Under the Tulip Tree

by Michelle Shocklee

  He glanced at me, his face a mask in the waning light. When he turned back to the road without a word, I got the distinct impression he wasn’t pleased with me.

  “I’ll pay for the gas,” I volunteered, thinking that was the problem. Or maybe I’d interrupted his plans for Saturday evening. Did he have a girlfriend? Was he annoyed at being late to meet her?

  After a moment, his shoulders eased. “I’m not worried about the gas.” Another glance. “You shouldn’t have come down here alone.”

  His authoritative tone rankled, and yet I knew he was right.

  He swallowed, making his Adam’s apple bob. “You could’ve been hurt . . . or worse.”

  Now I understood. “Jael told you what happened?”

  “Yes.” He let out a sound of frustration. “What possessed you to think you could come down to Hell’s Half Acre without an escort? A pretty white woman all by herself is asking for trouble in this neighborhood.”

  He thinks I’m pretty?

  For some reason, that slip of information in the midst of such a serious conversation made me smile.

  “What are you grinning about? I mean it, Miss Leland. Don’t ever come down here by yourself again.”

  “I promise I won’t,” I said softly, duly reprimanded.

  He seemed appeased by my answer. “What was so important that you had to come down here anyway? I thought you finished Mrs. Washington’s interview.”

  Guilt pricked my conscience. “Well, not entirely.”

  His brows rose when he shot me a look.

  “Frankie—that’s her name—is taking her time telling me her story. I don’t want to rush her, so I told her I’d come visit whenever I can.” At the shake of his head, I hurried on. “I won’t neglect my other interviewees, so you needn’t worry. There’s just something about Frankie’s story . . .” I shrugged, unable to articulate what was steadily growing inside my heart. “Her courage, I think, is what I most admire. As terrible as some of the details of her life are, she doesn’t wallow in them.”

  He was silent for a long moment before he conceded, “She sounds like a very interesting woman.” At my smile, he gave a stern look. “But meeting with her is not worth putting yourself in harm’s way. Next time you want to come down here, I’ll drive you. Agreed?”

  My grin widened. “Agreed, Mr. Norwood.”

  “Seeing as I’m going to be your private chauffeur, you might as well call me Alden.”

  Shyness suddenly stole over me with such an intimate turn in the conversation, but I countered with “Then you should call me Rena.”

  “So, Rena,” he said with a wink, “tell me something about this Frankie of yours.”

  Over the remaining miles, I told him about Sadie Hall and Frankie’s deformed fingers. I told him how Frankie was sold time after time and about Moss’s murder. He asked several questions, revealing his own curiosity in the story as well as his knowledge about slavery. When we pulled up in front of my house, where lights glowed from nearly every window, I was sad to see our time together end.

  “Can I ask you a question?” He turned to me.

  “Yes.”

  “What did your father do before the economy tanked?”

  I’d assumed he was still considering Frankie’s life story, so his question caught me off guard. I hadn’t shared many details about my family with Alden after his misguided observations that first day. Even though he’d apologized, and I believed him to be sincere, I didn’t want to revisit the subject.

  But he was becoming a friend, so I decided to be honest. “He owned several banks here in Tennessee. I never understood much about banking and investing, so it was a shock when he lost everything.”

  “I’m sorry.” His eyes held sincere sympathy. “The crash was hard on everyone.”

  I could let the conversation end, and he’d be none the wiser about the circumstances of my father’s fall from grace. But something made me want to continue. To let Alden see who I really was and form his opinions based on facts rather than fiction.

  “It was a difficult time. October 29 is my birthday. I turned sixteen the day the stock market crashed. We were supposed to have a big dinner party with a hundred guests, but after the news came, Mama was scared to leave the house. You see, my father had mismanaged thousands of dollars belonging to the bank’s customers. People we’d known for years lost their homes and were left practically penniless because of my father.”

  He didn’t say anything. I couldn’t tell what thoughts might be going through his mind, but I could well imagine.

  “The big house you see here used to belong to my grandparents. My mother was raised in it. When Grandpa Jim passed away, Grandma sold it to us and moved down the street to a smaller house. After the crash and Dad’s bank failures, she didn’t want us to lose the house, so she took over the mortgage payments. If it weren’t for her, we’d be homeless like thousands of others. Mama’s salary at the sewing shop keeps food on the table, but that’s about it.”

  We sat in silence for several long moments. Somehow, telling my sad tale was like letting a heavy weight fall from my shoulders. Yes, my father had done a terrible thing. He didn’t go to jail, but he would always pay the price for his poor decisions. Yet his story wasn’t mine. I was innocent in all that had transpired. Just because my birth date coincided with that fateful day didn’t mean I needed to carry around unnecessary guilt or shame.

  “I’m glad you heard about the job with the FWP.”

  I glanced at him to find a soft smile on his lips. “I am too.” I gathered my things. “Thank you again for coming to my rescue, sir knight.” My attempt at humor apparently didn’t impress him, because he scowled.

  “It’s no joking matter, Rena. Hell’s Half Acre earned its reputation legitimately.”

  I sobered. “I know. I learned my lesson.”

  Our gazes held, light from a streetlamp allowing me to see his face clearly. A hint of dark stubble peppered his cheeks and strong chin.

  “Good night, Rena.” Warmth washed over me with his tender expression. “I’ll see you Monday.”

  I reached for the door handle. “Good night, Alden.”

  I watched him drive away, wondering why I hadn’t noticed how handsome he was before. Even Frankie mentioned something about my handsome friend that morning when I’d first arrived at her house, frightened and out of breath.

  “Rena? Oh, thank goodness you’re home.”

  I turned to find Mama standing in the front doorway, her voice wobbly with worry. It hadn’t occurred to me until this very moment I should have called my mother at some point during the day to let her know I was out and wouldn’t return for a while.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t call. There wasn’t a telephone I could use.” I climbed the steps to the front porch and heard high-pitched children’s voices from inside the house. A quick glance revealed my sister’s old Hudson parked in the driveway.

  “We were about to call the police, Lorena Ann.” Mama’s concern quickly turned to rebuke. “When Mother said she hadn’t seen you all day, I was nearly frantic with worry. Poor Mary had to load up the children without their supper and come console me.”

  While I did feel bad about not calling, Mama’s dramatics were a bit much. “I’m fine, Mama. Next time I’ll let you know when I’m going out.”

  She frowned at me in the yellow porch light, then looked down the road. I followed her gaze to where Alden’s car disappeared around the corner.

  “Was that the young man from the FWP?”

  I sighed. Here came the interrogation. “Yes. Alden Norwood.”

  “What were you doing out with him? You’ve been gone all day.”

  I weighed my next words. To lie and say I’d been with Alden would be far easier than enduring the lecture I knew would be forthcoming if I told the truth regarding my whereabouts. Yet I had nothing to be ashamed of.

  “I went to see Mrs. Washington. We’re not quite finished with her interview.”

  Mama grew
completely still and stared at me. Finally her eyes narrowed. “Where does this woman live?”

  I broke eye contact and moved toward the door. “Jackson Street.”

  Mama reached out to prevent me from entering the house. “Do you mean to tell me you’ve been going down to . . . to . . .” Her voice dropped to a low hiss. “You’ve been going down to Hell’s Half Acre?” Her gaze darted around the darkened yard as though the neighbors had gathered on the lawn to eavesdrop.

  “Yes, Mama. Mrs. Washington lives in a very nice house. She’s planted all sorts of flowers and even has a vegetable garden. It’s not what you think.”

  Her expression grew hard. “I’ve seen that neighborhood, Lorena Ann. It’s run-down and dangerous. What has gotten into you that you would not only disgrace us by spending time with unsuitable people, but also put yourself in harm’s way by going down to that . . . that area?”

  Mary appeared in the open doorway just then, two-year-old Buddy in her arms. The odor of a dirty diaper followed them. She glanced between Mama and me. “Where have you been, Lulu? Mama’s been worried.”

  “She’s been down to see that woman.” Mama’s lips pinched.

  Mary frowned. “Mama told me about your job. Really, Lulu, couldn’t you find something more respectable?”

  “Yes,” Mama said, crossing her arms. “Respectable. Maybe you’ll listen to your sister if you won’t listen to me.”

  The last thing I needed was a lecture given by my sister, who’d never held a job in her life. Even if Mama was right about Frankie’s neighborhood being dangerous, I refused to quit the FWP, especially now that Alden had agreed to drive me.

  I turned and stomped down the steps. “I’m going to Grandma Lorena’s. You don’t need to call the police.”

  Mama protested and Mary called me childish, but their words fell on deaf ears. I had to talk to someone, and only one person would do.

  “Mama will make my life miserable unless I quit my job.”

  I sat across from Grandma Lorena at her breakfast table, feasting on her famous chicken and dumplings. She’d eaten supper earlier, but that didn’t stop her from having a small helping to keep me company.

  Grandma wore a thoughtful frown. “That would be a shame, Rena. I believe Frankie’s story needs to be told. The others, too. Especially for the younger generations to hear.”

  My heart swelled with appreciation. “Thank you, Grandma. I don’t understand why Mama refuses to see that. She’s never met Frankie, and yet she’s already made up her mind that Frankie isn’t someone I should associate with.”

  We each took a bite of our supper before Grandma set her spoon down.

  “I know it’s hard for you to understand, but Margaret was raised in a time when white people didn’t associate with blacks. Now, that doesn’t mean she or any of us should think another person is any different because their skin is a darker shade, or that we’re somehow superior because of our white skin, but some habits and beliefs are hard to change once they’re set inside you.”

  I considered her words. “But you don’t have any prejudices against a person because of the color of their skin.”

  A look I couldn’t quite discern filled Grandma’s face. “I certainly hope I no longer carry any in my heart, but shamefully, I admit there was a time when I thought like your mother.”

  Surprise surely shaded my face. “I don’t believe that, Grandma. Not you.”

  “It’s true. I’m not proud of the way I treated people who were different from me when I was younger. After Cornelia passed away, my mother hired other black servants. I took the notion that because I was white and the daughter of the mistress of the house, I was somehow better than them.”

  Her confession shocked me. I couldn’t believe my sweet, loving grandmother—a pillar in the church and community—had at one time been exactly like my own mother.

  “What changed your mind?”

  A wry smile lifted her lips. “I’d like to say I had a revelation and came to it on my own, but it was actually your grandfather and his view of the world that helped me see how wrong mine was.”

  I hadn’t known Grandpa Jim well before he passed away. I was only nine at the time. My memories of him mainly consisted of his contagious laughter and an ever-present spittoon to accommodate his chewing tobacco habit.

  “Tell me about Grandpa.”

  Warmth filled her eyes. “Jim never met a stranger. His smile drew people to him like flies to a picnic. It didn’t matter the color of the person’s skin or their status in society. Jim was friend to everyone.”

  “How did you meet?” I couldn’t recall the details of their romance, although I’m sure I’d heard the tale before.

  “I was a student at Ward Seminary for Young Ladies,” she began, taking on the same faraway look Frankie often wore when remembering days of old. “It was May of my second year of school. I was studying to become a teacher, because that was one of the few careers offered to women at the time.”

  I smiled, thinking of my grandma as a young woman.

  “It was a Sunday afternoon, bright and warm. I’d been voted May queen, so I was to be honored during the parade through town for May Day. I rode in a wagon pulled by four beautiful but spirited horses. The young boy driving them was no match.” She chuckled. “I’ve often wished I could’ve seen his face when one of the lead horses spooked and caused him to lose his grip on the reins. Those horses bolted down the street, not only endangering me and the boy, but everyone who’d come to see the parade.”

  I leaned forward, captured by the images Grandma’s story spun in my mind.

  “My young driver and I could do nothing but hang on for dear life, hoping the horses would slow eventually. Suddenly, from the corner of my eye, a horse and rider appeared.”

  “Grandpa?”

  She nodded. “Yes, it was your grandpa. He came alongside the runaway horses and somehow managed to bring them to a stop. I know I should have been frightened out of my wits, but all I could think of when I saw my handsome hero was how glad I was those crazy horses had acted up.”

  We both chuckled.

  “Jim volunteered to drive the wagon back to the school since the boy abandoned me as soon as we stopped. In the half hour it took us to reach the school, I’d fallen madly in love with him, and he with me.”

  A dreamy sigh escaped my lips at such romance.

  “When Papa heard about the runaway wagon and how Jim saved me, he invited Jim to the house for supper. I was a bundle of excitement and wanted everything to be perfect so I could show him what a good homemaker I would make. When he arrived, I put on airs, barking orders at the servants and severely reprimanding a young woman when she spilled a bit of soup on the linen tablecloth. I believe I might have even said something about them needing to ‘know their place.’ By the end of the evening, I could tell something was bothering Jim. We sat on the porch, with the moon settling in for the night and offering a romantic atmosphere, but Jim was unusually quiet. When I asked what was wrong, I was not prepared for his answer.”

  I held my breath, even though I knew the story had a happy ending.

  “‘Lorena,’ he said, just as serious as I’d ever seen him before or since. ‘I fear I’ve made a terrible mistake.’ I couldn’t imagine what he meant, and I encouraged him to continue, not knowing that what he was about to say would devastate me. ‘I didn’t know you were of the kind to treat a person poorly because of the color of their skin. I’m sorry, but I won’t be able to see you again.’”

  She heaved a sigh. “He left then, and I didn’t know if I’d ever see him again.”

  My heart ached for young Lorena Sue. “But you weren’t truly prejudiced, were you?”

  “I didn’t think so at the time, but looking back I see that I was. I believed my white skin set me apart from a black person. That, somehow, I was better than they would ever be. It took losing Jim to open my eyes to the truth. Mama, of course, said Jim was a fool, and I was better off without him. She and
Papa both encouraged me to forget Jim. A string of eligible young men began showing up for dinner, handpicked by my parents, but my heart couldn’t forget Jim.”

  I had never been in love, but I thought I could imagine the pain Grandma endured. “How long did Grandpa stay away?”

  “Nearly three years passed before I saw Jim again. I couldn’t tolerate any of the young men Papa brought to the house and decided I would never marry. By then I’d graduated with my teaching certificate, and Papa helped me get a position in a school for young ladies. Young white ladies, of course. But Jim’s words had stayed with me, and I began to see our segregated world the way he did. When a young black woman petitioned the school for entrance, the headmaster laughed in her face.” Grandma closed her eyes for a long moment. “I’ll never forget watching that young woman walk away from the school. While the teachers and students mocked her, she held her head high with a dignity I found lacking in my own race. I later learned that same young woman went on to attend Fisk University and earned her master’s degree. She’s made quite a name for herself in Memphis, what with her involvement in the women’s state convention as well as the National Baptist Convention.”

  “How did you meet Grandpa again?”

  “After watching my colleagues treat that young woman so disgracefully, I knew I couldn’t stay where I was any longer. I thought I’d like to teach in one of the schools for blacks, but Papa forbade it.” She met my gaze. “I couldn’t go against his wishes, as much as I wanted to. It simply wasn’t done in those days.”

  I saw now why Grandma understood me so well. We were actually more similar than I’d ever realized.