Under the Peach Tree

by Charlay Marie

Genres: African American Christian; African American Urban; African American Women's Fiction

Synopsis

Hope grew up feeling ugly and unloved. Called "the devil" by her mother, she was not allowed to attend church on Sundays with her twin sister, Faith. At fifteen, Hope is wild. She no longer cares about her mother, or anyone else for that matter. When her mother kicks her out of the house, Hope spends several days homeless and alone—until she runs into an elderly blind prophetess named May. She offers Hope a gift from God: a new home where she is taught the true meaning of love, family, and God. When Hope meets Dante, a quirky yet attractive boy who visits with May every day, her life changes even more. With young love in the air, Hope feels like nothing can go wrong. But just when she thinks her life is perfect, she learns that May is dying of cancer. Hope must learn how to conquer her deepest fears and have faith that all things work together for the good of God. With everything she's experienced in her young life, will she be able to trust God?

Release date: May 27, 2014

Publisher: Urban Christian

Print pages: 288

Sample

Even at the age of nine, I understood there was a favorable difference between me and my twin, Faith. Children shouldn’t have to experience favoritism from their parents, but I did. Momma would always put Faith in the prettiest of dresses, brush her fine hair into a silky bun with a little ribbon, and get her toenails painted. Faith got to go to church with Grandma on Sundays while I stayed at home, nappy-headed and dirty from fighting the neighborhood boys. I didn’t get the chance to know who Jesus was, but Faith did.

Maybe that’s why Momma named her Faith and me Hope, because faith is greater than hope. Everyone has hope, but it’s their faith that sees them through. Momma must’ve known early on that the lighter twin, who came first out of her womanhood, would be the good twin.

I remember the day when I realized the difference between the two of us. Faith was twirling in the living room, admiring her pretty pink dress as Momma combed through my naps. I watched her twirl, wishing I had a dress that pretty, wishing Momma would put my hair in that bun.

I looked at her black shiny dress shoes scuffing the wood floor. Faith’s socks were white and pink with pretty ruffles at the top. She looked like a poster child from an Easter catalog. Momma always put her hair in a bun because it was too thick and curly to manage. My hair was too short and nappy for a bun, so all Momma would do was put it into a few pigtails and snap barrettes at the ends. My hair used to stick up each and every way; I remember the kids making fun of me for it. But Momma never cared about me; she’d still send me outside looking like a boy.

“Hope, watch how my dress puffs up when I twirl!” Faith said, demonstrating her perfect spin again. It reminded me of the ballerinas I watched on TV. I tried to jump up and twirl with her, but Momma snatched my hair and yanked my head back.

“Sit down, Hope!” she warned, her voice low and steady. It was the voice she used whenever a spanking was around the corner. The memory of my most recent butt whoopin’ made my bottom sting. “I’m ’bout tired of you.”

Faith stopped twirling and took a seat on the couch. She was waiting for Grandma to come pick her up for church. Grandma usually came on time unless she was trying to look extra spiffy for the church folk. I once heard that everybody at the church tried to out-dress each other. Grandma used to think she was so fly but I always thought she looked casket ready. I once told her that and got smacked upside my head.

“Momma,” I said carefully, making sure my head didn’t move an inch. I didn’t want to get smacked with the brush. “Can I go to church with Faith today?”

“You don’t got a dress.”

“I can wear one of Faith’s dresses. She got a lot,” I said enthusiastically.

“You too chunky for her dresses. If you try to squeeze into it, them church men’s gonna look at you the wrong way.”

I didn’t understand what she meant. Yes, I was chunkier than Faith. Momma said I was already starting to develop at nine, but I fit in those dresses fine whenever Faith would let me play dress-up in her room.

“Can you buy me a pretty dress, then?”

Momma smirked. “So you can go to church and act a fool? No. Your grandma will only take one of you, the good twin. She said so herself.”

Her words stung but I knew she was right. Grandma didn’t seem to like me as much as Faith. I folded my arms at the same time Faith did, and her face also fell to match my own, hurt.

Later that day, after Grandma picked up Faith for church, I went outside in a shirt and dirty jeans to play. Momma knew I was rough outside and didn’t dare dress me in anything pretty. I fought too much. I had to. The neighborhood boys always picked on me. Faith said it was because they liked me, but I didn’t believe that. They always said I was ugly.

I was sitting near my favorite peach tree, listening to the church choir sing. It was the typical white country church with white pillars, a big bell that sat on the roof, a white picket fence, and a cemetery in the backyard. I always wanted to see what was inside, but Momma would never let me go, and since I couldn’t go, I just enjoyed it from the outside. I had a favorite song they would sing almost every Sunday. The church sat half a mile down the street, but in the country, loud noises traveled and fast.

“‘Nobody knows de trouble I’ve seen . . . nobody knows de trouble but Jesus!’” I didn’t know who Jesus was, but they always sang about him. “‘Nobody knows de trouble I’ve seen, Glory Hallelujah!’”

“Shut yo’ butt up, singing like you at church!”

I didn’t have to turn around and look to know who stood behind me. It was Jordan and his four friends. I heard them snickering in the background. I finally turned around and met trouble with my head high.

“Well, one day I will sing at church and all you ugly boys gonna feel stupid,” I spat. They didn’t scare me. Jordan still had the black eye I gave him a few days ago. Just remembering the butt whoopin’ I got by my momma made me shiver, but I’d do it again in a heartbeat. Boys like him deserved to get beat up every day.

“No, you ain’t, ugly. I heard my momma talkin’ on the phone about how your grandmomma only takes the pretty twin to church to show off in front of them church folk! My momma said you can’t go to church no how because the devil can’t enter the holy place.”

The word “devil” triggered something deep inside, angering me beyond belief. I had been called the devil too many times in my life. I noticed a thick rock lying by the tree. I picked it up and threw it at his head. I smiled as the rock made impact with a loud thud. I sneered as Jordan fell to the ground, holding his head. “Don’t nobody call me the devil except my momma!”

At the time, I didn’t know that it was wrong even for Momma to say it.

“Here,” Faith said, handing me some ice for my cheek. She had changed out of her Sunday dress and set it on my bed. She started playing with her fingers the way she always did whenever she had something on her mind. “I heard Momma tell Grandma that she had to smack the mess out of you because you busted Jordan’s head open, so I brought you some ice. What did he do to you, Hope?”

I placed the ice on my cheek, temporarily relieved. Momma had done a lot more than just smack me, but I didn’t tell Faith that. “Jordan and his friends came messing with me today, talking about how I can’t go to church because I’m the devil.” I paused, feeling sadness sweep over me. I heard Momma say it so many times but I didn’t think other people would say it too. If everyone thought I was the devil, then it must’ve been true. “Faith, do you think I’m the devil?”

“No, Hope, you ain’t the devil. You an angel,” Faith said. She sat down on my bed and began playing with the dress she set on my bed earlier. “The preacher at church always talking about the devil; said he was an angel that fell because he was really bad.”

“Well what did he fall off of?”

Faith laughed. “He fell from heaven, which is where God and all the good angels live. It’s where you and me gonna go live one day.”

I thought about what she said for a moment and then turned to her. “Why would God let me go to heaven if Momma won’t even let me go to church?”

“Well, the preacher said that God loves everybody.”

“Does that mean Momma don’t love me?” I asked.

“No, Momma loves you, just in a different way than she loves me.” Faith was so sure of it and reminded me every day. Momma loved me, just differently. Well, even at nine years old I knew loving two kids unequally wasn’t right. But there was nothing I could do about it except try to make Momma love me. I sighed, watching Faith set her pink dress in my lap. “Here, I wanna give you my new dress.”

I held back my tears, which was something I learned to do whenever I got picked on or whooped, and that was often. Momma whooped me at least two times a day. Sometimes I didn’t even know what I did.

“But Momma just got this dress for you,” I said.

“I want you to have it. It’s too big on me, and I think it will look prettier on you.”

I stood up and began undressing as quickly as I could. Faith always knew what to do to make me happy again. It’s how it’d always been. I was always down and Faith would come along to pick me back up. Whenever those boys called me ugly, it was Faith who told me I was pretty. When my momma would call me fat, Faith would tell me I was the perfect size. Whenever Momma said I had nappy hair and wished my hair was like Faith’s, my sister would tell me that there was no such thing as good or bad hair. Deep down, I always believed everyone else. Faith was just being nice to me. It’s what sisters did. They looked out for each other.

After I had the dress on, I turned around to Faith so she could see. She examined me and smiled like I was the most beautiful person in the world.

“It looks so pretty on you!” she said, even though I couldn’t zip it all the way up in the back. “You look like a baby doll! Do you wanna play momma and daughter?”

I nodded cheerfully. It was my favorite game because Faith always pretended to be the momma I always wished I had. Faith held me in her arms and kissed my sore cheek. “You’re so pretty, baby. Momma’s little girl. I love you so much!”

“I love you too, Momma!” I smiled and melted into my twin’s arms.

At twelve years old, I was still defending myself against the neighborhood kids. “Fight! Fight! Fight! Fight!” I heard all the kids screaming around me, but I only saw big, fat Dee Dee cracking her knuckles. She was Jordan’s bigger sister and was twice my size. She was baldheaded and tried to wear a ponytail but her hair wouldn’t stay in it, so, instead, it stuck out at all places. She was known for bullying all of the younger kids around the way, but I was never scared of her. I was big for my age too, and would beat her up like I did her brother.

A week ago, Jordan asked me to make Faith be his girlfriend, and if I didn’t, he’d get his sister to beat me up. Momma told Faith that she could have a boyfriend when she turned sixteen, and she still had four years to go. Momma told me that I couldn’t have a boyfriend until I was eighteen. I didn’t understand why until Faith explained it was because I already had big boobs at twelve, and that Momma said I already looked sixteen and would probably be the first to have a baby, so no boyfriends until I was grown.

I didn’t think it was fair though. Momma always had an excuse for why Faith got to do things that I couldn’t and half of the time it never made sense.

“Why you look scared now, Hope? You wasn’t scared all those times you fought my little brother,” Dee Dee said, breaking my reverie.

I smacked my lips and rolled my eyes sarcastically. “Dee Dee, ain’t nobody even scared of you. All you gonna do is try to sit on me with your fat self!” I heard everybody laugh, which added fuel to the fire I was already standing in. Down the road, I could see Faith running toward us. Momma still had her dressed in those pretty dresses. I admired how it danced in the wind as she ran. I still wasn’t able to wear dresses, but I guess pants and a T-shirt was the best thing to fight in.

My attention snapped back to Dee Dee as she clenched her fist, ready to punch me. I looked back at Faith, who was just feet away. Her shouts temporarily distracted everyone.

“Hope!” She ran up to me, oblivious to the fight that I was about to be in. She bent down, resting her hands on her knees while trying to catch her breath. “Hope, the street lights are on. Momma’s gonna kill you if she finds out you’re still outside! Come on!” Faith grabbed my arm and started dragging me away.

“Look, she’s running away, scared to get her butt beat!” Dee Dee shouted as we ran down the street. But I didn’t care; if Momma knew I was still outside, she’d do far worse to me than Dee Dee ever could.

Faith and I snuck into the house through the back door. The kitchen smelled like fresh rolls and pork chops. My stomach started to growl, I hadn’t eaten a thing all day. But that wasn’t unusual; we never had food in the house. Or maybe it was because Momma told me I needed to stop eating so much because I was chunky. I used to hate watching Faith eat snacks and candy while I had nothing.

“Come on!” Faith whispered, after peeking around the wall to see if Momma was sitting in the living room. “She looks like she’s sleeping.”

She grabbed my arm and pulled me down the hallway. Once we were in her room, she flopped down on her bed and relaxed. “If Momma knew you were still outside, she would’ve blacked your eye!”

I laughed. “But she didn’t. She probably fell asleep watching her shows. You know she wanted to see if Bobby was going to leave Christina for Angie.”

“I watched it with her.” Faith laughed. “And Bobby did leave Christina but only because she’s pregnant by Bobby’s brother. And why were you outside with all those kids?”

“Big, fat Dee Dee wanted to beat me up because I won’t let Jordan be your boyfriend.”

Faith’s eyes widened. “Jordan wants to be my boyfriend?”

“Yes, and Momma said you can’t date until your sixteen. Plus, Jordan is ugly!”

“No, he’s not! All of the girls in the seventh and eighth grade like him, too! I heard an eighth grader saying she wanted to do it to him!”

“Ew!” I started to choke, like I was dying.

“And he’s sweet to me,” Faith said in a dreamlike state.

“Well, he’s mean to me, and I don’t want you talking to him!”

Faith was quiet for a minute. I watched her fiddle with her fingers in contemplation.

“What is it, Faith?”

“Nothing,” she mumbled, keeping her eyes averted.

“No, tell me! You never keep anything from me.”

Faith sighed. “I started my period today.”

I laughed. “About time! What did Momma say?”

“She was happy, I guess. Said I’m finally becoming a woman.”

I frowned. “Momma whooped my butt when she found out when I started. Remember? She said I was doing the nasty with them little boys because eleven-year-old girls don’t get periods and it had to be my cherry, whatever that means. And when the doctor told her it was my period, she didn’t apologize for beating me.”

“I’m sorry about that, Hope,” Faith said, as if it was her fault.

“Why do you always apologize for Momma’s actions?”

Faith shrugged. “Everybody deserves an apology. When I went to church last Sunday, the preacher said everybody should also forgive those who sin against us.”

“What’s sin?”

“It’s when people do bad things that Jesus tells them not to do. He has a lot of rules that we’re supposed to listen to. Like we’re not supposed to steal, or lie, or kill, and we have to love God first,” she explained.

“How many rules are there?”

“Too many to count.”

I nodded and tried to picture the preacher preaching the words that my twin had the privilege of hearing. I learned at an early age to hate church. If God wanted me to go, He’d have me there. But I still sat outside near the church every Sunday and sang all the church songs. Mostly because I loved to sing; partly because I didn’t want to feel left out.

Momma didn’t go to church either. Whenever I asked her, she would say because it’s boring and her momma used to make her go to church as a little girl. She told me I better be thankful that I didn’t have to sit there and listen to an old man talk about a God who she never heard nor saw. She said that maybe when she got old and had no choice she would finally set foot back in church.

No church attendance: it’s something both me and my momma had in common.

“Faith, do you think that God knows who I am?”

She smiled. “He knows all His children. At least that’s what the preacher said.”

“So, God and Momma was together?”

Faith laughed. “No! God is Momma’s father too!”

“I don’t get it,” I stated, confused.

“Me either, but I’ll ask the preacher next Sunday and tell you.”

I lowered my head. “Faith, do you think Momma will start letting me go to church?”

“Ask her.”

A week later, I finally worked up enough nerve to ask my mother. She was cooking breakfast Sunday morning, singing an Earth, Wind & Fire song. She was in a very good mood, probably because she no longer had to worry about doing our hair; Faith did both of ours. She didn’t have to worry about picking out our clothes or getting us dressed. All she did on Sunday was cook and watch TV.

Being twelve years old also meant that I no longer got whooped. Instead, she’d just smack me upside my head and send me to my room with no dinner. I preferred the beatings. I also felt like my mother never took the time to even see if I was in the wrong whenever she accused me of doing something. She never heard my side of the story. To her, I was guilty with no chance of being proven innocent. I was the bad twin, the fat twin, the nappy-haired twin, the devil twin. Faith was the good twin, the sweet twin, the pretty twin, the polite twin, the angel. Momma said we we. . .