by Karen White
Gently, I placed my teacup in its saucer. “Did either one of them respond?”
Alicia shook her head. “No. Neither one. I didn’t know if Annabelle was still alive or not, but I saw Lillian in the papers all the time, so I knew she was alive and well. I had half a mind to just show up on her doorstep and ask her what’s what.”
A half smile twitched at the corner of Helen’s mouth. “I’ve heard of that happening before.”
Alicia pursed her lips. “Yes, well, I thought it just rude. Especially since my mama left something for her. And I explained that in my letter to her, too, but I guess she wasn’t interested.”
Both Helen and I gave her our full attention. Helen choked down a cookie so she could speak. “Was it her scrapbook pages?”
“Oh, no. She had my grandmama Justine burn those before I was born. I know because my grandmama told me. Said she regretted it until the day she died, seeing as my mama’s story will never be shared. See, I wasn’t the only one who believed Mama’s story started at the Harlem Opera House. She came from Savannah—I knew that much, but you never would have known it to hear her talk. It was like she just wiped the Georgia clay from her feet and never looked back. That’s why I’m here. Wanted to return to where we came from. I raised my children here.” She indicated the piano and its collection of frames. “Three boys and one girl. They all still live here except for my youngest son. He’s in Germany right now in the Army.”
I slid my teacup and saucer onto the coffee table, not sure I could hold it without it rattling. “The thing you were supposed to give to Lillian—do you still have it?”
“Sure do. Figured I’d hold on to it for a while longer. Maybe write her again. She must be getting old though, hmm?”
Helen nodded. “Yes. She’s ninety. But still relatively healthy, except for her arthritis.”
Alicia stood and walked to a dark-stained footed bookshelf tucked between the two long front windows. With both hands, she pulled out a thick, leather-bound Bible, then withdrew a yellowed envelope from between the pages. “I figured if I kept it here, I wouldn’t forget about it.”
She handed it to Helen. “I figure you can give it to your grandmother. See what she wants to do with it.”
Helen nodded and slipped the envelope into her purse after a brief hesitation. She turned back to Alicia. “Did Josie ever say anything about her brother, Freddie?”
Alicia sat down again across from us and poured more tea into all three cups. “She had pictures of him. He was a fine-looking man, that’s for sure. My middle son, Jeremy, favors him a great deal. And my oldest son, Frederick, is named after him.” She straightened her shoulders. “I do know that he was one of the founding members of the NAACP chapter here in Savannah. My mama always said that’s what got him killed. That and him marrying a white woman.”
Helen grabbed my hand. “He married a white woman? Here in Savannah?”
Alicia nodded. “Not that they advertised the fact, of course. My mama said that the reverend who married them got raided, and his church burned because they found out he was marrying couples of mixed races. It was illegal here until nineteen sixty-seven, but there were some ministers who felt God was on their side in joining a man and a woman in holy matrimony, regardless of the color of their skin or what the law books said.” Her dark fingers played absently with the angel charm around her neck. “Anyway, when he got raided, they took the marriage records. Found my uncle’s name and decided to teach him a lesson. It was too late, of course.”
“Too late? How?” I felt Helen’s hand in mine again, squeezing my fingers.
“They were expecting a baby.”
Helen’s fingers squeezed mine tighter. “Who was the woman—his wife? What was her name?”
Alicia shook her head. “Mama never said her name. Everything associated with her brother’s death was too painful for her. She never did talk about it. She only mentioned about his being married because of that big Supreme Court case back in sixty-seven that said people of color could marry who they wanted to and that the states had nothing to say about it. Made my mama cry, remembering her brother, who died because he loved the wrong woman.”
“But you don’t know her name?” I asked, but not because I didn’t think I knew the answer. I said it only to fill the empty places in my head that kept knocking against the parts of the truth I still didn’t know.
“No, I’m sorry. Like I said, it wasn’t something she ever talked about. My grandmama always called that part of my mama’s life the ‘great sadness.’ She said it was what made her music so poignant, but I think that’s a horrible price to pay.”
“And her scrapbook pages,” Helen said, “all of them were burned?”
“All of them. I wish she hadn’t done it, but my mama was a force to be reckoned with. If she said she wanted something done, you didn’t go against her.”
Alicia smiled, and I smiled, too, thinking of the three friends who’d lived in different times but had tried to be stronger than they were allowed.
“There’s another reason why I wanted to meet with you today. We—you and I—are related. We found the birth certificates at the historical center. My great-grandfather was your mother’s father. Leonard O’Hare was Josie and Freddie’s father.”
Alicia closed her eyes and nodded. “Well, praise the Lord. It’s always a good day when a family gets expanded.”
We stood and hugged and Alicia smiled in my face. “Although I can’t rightly say we look like we’re kin.”
We both laughed as I helped Helen stand beside me. Helen extended her hand. “Alicia, it’s been a pleasure meeting you. We’ll have to have you and your family to Asphodel soon.”
“Let’s plan on it. And one more thing.” She held on to Helen’s hand a moment longer. “When you open that envelope, I want you to let me know what’s in there. It’s . . . it’s all I have left of my mother, and there’re so many missing parts to her story that I’m a little hungry to learn what I can.”
“I know what you mean, and I certainly will let you know,” Helen said before hugging Alicia good-bye.
We gathered our purses and Helen’s cane, then left among promises to visit again soon. We rode in silence during the short drive to George’s office, where I’d be dropping Helen off, listening only to the whir of the car’s air conditioner. Helen spoke first, her voice thick. “She was married and pregnant, and she’s never mentioned this to anyone before. Dear God.” She shook her head but couldn’t seem to find any more words to convey her surprise and hurt. She turned to face me. “So what do we do now?”
“We go see Lillian and ask her about Freddie. And then we’re going to ask her what happened to their baby.”
Helen nodded, using a knuckle to impatiently wipe under her eyes. She didn’t look at me when she finally spoke. “I think she’s kept quiet all of these years because of me.”
“Because of you?”
“Yes. She and Tucker have always believed that they needed to protect me. Like being blind made me somehow more vulnerable or worthy of sheltering.” She smiled to herself and smoothed her hands over the soft fabric of her dress. “It’s funny really, because I’ve always thought it was the other way around.”
We drove the rest of the way without speaking, our minds focused on the envelope in Helen’s purse, and the untold story of three best friends and the secret two of them had managed to take to their graves.
CHAPTER 22
George dropped Helen off at the tabby house, where he’d spotted Emily pushing the girls in the tire swing Tucker had recently placed in the towering oak tree in the front yard. Helen invited George to stay, but he’d sensed that he’d only delay the confrontation with Lillian and that he might complicate things. He’d kissed her chastely on the cheek when he’d said good-bye, promising to call her later, and she could still feel her skin tingling.
After determining from Emily that everyone else was up at the big house, she took her cane and began tapping her way down the pa
th toward the gravel drive. She heard Tucker and Piper speaking in the front garden near the stone bench where she remembered Malily planting the azaleas. They’d be dormant now, but for Helen they were always in the height of bloom, with showy purple flowers dancing amid the shiny green leaves.
Mardi bounded over to her as she approached and the conversation ended abruptly. Tucker greeted her, then led her to the bench.
“Did you have a nice lunch with George?” Piper asked.
“Yes, thank you. We went to Firefly Café, one of my favorites. And it would have been the perfect date if he hadn’t kept reminding me how bad cigarettes are for my lungs.” She rolled her eyes. “So I told him fine, that maybe I’ll stop. The girls have been wanting me to quit for forever, so maybe it’s time I did.” She kept her hand on Mardi’s head, scratching him behind his ears, and wondering why Tucker and Piper weren’t saying anything. She pictured them gesturing with their hands and eyes and decided to put them out of their misery. “Go ahead and say it. I can handle it.”
“It’s not about George, if that’s what you’re thinking,” said Piper.
“I wasn’t thinking anything, actually.” She smiled patiently.
Tucker cleared his throat. “Piper told me about your meeting today with Josie’s daughter. And about the envelope she gave you. Do you still have it?”
“Yes, of course. It’s in my purse. Why?”
Again, Helen pictured the gesturing between Tucker and Piper, amused that they seemed to know each other well enough now to create an unspoken language. It had never been that way with Susan. Susan’s attempts at communication, verbal and otherwise, had never appeared to work. Even with her own children, it was as if she were speaking in a foreign language.
Piper spoke. “Because I’d like to see it first.”
Helen surprised even herself with her quick response. She held up her purse. “Take it, and read it. Malily had first dibs and she declined, remember? Even she wouldn’t argue with that.”
Tucker sounded agitated. “You’re not even going to think about it first?”
“You think that I haven’t been thinking about it all afternoon?” She shook her head. “Haven’t you ever wondered,Tucker, why Malily drinks? Or why the blinds at Asphodel are always closed? Why would Malily, who loves the bright flowers in her garden, choose to live in darkness? She’s punishing herself, whether she realizes it or not. That would be a horrible way for her to die.”
Helen reached for his hand and laced her fingers with his. “And I understand your reluctance, too. Because the closer we get to the answers we’re looking for, the more we’ll understand about Susan.” She leaned against his arm, remembering the brother who’d hung three of her paintings in his office and deserved more in his life than grief and unanswered questions. “Ignoring things never made them go away,Tuck.”
“ ‘Never hesitate when it comes to something you want,’ ” Tucker said slowly. “Malily taught us that, didn’t she?”
“Yes, she did.”
Piper took the purse from her and removed the letter. Helen listened as Piper gently ripped the envelope open.
“It’s another news clipping—just like the first.”
There was a brief silence, and then Helen heard Piper sigh.
Gently, Tucker said, “Here, let me have it. I’ll read it out loud for Helen.” He began:“It’s dated September twenty-ninth, nineteen thirty-nine. It reads, ‘The Negro child pulled from the Savannah River three weeks ago remains unidentified. The medical examiner has confirmed that the male infant was a newborn and apparently born healthy. Cause of death remains inconclusive, although the examiner’s report indicates the child died prior to being placed in the river. As an act of charity, the body was given into the custody of a Dr. Leonard O’Hare for a proper burial.’ ”
Helen remained thoughtful for a long moment. “Why would Josie have sent this to Malily?”
“Hang on,” said Piper. “There’s something else here in the envelope. It’s a handwritten letter.” Helen listened to the sound of crinkling paper and then Piper began to read.
Dear Lily,
My mother has always said that a heartbreak only makes your heart bigger, that someday all those cracks and holes will be filled in with all the joy and love you haven’t had yet. Her words have helped us both handle the sad news about Freddie and the baby. I hope they can help you, too.
Charlie came and took you to Asphodel the next morning and I didn’t get a chance to say good-bye to you or Annabelle. Charlie gave me the rest of the money I needed for a train ticket to my mother in Virginia and I left that same day. It’s a lot closer to New York from here, and I think that’s where I’ll be heading next.
I got a letter from Annabelle last week saying you won’t answer her letters, so she sent me this in the hopes that I might be able to get through to you.We know her father gave the baby to Charlie for burial, but that’s all we know. She’d like you to let her know where he’s buried so she can plant flowers.
Annabelle is grieving something fierce.We always thought she was the strongest of us three, but there’s something we missed. I fear her heart bleeds for the world, and all of its disappointments become hers. My mama said that she’s heard stories of flowers and trees absorbing the sadness around them and turning black, still alive but mostly dead inside. And Mama thinks that’s what’s happening to our beloved Annabelle.
She blames herself, and only you have the power to forgive her. She is like the walking dead now. And that wonderful light that used to shine for all of us is flickering like a candle in an open window. Forgive her, Lily. She did what she had to do and saved all of our lives. She doesn’t see it that way, of course, but that’s what makes Annabelle so different from the rest of us.
You left Lola behind, and I gave it to Annabelle, hoping it will help her remember happier times.
And may the good Lord forgive us all.
Love,
Josie
Quietly, Piper folded up the letter and Helen heard her slide it back into the envelope. Her voice shook. “So what did my grandmother do, do you think, that she needed forgiveness for?”
“There’s only one way to find out,” Helen said. “Let’s go find Malily and get this over with.” She stood abruptly, not able to reconcile the memories of the grandmother who’d planted a garden for her with the woman who’d never found it in her heart to forgive a friend.
Tucker took her arm. “Are you sure you want to do this? It might be hard to hear.”
She yanked her arm away from him. “I’m not a child,Tucker. And just because I’m blind doesn’t mean I’m not strong. I was the one you came to when Susan died, remember? I grieved for her, too, but somebody had to be strong for the children and I was happy to do it. But don’t treat me now as if I can’t handle this.”
He stepped back. “Go then.” He softened his voice. “You’ve never really needed me anyway.”
Helen reached out in her darkness for her brother, and he grabbed her hand. She threw her arms around his neck and hugged him tightly, remembering the little boy who’d been afraid of thunderstorms. “Yes, I have. And I always will. But in case you haven’t noticed, my life has managed to be far less complicated than yours. Why don’t you focus on you for now? I wouldn’t mind a complication or two in my own life now and again.”
She pulled away from him and turned toward Piper. “Come on. You and I are going up to Malily’s room.” She held up a staying hand to Tucker. “I think it should be just Piper and me. You know how Malily has always said that history is best translated by women. I also don’t think she could stand to see the disappointment in your eyes.”
“Or yours,” he said.
She allowed herself to smile. “But that’s where you’d be wrong. She doesn’t think I can see anything.”
“Fine, then. If that’s what you want. Just . . . call me when you’re done.”
Piper stood and placed the envelope in Helen’s hands. “I’ll let you give this
to her.” To Tucker, she said, “Go see the girls. If you don’t mind helping them tack up, they’d love to show you a few of the things they’ve learned this week. I’ve already told them I’m Miss Piper now—because I wanted my nickname back.”
After a brief hesitation,Tucker said,“Sure, I’ll do that.” He started to walk away but turned back. “Go easy on her. She’s an old woman.”
Helen shook her head. “She’d hate to hear you say that. But, yeah, we will.”
Piper took her arm and led her inside. They walked more slowly than usual, as if each realized that Pandora’s box was about to be blown wide-open.
Lillian sat up in her bed propped against plumped pillows covered in the best Egyptian linen. Still, she couldn’t get comfortable, and had rung for Odella so many times that Odella had parked a chair outside of the bedroom door to save herself the trouble of climbing the stairs again and again. This was the first time in Lillian’s life—not counting when she’d had her children—when she hadn’t gotten out of bed. She was too tired, all the thoughts in her head and words on the scrapbook pages warring in her brain, sapping her strength.
Annabelle’s last scrapbook pages lay on the bedside table next to her, but the photo of the three of them in the garden at Dr. O’Hare’s house on Monterey Square was now propped against the photo of her debutante ball. She’d had Odella pry the photo off the page using a nail file, the photo popping off the old glue easily. The edges of the photo curled inward like her memories, as if neither one could move forward past that time.
“Were you pregnant in that photo, Lillian?”
Startled, she looked at the doorway where Odella stood behind Piper and Helen. She’d known better than to ask Odella to prevent entry. The Annabelle she’d once known wouldn’t have been deterred, and neither would her granddaughter.