Daughters

by Florence Osmund

  “It was a male-only club, and Sophia was the person who greeted members as they entered.” A wistful expression swept across his face. “She was so beautiful. She had a striking figure, emerald eyes, and olive skin as smooth as porcelain. I was completely taken in by her, and after we talked for the first time, well, I couldn’t get her out of my mind.”

  Marie thought back to the items she’d found in her mother’s memory box after she died—the matchbook from the Central Union Club and the photograph of her with several other men, one of whom was Jonathan, although she hadn’t known that until recently.

  “I frequented the club often after that first meeting, and it wasn’t long before we started an affair.” He glanced at Marie. “It was wrong, and I’m not going to make any excuses for myself. It was dead wrong, and it wasn’t fair to Claire and our three sons.”

  Jonathan stared out the window for a moment. “It didn’t take long. I fell in love with your mother. It was mutual, and it was intense.”

  “And Claire knew nothing of what was going on?”

  “No.” He let out an audible sigh. “Let me tell you about Claire and the boys. She had the twins right away, Evan and Arthur. They’re thirty now. Both went to college. Neither one ever married. Evan teaches cultural studies at the University of Missouri. Arthur is a lawyer on the south side of Chicago. Most of his clients are colored illiterates who can’t afford a lawyer. Our youngest son, Melvin, went to college to be an accountant, but when that didn’t pan out, he decided to come work for me. Best accountant I’ve ever had.” His face beamed. “You’ll meet them all.”

  “I can’t wait,” Marie said through a sincere smile, her stomach doing a series of tight somersaults. “So what do they know about me?”

  “I told Claire about you right after our meeting with Greg in September. To be completely honest with you, Marie, I don’t think she was all that surprised.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes, really. Our relationship is somewhat complicated, and…well, some day I’ll share that with you, but not now. There are too many other things...I need to take a break. Can we talk about you for awhile?”

  “Sure.”

  “You went through life having no reason to believe you were anything but white. Am I right?”

  Marie nodded.

  “What was your first inclination?”

  Marie relayed the story of Mrs. Hollingsworth, a Southern-bred uppity customer who had confronted Marie where she was a manager at the Marshall Field’s flagship store in downtown Chicago. The arrogant Mrs. Hollingsworth had referred to Marie as “some half-breed nigger girl.” Marie’s mother had revealed to her very little about her father, and certainly not the fact he was colored. That incident had been what triggered her desperate search for Jonathan.

  Jonathan gave her a heartfelt look. “I am so sorry you had to go through that.” He reached over and took his daughter’s hand. “I’ve thought so much about you over the years. I’ve had struggles with my race too. But not like you. Everyone can see I’m a Negro, so there’s no question about which public bathroom I have to use, so to speak. But you have different issues. I know. Believe me, I know. And I give you my word, now that I’m in your life, I’ll help you through them as much as I can.”

  Marie responded, her heart dancing its beats. “You can’t know how much that would mean to me, Jona…I mean, Dad.” When she had first met him, he had asked her to call him “Dad” if she was comfortable with it. She wasn’t, but thought it the right thing to do. “More than anything, I want to know more about the Negro culture, my culture. I want to know how I can be in both worlds and be accepted. I want to stop pretending to be something I’m not. I want to…”

  “Hold on, my dear daughter. Slow down.” His smile gave her comfort. “It has taken a hundred years for bigotry to become what it is today in this country, and we’re not going to change it in the next two weeks.” He methodically patted her hand while he stared out the window, apparently lost in thought. “You can’t change people, Marie.” He turned toward her. “I think you know that. You can educate them, enlighten them, show them new ways.” His gaze turned back toward the window. “And then hope they change. But you can’t change them.”

  “I know, but what I’m doing is ignoring who I really am, and that’s tearing me apart.”

  “I’ll never forget what our minister said once: ‘God created us different to understand the need for each other.’ It took me a long while to accept that explanation, and there are days I still have my doubts, but it’s something I hope I never lose sight of.” He gave her a loving look. “We’ll try to sort this out, I promise you. But you have to realize we’re dealing with people with limited and usually flawed views of our people. And they’re scared of us, so why would they accept us?”

  “I know all that, really I do.” She almost called him Dad again, but the more she thought about it, the more she knew she wasn’t ready.

  “Let me ask you something. And try to answer this as honestly as you can. What did you think about Negroes before you had any idea you were one?”

  Marie let her mind go back in time. “Where I lived, the only Negroes I saw were from a distance. In fact, I remember the first one I ever saw was in the restaurant where my mother worked. The kitchen door swung open, and I saw this bent-over black-skinned man washing dishes. It was so foreign to me, I didn’t know what to think. And then later on…well, they weren’t in my schools, not in college either. Not where I worked. My only exposure to them was in this one jazz club Richard and I sometimes went to.”

  “Tell me how you met Richard.”

  She relayed the story about how he’d caught her eye and flirted with her while she was dressing a window display at Marshall Field’s. He had enticed her into meeting him for a cup of coffee.

  Jonathan shifted in his seat. “And what if he had been colored? Would you have met him for coffee then?”

  “Of course not.” The words flew from her mouth way too fast.

  Jonathan raised an eyebrow. “Okay, now tell me how you plan to change people’s minds.”

  Father and daughter held each other’s gaze for several seconds before he rolled down the window separating the driver from them and said, “Pull over when you can, Walter. Let’s stop for lunch.”

  Walter, a thin, middle-aged white man dressed in a black chauffeur’s outfit, pulled over to a rest stop and proceeded to take picnic lunch items out of the trunk. Halfway through lunch, another car pulled into the parking lot. A family of four emerged from their car and walked toward the only other picnic table. Two young boys sat down on the benches and proceeded to roll a ball back and forth across the table. The parents followed after them with a picnic basket in tow, but when they saw Marie, Jonathan, and Walter, they gathered up the boys and scurried back to the car.

  “Case in point?” Jonathan asked.

  Marie pursed her lips and nodded. Walter gave Marie and Jonathan a discerning look, but said nothing. He didn’t have to.

  “Aside from not being that surprised, how did Claire react when you told her about me, if you don’t mind my asking?” Marie said after they resumed their journey toward St. Charles.

  “At first…well, she didn’t speak to me for a few days. Then the first question she asked was what year you were born so she would have that perspective, I guess.” He paused. “She’s a wonderful woman. You’ll like her.”

  “I’m sure I will.”

  “I told the kids shortly afterward. I have to admit, they were pretty shocked. Melvin took it the worst. His first wife—she was white—ran off with another man, a white man, shortly after they were married, so he wasn’t very understanding. In fact, he didn’t talk to me for a whole week. I told him he could be mad at me all he wanted, but what happened happened, and it’s time to move on. He’ll come around. It may take awhile.”

  “Will they all be there when we arrive?”

  “No, just Claire to start. I wanted the two of you to get to know each oth
er first.”

  “Is she over the initial shock now? I mean, I know she’s not okay with it, but is she…?”

  “Is she still upset with me?”

  “Something like that.”

  “She’s trying very hard, let’s say.” He paused. “Tomorrow, everyone will be there for Sunday supper.” He seemed to be steering away from talking about Claire’s reaction to his bombshell news. “Do you think you’re up for it?”

  “Yes, I think so.” She thought for several seconds. “Do I have a choice?”

  Father and daughter laughed effortlessly, like they had known each other for a long time. Then tears welled up in Marie’s eyes.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  She swiped away the tears. “I don’t know, really. I think I’m just so happy to be here, I can hardly contain myself. But I’m nervous too.”

  “Well, contain yourself real quick, my dear, ‘cause we’re here.”

  CHAPTER 2

  Who’s This White

  Lady Again?

  Jonathan’s house was a sprawling ranch, yielding on three sides to expansive pastures separated by white picket fencing. Dense woods provided a lush backdrop. Walter pulled the car into the circular drive and proceeded to remove Marie’s luggage from the trunk. Jonathan led Marie to the front door.

  “Ready?”

  Marie shot him a guarded smile and nodded, but she was thinking, maybe not.

  Claire met them at the door. Her face was much softer than Marie had pictured, even with her coarse black hair forced into a pageboy. And she was shorter than Marie had imagined, almost petite. The beige cashmere sweater she wore was not much lighter than her skin color. She was an attractive woman.

  Marie had given considerable thought to this meeting, playing over the different possible scenarios in her mind a million times. After all, Marie was the result of Claire’s husband’s love affair, and this meeting had strong potential to go very wrong.

  The two women make awkward eye contact, and then Claire moved in to embrace her. The quick, inconsequential hug left Marie flat. “Welcome to our home, Marie.”

  Marie hoped Claire didn’t notice the tiny muscle in her upper lip twitching. “Thank you, Claire. Thank you for having me.” A few seconds after she said it, she couldn’t remember what she had said, or if she had said anything at all. She looked at Jonathan for some sign of reassurance. He nodded and gestured toward the living room.

  She glanced around at the seating arrangement. Where should I sit? Should I sit? No one was saying anything. Jonathan took her elbow and guided her to the sofa. “Why don’t you sit here, Marie? Make yourself comfortable while Walter brings in your luggage, and then you can get settled in your room.” Marie looked around the room for Claire. “She’s starting dinner.” He winked at her. “You’re doing fine,” he mouthed.

  Jonathan eased into what Marie thought might be his favorite chair.

  I’m doing fine? No, I don’t think so. And I wonder how Claire’s doing? That was the briefest welcome she possibly could have given.

  Marie took in a breath of air and let it out slowly. She was nervous about not saying anything, but didn’t know what to say. She was afraid if she did say something, it would be wrong.

  “You okay?” he asked.

  “I didn’t think I would be this nervous.”

  “Because of Claire?” he whispered.

  “Mm-hmm. I just want her to like me.” I can’t believe I just said that.

  After Marie got settled in her room, she sat near Jonathan in the living room and whispered, “Should I go in to see if I can help Claire with dinner?”

  He raised his eyebrows and nodded. Marie spent the next hour in the kitchen while Claire prepared dinner. The kitchen was large and one where Marie suspected many family functions and discussions had taken place over the years.

  “Can I help you with dinner, Claire?” May I help you with dinner. Now I’m not even using proper grammar!

  Claire handed Marie a bowl of carrots and a vegetable peeler. “You can peel these if you want.” She showed no emotion, no telltale sign of what she might be thinking.

  Who was going to start? Should she be the one? She didn’t know what to say. During the past weeks, she had practiced so many different things she could say to Claire, but now she couldn’t think of any of them.

  Claire interrupted her thoughts. “You don’t look like anyone in our family, Marie. Do you favor your mother?”

  Marie’s heartbeat wavered. What exactly did that mean? Was she being sarcastic? She suddenly remembered one of the things she wanted to say to Claire, but now she had to concentrate on Claire’s question. Did she just ask me if I take after my mother?

  “Yes, I do.” Her voice stuck in her throat, making it difficult to get the words out. “I have a picture of her when she was in her twenties, and if you didn’t know better, you’d think it was me in the picture.” How stupid was that? So now every time she looks at me, she’ll see her husband’s former lover.

  Claire turned around from the counter to face Marie, gave her a weak smile, and said, “She must have been very beautiful, then.” She turned her back toward Marie to continue what she was doing.

  A soft flush swept up Marie’s neck. Good grief. How can I turn this around?

  “Thank you. And Claire?”

  “Yes?”

  Marie swallowed. “Thank you for…well, for welcoming me into your home.”

  “You’re welcome,” she said with her back still toward Marie, her voice low and soft, without any inflection.

  “You have a lovely home.” Had she already say that? Marie’s stomach felt like someone had just punched it.

  Claire didn’t respond. Instead she wiped her hands on a dish towel and sat down beside her. Marie bit the inside of her lip, unable to breathe.

  “You have to know this is hard for me.”

  Marie nodded, afraid to speak. Claire looked past Marie, toward the living room. “I keep telling myself what happened between Jonathan and your mother happened a lifetime ago, and that you had nothing to do with it. But that doesn’t make this any easier.”

  “I know.”

  “I gave this a lot of thought the past couple of days while Jon was away, fetching you.” She leaned back in her chair and looked deeply into Marie’s eyes. “I don’t know if he told you this, but my first reaction was, ‘Don’t involve me in this. It’s your problem. You deal with it by yourself.’” Her voice softened. “But I know what it’s like to not know who your parents are. I never knew mine, so how could I stand by and let that happen to someone else?”

  Claire got up from her chair and went back to her food preparation. After a few seconds, she said, “I’ve forgiven him for what he did, Marie. Now it’s time to move on.”

  Marie wasn’t sure what to think. She felt she should say something to quell the dreadful silence that now filled the room.

  “Mm-hmm.” Idiot! She had just agreed that it was time for Claire to move on. Who was she to agree to that? How insensitive could she be?

  Convinced it was better to just keep her mouth shut and be thought a heartless fool than to open it again and remove all doubt, Marie kept silent while she finished peeling the carrots. She had never lacked self-confidence before and didn’t like herself much for it now.

  Claire didn’t say anything more until they sat down to eat. “I know you two have had a lot of time to catch up in the car,” Claire said, “but if you don’t mind, Marie, can you tell me about yourself?” She let out a nervous laugh. “I’m afraid you’ll probably be asked the same questions over and over again by the time your visit is over. As you can imagine, there’s an abundance of curiosity running in this family.”

  “I pretty much expected that.” Marie recounted her story, starting with what life was like before her mother died. Then she took them through her college years in New York and her return to Chicago afterward. When she got to her job at Marshall Field’s, Claire’s facial expression changed. Sh
e told Marie that the first time she had gone into that store in 1925, she had been asked to leave.

  “Nineteen twenty-five? That was the year I was born,” Marie professed.

  “Yes, I know.” A flash of melancholy swept across Claire’s face. “Jonathan was in Chicago for some sort of business, and I had come along.” She gave Jonathan a disparaging look. “I can’t remember what I did with the children, can you, Jon?” Marie hoped it was her imagination that Claire’s words dripped with contempt.

  Jonathan shook his head, his thoughts obviously far off. The tension in the room was rising.

  “Anyway, I was never so embarrassed in my whole life. I could have afforded to buy just about anything in the store, yet I wasn’t good enough to shop there.” Claire composed herself before saying, “I got angry.” She shook her head. “But then I got over it. Ignorant white people.”

  Oh dear. This is going to be harder than I thought. Marie continued with her story, ignoring Claire’s last comment. “I left Field’s in 1948, and I have to admit I don’t remember ever seeing a Negro customer in there.” Why did I just say that?

  Jonathan nodded. Claire pursed her lips. Marie went on to tell them about Richard, about how their courtship and marriage had come right out of a fairy tale. The year was 1945. World War II had just ended, and then-twenty-year-old Marie was struggling to support herself on a meager salary as a junior designer at Marshall Field’s. By his mid-twenties, Richard was the top salesman in his company, selling high-end medical equipment in a five-state area.

  During their courtship, Richard not only showered her with expensive gifts and trips, but was attentive to her every need. Marie had tried to be cautious with Richard, but his charisma overshadowed his flaws, and it had been easy to overlook or explain away his indiscretions. After a quick five-month courtship, Marie and Richard married.

  Their first year of marriage was blissful. He bought a two-story brownstone in up-and-coming Lakeview, a neighborhood just north of downtown Chicago. They honeymooned in Hawaii, took weekend trips to New York, and spent more than one Christmas in Aspen. But despite the lavish attention Richard gave to his wife, he also paid considerable homage to his other love—money. His biggest flaw was his inability to juggle his two loves.