Val walked back toward the house, the sun now rising behind him.
CHAPTER 37
Cecily
Mercylands, Mid-August 1947
Dear Sam,
One of Mr. Jackson’s servants just knocked and told me he’s getting ready to go back to Harlem. He’s got some business he has to take care of at his club. The man said if I could write a letter real quick, Mr. Jackson would take it to you. So I’m sitting here writing as fast as I can.
I know you’ve asked about coming here, but it won’t work out. If Mr. Jackson had stayed longer he could have helped us figure out a way. Frank Washington, Mama tells me, will be visiting us any day now. Besides, I will be back soon. I think it’s better for us to wait—if you came here and we got caught Mama would send me away forever. Please don’t ask for what I can’t give you. It hurts to have to tell you no. And if you think I’m doing this because I’m starting to like Frank Washington, I’m not! I don’t like him and never will.
But Mama may still make me marry him and when that happens, please don’t worry. I love you—that won’t change. As long as you still love me, and I hope and pray you do and you will, then everything will always be fine between us. We will be able to find a way to make it. And in a few weeks we will be together! I know Mr. Jackson will help us, and Cousin Mae might take our side too. So just be patient, Sam.
Mrs. Townsend left over a week ago now. Mrs. Jarreau told us she took sick in the night and went home. I’m sad about it and I miss her. With Mr. Jackson leaving too it will be just me and Mama here with Mrs. Jarreau. When Mr. Jackson came he brought lots of friends with him and we got to sit outside and watch them play baseball. Now I don’t know what we’ll do. When Frank Washington gets here it will be worse. But I’ll be okay because I’ll be thinking about you and singing our music in my head. Bye for now.
Love, Cecily
CHAPTER 38
Val
Harlem, Mid-August 1947
After Elizabeth fled Mercylands Val stayed on for ten more days, despite the steel cord in his being that pulled on him to dash after her back to Harlem. But he knew this would only result in useless scenes where she would doubt her own heart and his intentions. He admitted to one mistake early on: he’d written a couple of notes to her soon after she’d left. The correspondence went unanswered, but that was before he realized he had a more effective line of communication through Aunt Rose.
She coyly said nothing to him, but he was certain she was calling Elizabeth and checking on her. He believed Elizabeth would ask about him so he had been careful to craft his actions so Aunt Rose would deliver the image he wanted to paint. He stayed in his room as much as possible. The sacrifice wasn’t hard—during the day he couldn’t stand the thought of spending any time in the company of Gladys Vaughn and at night he had the young and eager Cecily to amuse him. In fact Cecily’s visits—she often stayed until three or four a.m.—had the unexpected benefit of making him sluggish and his eyes heavy-lidded. One morning at breakfast Aunt Rose seemed taken aback by his transformation.
“Oh, Val, honey,” she had said, her eyes dark with concern. “You’ve got to take better care of yourself.”
He had patted her hand on the table, thanked her softly, and said he would go back to bed after he had eaten. And that’s what he had done. He’d fallen asleep confident his aunt would soon relate the little scene to Elizabeth.
He had planned to leave Mercylands after two weeks, the appointed period his subtle calculations told him would be the time to return to Harlem. But if he were true and confident in his design he would have shared the date with Sebastian. Some part of him knew it might not be possible to wait.
He fell short by four. He realized even if he couldn’t see her he wanted to be closer to where she was, to have the possibility of seeing her at church or the soup kitchen. They packed quickly, left quickly. But he applauded himself for having the presence of mind to send word to Cecily to write something for him to take back to Sam. He knew he couldn’t return to Mae without a contribution to her game.
THE DAYS WERE growing shorter. Val looked out onto the street and noticed how the mere suggestion of cold weather—for it was only a chilly day in August—was enough to make the people down there quicken their steps. Men shoved their hands deeper into their pockets; women walked with one hand on their heads to keep their hats from being whisked away on the wind.
He had left his aunt’s house a week ago. Once again he measured out time carefully, marking the days off on a calendar, following the passage of each hour on his watch. He felt the days shortening, not only because of the season but also because he knew he had to reach Elizabeth soon, and there would be fewer opportunities to do so. He had to be patient, though. As much as he would have loved to run up on her the moment he set foot in town, he knew that would ruin everything. He had to let her marinate in her escape, or what she thought was her escape. But he couldn’t wait too long.
“Is her husband back yet?” he asked Sebastian, who reported on whatever details he could dig up. It wasn’t easy. Besides a cleaning woman, there were few bribable people who had access to her. Still, Sebastian managed to find what Val needed.
“No, sir. And she doesn’t see anyone. Hasn’t been to church. The cleaning woman says it doesn’t look like Mrs. Townsend has touched a thing in the kitchen. She believes she’s not eating.”
“Okay.”
Val took a few bills from his wallet and gave them to Sebastian.
“Good job. I’ll see her on Thursday. Make sure she’s alone, though. I want to know first thing if she has any visitors.”
“Very good, sir.”
The phone rang and Val turned back to the window. Sebastian answered it. “Sir, it’s the doorman,” he said, his hand cupped over the receiver. “Miss Malveaux and Sam Delany are downstairs.”
Val dropped his chin to his chest and sighed. “All right.”
This would be the first time he’d seen Mae since returning to Harlem. He didn’t often summon her—she didn’t like it—but he thought the news he had for her would make up for it. He also didn’t want to wait for an invitation from her to deliver it. But why was she bringing Sam with her? Val wanted to hate him and feel sorry for him all at once. He had read or overheard all his communications with Cecily and found that Sam truly seemed to be as guileless as the girl. Were love and life really so uncomplicated for him? If that were so, Val envied him for it. There must have been a time when it was the same for Val, when the world was open and simple and easy. But he couldn’t remember it and he keenly felt the loss.
Sam bounded into the room. He shook Val’s hand like he would bounce his arm off, like a child loving his favorite toy to pieces.
“Sam, my man!” He nodded at Mae. She was dressed immaculately in a Christian Dior outfit with a long black pleated skirt and a yellow jacket cut close to her slim waist. She pulled off her black gloves, touched a hand to the wide-brimmed black hat on her head, then sat down so gracefully in his armchair it seemed she was blessing it with her bottom.
“Hello, Val,” she said, giving him a small smile.
“Mr. Jackson, I don’t know what to say! How can I thank you for all you’ve done for me and Cecily?”
Val playfully punched him on the shoulder. “Oh, man, think nothing of it! Cecily just can’t wait to see her Sam again. They’ll be back from Aunt Rose’s place soon.”
“Yes, I know! It was in the letter you brought to me.”
Mae tilted her head up at Sam.
“Two weeks! I think I might go out of my mind having to wait that long. I swear I’ve worn a path in my carpet, I’ve been pacing around my apartment so much.”
Mae reached up and touched Sam’s arm. Val couldn’t help noticing it—Mae was stingy with physical contact, like she was some kind of Midas. Only she didn’t turn people into gold. It was more like she was the gold and you could only hope she passed over some of herself with each touch of her fingertips. “Don’t worry, my dear
,” she said to Sam. “I’m sure we can come up with something to distract you. Now, can you wait downstairs for me? I have to talk to Mr. Jackson in private for a few minutes.”
“Oh yeah, sure. I am so grateful to you, sir. Cecily and I will always be grateful to you.” He reached for Val’s hand again and shook it.
Val smiled a real smile for him. He decided there was something refreshing about Sam’s happiness and he would allow himself to take it in. “Well, your gratitude is enough for me. Don’t think about it, man. I’ll see you later.”
Mae smiled at Sam, and the door closed behind him.
“Such a good boy.”
“Yeah, he’s all right.” Val opened the humidor on the table and pulled out a cigar, but put it back when Mae frowned. “Hey, I’ve got some news for you. Thought you’d want to hear it firsthand.”
“Oh?”
“I think Frank Washington’s firstborn is gonna be a Jackson.”
Mae lifted her chin and eyebrow at the same time. “Cecily is pregnant?”
“She’s late and I don’t think she knows it yet, but I’m pretty sure she is.”
“How wonderful.” Mae leaned back in the chair and clasped her hands out in front of her like a happy cat stretching in the sun. “Oh, people are going to laugh at Frank until his dying day and he won’t even know why!”
Val rubbed his hands together. “Dumb jerk deserves it. But then again, does Cecily have to marry Frank? Like you said, Sam is a good guy.”
“No!”
Mae’s eyes flared hot and her cheeks hardened. It was all Val could do to stand his ground. He remembered the dragon and the fire in the sky. But then she smiled.
“You’ve had your revenge. Now I get mine and I want Frank’s utter humiliation.”
“Come on, Mae,” Val said softly, surprising himself with his words. He spread out his hands like a peace offering. “Give the kids a break. You could find a hundred other ways to make Frank Washington miserable.”
“Yes, but they would all lead back to me.”
Val dropped himself onto the sofa and leaned toward her. “A woman scorned, Mae? I don’t know—the part doesn’t suit you. And the man’s not worth it.”
“That may be.” She crossed her arms and Val knew what to expect next. “In any event I do have to thank you for doing your job so well. But I must say when you called me over here I thought you wanted to tell me something else.”
Val retreated a little. He sat back and crossed his legs.
“I called time out on that one.”
“Oh?”
“She was down and ready to give in and I saw something in her eyes.”
“What?”
Val drew his hand over his face and sighed. “It was me—I saw a reflection of me in her eyes. It was like I could see what I was about to do and I couldn’t stand it. I couldn’t do it.”
“How disappointing.” Her hand floated to her mouth as though to suppress a laugh.
“She left my aunt’s house.” He nearly swallowed the mortifying words.
“I don’t blame her!” Mae laughed and shook her index finger at him. “I would have done the same. She went through all that with you and finally surrendered and what did you do? Nothing! You walked out on her. I’d see that as an insult and I’d leave so you wouldn’t have the chance to be so stupid with me again. You expect all women to respond the same way to all your old tricks. But every woman is different and you have to be prepared for anything. I’m surprised. And you a ball player! I would have thought you knew how to be quick on your feet, but that little prude got the best of you.”
“Yeah, but not anymore.” Val got up, went to the window, and stuffed his hands in his pockets. When he spoke again he couldn’t tell if he was talking to Mae or to himself. “I’ll go over there to her in the next few days and you’ll see. No mercy.”
Mae smiled but said nothing.
“And then it’ll be over and I can—”
“What?” She raised her chin to him expectantly.
Val felt like he was looking for something out the window, like an answer would come sashaying down the street and shout up to him and tell him what was going to happen. He shook his head. “I’ll be able to breathe again. She’s in my head all the time. It’s like a damn puzzle I can’t put together. She’s there in my sleep. She’s there when I wake up. Why the hell is that? Why is it like that when she’s—”
“Just a woman?”
Val turned back to Mae but couldn’t say anything. He seemed to be looking past her, beyond her, still searching. Mae rose.
“I have to go,” she said as she pulled on her gloves.
“Mae.” He advanced on her a few steps until they stood directly in front of each other. “I’ll finish it,” he said, nodding. “And when I do I’ll come see you after for another little visit.”
“Make sure you do that, Val. Don’t bother me otherwise. I don’t want to hear another account of impotence.”
He opened the door for her but she stopped just on the threshold and looked over her shoulder at him.
“Once upon a time you were a man.” She smiled and walked away, her hips seeming to taunt him as they swayed pertly with her every step.
Val closed the door and found himself staring in the mirror on the wall next to him. His brow was furrowed and his eyes slightly bleary. He was disappointed he’d shown such a face to Mae.
CHAPTER 39
Elizabeth
Harlem, Mid-August 1947
Elizabeth couldn’t pray, not even to say her mother’s name. She knew praying was what she should be doing, using every sacred word as a tiny beacon to help see her way through the fog in which she persistently dwelled. She even knew which prayers would be best—she kept a small book of psalms on the table by her bedside—but she couldn’t bring herself to open it. The New Testament was out of the question. The words “love,” “compassion,” and “peace” were too abundant there and since they were now blended in with her confusion—sometimes these words impelled her to run straight back to Val—she couldn’t bear to read them. And she was absolutely certain Christ’s words in the Book of Matthew, “Be ye therefore perfect, even as your Father which is in heaven is perfect,” would break her in half.
But she thought often of the Book of Revelation, specifically the gift of the little book taken from the hand of an angel and how it tasted sweet as honey in the mouth, but turned bitter in John’s belly. Because Elizabeth felt she was experiencing both the sweet and the bitter—she had tasted both constantly in the days since she left Rose’s house. She thought so foolishly that she would come back home and move about her life just as it was when she left it. But the moment she stepped out of the car and into a world that so clearly did not contain Val, she’d stumbled and skinned her knee on the sidewalk. The doorman had come forward quickly to help her up, but she could tell she no longer knew how to put one foot in front of the other. She went upstairs and stayed upstairs and hoped from day to day that the feeling would pass.
Then, she surmised, if she stayed in long enough, she could go out and withstand the possibility of running into Val. She might even be able to endure looking at him and recognizing by the cast of his eyes how she was nothing to him anymore. The difficulty would be his recognition, because he would easily ascertain that she and her heart still stood exactly where he’d left them. Her humiliation would be complete.
But wasn’t humiliation what she deserved? She had done all this to herself; that was the worst of it. Yes, Val was charming and magnetic, but she was the one who’d thought herself woman enough to redeem him. And, she must admit this to herself now, she did enjoy the fact he seemed so taken with her, even admired her. What she missed most was how, as she moved through the rooms at Rose’s house and passed plates at meals and played cards with Gladys, he was always looking at her. She knew it despite not being able to meet his eyes herself. She felt something comforting about his attentiveness; it was like having an earthbound deity watching ov
er her, and she warmed in his sun constantly shining on her. Coming back to Harlem, she knew she would be giving this up, but she didn’t expect to feel so devastated by the loss.
Kyle had called her on her first night back home. His calls to Rose’s house had become irregular as the summer wore on. He said it was because he knew she wasn’t alone and was in good hands. He seemed irritated that she was in Harlem again.
“What are you doing home, Elizabeth? I thought we agreed you would stay with Rose at least until I could come up for a break.”
She gripped the black receiver in both hands as she sat down in his desk chair.
“I just wanted to go to church here. I was tired of driving all that way and back so early on Sundays.” Her voice seemed small and high in her ears. This is what a lie sounds like, she thought.
“All right then. But I spoke to Rose and she’ll take you back the minute you get tired of sitting there all by yourself. So you call her if you need to. You promise?”
“I will. I promise.”
He continued speaking the way he usually did, in large swaths of monologue that required little response from her. This used to bother her, but now she was grateful for it. She didn’t know what tone to use—what would conceal and what would give her away—so she thought it best to stay as silent as possible. Only after they hung up did she realize that not once did she say his name.
She knew then she could only love Val from afar. She just wanted his happiness. It didn’t matter how despondent she was. But as long as Val’s life was better, it comforted her knowing she’d played some role in making that happen.
And what of her own well-being? She had to make some effort. She saw by the way the cleaning woman looked at her cross-eyed she knew Elizabeth hadn’t been cooking. Somehow she had to bring herself to eat again. She decided to take the approach of pretending she was a child again. She would eat simply, starting with plain things that would be warm and settling like grits with a little butter. Then she would learn to walk again. In the morning she would take a short trek, perhaps just around the block. She would have to go slowly and see what it felt like to have the presence of other people around her. She could acclimate herself to the sun again and accept its light as her guidance.
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