Unforgivable Love

by Sophfronia Scott

  Elizabeth dropped the bat and embraced Gladys’s large and comforting torso. “What are you doing here?” She held Gladys’s hand and noticed the shadow of sweat staining the brown floral-print dress just under her friend’s armpit.

  “It was just getting too hot in the city. I thought it might be a nice change for a bit to come up and visit Rose, isn’t that right, Cecily?” Gladys smiled and waved her free hand in her daughter’s direction.

  Cecily, her chin down and her lower lip puffed out in defiance, said nothing.

  “Let’s go find Rose,” Elizabeth said. She tugged Gladys’s hand and they walked toward the terrace. “She should be done with her telephone calls right about now. I know she’ll be happy to see you both.”

  “What about all this?” Cecily’s voice, unfamiliar and high-pitched, startled Elizabeth. She and Gladys turned to see Cecily nudging the baseball in the grass with the toe of her black-strapped shoe.

  Elizabeth stared at the ball and bat for a moment and ignored the tiny glint of shame creeping up into her cheeks. “Don’t worry,” she told Cecily. “Deacon or Avery will come out and put them away.”

  THAT EVENING IN Gladys’s room Elizabeth sat perched on the side of the bed and watched her friend unpack her clothes. Gladys drifted slowly between the suitcase and dresser drawers, then from the suitcase to the closet, unfurling the fashionable swaths of fabric that were her dresses. She sighed as though she wanted to exhale the weight of the world’s sorrow from her chest.

  “What’s wrong, Gladys?” Elizabeth reached forward and touched her friend’s arm.

  Gladys glanced up before she turned to deposit a neatly folded stack of white cotton underpants in her top dresser drawer. “Oh, it’s Cecily,” she said with her back to Elizabeth. Then, after turning around, she added, “I found out that singer I hired to give her music lessons has been writing to her. Teaching her about more than any damn piano!”

  “What do you mean?” Elizabeth gripped the pale blue bed-cover with her fingers.

  “He didn’t get her into bed, if that’s what you’re thinking. But she’s acting like she’s in love, the little fool. Like she has any idea what love is.”

  It was what Elizabeth had been thinking but she said nothing.

  “My cousin Mae, it was her idea to bring Cecily here for a spell. Help her get over it.”

  Elizabeth’s left hand floated up to her chest. Love rends. Is this what Val had been talking about? Cecily loved someone. The thought of it, to Elizabeth, felt young and optimistic, but from what she saw the results were far from favorable. This love had caused Cecily to be separated from the man. And there was a rift between Gladys and Cecily too. Elizabeth thought about the distance she had witnessed between mother and daughter as they walked across the grass that afternoon.

  But Val had also said love mends. Where would the mending be for Cecily, divided as she was from those closest to her? Elizabeth felt sad for the poor girl. She wanted to hold her up to Val as an example—he was only half right. Love destroys. His own imagined affection could only do the same. She was thinking about crafting a letter in which she sent him these thoughts when Gladys startled her with the mention of his name. When she heard it Elizabeth slipped her right hand, balled into a tense fist, behind her back.

  “Here I was worrying you about Val Jackson,” she said. Gladys shook out a dress and dropped it back into the suitcase again. Her mouth was twisted into a tiny cyclone of dejection. “And I didn’t even know what was going on in my own house.”

  Elizabeth opened her fingers again and offered her hands to Gladys. “Don’t worry,” she said. “We’re all here together now. You and Cecily will feel better soon.”

  Gladys came over and took her hands. The way she held on to her made Elizabeth feel as though she were pulling her friend from quicksand.

  WITH GLADYS AND Cecily’s paired presence, the house buzzed with new life. The women took walks together, played cards in the garden under a pink-and-white-striped canvas tent, and sat sewing or crocheting well into the evening. At times Cecily sulked, standing with her arms crossed, her eyes fixed somewhere beyond the gates of Mercylands. Elizabeth noticed that whenever Cecily was like this Gladys, who always had something to say, increased her talkativeness as if she wanted to make up for her daughter’s silence.

  Because of all this activity—or perhaps in spite of it—Elizabeth found she craved silence once again. She took on the habit of rising early and retrieving the ball and bat from their storage room off the kitchen. Belle, kneading bread dough or washing strawberries, would nod at her when Elizabeth crossed the kitchen floor. Once outside she would toss the ball up, hit it (for she was getting good at knowing when to swing the bat), pick up the ball, and hit it again in the direction she was going. She would walk the grounds in this manner until it was time for breakfast. It was only during this time that she allowed herself to think about Val. His letters, oddly enough, had stopped the day Gladys arrived. She knew she should be glad of it, but she couldn’t help but wonder why. Had he decided her lack of response made her not worth the trouble? Perhaps he really had found someone else to pursue. Elizabeth figured the latter was probably closest to the truth.

  One day Elizabeth woke to the put-putting sound of motors. She heard the deep voice of Deacon, Rose’s head gardener, barking instructions. She figured his crew was mowing the lawn and probably trimming the bushes too. She stayed in bed and enjoyed the rumbling of voices and the smell of cut grass when it reached her open window. Her room felt so pleasant Elizabeth decided to remain there. She rang for toast and tea. She also sent a message that she was fine; she just wanted to spend the morning reading and would be downstairs in time for lunch.

  By eleven thirty Elizabeth had consumed her breakfast, showered, dressed, and read six chapters of Ann Petry’s The Street. Then she prayed over the novel’s pages once again because they reminded her of how bewildering the world was to her. All of Harlem gossiped about how well the author captured the neighborhood, but Elizabeth saw it as a sad truth. When she came to the part where Lutie had to leave her eight-year-old son home by himself so she could pursue a job, Elizabeth put the book down, heartbroken. When she finally left her room and walked downstairs the house still seemed as active as when she first woke. Elizabeth was even more curious when she found Gladys and Cecily going outside. The sound of more men’s voices, and their laughter, rolled up from the lawn. Rose stood by the terrace doors and wrapped herself with a light scarf around her shoulders.

  “I’m so glad Val has returned!” Rose said and smiled like a girl going to her first party.

  Elizabeth frowned, glanced out to the terrace, and saw nothing. “He’s come back?”

  Rose laughed. “Yes. He probably just got bored being alone and sitting around with only the two of us. We’re not good company for him, old as I am and you being married and all. But now he’s brought some friends up from the city to play.” She made a waving motion that seemed to indicate she wanted Elizabeth to follow her outdoors, but Elizabeth stood glued to the drawing room floor.

  “Has he?”

  Rose waved to her again and nodded and smiled. “But we won’t be left out. He’s invited us to watch.”

  Elizabeth felt like someone had thrown a cement block into the gearing of her brain and she couldn’t quite process Rose’s words. “He has? And you’re going?”

  “Of course, my dear. Come on, we don’t want to miss the beginning.”

  Rose took Elizabeth’s arm and together they walked out into a glorious sunny day. They went down the terrace steps, onto the grass, and out beyond the tiny slope where the yard opened up and leveled. Elizabeth saw, with wonder, the lawn had been transformed. The green had been cut short and brilliant white lines like confectionary sugar on the grass marked the unmistakable shape of a baseball diamond. Thick beige bases lay in their own chalk boxes and a man with a chunk of black strapped to his chest and what looked like a wire cage on top of his head swept home plate with a tiny ha
nd broom. Men dressed in T-shirts tossed balls back and forth and caught them in gloves. Elizabeth saw Gladys and Cecily already seated at a safe distance from the field in Adirondack chairs. Two empty ones awaited Rose and Elizabeth.

  “Ah, ladies! Welcome!” Val was jogging toward them from the diamond. Elizabeth saw drops of sweat along his hairline and his face glowed in the sun. He looked well, healthy, and she was glad, strangely glad, to see him so.

  He took his aunt’s arm from Elizabeth’s and helped Rose into her chair.

  “Thank you, dear,” she said. Rose settled back into her seat, rubbed her hands together, and grinned.

  Val presented a seat to Elizabeth and she, leaning toward him as she sat, whispered, “You said you would leave.”

  “And I did.” He took her hand and gave it a quick squeeze before he dropped it. “But I kept thinking how sad it was you’ve never seen a baseball game. It’s about time you did!”

  Before she could say anything else Val delivered one of his brilliant, blinding smiles and jogged off to pick up the bat at home plate. He took a few practice swings, exaggerating the batting stance he had taught Elizabeth, looking back at her as he did. She held her features steady, determined to show his teasing would have no effect on her.

  The first baseman, however, seemed to be the one annoyed by Val’s antics.

  “Man, quit messing around and hit the damn ball!”

  “All right,” Val said, waving him off, “all right!”

  The pitcher threw the ball and Elizabeth jumped at the loud crack punctuating the air as bat hit ball. The women clapped their hands and Rose even cheered as Val ran the bases. “That’s the way to do it, Val!”

  And so the game went on. In the field Val executed a dramatic dive to field a ground ball. On another play, a man from the opposing team slid into home, was called safe, and Val and his teammates argued over the call for a good five minutes. The women laughed and seemed to relax even as the players proved how seriously they took the game. A phonograph set up in a nearby window piped music including “Let the Good Times Roll” and lent a festive note to the scene. Belle and Avery brought out cold chicken sandwiches and lemonade spiced with mint leaves. Everyone was having a grand time, and Elizabeth was relieved she could enjoy the afternoon as well. As the game went on she felt less and less the focus of Val’s attention. He seemed to melt into the company of his male friends and little existed for him outside the white lines. After a while she stopped worrying about whether her face looked too happy or too pleased. It didn’t matter how she looked because she had disappeared. Then she found herself wondering whether this was a good thing or not.

  CHAPTER 29

  Val

  Mercylands, July 1947

  Val Jackson, who measured every moment according to its usefulness in his plans, quickly noted Cecily lagging behind as she and the other women headed back to the house. He tossed his glove to one of the men clearing the lawn and moved to catch up with her.

  He knew very well he was at the full-blown height of his power. His body felt energetic and strong, radiating his every note of charisma and beauty. Some of this, he knew, was due to his return, which he happily considered triumphant. Staging the baseball game had been a brilliant and necessary piece of inspiration. It allowed him to stake his presence in a fun and joyous atmosphere. If he had merely shown up and walked in on the women, at tea for instance, the resulting tension would have flowed enough to poison the whole room. Val pictured Gladys giving him the evil eye, nonstop, over the scones.

  The game had provided the added advantage of Elizabeth getting to see him again in a nonthreatening light. He was sure this would be enough to soften any pique she probably felt about him coming back. Yes, it had all worked so well. And now the baseball game had primed him for the bigger game to come. There was wonderful work to do, and he was ready.

  He caught up to Cecily, touched her on the arm, and whispered, “Sam is gonna call tonight.”

  “When?” The girl was so easily drawn in.

  “Midnight. Come to my room, I have a private line. It won’t ring in the rest of the house. Don’t be late.”

  He walked past her and joined Elizabeth, Rose, and Gladys, opening the doors for them as they went inside.

  WHEN VAL DRESSED for dinner he put on his white jacket and wanted to laugh because he knew that by slipping on this coat he too easily stacked the deck in his favor. His deep brown skin, set off by the jacket, made him glow like polished mahogany. He knew Elizabeth would notice, Cecily would stare, his aunt would approve, and Gladys might even try to be nice to him. Val grinned to himself, grabbed his cigarettes, and went out to the terrace for a smoke before dinner.

  Elizabeth was already there. In fact she seemed to have been there awhile, looking out across the grounds, lost in thought. Val was pleased to have the chance to give her the first look at him in his evening splendor. He stood in front of her and leaned against the stone casually as he lit a cigarette.

  “It’s almost dinnertime,” he told her. “Everyone else has changed already. You better get a move on.”

  She turned to him and crossed her arms. Her mouth was a perfect thin line of reserve.

  “Why are you still here?”

  “Why are you so mad?”

  “Because I can only be your friend and you don’t want that.”

  “No, no, no, my dear Mrs. Townsend.” Val shook his head and laughed. “That’s not it at all. Don’t you get it?” He drew on his cigarette. “The way I used to be? Yeah, I would’ve been your friend. Then in two hot minutes, maybe less, I would’ve been trying to make you into something else. But because of you, I’m different now.” He waved the cigarette and the blue smoke encircled him. “I don’t lie about love. Being your friend would be a lie. I’d be pretending my love doesn’t exist. I’m sorry, but I can’t do that.”

  She crossed her arms and shook her head. “Ha! Of course you can’t. You just do what you want. You don’t care what happens to me or my peace of mind.”

  “Your peace of mind?” He took a step toward her. “Elizabeth, I said I love you. That means I care about nothing but your peace of mind. If anything, I’m the one getting stomped on here because you sit there and act like you want to be my friend.”

  “Act like?”

  “Yeah! Listen to how you’re talking to me. What is that? Don’t sound like a friend to me.”

  Elizabeth put a hand out in front of her. “Let’s just stop right here because this conversation isn’t getting us anywhere.” She turned to go in.

  “You’re absolutely right.”

  She paused. For a moment it seemed she had forgotten what she was about to do. Without looking at him she said, “Mr. Jackson?”

  “Mrs. Townsend? Yes?” Val leaned forward and waited.

  “Nothing.” She turned back to him, her face pale. “I’m sorry.”

  Val smiled.

  “Look, Elizabeth, don’t worry. We’re two adults. We can be nice to each other, at least for a few days. I think we can handle that. We’ll get by. Okay?”

  “Okay.”

  She nodded and he thought her expression, with her long lashes downcast, seemed to soften.

  “All right then. I’ll see you at dinner.”

  THAT NIGHT, JUST before midnight, Val sat in his room silently, listening for Cecily’s approaching steps. She would have to leave her room, make it down the hall past Gladys’s room without being heard, then cross the landing that would bring her to the wing of the house where Val’s suite was located. The conversation with Elizabeth lingered in his thoughts and the sweetness of it made him feel the slightest hesitation for what he was about to do. He tamped it down by recalling Gladys’s busybody words and thinking about how he would have been much further along with Elizabeth if it hadn’t been for Gladys. If she had minded her own business he wouldn’t have to be in hers now.

  Within a few minutes he heard the soft tapping of feet in slippers approaching his room. He opened the door in a
nswer to her quiet knock and noted her moment of shock when she saw he was shirtless under his robe.

  “Has Sam called yet?”

  Val put a finger to his lips. He pulled her in, closed the door, and pointed to the phone on his desk. As if on cue it rang and Cecily, delighted, ran over and answered it. Val, from behind, continued to watch her intently.

  “Oh, Sam! I miss you so much! Do you miss me too?”

  Val moved to the door and locked it.

  The call lasted about twenty minutes—interminably long to Val but he knew how to be patient. He leaned against a wall near the desk and occupied himself with observing the thinness of Cecily’s cotton nightgown and the light robe she wore that had fallen open as she spoke.

  “When will you call me again?”

  She listened.

  “Okay, I’ll be patient. But call me as soon as you can, all right, Sam?”

  Cecily hung up the phone, and Val moved toward her so he could place himself perfectly in the wake of her glee. She clapped her hands and threw her arms around him.

  “Oh, thank you, Mr. Jackson! Thank you so much! Sam thanks you too!”

  “Now, hold on here! Sam doesn’t have to thank me. But you can show me as much gratitude as you want.”

  “He sounded so great! I thought for sure he would be mad at me for letting Mama bring me all the way up here. But he said you told him it was only temporary and the best thing to do and he understands! How can I ever repay you?”

  She crossed her arms and rubbed her left ankle with her right foot in a way Val found strangely endearing.

  “Now, that’s an interesting question. How can you repay me, Cecily? What do you have to offer?”

  He took her elbow and leaned down to kiss her but she pulled back.

  “What, not even a kiss?”

  She stared at him a moment then tried to make a dash for the door. Val grabbed her wrist and clamped a hand over her mouth just as she was about to scream. He pulled her close and held her tightly so he could speak low into her ear.