The Chinaberry Tree

by Jessie Redmon Fauset

  CHAPTER V

  CERTAINLY Melissa had no idea but that she was wanted, even needed in her aunt’s little establishment. She could not conceal her amazement at the seclusion in which the two lived. All that abounding fellowship, the rich if homely possibilities of enjoying life all about them and Laurentine and Aunt Sal so completely out of it!

  “My goodness me,” she communed with herself many times during that first summer, “what if Aunt Sal and that old Colonel weren’t married! What’s Laurentine got to do with that? She needn’t act as though she were under a curse—that sort of stuff is all out nowadays.” She remembered then that her mother had explained to her something of the outside pressure which the Colonel’s wife had brought to bear on this woman, this lowly, dark woman who had so ensnared her husband. She had, through her husband it is true, been the possessor of powerful weapons which she had not hesitated to use. Few people would have been willing to encounter the social or economic ostracism which she was able to exercise against them. Gradually, like the old definition of a simile, the case of Sal Strange and her daughter, Laurentine, became confused, the sign was accepted for the thing signified and a coldness and despite toward this unfortunate mother and child became a fetish without any real feeling or indignation on the part of the executioners for the offenses committed. Neglect of the two women became crystallized. On the other hand a reversion was already beginning to appear, the legend, although still extant and occasionally revived was beginning to be something quite apart and remote from the Mrs. Strange and her daughter whom colored Red Brook observed occasionally at church or community entertainment.

  Melissa of course was too young to understand the philosophy of this. She had the modern young person’s scorn for unnecessary formulæ, yet her own innate regard for convention made her slightly smug. “Still and all it is nice to be decent. I’m glad my father and mother were married,” she thought, unconscious that such an idea had never crossed her mind before.

  • • • • •

  Serene in her utter respectability, bolstered by a strong sense of rectitude springing from conformity to the merest conventionalities she sallied forth to make life full and joyous for herself and to lay some of its largess in the laps of her aunt and cousin, particularly in the lap of the latter.

  For in spite of the eight years between them, she was able to penetrate Laurentine’s armor of pride and to resolve it into its component parts of timidity and loneliness.

  CHAPTER VI

  LIFE in Red Brook was pleasanter in winter even than in summer, Melissa found. But then all her days were delightful. The peace and orderliness of her aunt’s household acted like both a sedative and a tonic on her young spirit which hitherto had known only confusion and uncertainty. She became not only gayer and more lively than she had ever been before but, if possible, more assured and triumphant.

  Her place in the community was a strange one. It was patent even to her non-introspective mind that she was both of and yet not of this closely knit society of the small town. She had never known anything like this in her life in Philadelphia with its distinct cliques. Some of the people there based their social superiority merely on the fact that they were “old Philadelphians.” Others belonged to professional groups ; the families of doctors, lawyers and school-teachers hobnobbed together. The caterers possessed a distinct standing made possible not only by their very real wealth, but by their connection with outstanding white Philadelphians. Poor people, like Judy and Melissa, were absolutely beyond the pale of these groups. One read of their doings in the Tribune and Courier and Judy sewed sometimes for their families but there were no social connections.

  But in Red Brook every colored person knew every one else ; all were to be reckoned with, at least all who possessed any economic status. Thus the richest colored man and consequently the most influential character in the colored group was George Hackett, who held the contract for gathering ashes. His son, Phil, had had two years at Howard but had preferred his assured position in Red Brook to the uncertainties of life in the large centers. He had returned therefore to his father and was now running his billiard parlor. The Traceys, Cliftons and Greens were in the Taxi business, they were all comfortably situated, living each family in its own private cottage with pleasant yards on wide, tree-shaded streets. Mr. Epps owned a fine barber shop for white patrons only. He possessed a large, airy ten-room house which sheltered his sister, daughter, son-in-law, grand-daughter, and niece. He kept a handy-man who ran his car and kept his shop and house clean. This latter was lodged under the same roof as his employer and had visions of his own which included marriage with Mr. Epps’ niece and a share in his business.

  Into this life came Melissa, advancing with firm, assured stride. On the first Sabbath after her arrival, she had gone to church—gone alone. “That’s all right,” she told the somewhat hesitant Laurentine, “I don’t mind introducing myself.” After the service she went straight up to Reverend Simmons.

  “I’m Melissa Paul, Mis’ Sarah Strange’s niece,” she told him. “I’m going to live with her for a while. I was in Reverend Caldwell’s church in Philadelphia, do you know him? I’d like to work in your Young Folks’ Auxiliary.”

  Reverend Simmons called his wife. “This is Mis’ Strange’s niece, Annie. Le’s see, your mother, now, was Judy Strange, wasn’t she?”

  “Judy Paul,” said Melissa firmly. “My father’s name was John Paul, but he’s dead now. I can’t even remember him myself. But my mother’s told me all about him, many’s the time. So you knew my mother?”

  “Land yes!” Mrs. Simmons replied. “I c’n see Judy still just as plain. It seems only yesterday since she used to come walkin’ into meetin’. Her and Mis’ Forten used to come together, they was that thick. One couldn’t step without the other. She must have spoke to you about Mis’ Forten, I’m shore.” Her rather beady eyes fastened themselves on the girl intently.

  “No,” said Melissa carelessly, “she never did. She said she liked Red Brook though and that she had a good time here. I’d like to meet some of the other girls, Mis’ Simmons.”

  “She’s a cool one,” Mrs. Simmons told her husband later, “but she’s full of pep and life. She’ll be a good worker. After all, she can’t help havin’ that Strange blood.”

  In two months it seemed to Laurentine she was in everything that went on in colored Red Brook. Best of all she brought new life into the quiet household, compensating Laurentine vicariously for her own lost youth. Early in the morning before school girls stopped for Melissa ; girls left her at her door when the session was over. They came over at night ostensibly to do Latin or algebra but spent most of their time in giggling, teaching each other new dance steps, displaying finery. The telephone, which up to this time had brought only messages delivered in the cool brittle tones of white patrons asking for “fittings,” vibrated with the deep male notes of boys’ voices inquiring everlastingly: “Is Melissa there? How are you, Mis’ Strange? Ask her to come to the telephone, won’t you?”

  Laurentine loved all this. Once she would have resented it with a bitter jealousy, but now there was always Phil Hackett, still somewhat remote and wary, it is true, but there. Her reasonable mind told her that she was doing as well as could be expected—her girlhood days would be lying behind her in any event. She could not begrudge her cousin the purely fortuitous results of a combination of youth and a changing public opinion. So she smiled on Melissa’s little triumphs, made her the simple, distinguished dresses which best suited her reddish brown skin, her strange green eyes and her dark red hair. Melissa just missed that dreaded combination of skin and hair which colored people laughingly dub “rhiny,” but Laurentine with her practiced eye and skilful hand knew how to turn these liabilities to the girl’s advantage by dressing her in cool violets, greens, browns, creams and even occasionally black. Melissa was Laurentine’s best advertisement. The girl lacked her older cousin’s distinction and beauty, but she had as compensation grace, and youth and mai
denly prettiness which enhanced by Laurentine’s taste and her own happiness made her a notable figure.

  Melissa was happy. She forgot Philadelphia, forgot even her mother and lived, it seemed to her, dreaming, in some unusual moment of leisure under the Chinaberry Tree, just as a young girl should. It was at times like these that she tasted most deeply her good fortune. The Chinaberry Tree brought back the past to Aunt Sal ; to Laurentine it represented the future ; but to fortunate Melissa, it meant now, the happy, happy present.

  • • • • •

  Still there were moments when she felt a vague disquietude. When older people said with a slight hint of meaning in their tone : “This is Sal Strange’s niece, you know; you remember Judy Strange? Well, it’s her daughter,” she felt an odd resentment toward her aunt and her beautiful remote cousin, a half-shamed desire to separate herself completely from those two distinct peculiar entities with their too well-known past.

  “But I am Melissa Paul,” she would invariably counter. “My father was John Paul of Philadelphia. My mother married after she left here. And now she’s married again and living in Chicago.”

  More than ever the double marriage seemed to bolster her conventional superiority to Aunt Sal and Laurentine. Even so, her statement hardly banished the slight gleam of malice in the eyes of her audience. Afterwards at home, in her dainty room, her better nature would assert itself. What did she care for these stupid people and their innuendoes? After all, folks were only folks whether their parents had known wedlock or not. “And remember, Miss,” she would adjure herself reproachfully, “all the good times you’re having now you owe to Aunt Sal and Laurentine just because their position is what it is. But what a place! Imagine my coming in for this sort of thing just because I’m a cousin. Poor Laurentine, she’s certainly got a bad break. It’s different with Aunt Sal,” she told herself with the hard clarity of modern youth, “she’s had her fun, but Laurentine sure is out of luck.”

  CHAPTER VII

  HARRY ROBBINS drove his father’s car up to Melissa’s gate and dismounted, crunching over the hard walk just as Asshur Lane opened the gate. The two of them crossed the front porch together, eyeing each other with absolutely unconcealed male disdain.

  “Say, don’t you have to do anything at all?” Harry queried plaintively. “Bet Mis’ Strange is sick of seeing your ugly mug around these parts.”

  Asshur, tall and strong and confident, pushed him back, his hard elbow planted squarely in his chest.

  “Get back boy, get back,” he said, his teeth shining in his sudden infectious smile. “Melissa told me to be here at five and here I am. Now I know she didn’t tell you to come too, did you Melissa?”

  “No,” said Melissa smiling, “but he can come in just the same, Asshur. You wouldn’t turn a poor boy like that out in the cold, would you?”

  Secretly she was glad to have the two together. She did not like Robbins; for some obscure, inexplicable reason she even feared him. Now with Asshur she was safe.

  Robbins slouched in a little sulkily, perturbed by Asshur’s presence, his assured manner. In his hateful, selfish way he was wild about Melissa and was ready to do anything to possess her—even to the extent of offering her marriage, more than he had offered any other girl. Moreover he had been born and bred in Red Brook and so was more than ever resentful of Asshur who had lived in Red Brook only a year.

  Aunt Sal came in and asked them to stay to supper, but they couldn’t accept her invitation, since each of them worked at night and had to be at his station by six-thirty. She sent them in then thick slices of bread and butter, a pot of raspberry jam and large cups of cocoa.

  Beyond in the next room Laurentine’s lovely fingers were flashing in and out of lengths of gorgeous shades of silk, georgette and velvet while she directed Mattie Gathers and Johnasteen Stede, her assistants. A warm sense of coziness pervaded the household. Laurentine was happy in the matter of fact invasions which her cousin’s friends made into their household. Melissa loved the background of beauty and security which her aunt’s surroundings afforded.

  “Well,” said Asshur presently, over his third slice of bread and jam, “I came to see if you didn’t want to go with me to the Ice Carnival day after tomorrow, ’Lissa. Yes, I know your skating ain’t so much, but with my strong arm at your service, you ought to pull through. What do you say?” He stood up, his long, perfect figure towering above her, his eyes dancing in his dark face, his teeth shining.

  Melissa glanced at Harry, hesitated. A week ago he had asked her and she had turned down his invitation flatly. She wanted, to skate, she loved the exercise, the hot pulsing of blood, the airy, crazy talk of the boys and girls around her, but she did not like Harry and his warm clinging fingers, his insinuations, the look in his small reddish eyes portending, she couldn’t imagine what.

  If Asshur had only asked last week!

  Still why should she forfeit her fun for Harry who would never mean anything to her? She turned her glance back to Asshur. “Well, since you’ve asked me so prettily, Mr. Lane, I don’t believe I mind accepting. Yes, I’ll be glad to go. What time will you be here?”

  “About eight,” rejoined Asshur happily. Harry, he was sure, had come to make the same request and he had outsmarted him! “Be sure you’re ready, ’Lissa. Come on, Robbins, since you are here, make yourself useful. Get in that wreck of yours and carry me down to Spring Street.”

  “You must be dreamin’, fella,” Harry retorted. “Carry yourself down there. I’m going to stay here a moment with Melissa. Don’t you imagine I might want to see her, and see her without your spoiling the scenery?”

  “Well, s’ long,” replied Asshur, unfailingly good-natured. “Well, Melissa,” he teased as she followed him into the hall, “I see you showed your real good sense in promising to go with me. You know that’s what Harry came here for, to take you. If I was a girl I wouldn’t want to be in your shoes for the next quarter of an hour. He sure is jealous, just don’t let him scare you. If he does, see me, that’s all.”

  Melissa nodded. “All right, Asshur, see you in school to-morrow.” But she was strangely nervous within as she turned back to the warm sitting-room.

  Harry rose, glowering at her.

  “You know I asked you first, Melissa.”

  “I know you did, Harry, but last week I didn’t think I wanted to go.”

  “But when you changed your mind you could have sent for me.”

  Her temper flared. “I don’t know that I am to regulate my actions to suit your convenience, Harry Robbins.”

  “It might be funny if you had to regulate your whole life to suit me, mightn’t it, Melissa? You know I want you Melissa. I’ll get you yet.”

  “If my father were living you wouldn’t dare talk that way to me, Harry.”

  “If your father were living, you wouldn’t be here,” he retorted, threatening, enigmatic. His whole being seemed suddenly portentous with evil. “Look out, you may have to come to me after all, my girl.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she told him, “but I know I do want you to go home.”

  He slipped out the door. She waited until she heard the throb of his engine, the violent clashing of gears shifted by a too hurried hand.

  Vaguely but thoroughly frightened, she ran upstairs and began to study her lessons.

  Aunt Sal called her to supper. Afterwards she washed the dishes while Laurentine draped a velvet gown on the dress form. The peace and security of the household enveloped her. After all, what could Harry do? And anyway there was always Asshur.

  Drying her hands, she went back into the sitting-room, opened the piano, old-fashioned but still sweet of tone. She played some of the season’s favorites, then an old love song and finally a spiritual, “Didn’t my Lord deliver Daniel?” Aunt Sal sitting quietly in a corner listened to the mighty strains, knew that her niece was playing it for her, smiled at peace in the darkness. The offspring of her own and Judy’s stormy past were safe and doing well.
She thought of Phil Hackett—she could not tell much of his disposition but if he gave her daughter, her precious baby, a name and protection she would lie down and let him walk over her body. As for Asshur Lane, young as he was, she could picture him already as the rock he might be to a woman in the weary land called life.

  • • • • •

  Melissa in bed thought again of Harry Robbins and his veiled threats. And again she thought “Well, anyway there’s always Asshur.” But in her heart she knew she did not want Asshur. Asshur was clean, Asshur was kind, Asshur had a lion’s courage and fortitude. But Asshur was going to be a farmer. A most successful farmer, she had no doubt, he would own a big, rambling house some day; he would have acres, cows and chickens, a Ford runabout, perhaps later a larger car. If she married him they would come into town on Saturday afternoons, perhaps they would go to a movie. Being colored and living in Jersey they would sit in a special section reserved for their kind. Asshur wouldn’t mind, he’d laugh his big, hearty laugh.

  “Times will change. It won’t always be like this, ’Lissa. Our children will sit where they please in this very theatre, perhaps you and I will ourselves some day.”

  No, she didn’t want that life even though it would be a thousand times more wholesome, more secure, more decent than that life she had known with her mother in Philadelphia. Even though unlike the lives of her Aunt Sal and cousin Laurentine it should have no hidden places, no secret sense of shame. There were two colored doctors in Red Brook, both of them were married, one of them had two daughters, Kitty and Gertrude Brown, girls of about her own age. Melissa had seen one of the girls in school; Kitty was in her French class, but even so Melissa barely knew her. Dr. Brown and his family attended Reverend Simmons’ church and once Kitty and Gertrude had been in a church play. Melissa had had a part too. The last three rehearsals were held in the Brown home, one of them while Mrs. Brown was having a bridge. The street outside was lined with cars of colored ladies who had driven out to Red Brook from New York, Newark, the Oranges, Trenton, Bordentown. Two of them had been driven in by their chauffeurs.