I shook my head as I considered Marcia’s words.
“Oh, I’m sorry, Souci. Sometimes my mouth runs faster than my brain. I didn’t mean you. You’re ten times as smart as any of them. And you got character.”
“Speaking of busy,” I heard Paulette say, “it’s only been how many months since we’ve been trying to get Souci back into our little circle. But every time I turn around, she is at some other function. I’m just happy she finally stopped traipsing around the place with her charming husband and found time in her schedule to squeeze us in.” She raised her glass of passion juice toward me.
“Speaking of your husband, Souci, what ever is he going to do about that dreaded hospital?” Ayleen Morgan asked. “It’s been several days already. People just want to know.”
I could only shake my head. The last thing I wanted was to get on the topic of politics. I prepared to get teamed up on again. Marilyn’s words were a lot clearer at this party, so I was convinced her glass contained only juice. At least when she was drinking the harder stuff, I didn’t have to worry about her chiming in very much.
“It is somewhat of a sticky situation. He’s going to have to deal with it quickly,” Debbie Dean said. “It’s creating too much of a fuss.”
“Is he actually considering accepting it?” someone asked.
“Well, it is a gift,” I said.
Problem was, it was a gift from the government of Cuba. Any other country, there wouldn’t have been any discussion. But in the four days since Cuba had offered the hospital, there had been one story or another in The Gleaner about it. Everyone was writing in and giving their opinion on what course Lewis should take.
“Our former prime minister, Mr. Carlysle, thinks it would put Jamaica in bad favor with the democratic nations,” Debbie Dean said.
“I don’t like the idea of it. I don’t like the idea of taking anything from the communists,” Ayleen said.
“People have been whispering again about Lewis being sympathetic to communism. There’s such an easy way for him to disprove this,” Paulette said. The women all turned their attention to me.
“Lewis isn’t a communist,” I said.
“Oh, not this again. Of course he’s not,” Debbie Dean said. “Lewis believes in capitalism, but he does have a problem with some people having so much and others having so little.”
I saw Paulette rolling her eyes and sighing.
“So he wants to make us all equal,” someone said.
“Paulette, would you be willing to give up your lovely home for something a quarter of its size?” Ayleen asked.
“I don’t think Lewis is about to do that,” Debbie said. “Lewis went to school in America, like me. I know he wholeheartedly believes in capitalism. It spurs people to achieve that much more. The promise of being able to make as much money as possible spurs people on to work even harder. It’s a great motivator.”
“Well then, he should just turn down that hospital.”
“Man should do as he pleases,” Marcia said. All the women looked at her as if it was the first time they were noticing she was there.
“But we could use it … couldn’t we?” I said.
“And Lewis did run on the platform of not coming up with answers to Jamaica’s problems based on what the dominant governments think is best for Jamaica, but on what is really best for Jamaica,” Debbie added. “Now, maybe America doesn’t want us accepting this gift. Maybe not Canada and England, but we need to do what’s best for Jamaica.”
“Come again,” said Paulette, “Are you against communism or for it?”
“I’m for Jamaica, ladies.”
Marilyn quickly steered the conversation to more familiar and less controversial ground.
“Guess who just became engaged? Jennifer Glenn.”
Later on in the gathering, I finally managed to get Paulette and Marilyn away from the other women and back up to the house. I told them something about wanting to look at a new piece of sculpture I had seen in the living room. But I had barely settled into one of the room’s fat couches when Paulette scooted right up to me, looked deeply into my eyes and blurted out:
“Oh, Souci, I know, I know, I know.”
“Know what?” I asked. But before I could say another word, Marilyn took a seat on the opposite side of me.
“Why you came up with that little rouse for getting us alone. You don’t care about the sculpture.”
“I don’t?”
They shook their heads with concern. Suddenly, I experienced something
I had never experienced while in Paulette and Marilyn’s presence—silence. But I could tell Paulette was brimming with excitement about something.
“Okay, Paulette,” I said. “What is it?”
“What is what?”
“What is it that you have to tell me?”
“Souci, what makes you think … there’s nothing I have to tell you. I mean …”
“Come on, Paulette. I see it on your face.”
“Oh, Souci. I would never want to hurt you.”
“Hurt me?”
Marilyn was shaking her head at Paulette.
“Oh Marilyn. She should know.”
“Know what?”
“Souci, I know that by now you know Agnes is back on the island. She’s all settled into her house on Forsythe Drive. And she’ll be living in Jamaica year-round now, a stone’s throw away you and Lewis.”
I was almost afraid to know where this was all going. I just looked down at the shiny wooden floor.
“Souci, we’re your friends. You can talk to us.”
“Talk to you?”
“About your relationship with Lewis. Is it strong?”
Paulette moved in so closely, I could feel her warm breath against my face. “How’s everything in the marital sense?”
“Pardon?”
“Look, dear. It’s common knowledge, things between Agnes and Lewis. I mean, it’s fine when they’re both married, but now Agnes and her husband are through and everyone knows Lewis is the love of her life. And Lewis has been quite a comfort to her through the divorce.”
“Souci, Agnes is a monster. She wants Lewis, you know, and she’ll have him if you leave her be. It doesn’t matter what obstacle is in her way, she always manages to get around it.”
“Get around? You mean obliterate,” Marilyn said.
“Why should I be nervous about Agnes?” I said. “I mean, they’re good friends, and if they want to have dinner together every now and then, why shouldn’t they? Besides, if they haven’t gotten together in all these years….” I was probably trying to convince myself as much as I was trying to convince Paulette and Marilyn. I reminded myself that Lewis’ life was his to live. We were only married on paper, so he could do as he pleased.
“The only reason they haven’t gotten together is because there was never an opportunity,” Paulette said.
“There’s not one now. I mean, Agnes has been there for him through the years, through the good times and the bad.”
Paulette’s house had two living rooms. There was a huge one in the front, which she sometimes entertained in when she had many guests. The one we were seated in was located in the back of the house. The windows faced the backyard, where the other women were gathered. I looked out at them, laughing and talking and milling about. They seemed so free, while I felt trapped. Worse part was, it was a trap I had set myself.
“Agnes has lasted a lot longer than his former wife. Beatrix loved him so much, but one day he just shut down where she was concerned. After a while, you didn’t see them in public anymore. Then she fell down and lost her baby … at least that’s what they say happened.”
“What do you mean?” I asked. There was too much information coming at me all at once.
“Some people think her little fall happened in the midst of a fight,” Paulette volunteered.
“Oh, Paulette. Stop spreading those awful rumors. No one caused her fall. She just fell. It was just an accident.” Marilyn g
iggled nervously.
“And some people think,” Paulette continued, “she didn’t want that baby anyway. That she wanted out of the marriage at any cost. And, if that’s the case, it makes you wonder what went on that could have driven Beatrix to such despair. As soon as she got out of the hospital, she left the island. Hasn’t been heard from since.” “You knew her?” I asked. By this point, Paulette’s legs were curled under her, and she was leaning a little too comfortably into me, as if she was settling in for a good movie.
“No,” Paulette said. “It was many years ago. Lewis was a young man then, but word travels across space and time.”
“You’re not trying to say that Lewis made it so she had to leave, are you? I don’t think he would ever do anything to hurt anyone, ever.”
“I’m not saying anything. I’m just saying the man has a temper. A very short temper. He can turn from pleasant to stormy in two seconds, and then you better watch out. I’ve seen it myself.”
I saw Marcia walking away from her seat beneath the shade tree and standing off by herself. I couldn’t help but wonder who felt more out of place at that moment—Marcia or me. “Everyone gets mad every now and then,” I said.
“Not like him. One time, he and my husband got into a heated argument about how the bauxite industry is run. Lewis doesn’t like the fact that all the companies are foreign-owned. It all started over a very civil dinner, and I’m not really sure how the tone of the conversation changed, but your husband got so angry, David actually thought he was going to strike him.”
“But he didn’t, did he? That’s all that matters. The rest is just a bunch of rubbish. As for the thing with his ex-wife, you weren’t there, I wasn’t there. And as for Agnes, I’m not worried any.”
“Well, as long as you keep your eyes open with her, you won’t be surprised.”
“I thought you and Agnes were friends,” I said.
“We are, but we’re yours too. We just want to keep everything in our little world perfect and happy. If you watch your back with Agnes, all will be fine.”
I never got around to asking about Bumper Smalls. By the time Paulette and Marilyn finished double-teaming me, I had forgotten why I had even brought them up to the house in the first place. But even if I had remembered, I would probably have changed my mind and not even broached the subject with them—the world’s greatest gossips.
-21-
Aunt Mattie used to say that once you set your mind to solving a mystery, the clues often came from the most unexpected of sources.
Lewis’ office at Reach was lined with bookcases. They took up almost all the wall space in the room. I didn’t spend much time in front of the shelves containing history, politics or economics. Their titles included terms such as “fascism,” “imperialism,” “socialism,” and other words that had never crossed my lips. I could usually be found standing in front of the fiction section, but I had become obsessed with finding out more about Lewis’ past, so there I was picking out books on the history of the island. Maybe I would find some mention of a Bumper Smalls or a Smalls family.
I must have thumbed through ten history books, but there was nothing. Just as I was about to give up my search, I found a clue in that most unexpected of sources—in a book about coffee distribution on the island. But it wasn’t anything that was actually written in the book that stood out—it was a small envelope that had been wedged between the pages. It hadn’t been sealed and the glue on the flap had become cakey and yellow. It was addressed to an Elsie Smalls, in care of the Guava Ridge post office, and it was in Lewis’ handwriting. There was no postmark on the envelope and there was no date on the letter, which read:
E-
This is the man you’re in love with. A coward who didn’t even have the guts to tell you what he had done face to face, or to explain why he had done it. Please understand that in the eyes of God, I had no other recourse but to marry this person. I know that no amount of I’m sorrys can ever remove the hurt I’ve inflicted on you. I can only hope that one day you will see it in your heart to forgive this weak man. Know that my heart is breaking over my deception, and I hope you realize that despite what I’ve done, I will love you forever.
L.
* * *
Lewis had a weakness for codfish fritters and every two weeks or so, Mrs. Moore would whip up a batch, which left the ground level of the house smelling like warm oil, fried dough and fish. The kitchen was a room I didn’t visit that often, which was strange for me, since cooking was one of the things I had always loved doing in Stepney, and I thought I was pretty good at it. Mrs. Moore had made it very clear that the kitchen was her territory. I had once told her that I would love to help decide each day’s menu and that I could even help her in the kitchen sometimes.I didn’t think I was saying anything wrong until I overheard her talking to Lewis one evening. I walked in on the tail end of the conversation, but I heard enough to know that Mrs. Moore didn’t take kindly to the idea of sharing her space. “If that’s what Mrs. Montrose wishes and what you wish, Mr. Lewis. Even though after almost thirty years at this house and almost twenty of them as cook, I had gotten to feeling I did a rather good job in putting together what went on the table.” It was even a fight to make myself a cup of tea. The woman always seemed to sense when I needed something and would intercept me before I got anywhere near the kitchen. I wasn’t used to people waiting on me, but eventually I just got tired of fighting, so I left the kitchen to her. Mrs. Moore was soaking the fish in water when I walked in.
“You would like something to eat, ma’am?” she asked when she noticed me.
“No. I just came for a visit.”
Mrs. Moore’s eyebrows lifted a little, but she caught herself and smiled politely. She continued to shred the codfish and to soak it in water. I backed up and seated myself on a small black stool. I had to find out whether Elsie’s last name being “Smalls” was just a coincidence, or whether she might in some way be related to Bumper Smalls. As I considered how to broach the subject, I looked off at the many copper pots hanging above the stove. The kitchen was large and dark. The floor was made of brick, and on the whole, the room didn’t really look like it belonged to the house.
“Mrs. Moore, you’ve been here a long time, right?”
“Since forty-eight.”
“So you’re like one of the family.”
“I suppose, ma’am.”
“Probably seen so many people come and go.”
“The Montrose’s have always been one of the top families in Jamaica. They’ve known so many different people.” Mrs. Moore kept going about her business as she spoke. There was a bowl filled with flour, and small glass containers with pepper, salt, and some other ingredients I couldn’t identify from just looking at them. She grabbed an onion and began dicing it with what looked like a meat cleaver. I couldn’t figure out why she didn’t use a smaller knife, but she seemed at ease with her choice.
“Famous people even, huh?”
“Yes. Famous people even.”
“What about a woman named Elsie Smalls?”
“Hmmm. I don’t know. But as I said, the Montrose’s have known so many different people. When did they know this Elsie Smalls?”
I was trying not to stare at the meat cleaver, but I couldn’t help it. She was chopping as fast as I’d ever seen any one chop anything.
“I’m not sure. It could have been a long time now. But it could have been more recent.”
“Hmmm,” was all she said. I was a little disappointed she couldn’t tell me anything more about Elsie Smalls of Guava Ridge.
“But you and Mr. Moore haven’t always been the only ones here.”
“Oh no. There was a much bigger staff before. I was a young woman when I started working here. There were a couple of gardeners, another maid, a cook, Mr. Moore and me. So, that would be six … at least.”
“Lewis told me the family fell on hard times, so they had to let go of some of the help.” I noticed the onion didn’t make her cry
. I couldn’t look at an onion without my eyes tearing up.
“It’s an unfortunate thing. But it does happen.”
“You keep in touch with any of the people who left?”
“The other maid was a close friend.” She used the cleaver to scrape the diced onion into an empty glass bowl.
“Who was she?”
“Oh, another young girl from in the town.” Mrs. Moore reached for a tomato.
“What was her name?”
“Audra.”
“And the cook? You ever see the cook?”
“She was a bit older than me. A very particular woman. Whatever was her name?” Mrs. Moore paused for some time and shook her head. Her eyes narrowed and she tapped at the table with the blunt end of the cleaver.
“She wouldn’t let anyone near her kitchen … except her little daughter, who would help her out. I think she was training her to also become a cook.” She laughed at the memory. I thought it was funny too, especially since Mrs. Moore didn’t realize that she guarded her kitchen the same way.
“Winsome. That was it. Winsome Wills, come to think of it.” She cut into the tomato, and some of the juices oozed out onto the table.
“Could her daughter have been Elsie?”
““No. I’m not familiar with that name. Winsome’s daughter was named after a flower. Hyacinth or Daisy or something along those lines.”
Just then, Mr. Moore walked into the kitchen. He passed by us without saying a word, opened the doors to the pantry and disappeared inside. When he walked back out, he was holding a ball of twine.
“Everyt’ing too squinch up squinch up in dat closet,” he mumbled. “Don’t know why we cyan’t just use some a dat space undahneat’ fe store some a dem big barrels an’ such we hardly evah go inna. Waste a space if you ask me.” It was the most I had ever heard the man say in one instance. He had just started out of the kitchen when his wife called out to him.
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