Unforgivable Love

by Sophfronia Scott

  “Oh yes.” Annie unbuttoned the dress on the bed and held it up for Elizabeth to step into it. “He’s usually up at the crack of dawn, out doing who knows what.” She helped pull the garment up and began buttoning it again.

  Elizabeth looked in the mirror at Annie’s reflection and smiled. “Annie, if he’s out so early, what makes you think he hasn’t been out all night?” It probably wasn’t right for her to discuss Val with a maid, but she liked being able to talk about him with someone.

  Annie reached up and pulled back on Elizabeth’s unruly locks so she could subdue them under bobby pins. “Well, you know, that is something. I don’t rightly know. But where would he be all night around here? This isn’t Harlem.”

  “Exactly. So where would he go so early in the morning?”

  This time it was Annie’s turn to smile. “When you’re Valiant Jackson I’m sure you find good places to be.”

  Elizabeth laughed. She liked what she saw in the mirror—her hair tamed but still youthful and the dress accenting her figure’s slimness. “Yes. It does make me curious, though.”

  Annie gathered Elizabeth’s laundry from the hamper. “Well, it might be too bold of me to say this, ma’am, but if you really want to know, why don’t you find out?”

  Elizabeth turned to her. “How would I do that, Annie?”

  “You brought your own car up here, didn’t you?” She placed the soiled clothing in a basket, picked it up, and waited for an answer.

  “Yes.” Elizabeth thought for a moment then held up a hand to signal Annie she didn’t need to say more. She loved the idea. Not because she wanted to know where he was going—she did—but more because if she succeeded she would, at the very least, have something of her own in her pocket to throw back at Val when he teased her. He did have a certain reputation, after all, and she could always call on that—and her newfound proof of whatever it was—to keep him at arm’s length if needed. She sighed and relaxed. When she left her room to go downstairs for dinner she wondered how early she should rise the next day.

  CHAPTER 17

  Mae

  Harlem, June 1947

  It took careful consideration on Mae’s part to give up her current lover for this endeavor. She stood in the church watching Sam Delany at the organ rehearsing the choir, and thought of his eagerness to please her, his pure, appreciative, puppylike devotion. She hadn’t enjoyed such youthful attention in a long time. But the word “youthful” made her think of Frank Washington, and the thought of Frank Washington brought a wash of green over her eyesight and made the tops of her ears burn. The revenge, she finally decided, was more than worth it.

  Still, she wouldn’t have to make this sacrifice if Val had returned when he said he would. This was his fault. He’d run off to Westchester to hide something from her. How could he even think she wouldn’t find out what it was? She knew him like she knew her own mind. This made his lie—and she was certain it was a lie—a dual sin. He lied to her and inconvenienced her. It was only fair he should pay double the price. But he would have to wait. Her new plan had holes. It could fail with a minor misstep. It required all of her attention.

  Gladys was late, as usual. The choir was singing a spirited hymn when she barreled in at last, fanning herself and mopping her brow with a handkerchief. By then Mae was too exasperated with her to listen to her excuses.

  “Gladys, are you serious about Cecily taking music lessons?” Mae asked.

  “You know I am.”

  She nodded at the young man at the organ. “Then there’s no better choice for her teacher than Samuel Delany,” said Mae. “He comes highly recommended from Reverend Stiles.”

  Gladys seated herself in a pew and leaned forward to get a better look. Then she put on her glasses and peered at him carefully. “Isn’t that the new singer from the Swan?”

  “Gladys, you have such a good eye. I think he is. So now you know for yourself how talented he is.”

  “But a nightclub singer, Mae?”

  “Would he be here if Reverend Stiles didn’t think him trustworthy? We trust Reverend Stiles so I’m sure we can trust Sam, aren’t you?”

  Gladys sat back and nodded. “Well, you’re right about that.”

  Mae smiled. “Where’s Cecily?”

  “She’s in the car.”

  “I think they’re almost done. We can take Sam out to meet her then, all right?”

  OUTSIDE, MAE WAS glad to see that Cecily, coming out of the car at her mother’s prompting, looked less awkward than usual. She wore a simple dark blue dress and she was managing to stand in her heels without rolling onto the sides of her ankles. When Sam came bounding down the steps to join them, Mae thought this would be as easy as putting a piece of cheese in front of a mouse.

  “Samuel Delany,” she said. She placed a hand lightly on his arm. “I’d like to introduce my cousin, Gladys Vaughn, and her daughter, Cecily.”

  “How do you do, Mrs. Vaughn?” he said. He shook Gladys’s hand and smiled broadly.

  When he turned to Cecily, Mae noted how he paused and stared a moment at the girl before offering his hand. She was also satisfied with how deeply Cecily blushed. “Very nice to meet you,” he said, bowing.

  “Will you come see us tomorrow?” Gladys wanted to know. “We can talk about the details then and you can see our fine piano. We live on West 136th Street. All right?”

  “Yes, I will, thank you.”

  Mae smiled. “Good,” she said. “Very good.”

  CHAPTER 18

  Val

  Mercylands, June 1947

  Annie had said “crack of dawn” but the sun had been up for two hours when Sebastian started and then finished loading the trunk of Val’s car. He nodded at Val when Val, dressed in a white T-shirt and khaki pants, walked out onto the driveway. Sebastian opened the rear car door and Val slid over the seat.

  “You sure she’s gonna be out there?” Val asked. Sebastian got behind the wheel and Val turned to look back through the rear window.

  “Yes, sir. They took her car out already. And she told Annie again last night she wondered what you were doing with your mornings. I think the implication was you’re meeting a lady friend.”

  Sebastian started the car and slowly navigated down the curving driveway, careful to stay away from the rhododendron branches hanging low nearby. He drove out of the gate, turned, and proceeded down the road. Val stayed low and peered out the back window until he detected the black coupe. It pulled out from a side road behind them and followed the Cadillac. It seemed to be keeping a careful distance from them.

  “And here she comes!” Val smiled and turned around. He settled himself into his seat for the ride. Inviting Reverend Stiles had been the right move. In fact it had worked out even better than he’d expected.

  During his walks and meetings with the minister Val found he didn’t need to say much. He would ask a question such as “What presages change in a man’s life?” and Reverend Stiles was happy to go on and answer at length without much prompting.

  “A man like that starts off by withdrawing from the world,” he had responded. He held his arms open wide as though he would embrace a globe. Then he pulled his palms together as though in prayer.

  Val walked with his hands behind his back. He raised his eyebrows at this answer. “Why would he do that, Reverend?”

  The minister raised the index finger of his right hand to the sky. “Because he’s starting to hear the Lord’s call.” Reverend Stiles pointed the same finger to his ear. “He needs silence so he can hear it better. So he can figure out what the Lord is saying to him, what He wants him to do.”

  Reverend Stiles went on to talk of Christ heading off into the wilderness after receiving baptism from John. He spoke about fasting and contemplation—and temptation. Val did listen closely to all of it. He saw it as a way of researching his role. He knew there would come a time when he’d have to cut back on his meals and cultivate a starved, earnest look. Of course it would be for Elizabeth’s benefit. S
he would have no reason to doubt the evidence of her eyes if he gave her the appearance of a man wasting away for want of spiritual food. He would be less threatening and she would feel more confident about engaging him. And when she did he planned to give her words, words with just enough truth for her to believe them.

  Only a little truth was necessary. He wondered why more people didn’t see that telling a big lie was like dropping a stick house down in front of a person and telling them it was a mansion. They’d have no faith in it because they’d played no role in putting the house there. Soon they’d see the cracks between the sticks and then the house would be blown down and the lie obliterated.

  But if you tell a little bit of truth, you don’t have to do much because the person you’ve given the truth to will build the house for you. They add to it their own observations, their own knowledge, because they know the veracity of your little bit of truth and it gives them confidence in the rest.

  He looked in the rearview mirror again, but this time he examined his face. He could stand to lose a few pounds. While his face didn’t look fat, it did have a softness around the jawline indicating the fullness of a healthy body. If he erased just a bit of it he was sure the difference would be enough for Elizabeth to notice.

  “What happens after?” he had asked Reverend Stiles.

  “Like Christ, the man comes back and begins to fulfill his mission, whatever he has gleaned it to be.” Reverend Stiles waved a hand through the air again as though a long scroll of paper had unfurled in front of him and on it was a list of possible missions. Val took it to be his proposal for what he’d like to see Val do at Mount Nebo. He talked about stewardship, the vestry, the youth ministry, the soup kitchen. At the mention of the soup kitchen Val stopped listening. What would he look like in line behind trays of steaming dishes serving food with Elizabeth? He couldn’t allow things to come to that—he would never live it down. But Val did like what Reverend Stiles was saying about mission. That day he had put Sebastian to work to find the right opportunity. He succeeded admirably, as always, and the payoff would arrive this morning with Elizabeth on the scene to witness everything.

  For here was proof his strategy was working. She was curious, and curiosity meant she was thinking about him—a lot. Perhaps more than she realized. He was grateful for it, for her attention. If she were any other woman he would have chalked it up to nosiness and self-interest. But Elizabeth Townsend wasn’t like that. He’d bet it a hundred times a day and twice that on Sunday. She was curious because she took an interest in his welfare. He knew this had to be true and the thought touched him. Here she was, following him! Already she had stepped outside of herself. Did she see that? Did she even recognize she had begun a journey that would take her far beyond the road they traveled on now? He wanted to know what she was thinking as she drove.

  He liked the lightness in the way Elizabeth Townsend did things—it made him want to laugh—the demure way she nodded her head whenever she crossed paths with him and Reverend Stiles, the question mark that seemed to dance across her face when he said “good morning” or “good evening” to her and nothing more when she sat down at the dining room table. She was never testy or annoyed. She seemed even, perhaps, a tiny bit hurt.

  Hurt would be good. It would give him the chance to salve the hurt with a little of his own attention, and that would open the door to so much more. Because the heart was never satisfied with a little bit of caring. It was a greedy lump of muscle, quick to feast on the tiniest morsel of sincere admiration. But once the heart consumed that admiration, it always wanted more—demanded more. Val counted on this. Soon he would make her aware of his devotion—the table was set for it. He had to ready himself to weather her protests that were sure to follow. But he was sure that would be all he had to do. Her curiosity—and greedy heart—would handle the rest.

  He laughed and stole a glance in Sebastian’s rearview mirror. He felt the satisfaction of a child, with string in hand, walking and pulling along a favorite fire truck or a toy puppy on wheels. “Be careful,” Val said. “We don’t want to lose her.”

  He lowered the window to his right and looked out. Already the sun had burned away the morning mist but he still smelled the water sticking thick in the air. The roadside vegetation hung low and swept the sides of the Cadillac as it passed. It would be hot again, but not until later. He was glad they were doing this before the heat of the day set in.

  CHAPTER 19

  Elizabeth

  Westchester, June 1947

  Elizabeth had been grateful for the early morning mist that draped over the road but now it was disappearing. She didn’t know how to stay close enough to the car ahead without being seen. She gripped the wheel, leaned toward the windshield, and bit her lower lip. What was she doing? What would he say to her if he caught her? She was beginning to think following Val was a foolish idea, but she had gone too far to turn back. And she was curious because she truly thought she would see him coming home after staying out all night.

  Another surprise: they went farther than Elizabeth expected. Wherever they were going she did not consider it local. The roads were becoming more urban, less country. Were they going back to the city? If they left Westchester County, Elizabeth decided, she would have to turn back. How would she explain being in Harlem, especially if someone she knew saw her?

  She was relieved when Val’s car finally stopped in the town of Mount Vernon, turning into the parking lot of a squat stone building with another side area paved and surrounded by a chain-link fence. The grounds seemed to be full of people. Elizabeth let her car roll slowly past the building. She saw large white letters painted over the main door: “Mount Vernon Boys’ Club.” Looking ahead she realized she could make a turn and come around to the other side of the building. When she did that Elizabeth saw she could park on the street across from the lot—close enough to see without being seen. She turned off the engine and leaned across the front seat.

  Elizabeth smiled, then found herself laughing. The lot was full of boys—beautiful, smiling, eager black children who all seemed to be excited to see Val. They held bats, gloves, and balls—baseballs! Val seemed to be giving directions and suddenly the boys were running in a whirl around him until half were positioned in various spots in the lot and the other half stood behind the safety of the chain-link fence.

  One boy stood near the fence with a bat, waiting. Sebastian kneeled near the boy, a glove on his hand and a metal mask over his face. Val stood a few feet away with another boy, who held a baseball. The boy watched and mimicked Val’s movements. His spindly leg, like a colt’s, rose into the air and then came down as he kicked out his other leg. He swung his arm as if to throw the ball, but he still held it in his fingers. He nodded at Val and Val stood back. This time the boy pulled up fully and followed through, pitching the ball at the batter, who swung and missed. Sebastian caught the ball and the boys behind the pitcher cheered.

  Val smiled, patted the boy on the back, and said something to him that made the boy grin with obvious joy. This was how the morning went on, the game continuing and pausing when the boys needed coaching. Elizabeth didn’t know enough about what they were doing to follow it all, but she couldn’t stop watching either. At one point it seemed Val’s eyes had roamed over to her and she gasped. But she realized she was reacting to her own insecurity. There were too many children and she was too far away to attract Val’s attention. However, there was no reason to stay longer. She had her answer, even if it wasn’t what she’d expected. The best thing for her to do was get back to Rose’s house before Val did. She started the car, her eyes still on the makeshift baseball game as she steered down the street.

  THE REST OF the day Elizabeth wore her newfound knowledge like a comforting quilt around her shoulders. Val seemed safer, perhaps, not the villain everyone believed he was. She enjoyed listening to the familiar banter Rose maintained with her nephew throughout dinner, and paid careful attention as she ate her tomato salad and roast chicken. Sh
e was becoming more certain she could hold her own in conversation with Val without further troubles.

  At the end of the meal Avery brought out coffee and, as usual, the evening newspaper for Val. He leaned back in his seat and opened the broad pages in front of him.

  “How are your Dodgers doing these days?” Rose asked.

  “Doing fine, doing fine. My man Mr. Robinson will keep them in the hunt for the pennant; I know that sure as I know my own name.”

  “Do you follow baseball, Elizabeth?” Rose raised her cup to her lips.

  Elizabeth carefully doctored her own coffee with milk and a bit of sugar. “No, Rose. Kyle’s never been interested so I’ve never had reason to go to a game.”

  “Val can’t get enough. And he thinks Jackie Robinson walks on water, don’t you, honey?”

  “Oh, him I know!” Elizabeth said before Val could answer. “Everyone knows Jackie Robinson.”

  “And why shouldn’t they?” Val said, putting his paper down. “The man’s a giant. I can’t believe you’ve never been to a game.”

  “Not everyone has to have the same tastes as you,” Rose said. She stood slowly and kissed him on the forehead. “I’m tired. I think I’ll drag these old bones upstairs and call it a day.”

  “Let me help you, Aunt Rose.”

  “No, no, I’m fine, honey. Sit and enjoy your coffee. I’ll see you in the morning. You’ll be up early again?”

  “As always. You know how much I love the morning. It’s just filled with possibilities.”

  “Possibilities?” Rose smiled. “Is that her name? Good night.”

  Val put a hand against his cheek and rolled his eyes. “Aunt Rose! What a dirty mind!” He laughed before half rising to kiss his aunt again. “Good night, babe!”

  “Good night, Rose,” said Elizabeth.

  Val sat down and sipped his coffee. Elizabeth gave hers another stir, but when she raised the cup and her eyes, she saw Val’s smile gone. He was staring at her with such focus she turned her head as though he had shone a light into her face. She covered by coughing, then turning back to him. She forced herself to maintain a Rose-like composure.