Baby Doll's Blues

Growing up, she just wanted to wear pretty dresses and sing the blues. As she sat on the train with her four children, the youngest in her lap and the other three sitting across from her, that girl from Hollandale, Mississippi felt like a complete stranger. Her life playing out like the old familiar tunes of the Delta Blues.

“Baby Doll!” Mama Sull yelled from the back porch, the rickety boards creaking in protest as she walked to the side of the porch. “Baby Doll!”

“Ma’am!” Baby Doll called in response, hopping off her perch on the wooden fence and running towards the house with her dress pulled up to her knees. She had been practicing her singing but didn’t want Mama Sull to hear her. If the song wasn’t about Jesus, Moses, or David then Mama Sull said it was the devil’s music. 

“Put your dress down, gal!” Mama Sull fussed, “Go on and clean yourself up. Daddy done brought company.” 

Baby Doll dropped the skirt of her dress and rushed past her mama into the small, gray clapboard house. She went over to the wash basin and splashed some water on her face. Then she studied herself in the mirror to make sure her hair wasn’t a mess. Mama Sull had just french braided it that morning and tied the ends together with a little red ribbon. Red was Baby Doll’s favorite color. When she became a famous blues singer she was going to have ruby red shoes and red flowers in her hair. 

She smiled at her reflection before scurrying off to find Daddy. She heard his voice coming from the front room. He was sitting at the table with two other men, eating cornbread and butter that Mama Sull had just served. Baby Doll’s mouth started watering and she hoped that Mama Sull had saved her some. 

“There she is,” one of the men said, tearing his attention away from the hot cornbread. “Pretty little thing, ain’t she?” The other man studied her and nodded agreement. He wasn’t quite a man, maybe just a few years older than her. She had just turned fifteen a couple of months before, but everyone still insisted on calling her Baby Doll. She supposed it was a sight better than her Christian name, Florence Beatrice. 

“Baby Doll,” her daddy said,”I want you to meet Mr. Silas Trent and his son, Willis.” 

Willis stared at her and nodded. She shivered and avoided looking into his coal black eyes. She looked up and saw Mama Sull wringing her hands in her apron. Unbeknownst to Baby Doll, Willis was to be her husband. Her daddy and Mr. Silas had worked out a deal to pay off her daddy’s gambling debts. Two months later, she was married, pregnant and living on the outskirts of town--a long way away from Mama Sull and her sisters. 

That was twelve years ago. Twelve long, painful, terror-filled years. That starry-eyed, blues singing fifteen year old girl a distant, unrecognizable memory. Faded and tattered. Four babies and an ocean of tears later, here she sat on a train to Chicago, headed towards an uncertain future. 

Six months ago he’d beat her in front of her babies. She layed on the floor curled in a ball, helpless to shield them from her ugly reality, watching the terror in their eyes. Unable to go to them and comfort them. 

“Ain’t I told you!” he yelled as he smacked her one more time.

“Yes, I’m sorry,” she stammered, “I’ll do better. Please, no more.”

“Your sisters don’t need to come ‘round here unless I’m here,” he shouted as he kicked her in her stomach, “Loud mouth, sassy gals don’t need to know nothing about our business.”

Baby Doll heard one of the children scream. She wanted to tell them it was alright. She wanted to go to them, but she felt the darkness coming. She had lost consciousness and sank into the comforting darkness, their eyes the last thing she saw. 

When she awoke, her children were curled up on the floor with her in the darkness. She cried. Cries so deep and sorrowful that the earth moaned beneath her. She prayed to her mother’s God, who had surely forsaken her. What life was this? What sin had she committed that this was her lot? She prayed for either death or escape.

Escape came in the form of her second cousin, Lula. Growing up, they had been thick as thieves, born just one day apart. When they were thirteen, Lula’s grandma Rosie passed away so, Lula had to go to live with her Mama up north in Chicago. Every once in a while they would exchange letters, but it had been nearly ten years since Baby Doll had heard from her. 

Lula had come back to Hollandale ten years prior to visit.  Baby Doll had been married to Willis for about two years and already had two babies--that was before she learned about Ms. Earline’s special herbs. Ms. Earline was from Louisiana and knew about things that most folks didn’t dare mention.

The cousins sat on a blanket in Baby Doll’s front yard reminiscing about old times, catching up on new gossip, and playing with the babies.  Lula couldn’t help noticing her cousin’s sad eyes and faded bruises.

“Never you mind about what goes on in my house,” Baby Doll responded angrily when Lula asked about her bruises, “sweep around your own front porch!” She grabbed her baby from Lula’s arms, hoisted up her toddler and stomped inside the small house, leaving her cousin alone in the yard. 

Shame filled her. She didn’t want her cousin to pity her, to think less of her. Shame? Yes, she wore it like a second skin. That shame kept her from her family and kept her secrets safely behind her own door. Shame was easier to carry than anger.

But six months ago, Baby Doll swallowed what remained of her pride and reached out to her cousin. Escape or death. If she could not get one, she would take the other. 

She turned her head to look out the window of the train, the world passing by in a blur. She and her babies were headed to Chicago to stay with Lula and her two children. For months, she had taken on small sewing and cooking jobs to earn extra money that she hid from Willis. 

By the grace of God, she supposed, he hadn’t found out. Every day for those six months, she lived in fear that he would find out. Other than Lula, she didn’t tell a soul about her plans--not her mama nor her sisters. 

Two nights ago, she added a little something from Ms. Earline to Willis' corn liquor and watched as he fell into a deep sleep. Her unspoken hope--and fear-- was that she had killed him. She and her babies boarded the train heading north, away from Willis, away from Hollandale, away from Mama Sull and her sisters. Away from the only life she had known. 

For so long, her mind had been stuck in why. Why did Daddy just give me away? Why did Willis hate me so much? Why did God let this happen to me? Why didn’t Mama Sull or somebody help me? Why, why, why?! 

Now, her mind reeled with other questions. What awaited her in Chicago? How would she earn money? Could she make it on her own? She realized that for the first she would get to decide her fate. Her heart was afraid to hope. Afraid that somehow, Willis would find his way to Chicago. Afraid that more terror awaited her, just with a different face, a different name. 

The child in her lap shifted, jolting her back to the present. Looking down at her baby girl, so innocent in her blue flowered dress, her head resting on her mama’s heart, Baby Doll felt a little inkling of hope. And for the first time in so many years she couldn’t count, she began to sing. Softly,she sang an old familiar tune. 

“I feel like crying…” she crooned, as tears ran unchecked down her face. But, these blues were different. The suffering in the tune uniquely hers, tinged with her fragile hope of a life where she could again dream.