Don't Want No Sugar

DON'T WANT NO SUGAR

The Heritage Series

One Day I Saw A black King

Don’t Want No Sugar

You Gotta Sin To Get Saved

Somebody Pick Up My Pieces

Thank You!

If you read the original series, thank you for revisiting this special collection. And if it’s new to you, I sincerely hope you enjoy the stories of these characters as much as I have.

Foreward

Thank you for exploring the re-release of the second book of my One Day I Saw A Black King Heritage Series.

Don’t Want No Sugar Was originally written in 2003 and published in 2004. I must admit, revisiting this book after so many years, gave me pause in releasing it again.

In this book, Mattie King is a fourteen-year-old girl who gets in over her head, to say the least. She was a girl, exploring adult relationships in a way that no teenage girl should.

When I first wrote the book, I did so, thinking that this story unfolded in a different time, a different kind of world, and that her situation with Adam was the exception and not the rule for the kind of relationship the two of them shared.

No matter the circumstances, I don’t believe that any child, in the case of Mattie, is ever responsible for relationships with adults that she/he is too young to fully comprehend and that there is no such thing as consent when it pertains to sexual relationships between children and adults.

For his part, Adam’s mental and emotional disabilities, technically made him even younger than Mattie and was as much a victim of circumstance in some ways as she was.

I write this because it was hard revisiting these people again and I struggled with having to face the dark issues of this book. I am releasing it again, because it is a part of the whole story of a cast of characters that I fell in love with and to leave any part of it out, didn’t seem fair.

The Gravedigger

Bobby Lewis was charred coal-black when they found his body in the bed of Eula May Adams. The house had burned to the ground but no one but that child knew for sure how it had caught fire. Bobby had been a fool after that woman, sneaking out to her house thinking that nobody knew about the two of them, but everybody knew, including his wife. A woman always knows when her man is cheating.

Martha stared at the child, wondering if she'd actually seen her mother kill that man, then concluded that that child had probably seen a whole lot of things growing up in that house.

It was warm for April, and Martha Armstrong was convinced that summer was coming earlier than usual this year. She sat on her porch with Eloise Tyne, fanning herself with the cardboard fan she'd borrowed from the church, trying to stay cool and keep the flies off of her. Martha's old chair creaked eerily as she slowly rocked back and forth. Miss Tyne sat on the top step of the porch, glancing out at the little girl from time to time, fanning herself with her straw hat.

They found her momma over by Cranson Creek yesterday, Martha explained to Eloise, who said she'd come by to check on the girl. But Martha knew better. Miss Tyne was a nosey woman, and she'd trekked her behind all the way over to Martha's just to get into her business. But that was fine. Martha didn't get too many visitors to her place way out on the outskirts of Bueller, so when she saw Miss Tyne coming down the road, it brought a smile to her face. Besides, she always did like Eloise, nosey or not.

Eloise watched Roberta playing with her doll, talking to it like it was a real baby.

She was drivin' that ol' Packard of his. Every­ body know he been seein' that girl fo' years. His wife know too, but she act like she didn't. I don't know why she wanna act like she didn't know.

Martha sighed. Folks know what they wanna know, I suspect. I think she had too many chil'ren to care one way or 'nother 'bout what he did.

Eloise turned to Martha. I hear that gal shot herself in the heart. They found her with the gun layin' in her lap.

There you go again, believin' everything you hear, Miss Tyne. The gal shot herself in the head and blew the back of it clean off. They found the gun on the ground outside the truck where she dropped it.

Martha glanced at Roberta, who'd stopped playing and stared at the two women.

Get outta my mouth, gal. Chil'ren don't belong in grown folk business, she scolded.

Roberta quickly went back to playing.

That woman wasn't right in the head nohow, Martha went on to explain to Miss Tyne. Come up from Beaumont, I think, some years back. I think she had some Creole in her."

Eloise nodded. She look like she might be Creole. Had that good hair.

Martha huffed . It wasn't that good if you got up close 'nuff. It wasn't nowhere near that good, and like I said, she was only part Creole if she was any at all. But she sho' did have some strange ways 'bout her.

Sho’ 'nuff?

Runnin' 'round in her gown late at night, singin' and dancin' and twirlin' 'round in circles like she was havin' a party, and wasn't nobody else invited but her.

Get on.

Chil’— I put my hand on the Bible and swear to it if I have to. Not that I paid no mind to all her carrying ons, you understand. Cain't nobody 'cuse me of stickin' my nose in otha’ folks' busi­ness. I jus' ain't got time for all that. I tends to my own business, which ain't much, mind you, but I ain't up in nobody else's nei­ther.

Martha cast her gaze on Miss Tyne, wondering if she'd caught the subtle hint she'd thrown in her direction. Miss Tyne seemed oblivious, of course.

"I seen him gain' up to that woman's house all the time. Used to try and sneak past here in that truck, hopin' I wouldn't see him, but I saw him. And he'd smile all silly­ like, tip his hat, and say 'Afternoon,. Miss Martha,' like I didn't know what he was up to. He was up at that gal's house damn near every day."

She probably put a root on him, Eloise said matter-of-factly.

Martha looked over at Roberta. That li'l one look jus' like him. Jus' like him. Even mo' than his real chil'ren.

Bobby Lewis was dead long 'fo that house burned to the ground. His heart gave out from what they say, probably 'cause of her.

Martha sucked her teeth and rolled her eyes. Course, 'cause of her. You know how these young women are. Steal away another woman's husband faster than you can blink, and don't give a damn neither. Martha nodded in the direction of Roberta . That li'l gal didn't have nobody. She ain't got no notion of who her peo­ples is or where to find 'em. And 'sides, I needed some help 'round here anyhow, and she a big girl. Big 'nuff to be plenty of help.

I been tellin' you to getchu some help.

I told them county folk she could stay with me since she didn't have nowhere else to go. They was jus' gon' put her in some home somewhere—one of them orphanages. You know black folk don't need to be in no orphanages. White folks liable to do anything to a black chil' in one of them places.

You sho' is got a good heart to you, Martha, Eloise said warmly. Always did have a real good heart.

Martha smiled, swooshed a fly out of her face, and nodded.

Miss Martha was always talking about Mr. Bobby. Roberta would hear her, but most of the time she pretended not to.

She keep talkin' 'bout that fat man with the black eyes, she whispered to her doll, BettAnn. She keep askin' me 'bout him, but I ain't tellin'. It ain't none of her business.

Move on over outta that sun, gal, 'fo you get sores in yo' head, Martha scolded from the porch.

Roberta did as she was told.

Miss Martha had strange ideas that hardly made any sense at all to Roberta. Ideas like the sun burning sores in a person's head. Roberta had never heard of such a thing.

You still scared? You scared to think about him?

Roberta blinked at BettAnn, who knew how to talk without moving her lips. She wished she could say things, too, without moving her lips. She'd tried to with Momma and even Mr. Bobby sometimes, but neither of them ever heard her the way she could hear BettAnn. Of course, they never seemed to hear BettAnn either, which meant that they just weren't listening.

Maybe I was dreamin'? she said to BettAnn.

Naw. It was real. Otherwise you wouldn't be livin' here with Martha. It was real , 'Berta.

Wake up, Bobby Lewis. Wake up- one mo' time, fo' me.

Roberta's mother begged him all the time to open his eyes and get up out of that bed, but he never did. Roberta wished for him to wake up too and take a bath because he did n't smell good at all. She wished he'd wake up so that her mother would finally stop crying long enough to fix Roberta something to eat.

Getchu a biscuit, 'Berta, she'd told her. "Getchu a biscuit or somethin '."

The biscuits had been sitting on the table for days and were too hard to eat. The only thing they were probably good for was skipping on top of the water in the lake, like she'd learned to do with rocks. Her mother didn't care about all that, though. She never cared about anything or anybody but Mr. Bobby whenever he came by the house. This last time, though, he'd come by and stayed too long, refusing to wake up and put his pants back on to leave. He'd stayed past dark, for days, and he'd never stayed past dark before. In the back of her mind Roberta feared he'd stay forever, laying in her mother's bed, with his big belly blowing up like a balloon and smelling bad.

He jus' need a good washin', her mother murmured, carrying the tin basin filled with hot water back into the bed room. Roberta watched as her mother scrubbed Mr. Bobby's skin so hard, she worried that she'd wash it right off of him.

"Lord! You got to fix him," her mother prayed. Even though I ain't right, you got to fix my man.

Yes, Lord, Roberta prayed too. Fix him so he can leave. So I can eat something besides hard biscuits.

Her mother stared at him like she was afraid that he'd disappear if she blinked, and she leaned in to hiss his face. Roberta shivered at the thought of kissing Mr. Bobby because he smelled too bad to kiss.

What the hell you lookin' at? her mother spat. Her eyes were swollen red from the tears that had burned trails down her cheeks. Close my do' and get outta here. We don't want you here, 'Berta. Not today.

Roberta did as she was told. She stood on the other side of the door, listening to the sounds of her mother whimpering, You can't be gone, Bobby. I won't let you leave me.

Her mother raised the hem of her shirt up around her waist and climbed on top of him. Make me feel good, Bobby, she cried . Make me feel good again.

Roberta peered through the keyhole, watching her mother rock back and forth on top of Mr. Bobby, hoping that it would work , that he'd grab hold of her like she'd seen him do before and grunt like one of Mr. Parker's hogs. Roberta waited and watched for any part of him to move, but he never did, so she grabbed BettAnn and went outside to play.

Hours later her mother called her from inside the house, 'Berta. I need you to come on in now.

Yes, ma'am? Roberta said, out of breath, running into the house.

I got someplace I got to go, baby, Eula murmured, sliding on her gloves.

Where we goin', Momma?

Eula slowly bent down and hissed Roberta's forehead. I need you to do somethin' fo' me, 'Berta.

Roberta beamed. Should I put on my new shoes?

I’m goin' by myself. You got to stay here!

Roberta followed her mother into her room. Eula stared down at Bobby, laying bloated in bed.

"I . . . couldn't wash it off , Bobby, she started to sob. I tried but . . . it wouldn't come . . . off."

Eula turned to leave the room and nearly bumped into Roberta standing behind her.

But I don't want to stay here by myself, Momma. Roberta's eyes filled with tears. I’m gon' be scared.

Eula took Roberta by the hand, then slowly led her to where Mr. Bobby lay. You ain't gon' be by yo'self. See him? she said, motioning to Mr. Bobby. "You know who that is? That man is yo' daddy, 'Berta. Her voice quivered. He yo' daddy, and . . . I got to go somewhere. And you . . . he need somebody to look after him, 'Berta."

Roberta waited for him to finally move. He still sleep?

Eula nodded. Yeah, he sleep. Roberta saw tears flood her mother's eyes. He sleep, and as long as he sleep, he mine. He belong to both of us while he sleepin', 'Berta. But the minute he wake up, he ain't ours no mo'. We jus' need to let him rest.

Roberta sat in the chair across the room from where Mr. Bobby slept while her mother drove away in his old truck. She tried not to inhale him and she tried not to fall asleep, but Roberta couldn't help but to do either. When she opened her eyes again the house was dark, except for the light of the moon shining through the window casting a glow on Mr. Bobby.

Momma? She called out. No one answered. Roberta got up from where she'd been sitting, found the lantern on the table next to the bed, and lit it. She raised it up to get a good look at Mr. Bobby.

Mr. Bobby? You wake up yet?

He hadn't moved and Roberta was beginning to believe he never would.

Don't nobody ever sleep this long, Mr. Bobby. Roberta's heart beat slow and deep inside her. But I don't think you sleepin'.

She took a step toward the bed, then screamed at the top of her lungs, hoping that the noise would wake him up. Aaaaaagh!

Mr. Bobby didn't budge.

He ain't gon' wake up, Berta. Maybe he dead.

She looked at BettAnn. You think so?

Like that gray dog you saw on the side of the road. Remember? It wasn't movin' either, even after you kicked it.

Maybe I should kick him?

Roberta frowned. The odor coming from him tasted sickly sweet on her tongue and she gagged. She turned and started to run out of the room. Roberta turned to look at him again, in time to see his eyes sud­denly open. He blinked up at the dark ceiling, then slowly he turned his head to where she stood and stared at her through eyes blacker than oil.

Roberta gasped, clutched tightly to BettAnn, and dropped the lantern on the floor. She ran faster than wind, through the house, and out the front door.

That first night Martha finished bathing Roberta, slipped a gown on over her head that was three sizes too big, then tucked her into the cot against the wall that would become her bed. She stood over with her hands on hips to survey the work she'd done. Roberta had been bathed, her hair greased, plaited, and tied with a rag to keep it in place during the night, and finally tucked into bed.

That was when Roberta asked, When my momma comin' back?

Martha sighed heavily, I don't know when she comin' back, gal. So don't keep askin' me 'bout that.

Martha blew out the lantern on the kitchen table, went into her room, and slammed the door shut between them, leaving Roberta alone to wrestle with Mr. Bobby.

Night after night, he tiptoed around in the dark room, wait­ing until Miss Martha fell asleep before coming for Roberta. She'd begged Martha to please leave the light on, but Miss Martha dis­missed her pleas as nonsense, mumbling under her breath about the high price of kerosene and how she'd be damned if she left the light on all night, in case it should fall over and burn her house down too. So, Roberta had no choice but to keep her eyes wide open, darting them from dark corner to dark corner, hoping to see him before he had a chance to get to her, and praying she'd never see him again, with his bloated belly and black eyes.

She sniffed hard, thinking that he smelled so bad the last time she'd seen him, maybe she'd smell him coming before he could get to her. Mr. Bobby moved too fast for her, though. She could never see him or even smell him, but she heard him, scurrying around on the floor in the kitchen. Roberta held her breath at the sound of him and stretched her eyes even wider to try and find him in the dark. She heard him again, scurrying across the floor like a mouse. Miss Martha had mice in the daylight, but at night Roberta knew that mice slept, so it had to be Mr. Bobby running around in the dark.

He was coming after her and Roberta broke out in a sweat at the thought of him, tall and dark, hovering over her bed. His eyes had been blacker than night, so she knew she wouldn't be able to see his eyes. Not until it was too late. She'd see his long white teeth, though, snarling at her like a wild animal, reaching out to her. She caught her breath again. She could feel him. He was getting closer to her bed, and soon he'd be on her, all over her, tearing at her, eating her—

Roberta! She heard her name in the whisper of his breath. And then, suddenly, there he was, rising high above her like a dark cloud rose in the sky just before a storm broke. His shadow swal­lowed the entire room, before swallowing her. Roberta's heart pounded fiercely at the sight of him and she knew she was going to die. He raised his massive hand and reached out to her, his white teeth gleaming like those of a wolf. Roberta opened her mouth to scream, but no sound would come. She opened her mouth and tried again, and again, and—

Wake up, gal! Martha shook the girl so hard she'd thought for sure she'd break. I said, wake up!

Roberta forced open her eyes and stared into the angry face of Miss Martha.

"What the hell is wrong witchu? Now you know I don't take kindly to bein' scared outta my wits in the middle of the night by no screamin' chil’.’’

Roberta sat up and quickly looked around the room, rubbing her eyes. Ma'am?

This is the las' time you gon' wake me up like this, Roberta . You hear me? I ain't havin' it. I mean it. Mornin' come too soon fo' me to be gettin' up all through the night 'cause of yo' nonsense. Martha went over to the table and lit the lantern. 'Bout scared me half to death, she muttered before blowing out the match.

Roberta breathed a silent sigh of relief. He'd almost gotten her. This time he'd come closer than he had the last time, but Miss Martha had saved her life, she thought, smiling appreciatively at the woman.

Martha scowled, Whatchu grinnin' 'bout? Ain't no cause fo' you to be grinnin' 'bout nothin'.

Roberta hadn't realized she was grinning, so she stopped. Martha paced slowly back and forth, rubbing her lower back.

The floor creaked beneath her weight with each step, sounding more pronounced at night than it did when the sun was up. She stopped and looked at Roberta.

I’m tired, gal. And I'm too ol' to be up at this time of the night if I ain't gotta be.

Yes, ma'am. Roberta muttered.

The girl had circles under her eyes. She walked over to Roberta, put her hand under her chin, and raised her face up to get a good look at her. Roberta's eyes looked like an old woman's eyes. Martha hadn't paid much attention before, but the crescent moons under them told Martha that something was going on with this baby.

'Course it bother her, Martha, she said in her mind. She a li'l gal , and she miss her momma. Suddenly sympathy washed over Martha, and she gently patted Roberta on the cheek.

Martha walked over the kitchen table, pulled a chair out from under it, and sat down near Roberta's cot. Maybe she hadn't been as sym­pathetic to the girl as she should've been, she thought. It's just that she had never had children or spent much time around them, and sometimes she forgot that they weren't like grown folks. They needed more tenderness than she sometimes knew how to give. This child had been caught up in a twister without even trying, and it had dropped her right down in Martha's lap for her to tend to. It wasn't her fault that her momma was a whore and that her daddy was a no-good cheater. Roberta was an innocent, Martha concluded. That was all she was.

l know you miss yo' momma, baby, she said tenderly.

Roberta cast her eyes down, pulling the doll close to her chest and nodded. Yes, ma'am. I do.

Martha smiled warmly. It's alright if you wanna cry, Roberta. We all gots to cry sometime to let it out.

Roberta stared at Martha quizzically. Let what out, Miss Martha?

This child just wasn't right, Martha thought, staring into Roberta's small face. The whole time the girl had been there she hadn't cried once, and now she didn't even know how to cry, even when Martha had given her permission.

Our grief, chil'. Our sadness.

Roberta thought for a moment. Yes, she was sad that her momma wouldn't be back. But she didn't know what grief meant, and she certainly didn't understand why Miss Martha wanted to see her cry all of a sudden.

You been dreamin' 'bout yo' momma, ain't you, chil'? Martha patted Roberta's thigh. You dreamin' 'bout yo' momma?" She smiled at her own insightfulness, and at how good a mother she would've made had she ever had children of her own.

Roberta hesitated and then shook her head. No, ma'am. I ain't been dreamin' 'bout my momma at all.

The smile faded from Martha's lips and disappointment quickly replaced the morsel of maternal instinct she'd managed to scavenge from deep inside.

Then what the hell you doin' all that screamin' fo’? she snapped, startling Roberta.

The little girl shivered at the thought of her tormentor. She forced herself not to think of him if she didn't have to. At night though, when the house was dark and quiet and Miss Martha was asleep, she ran from him.

Answer me, gal.

I screamed 'cause- she swallowed hard, he come after me.

Martha studied Roberta for a moment. She turned slowly and looked around the room, finally resting her gaze back onto Roberta. Ain't nobody here, gal, 'cept us.

He come after you go to sleep, Roberta whispered.

He come when all the lights go out, Roberta heard BettAnn whis­per, but as usual, Miss Martha ignored her.

Martha shook her head and rubbed the sleep from her eyes, realizing that this child was crazy just like her momma. She looked concerned at Roberta, worried that maybe taking the