by Scott, Jamie
Ma let Duncan worry about our guests’ reason and concerned herself with their stomachs. Rationing put a dent in our Thanksgiving festivities. The clerks at the A&P had their hands full, trying to work loaves–and–fishes miracles with empty shelves. Things like sugar, meat and canned food were especially hard to come by. It didn’t help matters that we Powells were hopeless at fending for ourselves. We could no more coax food to sprout from our land than we could churn milk into butter. All such alchemistic hocus pocus was well beyond my parents’ city sensibilities. So during those years, Ma found herself on the horns of a dilemma. The government insisted that we cut back, but it was unthinkable for guests to leave our table without swollen bellies and bags full of leftovers. Ma saw no reason they should start just because our leaders got us into a war that she didn’t agree with. She didn’t tell me until many years later that she used counterfeit ration stamps to finagle the sugar and butter for our pies. My mother was a black market racketeer. We never said a word about it to Duncan.
Missus Welles’ house would have been tolerable had Jim been able to go. But his Nan politely refused the invitation on the grounds of tradition. She’d never relied on the kindness of strangers and didn’t see any reason to start with the holiday. Ma thought she was rude to decline Missus Welles’ offer but I wasn’t surprised. In the months we’d been friends, Jim never once invited me to his house. When I asked him why, he said his Nan just didn’t much like the company of other people.
‘Except for yours, right?’
‘Except for my what?’
‘Company. She likes your company, doesn’t she?’
‘I’m her grandson,’ he said, as if that answered the question.
‘I mean, what do you do all evening when you’re at home together? Do you talk?’
‘I do my homework. We eat dinner. We read. Same thing that everyone else does.’
‘But do you talk? Because in my house we talk. Boy do we talk.’
‘About what?’
‘Anything. Everything. What we did all day, things we read about, whatever.’
‘Of course we talk. Geez, May, my Nan’s a normal person you know. Quit making her out to be some kind of recluse just because she doesn’t want to eat turkey and gravy with you. It’s normal to like to be by yourself sometimes you know.’
‘I know. And she’s not by herself, is she? She’s with you. Do you ever talk about your mother?’
‘No.’
‘How come?’
‘Because I never ask and Nan never brings her up.’ He’d stopped looking me in the eye.
‘Jim, why won’t you tell me about her?’
‘I don’t know all that much. Really. A long time ago she and Nan had an argument. Mom left. That’s all there is to tell.’
‘But why didn’t she take you with her?’
‘Because. I don’t know. Just because.’
‘Do you hear from her?’
‘Sometimes.’
‘A lot?’
‘I said sometimes.’
‘And she’s going to come back to Savannah some day?’
‘Yep.’
‘And you’re going to live in your old family house right?’
‘I told you.’
‘Is she married?’
‘No.’
‘Was she? Ever?’
‘No, May. She wasn’t. I’m a bastard. Is that what you want me to tell you? Fine. There. I’m a bastard. My mother got knocked up. I’m the result.’
‘Jim! Don’t be upset. Please. I’m in the same boat you know. Ma was pregnant with me back in Boston when she married Duncan. So I’m not judging you.’
‘At least you know who your father is.’
‘You really have no idea?’
He said he didn’t.
‘Have you ever asked your Nan?’
‘Once.’
‘And?’
‘And she told me it didn’t matter who.’
‘Right. There must be some way we can find out. What about your birth certificate?’
‘I’ve never seen it.’
‘It could be someone we see every day.’
‘Uh hmm.’
‘Is there anyone you look like?’
‘Just my grandfather.’
‘That’s no help. I think we should try to find out who it was. What do you think?’
‘I think you should leave it alone. It’s none of your business.’
I hid my hurt feelings. I deserved them. It wasn’t any of my business. Which naturally made me more determined than ever to solve the mystery of his parentage.
Chapter 24
On Thursday morning I came downstairs to a lot of noise in the kitchen. ‘What are you doing?’ Ma was pounding the life out of a big pile of bread dough. Thwack! Both hands slapped the unsuspecting loaf. ‘What’s that for?’
Thwack! ‘I thought I’d make some nice bread for Dora Lee and Eliza. For Thanksgiving.’
‘But she’s not coming back till tomorrow. You gave her the day off.’
She stopped her assault, blew a strand of hair from her face and looked at me. A great streak of flour ran along her forehead. ‘I know. We’ll drive it over before we go across the street.’
I sat down. ‘Are you sure that’s okay?’
‘Am I sure what’s okay?’
‘Going over to Dora Lee’s?’
‘Well why wouldn’t it be?’
‘I don’t know. How do you know she wants you there? She didn’t invite you, did she?’
‘Honey, you don’t have to wait for an invitation to do something nice for someone.’
‘I’m just saying.’
‘Well stop being silly.’
‘I don’t have to go do I?’
‘No. But I thought you’d like to go. It’d be nice if you did.’
I hated it when decisions were left up to me about whether to do something I didn’t want to do. I invariably felt guilty and did it. The loaves were still warm on my lap as we drove toward the squares. How did Ma know where she lived since, I reminded her, she hadn’t been invited? She knew the street. We’d drive over there and then ask someone. What she meant was, I’d have to ask someone.
In nineteen forty–seven white people still generally scared the hell out of black people, especially when we arrived as strangers on their doorstep. They had good reason to be wary. We didn’t usually bring good news, or bread, with us. And though Jim boasted that there’d never been a lynching in Savannah, everyone knew they happened with alarming regularity in other parts of the state. After the Civil Rights movement scholars had occasion to study just what went on in the decades after Reconstruction. Their discoveries were heart–stopping. In the fifty years leading up to nineteen thirty, more than four hundred black men and women in Georgia alone were lynched by mobs for offenses as varied and innocuous as indolence, voodooism, conjuring, being obnoxious, throwing stones, demanding respect, unpopularity, unruly remarks, voting for the wrong party, and frightening a white woman.
I tried to look as unthreatening as possible as I knocked on doors, and was relieved when one of the first houses yielded Dora Lee’s address without too much fuss.
Dora Lee and Eliza lived behind Taylor Street in a cottage on Jones Lane. Savannah’s lanes, like her streets and squares, were planned out in exacting detail by General Oglethorpe. When he designed the city, he started with leafy public squares and put building lots on each side so that everyone’s windows faced the green spaces. Lanes ran behind the imposing houses, and their lucky owners had the choice of keeping their big gardens intact, or dividing them in half at the lane and putting a cottage in the back. Many built cottages, so whole neighborhoods lurked behind the houses on the main streets. No one was under any illusions about those cottages. They were for the black folks.
Ma strode to Dora Lee’s door as I hurried to catch up without dropping our excuse for being there. Little black kids eyed us from the road with suspicion. Eliza answered Ma’s knock. ‘Mama, Missus
Powell’s here.’ She made no move to let us in. Dora Lee popped into the doorway, wiping wet hands on her apron. She, at least, smiled at us. ‘Why, hello ma’am, miss. What brings you here on the holiday?’ My question exactly.
‘We just wanted to wish you and Eliza a very happy Thanksgiving, didn’t we, May?’
‘Well thank you, ma’am. You didn’t have to come all the way out here just to give us your good wishes, though it was awfully nice.’
‘We came to drop off a little something I baked as well. For your dinner.’
Dora Lee took the bread from me, thanked us again and invited us inside to sit for a spell. Ma protested our imposition. Dora Lee gave their assurances. The two women volleyed their good manners back and forth as we made our way to sit down.
Our maid’s house was tidy, tiny and poor. The dining room, living room and kitchen stood together in a communal embrace. The wavy floorboards were bare of carpets, and the windows of curtains. Through an open doorway I could see the double bed that mother and daughter must have shared. Dora Lee asked if we wanted a glass of something. I followed Ma’s lead and thanked her for some water. As Eliza busied herself getting our drinks, Dora Lee moved a couple of spindly wooden chairs next to the threadbare sofa. The house smelled of boiled greens and something sweet.
Ma was the first to find her voice after their dance with protocol. ‘Eliza, it sure is nice that you have the day off too.’
‘Yes, ma’am, the Milligans are over to Atlanta with family this week.’
‘Well, that’s nice.’
‘Sure is.’
‘Yes, ma’am.’
Ma’s sense of virtue had propelled her to Dora Lee’s doorstep, but left her stranded there without words. We were all in the same bind. Indulgent smiles reflected back from the women’s faces as everyone searched for common ground. I heard a clock ticking, very slowly. Eliza, like me, was in a dress and I found myself fascinated by her knees. They were grayish purple, not even close to the color of the rest of her. Every time I glanced at her, she caught my eye and held it until I looked away. It was infuriating.
‘You know, Dora Lee, I’ve never asked you. Do you have family in Savannah?’
‘Oh yes, lots of family. I’ve got two sisters and a brother, aunties, and Eliza’s got a heap of cousins.’
‘Well, isn’t that nice. You’re very lucky, Eliza. Mister Powell and I don’t have siblings so May doesn’t have any cousins at all. Are yours coming for dinner?’ I could plainly see the table set for two.
Eliza roused herself. ‘No, everyone’s working, serving their families today.’
She held Ma’s gaze as she’d done mine. I gave Ma credit. She replied to her words, ignoring their sentiment. ‘That’s a shame! Surely they should have today off.’
‘Yes ma’am, we sure have a lot to be thankful for round here. But then how would all those families get their dinners without us? Who’d clear the tables and wash all those dishes?’ As she stood up Dora Lee grabbed her hard. Her face registered some very strong emotions.
‘Later, young lady.’ She warned her daughter quietly before letting her go and apologizing to us. If I knew Dora Lee, and by that time I did, Eliza was going to get more than a sore ear after we left. I was positively merry about the prospect.
Some disastrous compulsion to struggle pulled Ma deeper into the conversational tar pit. ‘Well, we should leave you to finish your cooking, I’m sure you have a lot to do. I know I always do, no matter how many times Duncan tells me that I’m cooking too much I just can’t stop myself, just when I think I have everything, I need a little bit more. There’s nothing worse than people going hungry! You can never really have too much after all, better too much than too little even if you can’t possibly eat it all. And boy do we try!’ I willed Ma to be quiet but she blundered on, unable to reverse her thoughtlessness. ‘Of course Thanksgiving is the time to remember those less fortunate than yourself.’
‘Yes, ma’am, that’s sure true.’
‘I mean–’
‘Yes, ma’am.’
I swallowed my glass of water as quickly as politeness allowed. Everyone was grateful when we left. I didn’t think Ma would be baking any pies to bring them for Christmas.
The streets were holiday–quiet as we drove back to our neighborhood. ‘Ma, is Eliza nice to you when she’s at our house?’
‘What do you mean nice’?
‘Nice. You know what nice means. Don’t avoid the question. Is she pleasant? Does she talk to you?’
‘What a question. Of course she talks to me.’
‘Like she did today?’
‘...Sometimes.’
‘Why do you let her?’
‘Let her?’
‘Yes, let her. She shouldn’t talk as if we’re not doing anything for her. She’s ungrateful is what she is.’
‘I think she’s very grateful for the chance to learn to read.’
‘She doesn’t act it.’
‘May, not everyone feels the need to express their gratitude all the time.’
‘Do you like teaching her?’
‘I wouldn’t do it otherwise.’
But I thought she would. She’d do it because Duncan wanted her to. And because she thought she ought to. I didn’t feel sorry for her. I was angry that she let herself be pushed around by some teenager who didn’t have the sense to be grateful for our help. Why bother at all if the charity case isn’t at least going to be appreciative?
‘Eenie meenie miney moe, catch a nigger by his toe, if he hollers let–’
For a second I didn’t believe I’d heard right. ‘Hey!’
‘What?’
‘It’s tiger!’
‘What?’
‘Tiger. Catch a tiger by the toe.’ It was bad enough to have been banished to a game of hide–and–seek with children.
‘Aw, shut up! It is not.’
‘Tigers don’t even have toes.’ Everyone laughed. Of course. How ignorant of me. Thanksgiving was turning into a long day.
‘Fine. Suit yourselves.’
‘...if he hollers let him go, eenie... meenie... miney... moe!’ The little bigot’s finger stabbed at his brother.
Everyone scattered to find his hiding place. I walked back into the house. No one was going to look for me among the adults.
Duncan sat in a corner in the living room not talking to anyone. ‘Hi honey, get tired of playing outside?’
‘Yeah. What’re you doing over here by yourself?’ I sat on the chair’s arm in the crowded room.
‘Aw, your mom made me promise not to get into a debate with anyone today. I threw myself out of the kitchen when the gals started in about Negroes on the police force. I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t mind my manners otherwise.’
‘No,’ I admitted. ‘Probably not.’ Mister Welles caught my eye and smiled. I waved and Duncan grinned hello. ‘So. What do you think of it so far?’
He knew I didn’t mean the party. ‘It’s okay. It’s always hard moving to a new place, but I think we’re doing okay now. Don’t you?’
‘Yeah, we’re okay I guess. Ma seems happier anyway.’ Though I begrudged her that happiness.
‘Mmm. Phew. I’m glad she’s finally making some friends. How ‘bout you? You’ve met some good people here, haven’t you?’
‘I guess.’
‘I like Fie and Jim very much. They’re good, honest kids. Like Lottie.’
‘I know.’
‘You’re not still sad over that kid, are you? What was his name? Sand? Concrete?’
I sucked my teeth and smiled. I wasn’t over him, not by a far stretch. But I was inching in that general direction. ‘I’m okay. Just sore. He’s a real lemon.’
‘Yeah, I thought so the first time I saw him. I’ll cover her eyes at the scary parts, sir,’ he mimicked. ‘For crying out loud.’
‘Duncan!’ I laughed. ‘You did not think so!’
‘Did so. Lemon. That’s what I thought.’ He chuckled and hugged me. It felt nice, comfor
table. It’d been too long since we’d sat together just being father and daughter. He tested my limits with his opinions and constant challenges, but it was good to know I could say anything and he’d give it his full consideration, and I’d get a straight answer. So I said what was on my mind.
‘Duncan? I heard you and Ma talking about the teacher at your school. Is... is everything all right?’
‘What teacher? Oh, sure it is. Don’t worry. She didn’t even tell Mister Hawes.’
‘I don’t mean that. I mean with Ma.’ There, I said it.
Duncan looked at me steadily. ‘I want you to listen to me. Your Ma and I have arguments, sure. Everyone does. But you don’t ever have to worry about us. Ever, okay? We’re fine. We will always be just fine.’
I knew I could believe him. And that was something to be thankful for.
Chapter 25
1918 Savannah
Mirabelle wasn’t so thankful. She stared through her open bedroom window for whole afternoons at a time, without seeing anything. In the garden below no blooms graced the bushes or beds. Everything that had lived a few months before was dead or dying. She thought for sure the shock of Henry’s death would kill the baby. She half hoped it would. More than once she doubled over with cramps, while relief and guilt elbowed in on her. But the blood didn’t come and the cramps always faded. She’d sure made a mess of things.
Had she been eighteen instead of twenty–eight, her parents would have forced her return to polite society quicker. Instead they contented themselves with her nourishment, leaving meals outside her door to be cried over in her own time. She did cry, and whimper and seethe and snivel and rant and rage and pity herself. Eventually, as everyone does, she got beyond tears. Then, her thoughts took a sharp turn from the tragedy of Henry’s death to its consequences. She was in deep trouble.