“I know. You were good friends,” Harland said mechanically.
“Yeah. But Harland,” Ash made himself look at his son, even though Harland still stared downward, “your mother—Catherine—I called her Kitty--I knew her better than Betty Jean.” Ash’s heart pounded like a kettle drum. “And I…” Visions of Kitty flashed through his mind with each heartbeat as he remembered her smile, her laugh, and the way she held him when he loved her. “And she…” Harland finally looked up at Ash, almost incredulously, like he knew what Ash was about to say. “Harland—I’m your father.”
He’d finally done it, Ash thought. He’d told Harland the truth. Proud of himself, Ash stood tall, puffing out his chest just. But at the same time, Harland seemed to shrink. But why would he shrink? Ash wondered. Wouldn’t Harland accept him, and be proud to know he’s the Governor’s son?
****
Harland slouched, dropping his head into his hands. Had he really heard what he thought he’d just heard? Harland’s head was spinning. He shut his eyes tightly and let out a deep breath. He felt almost sick. A segregationist governor was his father and he’d fantasized about what each of his half sister’s looked like naked. At the time, he’d had no idea they were related. He’d even envisioned making love to JoBeth. That thought almost made him want to puke.
But then the anger seized him like a lasso bound around his neck. This man was the white man who’d raped his mother! Now Harland felt like a bull, enraged after being branded. His nostrils flared as he stood angrily to confront the Governor. Irate, he took a stand three inches from Ash’s face and yelled, “You’re not my father! You’re just the rapist!”
Ash appeared nonplussed. When he tried to speak, Harland wouldn’t let him. “You raped her! You raped my mother!” With each accusation, he moved closer to Ash, pinning him against the wall.
“Harland!” Ash firmly grabbed Harland’s shoulders, “that’s not true! I didn’t rape your mother!” Still angry, Harland didn’t back away. As Ash squeezed his shoulders he said, “I loved your mother!” The Governor held Harland’s eyes determinedly. “I loved your mother.” Harland slowly eased away as Ash softly repeated himself for a third time. “I loved your mother.” Did he really love her? Harland wondered, or was the Governor’s definition of “love” a sick way of defending rape? But as the Governor spoke, his voice quivered. “And you have no idea what I went through—not being able to know you--as my son.”
Slowly, Harland sat back down, again lowering his eyes. “I—I don’t know what to believe.” He held his head with one hand. “Mama told me my father was white—and that he loved me. But—my dad---Dad said that a white man only wants one thing from a black woman—and that my father was no exception.” Harland punched a fist into his palm, then kept his hands balled up tight. “I’d tell him what Mama said, and all he’d say was ‘you figure it out. You can listen to her—or you can listen to me. But that man’s never come to see you. He doesn’t care about you. As far as he’s concerned--you don’t even exist.’” Harland felt the hot burn of a tear. Embarrassed he said, “I haven’t cried since my father died.”
Ash hesitated. His voice broke as he said, “Now—you have your real father.”
Harland’s head snapped up quickly. His eyes bore angrily into Ash’s. “Do I?”
“If— you’ll let me be your father.”
“I—I,” Harland stammered, almost at a loss for words. Finally, he threw up his hands. “I’m 28 years old—and now I learn who you really are. You can imagine what a shock this is to me.”
“I know it is.”
Neither man spoke for a few moments. Harland again looked down. “You really did—love my mother?”
“Yes.”
“Did she love you?” The Governor started to speak, but his eyes watered, and the words caught in his throat. He only nodded in reply. “And did you really love me?”
“Harland,” the Governor’s throat sounded dry, “I’ve always loved you, and I always will.” Ash walked to his desk, then returned with the two brown envelopes. He placed them on the table in front of Harland. “I keep these in my safe.” Ash pulled out Christmas cards and correspondence from Betty Jean with family photos from one envelope. From the other he pulled out news clippings and magazine articles, all about Harland Hall.
Harland looked through the items amazed. The Governor had his whole life documented through baby pictures, annual Christmas cards, and a plethora of news articles.
“So,” Ash said, “are you willing to listen to everything I have to tell you--about me and your mother—and you?” Harland nodded as Ash sat down in the velvet chair opposite him.
Ash inhaled, gazing straight ahead. “Where do I begin? I guess--with the first time I saw her. I think--that’s when I fell in love with her. And it seemed—it seemed like the most natural thing in the world. Even though I had my sights set on being governor--even back then—I was willing to give up everything for her.”
“You once said--you were afraid of losing your wife. Were you ever afraid of losing my mother?”
“I never thought I would lose her. She was alive one week, and then dead the next.” Ash was silent for a few seconds as he continued looking straight ahead, remembering Kitty. “It--it felt like the bottom fell out of my life--after she died.”
“So when she died—you just decided to focus on politics—and abandon me altogether?”
Ash exhaled deeply as he shook his head. “No, Harland. I used to visit you every month. I’d bring money that Betty Jean claimed she and Thomas didn’t need. But I wanted to provide for you.” Ash blotted his eyes with a handkerchief. “Harland—I wanted to be a part of your life—but Thomas—your father—didn’t want that. When you were a few months old, he threatened to expose me if I came near you again. He didn’t want me to provide you with anything.” Ash studied the white handkerchief before wadding it up and stuffing it into his pocket. “He wanted to be the sole provider and father. And I know he was a good father—I can see that by the way you turned out. But in his opinion, you didn’t need two fathers—especially not a white man.”
Ash pushed himself forward. He looked down at the red carpet before glancing over at Harland. “So—where do you suppose we should go from here?”
Harland raised his eyes to meet Ash’s only for a moment, but then dropped them once more to the floor. “Your family doesn’t know yet--do they?”
Ash sighed. “My brother knows, he helped deliver you—and my mother knows.”
“When—are you gonna tell your wife—and your kids?”
“I—uh—wanted to tell you first—because I want your acceptance of me—as your father.”
“Governor—I don’t know what to say. I hardly even know what to think. I—I need time—to digest all this. I—I have to go.”
When Harland stood up slowly, the Governor stood with him. Still in shock, Harland’s legs felt shaky. Other than goodbye, he had nothing else to say. “Goodbye, Governor.” Harland moved daze like toward the door. When the Governor began to escort him, Harland said, “Sir, I can see myself out.”
Chapter 31
Betty Jean sat in her living room on a gold velvet couch flipping through the most recent issue of Better Homes and Gardens. Every few moments she’d peek through the sheer curtains covering the large picture window behind her, in anticipation of Harland’s visit.
After all the children had gone off to college, Betty Jean started working as a nurse at a Negro physician’s office in Atlanta. After Thomas’s death and her move back to Joy Hope, she’d begun volunteering in Joy Hope’s Negro health facility, The North Star Hospital. Recently, she’d been hired as a part time nurse there. But today was Friday, an off day, so she’d stayed home and cooked for Harland.
Just a ten minute drive from her mother’s home, Betty Jean’s cozy one story ranch had lots of space. She’d made sure to get something with three bedrooms. She wanted room enough for her mother, if that ever became necessary, as well as room for h
er children and grandchildren to use when visiting. She didn’t have grandchildren yet, but Betty Jean liked to plan ahead. Set on a third of an acre in a newer, well to do Negro neighborhood, the house sat surrounded by large oaks on a quiet street.
Betty Jean looked up from her magazine. She gazed at the twelve pink roses on the coffee table Ash had sent a few days earlier, right after he’d told Harland the truth. Then he’d called Betty Jean, asking her to intervene on his behalf. She felt a little resentful while studying the delicate folds of the rose petals. Ash didn’t need to bribe her, even though he’d turned her sister’s life upside down, and she’d raised his son.
Betty Jean had been Harland’s mother all these years, and now Ash was opening his arms to him. Newly widowed, Betty Jean actually didn’t like the idea of sharing her only son. Although she felt displaced, Betty Jean had no choice but to share Harland with Ash. After all, he was Ash’s son, too.
She began browsing through the magazine again, but stopped as she thought about Harland. He was angry and she was prepared for that. When she’d invited him for the weekend, the phone call had been short. After learning the truth from Ash, he hadn’t really been in the mood to see his mother, but she’d convinced him to visit by sounding pitiful, lonely, and in need of a few household repairs.
In retrospect, Betty Jean regretted that she hadn’t told Harland herself. When Harland was an infant, Ash did say he wanted Harland to know. But Betty Jean didn’t tell him, because she hadn’t forgotten that Ash never gave her a straight answer when asked if he’d want his future wife to know about his child with Catherine.
Well, Betty Jean thought, Ash had surprised her. He’d stepped up to the plate and acknowledged his Negro child, at least behind closed doors, but that was gonna have to be good enough.
The next time Betty Jean glanced through the window, she was just in time to see Harland’s gray Chevy Nova pulling into the driveway. When she opened the door to greet him, he stood solemnly. “No smile for your Mama?” She asked. He strode past her, without saying a word. Betty Jean wore her hair in a chin length page boy. At fifty, her tresses were lightly streaked with gray. She tucked one side behind her ear. “And I don’t even get a hug?”
Harland put down his large tote bag and then gave Betty Jean a mechanical embrace.
Betty Jean looked over the top of her thick glasses and put her hands on her round hips. She wore a simple denim house dress with flat sandals. “I’ve gotten better hugs from strangers.” Harland ignored her as he walked to the kitchen and poured himself a glass of cold water from the refrigerator.
A freshly baked peach cobbler was on the kitchen counter cooling. A large pot of collard greens was simmering on the stove. Macaroni and cheese, candied yams, and fried chicken sat covered with aluminum foil in the oven on warm. “So—when are you gonna say something? You’re not even gonna tell me how good everything smells?’ Harland stood at the sink with his back to Betty Jean. “Look—I know you’re still angry with me—because of what Ash told you.”
“I’ve never heard you call him Ash.”
“When I think about him and my sister, I suppose he’s Ash to me--not ‘the Governor.’”
Harland finally turned to face her. “Why didn’t you tell me? I go live in the same town with the man—you even say he’s willing to help me—but you don’t bother to tell me that he’s my father! What were you thinking?”
“Harland, I didn’t know if the Governor wanted you to know, okay? I was wrong. Did you think I didn’t want to tell you?”
“I don’t know what to think! A lots been dropped on me lately. I saw flowers in the living room. Are you seeing someone you haven’t bothered to tell me about?”
“Those are from Ash.”
Harland eyed his mother sharply. “Is he paying you off to convince me what a great guy he is? For all I know—maybe he paid you to raise me—and paid you to keep quiet about me!”
Betty Jean shook her head angrily. “Don’t you talk to your mother that way! And that is not true! I wanted to raise you! And Ash certainly didn’t pay us to keep quiet! Besides, your father wouldn’t have taken a cent from him!”
Harland exhaled deeply. “Okay, tell me everything. I want to know the whole truth!”
Betty Jean hesitated. “You tell me what Ash told you, and I’ll fill in the rest.”
“He told me he loved my mother.”
“I told you he loved your mother. And your mother loved him.”
“He said he was willing to give up everything for her.”
“He wanted to marry her and move to Europe with her so they could be man and wife—legally.”
Harland said nothing for a moment. “Segregationist Ash Kroth?”
Betty Jean shrugged. “He was a young man in love.”
“He told me about Dad threatening him. Did Dad know you sent him all that stuff about me?”
“Thomas didn’t need to know. He was your father. There wasn’t room for another one. But I knew Ash wanted to know all about you. That’s why I sent him everything I possibly could. It wasn’t easy for him. He loved your mother—and you were the one thing left of her that he wanted to love. You know Harland, life isn’t easy. We do what we have to do, and we make choices that can be painful sometimes.”
“I wanted to believe what you told me, but it just seemed easier to believe what Dad said. A part of me thought that you were sugar coating things—and that Dad was telling the real truth.”
Betty Jean sighed exasperatedly. “I told you not to pay your father any attention about that!”
“But since the Governor—my father—never came around—what was I supposed to think?”
“That—maybe—circumstances—got in the way. No one’s perfect. And sometimes we don’t realize how much we can hurt others by our actions, or lack of them.” Betty Jean walked to the kitchen table. “You come on over here and sit down with me.” After Harland seated himself, Betty Jean said, “So—what happened between you and—the Governor, after he told you the truth?”
Harland blew out a deep breath. “The Governor wants to know that I accept him as my father—before he tells his family.”
“And…”
“Mama—put yourself in my shoes! I mean—this landed on me like a bombshell! I—I--”
“The man did what he had to do, but now he wants to be a part of your life. If your father were alive he’d be against this 100%. But it’s your choice. Take the color out of it. Ash is your father, you’re his son. He wants you in his life. What do you want?”
“Mama—I don’t know.”
“Well you think about it. And you pray about it. Pray that God helps you make the right choice.”
“If I do accept him,” Harland sounded resentful, “it’s not like it’ll be made public.”
“And why should it? It’s a family matter.”
“But I’ll never be acknowledged—like his other kids.”
“What does that mean? You want to be added to the family portrait? You think it’s not fair—”
“That I’m his first born—and a secret, kicked to the side of the road?”
“Oh,” Betty Jean crossed her arms, “so my love—and your father’s love--was being kicked to the side of the road?”
“I didn’t mean it that way.”
“Now the man wants to make amends and be there for you the best he can. He’s not gonna call a press conference about it, but he’ll give you whatever you need, and his door is open to you. He’s not gonna reject you now, and I’d be willing to bet, if someone catches on and wants to expose him, he’ll never deny the truth. He may not respond—but he won’t deny you. Did he tell you not to tell anyone?”
“No.”
“Harland, he always wanted you to know the truth. It’s my fault for not telling you. When the Governor got married, I assumed he wanted to keep what happened between him and your mother back in the past. I assumed wrong. How was I to know that one day you’d eventually live in the same town with him?
He’s invited you into his life. Are you gonna take his invitation, or be bitter about the past and reject it? He loves you—and he wants you to love him. It’s your choice Harland. So, what are you going to do?” Both sat silently for a few moments.
“Mama—I just don’t know.”
Betty Jean sighed. “You only live once. Life is fragile and we don’t know when the good Lord’s gonna take us. Now, I don’t want you layin’ up on your deathbed with any regrets. You hear?
****
The brown curtains were drawn tightly shut in the seedy, musty smelling motel room. Caldwell put down his copy of The Crier and smiled. It reported that Harland Hall would attend all NAACP meetings. That was all the information Caldwell needed to plan something spectacular. According to the paper, the next meeting was just a little over a week away.
He’d make an extraordinary explosion. Caldwell felt almost giddy at the thought. It would be beautiful and he couldn’t wait to witness his handiwork. Too bad Libby couldn’t be there to admire it, too. She still had to keep her distance from him so as not to arouse suspicion.
Caldwell’s dynamite extravaganza would involve Hall crossing the Manchester Bridge over the Coleridge River to go from his office to the meeting location. The dramatic display of explosive power would be worthy of a Hollywood motion picture.
****
Mothers were always right, Harland thought, as he drove to the State House. He’d arranged to meet with the Governor, first thing this morning. Harland would accept him as his father. Now, the Governor’s wife and children would have to accept him.
****
Once Ash escorted Harland to his office, both sat in the large velvet chairs. Ash had never felt so awkward, or nervous. Almost a week had passed. What if Harland had come to break ties and reject him? Ash didn’t beat around the bush. “So—what have you…”
“I went to visit my mother after we last spoke,” Harland said. “She filled in all the details—and did some convincing, and convicting, while she was at it. And I’ve spent the past few days mulling things over…”
The Governor’s Sons Page 30