Maizie lifted her head and turned to Mary. “Like what?”
“You said you have no one. That’s not true.”
“Who? Who do I have? I have no mother, no father, no one.”
“You have us. Maizie, this is your home. You may always come back.”
“Well, Maizie Bean, I been to these places,” said Meadowlark as he ran his finger along the circled towns on Maizie’s map. “I learned some real, honest blues down there. Played piano with a cat named Muddy Waters. His name like that muddy ol’ Mississippi, yessir. But if this map was your mama’s guide to Glidewell Ranch, looks like it was the Yazoo River that haunts your memories. Look here, all these towns are on the Yazoo or near the Yalobusha River. Those are the lazy rivers you been singing and dreaming about.”
Mary noticed that just north of a place called Vicksburg was a tiny symbol of a house on stilts. The town of Vicksburg was circled and there was a large, heavily drawn X next to the name of the town. “Maizie, looks like Vicksburg was where your mama started. Do you think that could be where your mama and daddy are from?”
Maizie shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“It makes sense. The X is telling,” James interjected, shaking the ice cubes of his after-dinner drink as he sat back down on a cowhide chair surrounding the low table. “You know the adage X marks the spot? Look, no other towns, although they are circled, have an X. I think Vicksburg is a very important town in your mama’s life. And you and your mama ended up a long way north of Vicksburg.”
“That’s true,” said Maizie, her eyes glued to the map.
“Up a lazy river, child. Don’t forget.” Meadowlark moved closer to Maizie and with his index finger, he traced the river all the way to Tennessee.
Maizie watched, shaking her head, as his finger zigged and zagged along. “I don’t know why my mama never talked about where she was from. She said I was a child of the earth and I was from love, goodness, and light. She’d say, ‘Maizie you aren’t from nowhere. You are here is all’.”
“Mamas sure do know how to say it. But sometimes Mamas just can’t say the truth. ’Cause you’s not from nowhere, Maizie Bean. You is from somewhere. And it is comfortin’ to know where that somewhere is. Why you think your mama not want you to know where you from, Maizie Bean?”
Maizie shrugged a second time and remained quiet.
“Perhaps she was trying to save you from something painful, Maizie. That’s what mamas do,” Mary suggested.
“She told me about my daddy, how he was murdered. So she didn’t save me from that, and that was painful.”
“What’s your daddy’s name?” asked Meadowlark.
“I only know his last name was Freedman. My mama only called him ‘your daddy.’ ‘You got yourself a fine daddy,’ she would say.”
There was a deep silence as the three adults exchanged glances.
“Whenever I asked for more, my mama would stiffen and then she’d say that I knew all that I needed to know. ‘Does no good to hold on to the past,’ she would say. ‘I’ve learned that the hard way,’ she’d say,” explained Maizie. “After a while, when I was older, I just didn’t ask anymore.”
James was holding his chin and staring at the map with great interest. Suddenly he slapped his hand on the map. “There are answers here. More than we realize. Notice all the towns that are circled, some have a little house with a door and on some of those doors there is a dollar sign.”
“Well, I’d bet that your mama made money in those houses doing work of some kind,” offered Meadowlark. “There’s a dollar sign on the house with stilts.”
All of a sudden, James leaned down very close to the map and said, “Look here, next to the house with stilts there are four hash marks. They are tiny, but they are there.” All lowered their heads to look where James was pointing. Mary ran to her office to grab her trusty magnifying glass. Meadowlark took the glass and studied where James was pointing. The group of eager detectives moved around the map looking from every angle, hoping to discover its secrets.
“You’re right, Mr. Glidewell. I do wonder what those marks could mean,” said Meadowlark.
James was quiet for a while and then he surmised, “Hash marks are generally used to count. I would guess that the hash marks represent units of time or events.” Then he ran his finger to each circled town on the map and as he did he noticed other hash marks. “Look here at Grenada and Holly Springs. These townships have one hash mark, and each one has a small house with a door and a dollar sign. These towns are important too.”
Mary paced the room. “Could it mean that Grenada and Holly Springs were towns where you all lived? Maybe your mama had a job? Could that be it?”
“I know Grenada. Has lots of those plantation mansions. Could be some of those folks needed help. Lots of cotton grown there before the Civil War, but not so much now,” Meadowlark said.
“How old were you when you got to Springfield, Maizie?” asked Mary.
“I’m not sure, maybe six. It was when I started school. I remember that.”
Leon walked into the room carrying a brandy decanter and four small brandy snifters. “Bonsoir. Brandy, anyone?” he asked. The amateur detectives responded with a nod and Leon began to pour.
“If you were born in Vicksburg in 1915,” began James, “it took your mama six years to get to Springfield. So, if those hash marks mean years, she spent four years near Vicksburg, and one year in Grenada and Holly Springs. That adds up to six years accounted for.” The adults all nodded and then shook their heads. “Yet, I know, the hashmarks could mean something else,” James added.
The room was
