The House on Harbor Hill

by Shelly Stratton

  “We have?” Her upturned nose wrinkles. “Why, I didn’t know we’ve made prior acquaintance. I’m embarrassed to say I can’t remember! When did we meet?”

  “I worked for Miss M—. . . I worked for Cee’s sister, Melinda. We met when you visited her home.”

  “Oh,” Betsy says.

  There still isn’t any recognition on her face. I doled out meatloaf and mashed potatoes to her at the Williamses’ dinner table and stood inches from her for hours, but she still doesn’t know me from Adam. I could’ve been one of Miss Mindy’s table lamps or potted plants as far as Betsy is concerned. But then again, back then she only had eyes for Cee—or so I thought. She must not have only had eyes for him since she was dating that lawyer from Alabama at the same time she was dating Cee.

  “Well, it’s a pleasure to run into you again.” She grins, opens the clasp of her purse, and drops her tube of lipstick inside. “I heard Cee had gotten married, and I wanted to meet the gal who was brave enough to become Mrs. Chauncey Buford. I wasn’t expecting a colored gal, but . . . Cee’s always had . . . well . . . interesting tastes!”

  “Brave enough?”

  She nods. “Cee is quite the handful. Always has been! The other girls warned me that going out with a man like him isn’t for the faint of heart. But I didn’t listen. He was so charming and funny in the beginning, I thought, ‘What are they talking about?’ I finally figured it out, and I had to throw in the towel after a few months. I had no choice but to break it off with him. He was just too intense for me and, frankly, too possessive,” she says with widened eyes.

  “You . . . you broke it off with him?”

  She nods.

  “He . . . Cee told me he broke up with you.”

  She drops a hand to her hip. Her smile disappears. “Did he now?” She tosses her blond hair over her shoulder. “Well, that’s news to me, considering that he refused to accept the fact that we had broken up for more than a month. He kept calling my apartment. Sometimes a dozen times a day. He terrified the hell out of my roommate! He even showed up one night when I was headed out on a date and threatened the poor fellow. He cornered me on my way to campus a few days later, threatened to kill me and kill himself. Then one day, all the calls and the threats stopped. It was so strange. It was like he just . . . disappeared. I wondered why.” Her blue eyes scan over me. “I guess you’re the reason.”

  When she says that, a chill goes down my spine.

  Betsy closes the clasp on her purse, then tosses the strap over her shoulder. “Like I said, you’re a braver woman than me.” She exhales gravely. “Good luck to you, Delilah.”

  She then turns away and walks out of the ladies’ room.

  CHAPTER 31

  After that night, I don’t look at Cee the same way anymore. I knew before, but I can finally admit it to myself now—he isn’t going to change back into the man I first met. That man wasn’t real. Cee was just wearing a mask to win me over—and it was so well-crafted you couldn’t even tell it was there. Now the mask has been removed, and it’s staying off.

  I was wary of him before, but I’m even more wary of him now. In the morning as he brushes his teeth, over dinner as he eats, and at night while he sleeps, I watch him like he’s a coiled snake that can snap at me if I handle him wrong, or if he just takes the notion. And Cee seems to watch me too, judging my every move and every word, picking over them with a fine-toothed comb. He has more chances to do it now since he is almost always at the house.

  After the party at the country club more than a month ago, his social calendar seems to have winnowed down. I suspect Cee may have crossed some line with his friends by taking me to the country club that night, one that he shouldn’t have crossed. Now they’ve distanced themselves from him.

  He still goes out sometimes, though I don’t know with whom. I watch from the bedroom window as he hops into his cherry red GTO and disappears for hours and comes back smelling like a distillery. But most of the time, he lounges around Harbor Hill, drinking, smoking, and staring sullenly at the television. He mutters to himself or yells at me, calling me lazy and stupid, disrespectful and ungrateful. I try my best to ignore him, to focus on decorating the nursery and getting ready for the baby who will arrive in four months—but it isn’t easy.

  I stay because of the baby. Living with Cee, I can still offer our child more than I ever could alone. If it wasn’t for the baby, I would leave, I tell myself.

  Today is one of the rare days that Cee is away from Harbor Hill, and I am enjoying my freedom. This morning, I sit at the kitchen table in my nightgown and bare feet, eating toast smothered in marmalade without a plate, which he hates. I turn up the volume on the radio—something else he doesn’t like—so I can hear the Hit Parade in every room. I make hot cocoa for myself and give a mug to our groundskeeper, Tobias, a Georgia boy whose wife and kids are still down south, though he hopes he can save enough money to bring them up here with him soon.

  It is December and too cold to go to the beach. Heavy clouds have been hanging low on the horizon since dawn, hinting that snow is probably in the offing, but I take a walk around the property anyway. I look at the bay, picturing the ships that must have docked there centuries ago with their sails high and puffed with wind, and their bows pointed toward shore. As I stand staring at the frigid water, I imagine that this is my life—peaceful and quiet, without the tension and fury that Cee brings.

  I arrive back at the house an hour later, sniffing and shoving my gloved hands into the pockets of my wool coat. I discover a familiar car parked in our driveway, and I pause. The door to the Lincoln Continental flies open, and Miss Mindy climbs out. She is covered head to toe in pink wool and brown fur.

  “There you are!” she says, looking annoyed. “I saw your car and thought you were home, but no one answered the door when I rang, so I was starting to wonder.” She holds up a key ring, then shakes it, making the keys jingle like brass bells. “I tried to open the door myself, but my key doesn’t seem to work anymore.”

  “Cee changed the locks.”

  She drops the keys into her purse. “Of course my darling brother did. Where is he anyway?”

  “He isn’t here,” I explain. “He won’t be back for a couple more hours. If you want to come back later or wait until—”

  “I didn’t come to speak to him.” She takes a step toward me, narrowing her green eyes. “I was asking if he was here because I came to speak to you alone, Delilah.”

  “Why do you want to speak to me?”

  She doesn’t answer my question but instead turns and stares at the front door. “Can we do this inside? It’s cold out here, and frankly,” she adjusts the rabbit fur collar of her coat, “I’m starting to feel a little chilly.”

  I hesitate, then nod.

  When Miss Mindy enters Harbor Hill, she does it with the familiarity of one who has not only been here before but also once owned the place. She takes off her coat and hat and wordlessly shoves it at me to hang them up, like I’m still her maid, like I’m not the lady of the house. She then walks into the living room and sits down before I have a chance to offer her a seat.

  “I’ll have Earl Grey,” she says, adjusting her skirt as she fluffs one of the sofa pillows beside her. “No sugar—just honey.”

  I hang her coat and hat on the coatrack near the door, along with my own, then reluctantly head to the kitchen to make her tea. When I return, I set the teacup and saucer in front of her. She reaches for the cup and clutches it in her pale hand, but instead of taking a sip, she stares at me over the lip as I lower myself into the armchair facing her.

  Under Miss Mindy’s gaze, I clutch my hand over the lump at my waist, over my baby. Her eyes seem almost predatory.

  “I want you to know that I am here strictly at my mother’s request,” she says, raising her nose into the air. “I told her that trying to talk to Cee would be like trying to have a conversation with a brick wall. I said I might have more luck reasoning with you. I know you’re more . .
. well . . . practical than my brother is about these things.”

  My blank face sinks into a frown. I’m confused by the course this conversation is taking. I watch as she drinks some of her tea.

  “This whole thing with Cee has taken its toll on Mama. It pains her to see her son like this—just throwing his life away!”

  I wasn’t aware that being married to me was the same as “throwing his life away,” but I don’t comment.

  “Frankly, I’ve given up on him, but now that Mama is ill, I’m willing to put forth the effort to try to give her some reconciliation. She should get some sense of peace before she takes her last breath.”

  I wasn’t aware that their mother was sick. Cee certainly hadn’t mentioned it, but then I remember the yellow hue to his mother’s skin and her skeletal frame that night at the country club. She hadn’t looked well.

  “So,” Miss Mindy says, pausing to take another sip of tea, “in order to reunite mother and son while there’s still time, I need your help—and I’m willing to pay you handsomely for it.”

  My frown deepens. My confusion is being replaced with annoyance.

  “Well . . .” She inclines her head. “My mother is willing to pay you handsomely. She wants to offer you twenty-five-thousand dollars to file for divorce from Cee. That should be more than enough money to take care of you and your baby . . . for you to start all over again. All we ask is that you remove yourself from his life gracefully, that you go your separate ways.”

  “You mean you want me to go away . . . to disappear.”

  “Exactly!” She smiles for the first time. “Now I know my brother isn’t easy to live with. I love him, but I’m aware that he can be a bit . . . trying. The men in our family are very . . . very passionate,” she says diplomatically while glancing at my forearm, where a purple bruise has already bloomed from where Cee grabbed me in a viselike grip last week when I made the soup too salty for dinner. Now that she sees it, I cover the bruise with my hand. “They aren’t good at holding in their emotions. My father had quite the temper, and so does my brother.”

  And your husband, I want to add but don’t.

  “It can be challenging for those who aren’t used to it,” she says. “I’m sure you could use a break from his tantrums. This is your chance to do it. We’ll even help you move out of Harbor Hill. Get you set up in a nice, cozy place for you and your baby. You won’t have to worry about a thing, Delilah.”

  I clench my hands in my lap, feeling my baby squirm in my belly and something else squirm inside of me: anger.

  I try my best to ignore her patronizing and her pretense of looking out for my welfare when I know deep down she really doesn’t give a damn what Cee does to me. I try to get my anger under control, but it is a struggle—one that I am quickly losing. While I worked for Miss Mindy and she handed out her put downs and threats, I bowed my head, looked meek, and didn’t talk back. Even Agnes and Roberta—two women more outspoken than me—did the same. We did it because we knew she had all the power and control. But I’m not Miss Mindy’s maid anymore. I am her brother’s wife, and this is my home. Even the sofa that she’s sitting on and the cup she’s drinking from is mine. She does not hold all the power, I realize. I don’t have to be meek anymore.

  “Well, aren’t you thoughtful,” I mutter. “You’ve just thought of everything.”

  Her smile disappears. She slowly lowers her tea cup to the coffee table. “Excuse me?”

  “One moment you’re blackmailing me into giving you money,” I begin, meeting her eyes, “the next moment you’re trying to bribe me into taking money from you.” I push back my shoulders. “You think you can just . . . just throw money at anything to get what you want? Y-you think you can . . . can just play with me like I’m some puppet. You pull my strings and make me do a little dance, then toss me aside when you’re done?” I furiously shake my head. “Well, you can’t! I’m not your puppet, and I’m not gonna just disappear because your mother’s shaking twenty-five thousand dollars in my face! If she wants to reconcile with Cee, I’m not keeping her from doing it. It has nothing to do with me!”

  Her lips tighten. “It has everything to do with you. You’ve made him and her, by extension, a laughingstock . . . social pariahs! She can barely hold her head up among her friends, and our family has worked hard for the reputation we have in our community. My mother is being kind by offering to take care of you financially. Not everyone would be so generous, Delilah!”

  “And not everyone is as desperate for cash as you are!”

  Even I’m shocked by my words. I guess the fury finally got to me. Miss Mindy’s face reddens. Her pert nostrils flare.

  “Well, I guess I gave you too much credit. I thought you were smarter and knew when you were getting a good deal, but I guess I should’ve known better.” She gave a cold laugh. “Every colored girl I’ve ever met has been cunning, but when it comes to basic smarts, they were dumber than a sack of bricks. I guess you’re no different.”

  At that, I push myself to my feet. “I’ll tell Cee that you stopped by. Let me show you to the door.”

  She blinks in shock as I turn toward the foyer. Her mouth falls open. “Are you . . . are you kicking me out?”

  “I didn’t think you wanted to stay in a place you weren’t wanted. I know Cee doesn’t want you here, and frankly,” I shrug, “I don’t either. I’m not kicking you out, but I am asking you politely to leave.”

  She shoots to her feet, sending her purse tumbling from the sofa cushion to the rug. Her eyes seem to catch fire. “Why, you little nigger bitch!” she hisses. “You can’t throw me out of my own house! The Bufords have owned this home since—”

  “The only Buford who owns this home is Chauncey Buford, and he changed the locks for a reason—to keep you out! Again, I am asking you politely to leave. I don’t know if he will do the same.”

  She narrows her eyes at me before bending down to pick up her purse from the floor. She stomps toward the front door in her kitten heels. I watch as she grabs her coat and hat from the wooden rack, sending the entire rack and the rest of the coats toppling to the ground.

  “You’re going to regret this, Delilah,” she says over her shoulder. “I’ll make sure you regret what you did today for as long as you live. Mark my words!”

  She then tugs open the front door, steps into the cold, and slams the door.

  CHAPTER 32

  Cee is asleep with his head buried in his pillow, filling our bedroom with his snores, when a call comes in the middle of a snowy February night. Bleary-eyed and yawning, I struggle to roll onto my side with my ever-growing belly and reach for the old-fashioned, gold princess phone on my night table.

  “Hello?” I whisper, careful not to wake him. He hates to be woken up by anything or anyone that isn’t an alarm clock.

  “Put my brother on the phone,” the voice on the other end of the line orders. It takes me a few seconds to realize that it’s Miss Mindy.

  I frown and am about to tell her that Cee is snoring louder than a bear and to call back after the sun is up, but then I hear her sniff and whimper. I know something is wrong.

  I set down the phone and turn around to face Cee. I nudge his shoulder, but he doesn’t budge. The snores continue. He drank half a quart of bourbon before he passed out, so I know it won’t be easy to wake him up, but I can tell from the desperate sounds on the other end of the line that I should. I nudge his shoulder, shoving it a little harder.

  “Cee!” I shout into his ear. “Cee, wake up! Your sis—”

  “What? What is it?” he yells, snapping awake. Instead of looking serene or confused, he looks furious. “What did I tell you about doing that?”

  “But your sister is on the—”

  My words are cut off when he flops onto his other side, balls his fist, and punches me squarely in the mouth. I scream and grab my face. The pain radiates across my jawline and stings my cheek. It feels like a hornet has attacked me and a prizefighter has hit me at the same time. I
pull my hands away, and even in the darkness, I can see the glint of blood on my fingers. My eyes flood with tears.

  “Goddammit, Dee,” he says tiredly, pushing himself up to his elbows. He shoves his hand through his hair and closes his eyes. He takes a deep breath, opens his eyes, and flexes the fingers of the hand he just used to punch me. “I didn’t mean to hit you like that, honey, but I told you about waking me up from a dead sleep. Didn’t I?”

  I slowly nod, now shaking.

  “I hate it. You know I hate it, Dee. Why’d you wake me up?”

  “Your . . . your sister is on th-the phone,” I garble between sobs, cupping my hand in front of my face to catch the blood pooling in my mouth. He’d have a fit if I got the blood on the sheets. “Sh-she said she n-n-needed to speak with you.”

  “Mindy’s on the phone?” He frowns, then shrugs. He shoots out his hand, and I flinch. He doesn’t hit me again. He just snaps his fingers. “Hand the phone to me, will you, sweetheart? If she’s calling this early, it’s gotta be important.”

  I give him the phone, then climb off the bed to walk to the bathroom. As I step onto the cool tile, turn on the vanity light, and stare at my reflection—with blood dribbling down my mouth and chin, puffy eyes, and a swollen lip and cheek that will probably be purple by the afternoon—I listen to Cee’s end of the conversation.

  “What is it, Mindy?” he says as I spit blood into the sink and turn on the faucet, watching as the red liquid swirls its way down the drain.

  “Uh-huh . . . What? . . . Oh, God,” he breathes.

  I grab one of the washcloths and begin to wipe my mouth.

  “Oh God . . . Mindy, when did it happen? . . . Okay. Okay . . . Of course, I’ll come! Just tell me when it is . . . Yeah. I’m sorry too, Mindy . . . Whatever you may think, I loved her. I loved her as much as you . . . Okay . . . Yes. Good-bye.”

  When all the blood is gone from my face, I return to the bedroom and find Cee sitting on the edge of the bed with his head bowed. I hesitantly walk toward him. When I am less than I foot away from him he raises his head. I can see there are tears in his eyes.