by Camille Eide
Eliza’s eyes filled with tears so thick she could barely see. She stopped at a barber shop window and pretended to look inside, heart plummeting. With all that had happened in such a short time, Eliza had completely forgotten about Millie.
She owed it to Millie to see her, no matter what her state. And if Millie was still alive, Eliza needed to tell her how much she meant to her.
She wiped her face and hurried to the nearest bus stop.
By the time she arrived in west Oakland, dusk had already settled over the city, as if winter’s encroaching darkness could be held off no longer. Eliza got off the bus a few blocks from St. Luke’s just as the streetlamps flickered to life. She stood on a corner and took in her surroundings. It had taken two buses to get to this place, far from her familiar neighborhood. A shifting breeze tugged at her coat.
Something wasn’t right.
Eliza glanced over her shoulder, hairs on her neck itching. This neighborhood was more neglected than hers, but that wasn’t it. One of Millie’s hymns trailed across her thoughts.
For His eye is on the sparrow, and I know He watches me.
Except this peculiar sensation of being watched wasn’t like that. Shaking off the feeling, she pulled her coat tighter and walked quickly toward the three-story hospital.
The entrance must have been on a different side of the building than where she was.
Eliza stepped off the sidewalk and into the alley, hurrying through the dark patches between streetlamps.
God, please make Millie well. You must. She trusts You so completely.
But would God listen to Eliza? Would He hear the prayer of a woman who couldn’t bring herself to submit to His rule, who struggled to decide if she believed Him?
What about the guilty woman and Christ’s pardon? What about that quiet voice promising to change her if she let Him?
A noise startled Eliza. She looked over her shoulder.
The shadow of a man loomed toward her.
With a gasp, she walked faster but he caught up with her. When they entered the circle of light beneath a streetlamp, she saw his face.
Agent Robinson.
“We meet again.”
Her pulse thudded in her ears. His being here was no coincidence. How long had he been following her?
“You no longer work for the HUAC,” Eliza said, keeping her voice low to mask the tremor in it. She backed away. “You have no business following me. Leave now or I’ll call the police.”
“You’re mistaken. I have a job to do, and I intend to see it through. See, you commies think you can come here and infiltrate our neighborhoods, influence us with your brainwashing tactics. But you’re wrong. I knew exactly what you were the first time I saw you.”
“What am I?” She winced, wishing she hadn’t asked, but wanting to keep him talking while she thought of an escape.
His narrowed eyes flickered with contempt. “A dirty rooskie spy.”
“You’re wrong.” Eliza trembled. “It’s too bad you weren’t at headquarters today when I told the panel about my parents’ innocence. But since you no longer work for the HUAC, it’s none of your business.”
“Oh, I’m sure it was a touching tale.” He stepped closer, bringing him near enough for Eliza to see the fervor in his eyes. “Those scarecrows downtown might have fallen for your little naive act, but I haven’t. I’ll let you in on a secret. There aren’t many who can spot your kind. And you’re good, I’ll give you that. But I’m better. Much better.”
“I’ve told you, I’m neither a communist nor a spy. And you’re no longer part of the investigation.” She met his steely gaze. “Actually, there is no investigation. My case is closed, which you would know if you still worked there.” What she had learned from meeting with the panel came rushing back. “In fact, the new field director is reviewing all your case files.”
The smugness drained from Agent Robinson’s expression. “What would a scheming commie know about my case files?” he said, his voice low.
Eliza tried to swallow, but her throat felt drier than chalk. This was not a man she could reason with. She mentally gauged the distance to the hospital, then turned and ran.
Robinson closed the distance in seconds and hooked her handbag, jerking her to a stop.
Eliza screamed.
He yanked on the purse, causing her to spin around to face him. “I know what you are. You’re not going anywhere until I have proof! I’ll get my job back and a commendation. And you’ll get the chair!”
“Help! Someone call the police!” She tugged to get away, but her arm was caught in the purse strap.
“You’re the one who’s going to jail. Give me the bag!”
Dizzy from the adrenaline pumping through her, she screamed again. “Help! Someone, help me!” She pulled away as hard as she could.
“You’ve got to have something!” He gave the purse a jerk.
The handle snapped, and Eliza sailed backward. With a dull thwack, she hurtled into cold blackness.
34
Pain sliced through her head like slivers of glass piercing her brain.
Eliza forced her eyes open. She seemed to be lying in a brightly lit, swiftly spinning room. Her feet, covered by a white sheet, were the only things she could keep her focus on. At least, she hoped they were her feet …
She opened her eyes again.
The light was gone now. The room wasn’t spinning, but it was hard to see in the dark. Plain gray walls. Dials and knobs. Her skull felt like it had gone through a tumbler and was then shrunken several sizes and crammed back onto her brain.
Eliza licked her dry lips. I’m thirsty.
Maybe if she tried saying it aloud …
Sometime later, voices pulled her up from a deep pond, thick as mud. As she approached the surface, she heard a woman’s voice.
“A girl scout could fold a better dressing than that. I guess if I want it done right, I’ll have to do it myself.”
Eliza kept her eyes closed to block the piercing light. “Where am I?” she croaked.
“Nurse, she’s awake.”
“Get the doctor.”
But Eliza couldn’t keep afloat anymore and sank back into the mud.
Eliza hoped to stay awake long enough this time to find out where she was. It was a hospital, that much she could guess. But the rest was fuzzy. And excruciating. The harder she tried to concentrate on where she was and how she’d gotten here, the more her head hurt.
“You’re awake.” An older woman’s voice.
Eliza turned her head slightly and saw a nurse’s broad shape. “Where am I?”
“St. Luke’s Hospital.”
“What’s wrong with me?”
“You’ve suffered brain swelling from a blow to the head,” the nurse said. “Can you tell me your name?”
“Eliza,” she whispered. She squinted and focused on the points of the woman’s white cap. “What happened?”
“We don’t know. An orderly found you bleeding in the alley. But you’re doing far better than doctors first expected. What’s your last name?”
“Saunderson.” She tried to swallow, but her sticky throat made it difficult. “Can I have a drink?”
A straw touched her lips.
She sucked until cool water trickled down her throat.
“Do you remember what happened?” the nurse asked.
“I was on my way to …” The effort to think sent stabbing pain through her head. Eliza gripped the sides of the bed, hoping she wouldn’t pass out. But the room spun and swayed, threatening to make her sick.
“We think you were mugged.”
“Mugged?” She reached up, turned her head slightly, and felt the stitches on the back of it. Had someone hit her? Or had she fallen?
“Your broken purse was lying several yards away from where you were found, but there was no identification in it. Looks like someone stole your pocketbook.”
Stole her pocketbook? Yes, that was it. A fanatic desperate for proof …
> She could think no more and drifted into blackness.
A new nurse awakened Eliza with a tray of food. She smiled. “Honey, has anyone ever told you that you look like Gene Tierney?”
She swallowed the sudden ache in her throat.
With slow, careful motions, the nurse helped Eliza sit up and then arranged the tray for her. “How do you feel today?”
“Still a little dizzy.” Her head no longer throbbed like a steady gong, a marked improvement. “But much better, thank you.”
“Good, because there’s someone here to see you,” the nurse said.
Betty burst into the room. “Eliza!” She rushed to the bed and hugged her.
Eliza winced.
As the nurse left them, Betty straightened and studied Eliza. “Are you in pain? Are they taking proper care of you?” She glanced over her shoulder, then lowered her voice. “The staff here is incompetent. But what would you expect in the slums? I am going to have you transferred to a hospital in Richmond Heights. You’ll get much better care there.” She looked around the room with a grimace. “Darling, what on earth were you doing in this part of town? And why didn’t anyone call me sooner? They told me you’ve been here for days!”
The sound of Betty’s rising tone pierced her brain like a siren. “Please, not so loud.”
The nurse was back. “She had no identification, so no one knew her name until she gained consciousness. She suffered acute brain trauma.”
Betty gasped. “Brain trauma? Good heavens! What happened?”
“We still aren’t sure, but it’s clear she took a very bad blow to the head.”
Betty moved closer to Eliza’s side, frowning. “Tell me what happened.”
Eliza closed her eyes. “I was on my way to see Millie, but that HUAC agent followed me and caught me in the alley.”
“Wait … who is Millie?”
“John’s housemaid.” Tears filled Eliza’s eyes. Millie was lying in the basement of this very hospital—if she was even still alive. She turned to the nurse. “Can you tell me if there is an elderly colored woman named Millie in the basement wing?”
Betty frowned. “You came to the slums to visit a maid?”
Eliza wiped her eyes. Millie wasn’t just a maid. She was a wise, kind, saint of a woman who would never judge someone based on her station in life.
“That doesn’t matter now.” Betty beamed a smile at Eliza. “What’s important is that you’re going to be okay, isn’t that right?” She turned to the nurse.
“Chances are good,” the nurse said. “The doctor wants to evaluate her again, but he may release her as early as tomorrow.”
“Did you hear that?” She reached for Eliza’s hand and squeezed it. And then gasped.
John’s ring. There it was, bigger than life, sparkling so bright it sent another sliver of pain to Eliza’s head.
“What in heaven’s name is this? An engagement ring?” Betty stared at the ring and then at Eliza, eyes wide.
“Betty, listen to me, this is important. The man—Agent Robinson—he attacked me. He was fired from the agency, and he’s trying to reinstate himself. He’s convinced I’m a communist spy. I think he’s crazy. He followed me and tried to take my purse. I’m sure he took my pocketbook. He’s dangerous, Betty. I want to report him to the police.”
Looking bewildered, Betty only nodded, still staring at the ring on Eliza’s hand. “Yes, of course, I will contact the police for you at once. But, darling … when did you get engaged? And to whom?”
Eliza’s eyes drifted closed. “I don’t want to talk about that right now.”
A single tear rolled down her cheek.
At the sound of paper rustling, she opened her eyes.
Betty had drawn an envelope from her purse and held it up for Eliza to see.
“This was tacked to the door of your apartment. Would it have anything to do with that ring?” Her head tilted as she waited.
Eliza stared at her name on the envelope, written in John’s familiar hand.
So he had been to see her.
Betty studied the envelope. “I went to your place to find out how your HUAC meeting went, but one of the girls in your building said no one had seen you for days. And another one complained that there was a fat cat howling on your balcony.” She leaned closer. “What’s going on, Eliza?”
Going back to the night John proposed, she told Betty everything, including her visit to the HUAC headquarters and finding out she and Betty were no longer under investigation. “But then they had some questions for John,” she said. “It turns out he’s been … keeping a secret.”
“Oh?” Betty leaned closer. “What secret?”
Eliza opened her mouth.
But a happy little girl came to mind, a child who loved the man she believed was her daddy, the man she probably looked to as her hero. Eliza would never want any child to find out such news through vicious gossip.
“I can’t say. But he kept something from me that a man doesn’t keep from the woman he loves.” She stared at the envelope, then reached for it. “May I?”
Betty handed it over with a sniff. “Probably full of lies. What did I tell you about men like that, Eliza?”
This was no time for a reminder of Betty’s opinion of John. She opened the envelope, drew out the paper, and focused her aching brain on the familiar handwriting.
December 16, 1953
Dear Eliza,
I called and came to see you several times, with no answer. I heard you’ve gone away, so I must assume you’ve left me. I only ask that you hear me out this once, then I will trouble you no more.
I know that my being a part of such a lie is wrong. And you’re right to be angry with me for not telling you. I’m so sorry.
If you’re still reading, may I tell you now? Her name is Judy.
Eliza flinched and squeezed her eyes tight to block the words, but it didn’t help. John had a daughter, and her name was Judy.
Head pounding, she forced herself to read on.
I went along with the secret in order to protect a little girl from pain and public humiliation. And since Deborah would not have let me see Judy in any case, I could not bear to harm the girl by telling the truth when no good would have come from it.
Now so much time has passed, making it all far more complicated. Do you have any idea how difficult it is to know I have a child that I can never see? Do you know what it feels like to be denied any involvement in her life, to have missed her first steps, never allowed to see her grow up? Not allowed to walk her down the aisle?
If you think I should be ashamed of myself, don’t worry—I am. I can’t even be a proper father. Deborah sends me pictures and reports of her from time to time—I asked if I could at least have that. But I can’t send her things. Deborah finally agreed to let me send money for birthday gifts. She tells Judy they’re from her. It’s the only thing I can do. What kind of a father is that?
I’m asking you to forgive me for agreeing to be part of such a lie. I fully intended to tell you, just not like this. If it’s time you need, I will wait, but just so you know, your silence is killing me. I will never forget the look on your face. I should have told you everything before asking you to share my life, I know that now. I guess I was so consumed with telling you how I felt that I could think of little else.
I regret so many things in my life, Eliza. Like a fool, I let myself hope you might actually escape being affected by my past, but I see now that I was wrong. I hope and pray that you will find it in your heart to forgive me. Your faith in me has meant more than you’ll ever know.
I will always love you.
John
Eliza blinked tears from her eyes, ignoring the dull throb in her head and an unbearable sense of loss. Had he intended to tell her and simply gotten ahead of himself? While he should have told her before proposing, perhaps he never intended to leave her in the dark, to make a fool of her, as Ralph had.
Was she being unreasonable?
She lifted her gaze above the paper and met her sister’s.
Betty sniffed. “He’s married. I knew it. So when was he going to tell you about his wife—on the honeymoon?”
Eliza cringed at the reminder of how she had accused him of that very same thing. She stared at John’s handwriting again.
How like him to talk openly of his mistakes and face his shame so humbly. This was the John she had fallen in love with. Not a reckless cad, but a man who had struggled for weeks to deny his feelings for Eliza out of a desire to protect her. Despite John’s mistakes, he was a good, caring man. And in spite of being party to such a lie, perhaps he was trying to do the best thing he knew how.
“I need to call him,” Eliza whispered.
Betty shook her head. “Oh no. You’re suffering from brain trauma, darling. Your mind is impaired. Don’t do anything until you’ve had time to come to your senses.”
Perhaps Betty was right. “But I must find out about Millie,” she said. “She’s the reason I’m here.”
“If you must.” Betty sighed. “I’ll order a wheelchair.”
35
Millie’s grandchildren were taking turns keeping vigil, and though she was still holding on to life, the old woman hadn’t done more than mutter a few words and then slip right back into unconsciousness.
Eliza rose from her wheelchair and kissed Millie’s forehead. She whispered Millie’s name, with no response.
The woman’s skin was cool and translucent and reminded Eliza of spent leaves turned transparent, drifting through town like thin ghosts.
Eliza wept all the way back to her room.
Tuesday, just as Eliza finished dressing, Betty burst into the room. “Finally! Are you ready to go?”
“Yes.” She couldn’t wait to leave this place.
At Eliza’s apartment building, Betty made Eliza hold her arm and take the stairs slowly, although Eliza was certain she could manage. She’d walked the hospital corridors to the doctor’s satisfaction. But she’d allow Betty to mother her anyway, if it would help make her sister feel better about leaving Eliza alone.