by Camille Eide
He shook his head, face grave. “You may not think it matters now, but it will. Believe me, it will. You still have a bright future ahead of you. My past and reputation will trail me like a stench for the rest of my life. People never forget. And there’s not a soul I would ever ask to share such a burden.” He lowered his voice. “Especially you.”
“I don’t care what people think.”
He looked beyond her, as if searching for reinforcement in the gate, then shook his head again. “I can’t.”
She braced herself for the risk she was about to take. “John, if you don’t want me, then say so. But if … if you love me, then please don’t let me walk out of your life.”
He didn’t move, didn’t answer. Instead, he stared off in the distance, his stance rigid.
Her chest burned with a crushing ache she hadn’t felt since her parents died. “I see.” She lifted her chin in a pathetic attempt at dignity while her heart plunged in a free fall. “I guess that’s my cue to leave.”
“Please, don’t do that,” John said. “I understand why you want to leave, and you have every reason to, but if you could … find it in your heart to stay a little longer, I need …” He scowled at his cane and wouldn’t meet her gaze. “I need to finish the book, and I can’t do it without you.”
That stung. He needed her, just not enough to put aside what kept him from loving her. He needed her skills, nothing more.
What Eliza needed was to turn around. Open the gate. Walk through and keep going.
Turn, Eliza. Move.
But not one of her limbs would cooperate.
What would Betty do? That was easy. Betty wouldn’t have gotten into this position in the first place.
What would Mama say?
Strange, but the only person coming to mind was the compassionate, extraordinary Man in a story she couldn’t forget. The One who offered acceptance and hope to a humiliated woman.
Hope? No. Her only hope was to turn around and leave and never come back, as painful as that would be.
If you let Me, I will make you new.
Or … she could summon the courage to stay and finish what she had begun, but only because she was a professional with many hours invested in a book that deserved her best effort to see it through to completion.
“Very well,” she said, her voice surprisingly calm. “I will stay until the book is finished.”
It took everything she had to mask her broken heart and walk back into that house.
Solitude is a small price in exchange for what God has done for me. If I had to choose, I would rather be an unknown son than a famous orphan.
~The Devine Truth: A Memoir
26
Millie was waiting inside, rooted in the front room like a tiny gray flagstaff, her feather duster poking out from her tightly crossed arms. She frowned at John, then inched closer to Eliza and examined her closely.
Eliza must have looked a fright with her frizzled hair and tear-stained face. She gave her cheeks a quick swipe.
“Ma’am, I’ll just take that coat of yours—again,” Millie said softly. “That is, if you gonna stay a spell this time.”
“I’ll stay.” But not for long. Eliza didn’t look at John.
Millie took Eliza’s coat and left them, humming a tune. Halfway to the kitchen, she added lyrics to her song. “O what peace we often forfeit … O what needless pain we bear … all because we do not carry … everything to God in prayer.”
Eliza quickly took her seat at the desk, still reeling from hurt and confusion and a growing realization that staying may not have been such a wise idea.
It’s only one more day, two at the most. Then the book will be on its way to New York, and I will be finished here. Soon John and Millie and all of this will be nothing but a memory.
No. The past two months would never be just a memory. No matter how heartbreaking things had turned out, the time she’d spent in John’s home had changed her life.
With the book so close to completion and both of them anxious to wrap it up, Eliza spent the morning trying to write John’s concluding thoughts, but met with little success.
After an hour of intermittent dictation, John leaned back and massaged his forehead with both hands. “I’m sorry. You’re trying to finish and I’m useless.”
He wasn’t the only one struggling to concentrate, but Eliza kept that to herself. It also didn’t help matters that every time she looked at him, John was holding his head in his hands, glaring at his feet.
He was angry with himself—she knew him well enough to know that.
It also didn’t help that Eliza was still numb from that kiss, and from what it meant. But the more she tried to make sense of the things they had said to each other, the more she realized how pointless that was. John’s mind was made up. Begging had even crossed her mind but was, of course, out of the question.
By lunchtime, they were both ready for a break, though the idea of eating anything—even Millie’s cooking—turned Eliza’s stomach.
Millie served pork chops with roasted potatoes and chocolate cake in the dining room. Her trips to and from the kitchen took longer than usual. But who wouldn’t be tired, working so hard at her age?
Eliza eyed the thin layers of chocolate separated by ribbons of shiny brown frosting and could only imagine how frightful the thing would have turned out if she had attempted it.
John said grace for the meal.
When he finished, Millie said there was a telephone call for him.
He frowned. “Who is it?”
“Says he’s your attorney,” Millie said, one brow low, the other lifted high. “Want me to tell him the same thing I tell them government agents?”
John removed the napkin from his collar, grabbed his cane, and rose. “No, I’ll take it.” He turned to Eliza. “You’re welcome to listen in if you like. It’s probably about the book.”
Eliza followed him to the telephone in the library.
“Hello.” He listened, then frowned. “Subpoena the manuscript? That won’t be necessary. I already told them they can see it. I have nothing to hide.” He turned and met Eliza’s gaze. “I’m not surprised. Do you know why they’re finished talking to Oscar? He can say things that sound so good you forget he hasn’t answered a single question.” He huffed out a laugh. “Sure, but I still don’t see what difference it will make. They already have names of party members. What do they want from me?” He listened for a few moments more. “Fine. I won’t lie, and besides, it’s no secret. I’ve worked with known party members, including Carnovsky, Lawson, Odets, and”—his voice fell low—“Marlow.”
Eliza barely stifled a gasp. Deborah Marlow? She had tried to forget about the pink letters. But now, all of her previous questions and assumptions came rushing back.
Would Deborah’s name finally come up in the conclusion of the book? In what capacity?
Did Eliza really want to know?
But then, what did it matter?
“Let them try,” John said, his tone more determined than before. “I’m not worried. I have faith. The truth will prevail.”
Later that evening, Eliza glanced at the telephone as she passed through the hallway, half tempted to call Betty. If ever Eliza needed a sympathetic ear, it was now. But Betty probably wasn’t the best shoulder to cry on, especially since John was the source of Eliza’s misery.
The note taped to the telephone that said Absolutely NO Calls for Eliza had been littered with doodling and phone numbers. With a sigh, Eliza went to her mailbox and took out her mail, sorted through it, and stopped.
A heavy linen envelope, addressed to her, bore a United States emblem that included the letters HUAC.
With hands that shook, she tore the envelope and took out a single paged letter.
November 30, 1953
TO: Mrs. Eliza Jane Saunderson
FROM: House Un-American Activities Committee
Berkeley Branch
Your presence is hereby requested at a specia
l panel query convening at the HUAC provisional agency headquarters located in the Whitecotton Room of the Shattuck Hotel at ten o’clock a.m. on Thursday, December 10. Your cooperation in this matter will be noted. Failure to appear and answer questions to the panel’s satisfaction will result in a subpoena. You will be asked to provide truthful information pertaining to your business dealings with the “American Women’s Alliance” and their anti-American and communist associates.
Would they even listen?
In the days of the Salem witch trials, the whole town believed absurd accusations, even the magistrates. People were convicted and death sentences were carried out based on unfounded rumors.
HUAC agents thought she was a spy.
Eliza closed her eyes and willed herself to stay calm.
Ivy and another girl in bobby socks whispered to each other, their glances wary.
Yes, this was far too much like old Salem for Eliza’s taste. She moved toward the stairs, but her encounter with John combined with this letter pressed on her like a half-ton weight. The idea of being alone in her empty room was too much.
Betty’s shoulder was better than nothing.
Eliza took the telephone and dialed the operator. “Richmond four nine two seven.”
“One moment, please,” the operator said.
With every ring on the line, Eliza’s pulse quickened another notch.
“Cunninghams.” Ed’s voice, irritated.
“Hello, Ed. May I speak to Betty, please?”
A pause. “Betty is seeing to dinner, but I’m sure, since you’re calling at dinnertime, it must be important.”
Eliza winced.
“You’re not in any trouble, I hope?”
“No, no, nothing like that. Perhaps I should just call back another time.”
“Of course not. Just a minute.”
As he went to fetch Betty, Eliza checked her watch with a grimace.
“Eliza?” Betty sounded anxious. “Did you find out something about Mama and Papa? And baby Ivan?”
“No, I’m afraid not,” Eliza said. “I’m not sure where else to look. But don’t worry, I’ll keep trying. Maybe I should find the town that the letters were sent to and start placing ads in some local newspapers in the area.”
“Is that a good idea? Aren’t they watching you?”
“Yes, you’re right. That’s probably not a good idea.” Eliza caught her lip in her teeth to keep from crying. “Actually, that’s why I’m calling.”
“Oh?”
Eliza glanced around to be sure no one was listening. “I just got a letter asking me to come to HUAC headquarters on Thursday to answer questions. It’s an invitation, but it’s pretty much a summons. Betty, it looks like they’ve found a link between the American Women’s Alliance and the Communist Party. They want me to answer a bunch of questions about my … association with them.”
The only sound Eliza heard was her own heartbeat.
“Betty, I’m scared.” Please don’t lecture me about my writing, please …
“Well, of course you’re scared, darling. I think it’s time to call a lawyer.”
“You know I don’t have that kind of money.”
Betty’s end of the line sounded muffled, as if she was covering the mouthpiece so she wouldn’t be overheard. “Would you … like me to ask Ed if we can help with that?”
Ed Cunningham was a decent man, but he certainly would not be happy about taking on the legal expenses of his spinster sister-in-law. “Betty, that’s swell of you to offer, but no. You and your family don’t need that kind of burden.” She drew herself up straight. “I’ll just go to the hearing and see what comes of it.” Would she be taken into custody?
“You do that and then call me right away, okay?”
Eliza nodded, unable to answer. Even Betty’s thin offering of sympathy cracked the fragile grasp Eliza had on her crumbling heart. With tears streaming, she broke down and told Betty about reading John’s journal by mistake and how he had stopped her at the gate.
“I don’t understand,” Betty said. “Why didn’t you just keep going?”
Good question. “I … wanted the things he said to be true.”
Seconds ticked by. “Oh, Eliza.”
She fought to keep from crying, then told her about the kiss and the things she and John had said to each other.
Betty listened to it all.
“And then I said, ‘If you love me, then please don’t let me walk out of your life.’”
“And how did he answer?”
A fresh crop of tears filled her eyes. “He didn’t.”
The hurt that had been building all day spilled over. By the time she finished talking, her head ached and her palms were wet from wiping her face.
“Oh, darling, I am sorry, really. But … let’s be honest. It’s better that it ended before it began, isn’t it?” Betty’s voice coaxed. “Just think how truly awful you would’ve felt if that little game of his had gone on until irrevocable damages were done. Now you can walk away relatively untainted.”
Sniffling, Eliza could still see the desperation on John’s face when he hurried out to stop her. The way he kissed her. She shook her head. “It was no game, Betty.”
Silence.
“John’s not like that.”
More silence. “Oh, Eliza. Don’t you know what men like him are capable of? They’ll do and say anything just so they can … well, you know. I’m sure he’s positively convincing, given his background. Don’t you realize he only wants one thing? And the next thing you know, you’re damaged goods that no decent man will want.”
Decent? Eliza’s jaw clenched. Hanging up would relieve the sting of Betty’s words—for now. But something in Eliza rose up, an outrage that would not be so easily set aside.
Blind prejudice would continue as long as no one spoke against it. Silence would not be the last thing Betty would hear.
“Betty, you don’t know John. He’s nothing at all like what you think. He is a good man. An honest, God-fearing man. But I don’t expect you to value that. You can’t value anyone who doesn’t look like you. And that makes me sad for you, Betty. Because if all you want is outer appearances, then that’s all you will ever have. There is a moral strength and a humble grace to John that you’ll miss because you’re too busy arranging your furniture to impress bridge club ladies you don’t even like.”
An audible gasp shook the line.
But then again, perhaps silence would have been the better choice this time. “I’m sorry, that was unkind,” Eliza said.
No answer.
Eliza could see John in her mind’s eye, determined to give people real hope that God was his rescuer and faithful friend. “John deserves a chance to be heard, Betty. I just hope, when his book comes out, you’ll do the right thing and give him that chance.”
They ended the call with dull goodbyes, leaving Eliza feeling even emptier than before. With a heavy heart, she climbed the stairs to her room.
Later that night, as she drifted in and out of sleep, the hiss of the radiator turned into whispered echoes of Betty’s words. Dream Betty reminded Eliza that smooth-talking men were clever enough to say whatever a girl wanted to hear. When Eliza replied that she wasn’t listening anymore, her sister took a pencil and wrote a message to Eliza.
On pink stationery.
It’s difficult to accept a gift you know you don’t deserve. Humbling, in fact.
~The Devine Truth: A Memoir
27
Eliza arrived at John’s house on Wednesday morning battling a headache. Nothing like tackling the final pages of a book after a night of tossing and turning. Denying love was hard enough when she was the only one feeling it, but now? How could she put John out of her heart knowing how he felt?
You just do. And then you go on with your life. That’s all.
No one met her at the door, so she let herself in.
The thump of John’s cane came from the north end of the house. When he entered the fr
ont room and saw Eliza, he stopped.
“Good morning.” He looked like a man who hadn’t slept in days.
As she removed her coat and hat, John just stood there. “Is something wrong?” she said.
John shook his head. “No. I’m … just surprised you came back. Thank you.” He headed toward the library.
“John, if you have a minute, there’s something I should tell you.”
He stopped and turned to her. His gaze lingered on her lips briefly and then fell away. “What is it?”
“I’ve been summoned to the HUAC headquarters for a panel query. Tomorrow morning, actually. I thought you should know, in case they question you about me. You know, since Agent Robinson was asking me about you.”
He shook his head. “This is getting completely out of hand.”
“Yes, it is,” she said, hoping to mask the tremor in her voice.
“Are you worried?”
“I don’t know what’s going to happen. They want me to admit that I wrote articles I sold to the American Women’s Alliance.” She looked around for Millie and quieted her tone. “I wrote them under a pen name, and until now, I haven’t admitted to writing them. I guess I wanted to hold on to one last bit of security. But now, it looks like they may have found a real connection between the AWA and the Communist Party. Which I honestly knew nothing about.”
John frowned and it dawned on her—she had probably just made a mistake by telling him. He would very likely be asked what he knew about Eliza.
“Were you hired by communists?” John said.
“No. And I don’t write propaganda. At least not intentionally.”
“Then you have nothing to worry about.”
“If this were still the good old USA, I might believe that. But with this Red Scare spreading so fast, I don’t know what to think. I am worried. Not because I’m guilty, but because paranoia seems to have robbed everyone of their common sense. Anything can be considered communist behavior, and it seems impossible to prove you’re innocent.”