Red River

by Lalita Tademy

  Ted’s mind whirs, like the spinning toy his father made for his little brother for Christmas, but he is speechless. To turn around and go home this soon will surely be rude. Not to mention the fact that he hasn’t yet established his intent.

  Eva Billes’s voice comes floating out from the interior of the house. “Willie Dee, bring your company inside for tea cakes.”

  “My mother says to invite you in,” Willie Dee says, making clear by her tone that what she would do, left to her own devices, and what her mother decrees are two very different things.

  Ted doesn’t relish the upcoming scrutiny, but if he hopes to truly court Willie Dee formally, he has to meet her mother. When Willie Dee reenters the house, Ted follows to the front room where Eva Billes stands, waiting.

  She is an imposing figure of a woman, taller than he expected and solidly built, her long dark skirt covered by a white apron. By reputation, she is a formidable force, willing to lend a hand to anyone who needs her help. She is known for her capabilities in fixing things, whether a tattered dress or a marriage that needs shoring up, and it is said that people go to her, black and white both, for a dose of good common sense they can’t necessarily find elsewhere. She is ginger-colored, neither convincingly dark-skinned nor light enough to be considered fair, the inky blackness of her coarse hair parted straight down the middle, perfectly, as if she understands the deep importance of measuring out precise and equal portions. Her hair is fashioned in a twist on either side, held back by hairpins, but a few inflexible steel-gray strands go their own way, refusing to be tamed. She smiles at Ted, a welcoming, genuine smile.

  “This is Ted Tademy, Mama,” says Willie Dee, as if reciting a school lesson.

  “How you related to Professor Andrew and Miss Gertrude, Ted?”

  “My uncle, ma’am. My father’s brother. My father is Nathan-Green. Senior. I’m Nathan Green, Junior. And Miss Gertrude, she’s my aunt, my mother’s sister. We live in The Bottom.” The first test is always to clarify your people.

  Eva Billes nods appreciatively. “Colfax owe the Tademys for the school.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Have a seat, Ted,” she says. “Make yourself comfortable.”

  Ted looks around the small front room. There are several choices. In the corner is a pine rocker, and next to that a plaid-patterned armchair with crocheted doilies covering the skinny arms. Along the wall, under the front window, is a yellow-green upholstered couch with two thin cushions. He chooses the couch and sits.

  “That’s my brother’s nightbed,” Willie Dee says.

  Ted jumps back up.

  “Sit,” says Eva. “This is daytime.” She throws a fierce warning look in Willie Dee’s direction. “What bring you out to see us today?” she asks Ted.

  This is harder than Ted thought. He should have practiced before he came. “Willie Dee’s birthday,” he says. It sounds weak, inadequate to his own ears.

  “That’s right,” says Eva. “She just missed being my Christmas baby.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Ted says.

  “I’ll leave you young people alone, then,” says Eva. She disappears toward the back of the house, and Ted hears the rattle of dishes and the slosh of water from a bucket.

  “Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?” whispers Willie Dee, annoyed.

  Ted’s mind races, full, but his tongue idles. What exactly can he say? That he came to start the courting process? That since she doesn’t seem glad to see him after he made his way to her house, he doesn’t know what to do? That he is bewitched and can’t seem to free himself of thoughts of her? That all he needs is a little encouragement on her end to marshal his composure and go about this in a more rational way? That he is a good person with the best of intentions, and she could do no better, even if he doesn’t have the outward trappings? Ted shrugs.

  Willie Dee pouts a little and ignores Ted as if he isn’t in the room, punishing him for surprising her. Ted settles deeper in his seat, his hands on the cap he took off to enter the house. He tries not to be obvious about using the cap to wipe the sweat from his hands.

  Willie Dee gives in first, the quiet obviously disturbing her more than it does Ted. “Why did you come if you don’t have anything to say?” she asks.

  Again Ted shrugs.

  “How can you write such beautiful letters and not talk?” she demands.

  She called his letters beautiful. “Did you have a nice Christmas?” he asks.

  Willie Dee launches into a description of the length of material she got as a present, enough to make a dress and scarf, her impressions of the choir singing at the church service in the evening, the coconut cake her mother baked, the pecans they sugared that were all consumed within thirty minutes of coming out of the oven, until she realizes she is doing all of the talking. She stops.

  “How about your Christmas?” she asks Ted.

  “It was good.”

  “Good how?”

  “We had a lot to eat,” says Ted.

  He doesn’t know how much more of this he can stand. It isn’t as if he doesn’t know just how badly he is failing to impress her, but he can’t think of a single thing to talk about. He wishes he could go somewhere with a piece of paper and pencil and script out what to say. As he turns his cap around and around, he hears her mother clear her throat from the back of the house. Why has he come? If he could turn invisible and disappear, he would gladly do it.

  Figure 32. Eva Billes

  Willie Dee turns her head and pats her foot. Ted spins his cap. After about twenty minutes of silence, Eva Billes comes back into the front room with two tall glasses of sweet tea and a plate of warm tea cakes.

  “I say again how much I appreciate what your people done for this town,” Eva Billes says to Ted. She welcomes him with her kind expression, into her house, into her confidence. “They sure done wonders with that school.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Ted says, uneasy. The mother is much nicer to him than the daughter.

  “The Tademys is good people, serious people,” she goes on. “I’d like to see some of that steadiness rub off on Willie Dee, calm her down a little.”

  It comes to Ted clearly then. Maybe Willie Dee Billes isn’t bowled over by him so far, but he has time on his side, and he is a man on a mission with a clear goal. He hasn’t counted on the good fortune revealed today, that her mother could be his greatest ally. For a woman with a fourth-grade education and ambitions for her children, association with the Tademy name and its strong, prestigious links to the beginnings of colored education in Colfax has benefits, and the wishes of the mother count.

  How many times has GrandJack told him that persistence is everything? If Ted remains patient, keeps his focus on the long term, and stays in good graces with Eva Billes, Ted is convinced he has a chance with Willie Dee Billes yet.

  Chapter

  38

  1937

  T ed is part of the small clutch of teenage listeners huddled around the RCA Victor radio in Nep and Annie Boyd’s front room. Outside is heat and humidity and boredom, but inside is the wonder of the music. There isn’t another band quite like Duke Ellington’s, not singsongy and formulaic like the other popular radio performers, but fresh, infectious, sultry, and earthy. Jungle-style.

  Robert Hadnot stands and pulls Willie Dee to her feet, and the two of them Lindy-hop together to “It Don’t Mean a Thing (If It Ain’t Got That Swing),” quietly, so as not to disturb the others listening. Ted tries not to stare at the obvious enjoyment on Willie Dee’s face, the half-smile, the parted lips, the long hair swept back high off her face, wispy tendrils tickling the back of her neck, the slight sheen of sweat on her upper lip, the occasional flashes of abandon as she shakes her hips in time to the music, the brief glimpse of taut calf muscle as she kicks back one leg and then the other. If Willie Dee’s mother knew she was dancing in plain sight of this handful of boys and girls, Eva Billes would get the strap first and ask questions later. And Ted himself is complicit. After scho
ol, he let them into a house that isn’t even his to listen to the radio, unchaperoned, but otherwise he fears losing his tenuous hold on Willie Dee. Ted can’t dance, but he will use whatever he can to stay within her orbit. He does have access to a radio.

  When the song finishes, Willie Dee collapses not on the sofa, where her best friend, Fern Lee, sits, but on the floor, tomboy-style, pulls her legs under her, and arranges her dress to cover her knees and boots. Robert circles around and sits next to her, laughing. Robert is older than all of them, back from a year at Louisiana Negro Normal and Industrial Institute in Grambling. The age difference notwithstanding, Ted recognizes the hunger in Robert’s look, one Ted unsuccessfully tries to mask himself. Infatuation. Robert whispers something in Willie Dee’s ear, and she throws her head back, laughing, the gap between her two front teeth exposed. Ted looks away briefly, but he can’t stop himself from stealing another glance.

  “Different houses taking in some of the band members overnight,” says Fern Lee. “Too bad we can’t stay up late enough to see one of them.”

  Willie Dee is keyed up, her face still flushed from dancing. “We should drive past Calhoun’s barn tomorrow night,” she says. “Nothing this exciting going to happen again in Colfax anytime soon. People coming all the way from Alexandria, Natchitoches, Montgomery, even Shreveport to see Duke Ellington and his band in person, and afterwards they’re gonna dance till they drop.”

  “We can’t go,” says Ted. Why does he always have to be the serious one? “They catch colored hanging around, they hurt us sure.”

  “’Course we won’t hang around,” says Willie Dee. “If we get a car, we just drive along slow with the windows down on the public road. No telling what we see or hear. Maybe we see the Duke himself.”

  The next song from the radio is “Mood Indigo.” Under normal circumstances, Ted would have shut out the world and flowed into the music, but he needs to pay attention. The direction of the conversation is veering dangerously.

  “Betcha Robert could find a way to borrow a car tomorrow night,” Willie Dee says. “We could all go then.”

  “I can drive,” says Robert, “but my uncle’s using his car tomorrow night.”

  Willie Dee makes a pouty face. “Sounded like such fun.”

  “I could get my brother-in-law’s car,” Ted brags. The moment the words leave his mouth, he regrets them.

  “Your mama not going to let you go out with me in a car,” says Robert.

  “She will too, if Ted comes,” says Willie Dee. “The four of us just say we going to a movie in Alexandria. You in or not, Ted?”

  Ted is accustomed to Willie Dee using him as a shield. He doesn’t particularly like the role, and he especially doesn’t like the idea of deceiving Eva Billes. She is his strongest ally, and he risks the depths of her ill will if something goes wrong. On the other hand, if he says yes, he will be with Willie Dee.

  “Only if we really go to the movies after,” says Ted. A part of him wants to catch a glimpse of Duke Ellington too, or hear a snatch of a tune by the great swing band, live. “Only if you promise we don’t get out of the car or dawdle.”

  Willie Dee claps her hands, like a little girl with a new toy. “It’s settled. Tomorrow night we see the Duke,” she says.

  At five o’clock on Saturday night, Ted drives up to Willie Dee’s house in Aloha in his brother-in-law’s Chevy. His best shirt is pressed and his shoes are wiped down. Willie Dee’s father, T.O., a slight, pale man with straight wispy hair and a small potbelly, sits on the front porch in a rocking chair.

  “Evening, Mr. Billes,” says Ted.

  T.O. nods, goes back to his whittling. “They waiting on you inside,” he says.

  Eva Billes serves him tea cakes and lemonade while they pass the time in the front room, and she makes small talk. Shortly, they hear footsteps on the porch stairs. Eva is up holding the front screen door open before Robert has a chance to knock.

  “Evening, Miss Eva,” say Robert Hadnot and Fern Lee, politely, almost in unison. Robert takes off his cap. Eva Billes seems to tower over everyone.

  “Come in,” says Eva, sweeping them into the room. “Sit. You got time to visit before the evening picture show start.” They settle on the couch, and Eva sets the plate of tea cakes on the small coffee table between them. She entrenches herself in a side chair and produces a small ball of grayish-green yarn and two needles and begins to knit.

  “How’s your father, Robert? Last I hear, he miss a month of Sundays at church. Might have to go over and offer my help, see if he sick, if he need anything.”

  “He just tired from working double at the mill, Miss Eva. He stay home on Sunday morning, but the rest of us go to church.”

  Eva purses her lips, unsatisfied. “What you plan for this evening?”

  Robert, smooth around parents, answers. “We going to the picture show in Alexandria. Not so many chiggers in the seats as upstairs in the colored section at the Colfax theater.”

  “We want to start out for Alexandria before it gets too late, Mama,” Willie Dee says nervously. “No telling how much traffic is on the road.”

  “How they persuaded Duke Ellington to come to Colfax, I’ll never know, but the whole town lost their minds over his band and their devil’s music,” Eva says.

  “They on tour all the way from New York City, just finish playing in New Orleans,” says Robert. “Wish we could see him.”

  “That’s foolishness. And even if they allowed colored, would be a waste of good money put to better use. Just don’t take the road near Calhoun’s barn,” Eva says, “and then you don’t have to worry about no traffic.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” says Ted.

  “You young folks go on, then, but you be back by ten,” says Eva. She rises from her chair, and they all get up. “Come home right after. I know I can count on you to be responsible, Ted.”

  Eva Billes walks them outside and they pile into the car, the two-door black 1930 Chevy sedan that Ted has borrowed from Walter Jerro, his sister’s husband. Willie Dee and Fern Lee squeeze into the back, and Robert takes the passenger seat. Once they hit Highway 71, they head directly for the largest building outside Colfax, a huge storage space built on the old site of Calhoun’s Sugarhouse. Streams of vehicles move in the same direction—automobiles, wagons, tractors, trucks—and park by the side of the road or in the open fields. Some people arrive by foot, mostly young, and others by horseback, all white, all ready for a memorable Saturday night.

  “Drive slower, Ted,” says Willie Dee from the backseat.

  All of the windows are down, but there is barely any movement of wind, no relief from the August sun. Although it is almost six o’clock, the sun is still strong enough to beat fiercely down on the car, and the air is gummy with humidity. Already Ted’s good shirt is sweated through.

  Singles, couples, and small groups wait in a long line for admittance through the front double doors of the warehouse. A stocky white man in overalls, a little older than Robert, collects the money for tickets before allowing anyone past.

  “Robert, isn’t that your cousin on the door?” asks Fern Lee.

  Robert is clearly uncomfortable. “Yeah, that’s Lucius Hadnot.” He doesn’t say anything more, and they let it go. The white Hadnots don’t acknowledge the colored Hadnots, even if they descend from the same tree, even if they live in the same town. The practicalities of their lives are separate.

  From the car, they hear the vibrations and the melody of music. Ted picks up the smooth, sly arrangement of “Rocking in Rhythm.” Several couples waiting outside begin to Lindy-hop, and others share flasks or jars of moonshine.

  Willie Dee almost has her nose on the side glass pane of the car. “Circle around and let’s pass again,” she says.

  “We’re going to Alexandria,” says Ted.

  “Nobody’s paying attention to us,” says Willie Dee. “Just one more time.”

  Reluctantly, Ted turns the car around and heads back toward Calhoun’s barn.

>   The line outside is shorter already, and this time they don’t hear music spilling from the building in the same way. The doors must be closed. Ted slowly drives past, so slowly he has trouble keeping the car in gear. The engine sputters and coughs but doesn’t die.

  “Look, look,” Willie Dee squeals. She clutches the back of the seat and points out the window. They all stare in that direction. Standing, leaning on the side of the barn, is the most elegant colored man they have ever seen, in a white tuxedo with tails and a blinding white shirt. His sleek, straight black hair glistens, is plastered back to the side, away from his face, and a cigarette dangles from his lips. “It’s the Duke! He is so handsome.”

  While Fern Lee and Willie Dee congratulate each other over their good fortune of a Duke sighting, Ted sees Lucius Hadnot focus for the first time on the colored teenagers in the car that doesn’t belong.

  “Get us out of here, Ted,” Robert whispers. “Hurry.”

  There is a sickening sound of grinding gears, and Lucius Hadnot begins to walk toward the road, toward where they sit unmoving, baking in their metal trap. Ted gives one more yank to the gearbox, and the Chevy spurts forward, once, twice, and then in a relatively smooth glide away from Calhoun’s barn.

  “We saw Duke Ellington in person!” Willie Dee says. She is radiant in her excitement.

  The remainder of the ride to Alexandria is uneventful.

  By the time the four of them arrive in Alexandria, pay for tickets, and climb upstairs to the colored section, the movie already flickers on the screen, a silly Marx Brothers film called A Day at the Races. They hunch down when they pass the projector to get to their seats, but they still get angry shouts of “Sit down” and “Be quiet” from angry patrons when they block the light and throw their own shadows against the screen. They haven’t missed much, and the plot is thin and easy to follow. They are still keyed up from their adventure at Calhoun’s barn. After the movie lets out, they don’t linger in town but immediately head toward Colfax. The girls in back chatter, and Robert and Ted struggle to make small talk.