I mean?" the date because you're still alive. But every year you live, you pa.s.s December eighth without knowing it's the anniversary of your death. You see what I mean?"

"Yeah." Novalee was wide-eyed, stunned by this startling new idea. "I'd never thought of that."

"No, not a lot of folks do. But listen. You're gonna die. But your name's not. No. It's gonna be written in somebody's Bible, printed in some newspaper. Cut into your gravestone. See, that name has a history."

"And home is the place where your history begins," she said softly.

2 5.

"And that history is gonna be there when you're not."

He turned his palms up, hands open . . . empty. He had given her all he could and she had taken it.

"Here," he said. He picked up his briefcase and while he adjusted it on his lap, Novalee moved the Welcome Wagon basket to the other side of her and scooted over next to Moses Whitecotton. The briefcase was full of pictures.

"Why do you have all of those?"

"I'm a photographer now. Go around to stores and take pictures of babies."

"Can I see some?"

He shuffled through a dozen pictures. Babies smiling, frowning, crying. Brown babies, black babies, white babies. Curly haired, blue-eyed, red-haired and bald.

"You bring your baby in here a few months from now, I'll take her picture for free."

"You will?"

"Sure. Here's what I'm looking for."

Moses Whitecotton handed Novalee a satin baby book. "We give these away with a hundred-dollar order." He opened the first page. "That's where you write in your baby's name. Be sure it's the right one."

"I will."

He rea.s.sembled the pictures in his briefcase and snapped it shut.

"Mr. Whitecotton, could I take your picture?"

"Mine?"

She nodded.

"Sure."

Novalee took the camera out of the beach bag, stood in front of him and snapped the picture.

2 6.

Just then, a young man, blond and polished, stepped between them.

"Hi, I'm Reggie Lewis. My girl said you were waiting to see me? Is it Mose?"

"No. It's Moses Whitecotton."

"Oh. Okay. You want to come back to my office?" Reggie walked off, leading the way.

Moses Whitecotton offered his hand to Novalee. "Good luck."

His hand was st.u.r.dy, strong and Novalee liked the way it felt to have her hand in his.