“Did it feel good ... when he kissed you?” I wanted to know.
“Sorta.... He kinda smelled like tobacco. I thought he pro’bly had some in his cheek cuz his daddy and mama always gotta cheek full.”
“Well, I’m not kissin no boy who gotta nasty habit like that. B’sides chewin tobacco, even smokin cigarettes is a sin,” Emma said. Emma was a member of the Holiness Church.
“It ain’t no sin cuz it don’t hurt nobody,” Penny replied.
“But it makes you stink,” Ruth said.
Penny shouted, “King me!”
I looked into the distance, wondering what it felt like to kiss a boy on the mouth who had a cheek full of tobacco and brown lips.
I checked the clothes. They were dry and as Ruth and I went back to our Saturday work, Emma put her checkers and checkerboard in the box, Penny picked up her red ball and copper jacks, and they walked away, looking back to wave once, then again.
We folded Miss Lilly’s clothes, placed them neatly in the basket, and walked the dirt path to her house.
Miss Lilly wheeled herself to the back door, opened her butter-colored change purse, took out two dimes, and placed them in our palms. “Thank you,” she said.
“Thank you, Miss Lilly.... Thank you, ma’am,” we said again.
“Tell your mama, no need to come tomorrow, my sister’s comin from New Orleans tonight, stayin till Monday mornin. You all run along b’fore it gets dark.” Miss Lilly backed away from the door in her chair and closed it. The quiet of twilight surrounded us.
Two Saturdays later, Ruth and I took our seats in the back of the bus and rode into Lake Charles with Mama to shop for the trip to New York. Whites Only; No Colored Allowed signs sat in some shop windows. I wanted to tell everybody in that town that I was going to be somebody, someday. I wanted everyone to know that there were places where colored could go anywhere, everywhere.
Mama, Ruth, and I stepped aside and looked down at our feet as a white man, blue-eyed and bald-headed, passed us on the sidewalk. I remembered the stars in the sidewalk on Hollywood Boulevard and wished I was there.
The sun glared. The heat hovered and as we passed a whites-only drinking fountain, I looked around and was tempted to take a sip. Mama looked at me. She knew what I was thinking, and the temptation passed through me. I would stay thirsty until we could find a colored fountain.
We shopped for petticoats and gloves, shoes and socks where we were allowed, had lunch in a colored diner, found our seats in the back of the bus that took us back to Sulphur, and the sights and sounds of the Louisiana countryside passed. The willows hung low in the heat of the day and the dust from the road came in through the open windows. Few birds flew. We stepped from the bus and a blessed breeze found us.
We walked home, carrying bags. I looked at my mama, memorizing the lines of her face and curve of her back.
Daddy was sitting on the front porch, puffing on his pipe. He took a puff and grinned when he saw us. He stood up and took the bags from Mama’s arms, and we walked into the house.
“Gotta get us a automobile ... somehow,” he said, taking Mama by the hand. “What y’all think about that? A brand-new Cadillac ... baby blue.”
“Tobacco got your mind in a daze, Willie Hopper. Stop teasin those girls with foolishness.” Mama didn’t share his dreams but I did.
“We could drive it to church on Sundays and down to New Orleans come Mardi Gras,” I added.
“We would be the talk of Sulphur, everyone beggin for a ride.” Daddy smiled at me.
“I wanna yella car.... Why can’t we have a yella car?” Ruth joined in the dream.
Mama said, “Lord have mercy,” went into the kitchen, washed her hands, and started dinner. Daddy went back out to the porch and the dream ended. I stood in the door and watched. Daddy lit his pipe and took two puffs.
Nine
The next few months flew by and Ruth and I were on a train bound for New York City, wearing black-and-white saddle shoes, pink-and-white checked dresses, white sweaters, new petticoats, and white gloves.
We stood in the train window, watching until we couldn’t see Mama and Daddy, our two faces pressed to the glass.
A slim brown porter wearing a handlebar mustache came by, eyes twinkling. “How are you two little ladies doin?”
“Fine,” we replied at the same time.
The porter said with a smile, “Y’all need anything, you just let me know.”
We said softly, “Thank you, sir,” and sat down, close together. I had my red rose box in my lap and Ruth’s pink box sat next to her.
Few words passed between Ruth and me until sunset.
Then Ruth said, “We oughta say prayers fore we fall to sleep.”
“I always say my prayers before I fall to sleep,” I said.
Ruth looked out of the window as we came to a stop at a station. “Sometimes I forget cuz I fall fore I remember.”
I told her, “Cuz is not a real word.”
Ruth twisted her mouth. “Shut up, Leah, you ain’t no teacher.”
“I will be,” I said.
“So will I,” Ruth said, raising her head high.
I took my rosary out of the red rose box and told Ruth, “If we say a whole rosary ev’ry night nuthin bad will ever happen to us.”
“I ain’t stayin awake for you to say no whole rosary,” Ruth said and turned away.
We said one Our Father and one Hail Mary, and the rhythm of the train put us to sleep.
Two days passed and midnight approached as the train pulled into the station. New York City. I wondered what time this city went to sleep. There were too many people everywhere. I looked into the crowd and saw Aunt Olivia. She was wearing a red hat, red dress, and red shoes. Her eyes met mine and we smiled. Uncle Bill was at her side. They found their way to us and hugged us for a long time, as if they had missed us. I liked the way it felt. Aunt Olivia kissed our cheeks and Uncle Bill patted the tops of our heads. Aunt Olivia took my hand and I held on tight while Ruth weaved her way through the crowd with Uncle Bill. We walked out of the station doors and a waiting taxi took us to the hotel. Uncle Bill sat in front with the driver.
I said to Aunt Olivia, “We got three pair of shoes.”
Aunt Olivia squeezed my small hand in hers and said, “You can have anything you want. All you have to do is ask.”
Ruth told Olivia about the porter and how he brought us what he called sweet treats for sweet gals. “He brought us cream puffs and I ain’t never tasted nuthin so good.”
Olivia said quietly, “Ruth, ain’t is not a word. I don’t want to hear you say ain’t ever again.”
Ruth hung her head. “Yes ma’am.”
“Our teacher, Mrs. Redcotton, taught us that and I been remindin her,” I said, “but she don’t know no better.”
“Doesn’t know any better,” Olivia corrected me.
I looked at Ruth, who was smirking, and said, “Yes ma’am.”
I looked out of the window as we pulled away from the station and right then I wished that I was home, shoeless, sitting on the porch swing, listening to radio music, watching Ruth twirl in the moonlight. Then I said, “I could be a schoolteacher.”
“You certainly could, Leah,” was Olivia’s reply.
Ruth added, “I could be a teacher too.”
“You could, Ruth.” Olivia looked out of the taxi window into the streets of the city that was still awake.
Morning came and I looked around the hotel room Ruth and I were sharing. It had a door that led to Aunt Olivia and Uncle Bill’s room. Wallpaper with streaks of gold covered the walls and the bed had four posts that nearly touched the ceiling. The sheets were white and crisp, the bedspread, pink and yellow, the floor covered with a burgundy carpet. A bouquet of yellow roses sat on the dresser. I felt like a bird in a nest, soft, warm, and at ease.
Ruth, already dressed, hair combed, red ribbons tied to the ends of her two braids, burst into the room. “Bout time you woke up, lazybones. I been awake. I crawled out of the bed wh
ile you were still snorin. I saw Aunt Olivia and Uncle Bill kissin, him tryin to get his hand up under her skirt, her squealin like a baby pig.” Ruth giggled.
Aunt Olivia knocked on the door and we both jumped like windup toys. “You’re awake, I see.” She kissed Ruth on her forehead, sat on the bed, kissed me on the cheek, and caressed the top of my head. Her hand rested on my shoulder and her softness filled the room. “Thought the sandman might be tryin to keep you.”
“Mornin.” I sat up in the bed.
Aunt Olivia smiled. “You look very much like your mama when she was your age, Leah... beautiful.”
“What bout me?” Ruth asked.
“Why, I would say you look like me, if anyone were to ask,” Aunt Olivia replied.
Ruth walked over to the mirror and examined her face. “Am I pretty?”
“As a picture, I’d say. Leah, you get washed up and dressed because Mr. Chapel is downstairs having his coffee, waiting on us for breakfast. Hurry along.” She turned and walked out, leaving the door half open, white slip showing.
Ruth and I giggled.
“Told you.” Ruth left the room and closed the door.
Sunlight danced into the room from the open window. A breeze split the sheer white lace curtains down the middle and I played a game trying to catch the spots of sun with my feet. Then I remembered that I was in a hurry. I washed my face and hands, put on a white sundress, white socks, and new white tennis shoes, brushed and braided my hair, and straightened the bed.
Ruth opened the door without knocking and said, “Red on Monday, gonna be hot, white on Monday, gotta eat a frog.”
“Today is Tuesday,” I said.
“So,” she said, “red on Tuesday, still gonna be hot.”
Aunt Olivia was dressed in navy blue and we looked like the American flag as we walked down the steps and made our way to the dining room.
Uncle Bill stood when he saw us. A caramel-colored waiter pulled out a chair for Aunt Olivia and then for us. We sat and he handed us menus. Ruth held the menu in front of her face and peeked at me. Smiles sailed around the table.
There were ten tables in the hotel dining room. The tables were covered with pale blue tablecloths and vases filled with white daisies. Colored men wearing suits and fancy ladies wearing hats sat at the tables, stirring coffee with silver spoons, dabbing the corners of their mouths with white napkins. The waiter came back to the table and we ordered.
I was cutting my pancakes when Uncle Bill picked up the newspaper and began to read.
“Brown versus Board of Education ... Supreme Court has ruled that separate is not equal....” He paused and explained, “That keeping white and colored children separated in school is against the law. The KKK’s all riled up. More blood’s about to flow.”
“Bill, can’t we talk about something pleasant?” Aunt Olivia asked.
Uncle Bill replied, “Olivia, this is history, pure and simple, history,” and kept reading. “The White Citizens Council has vowed to resist school integration by every lawful means.” Uncle Bill put down the paper, took a sip of coffee, and added, “Gonna be some lynchings, you wait and see.”
My mind turned to Micah and Nathan Shine, the truck that had stopped that evening, tall trees with branches. I remembered Micah’s words.
Uncle Bill excused himself from the table, saying he had business to attend to in Harlem, telling us with a smile to have a wonderful day. I wiped my mouth and looked after him as he walked away.
“What’s Harlem like?” I asked Olivia as I reached for my glass of cold milk.
“Mostly colored. Used to be mixed but white folks got scared, like they do, and started moving out. Landlords rented to more colored, then more, needed someone to rent to. Whites moved out, colored in. That’s Harlem,” Aunt Olivia replied.
“Why?” I asked. “Why they gotta be afraid of us? They the ones ridin horses at midnight, wearin hoods, hangin people from trees, spittin at us while we walk down the road like we don’t have no souls.”
“Let’s talk about something more pleasant, Leah.” Aunt Olivia took a sip of orange juice.
“Yeah, Leah ... more pleasant things than lynchins,” Ruth echoed. She turned to Aunt Olivia and continued, “Leah was bout to drink from the white fountain in Lake Charles last time we was there.” Ruth was talking loudly and a couple seated at a nearby table hung their heads.
Aunt Olivia put her finger to her lips, the way Mama did. We finished breakfast in silence and left the hotel.
The streets of New York City were lined with people and I thought of armies of red ants marching toward their hills. A taxi took us to an elegant avenue where there were shops, all kinds. Hats. Dresses. Shoes. Aunt Olivia bought us matching sailor dresses with sailor hats and red patent leather shoes.
We carried shiny white pocketbooks with nothing in them but a few pennies and bought blue swimming suits with red polka dots. I smiled at my skinny self in the mirror, hoping the suit would still fit when we went to swim in the lake water at home on a hot, sticky day.
I tugged on Olivia’s sleeveless dress. “My feet hurt.”
Ruth said, eyes rolling, “Cuz you been wearing new shoes all day.”
Aunt Olivia corrected her again, “Because, Ruth. Be lunchtime soon, Leah.”
I sat down in a chair, loosened the laces, which seemed to help some, looked at the rows of clothes, and wondered why some folks have so much and others don’t have anything worth locking up.
I tried to picture Mr. and Mrs. Bill Chapel living in Sulphur, raising pigs, skinning possums, sitting in an outhouse, mouths full of snuff, Olivia with a scarf tied around her head, cleaning Miss Lilly’s house, picking cotton alongside Elijah, but the picture wouldn’t come clear and I started to believe that some people were born to live one way, some people another. Mama would say that the Holy Spirit was going before Ruth and me, making our paths straight and clear. Sister Goodnight would look at our palms and say that fate was smiling.
Lunchtime found us in Harlem and we sat at a lunch counter, round pink seats side by side. Colored serving colored. Ruth smiled and ordered a hot dog. I ate my first hamburger while Olivia took dainty bites from her tuna fish sandwich on toasted white bread with half a pickle and a carrot stick on the side. We each had vanilla ice cream shakes in tall glasses with whipped cream and a cherry on top. I slipped my shoes off halfway.
The day evaporated slowly like water in cool weather.
The rest of the afternoon we shopped for Olivia, buying what she called lingerie. Silk stockings and garter belts, white lace brassieres and blue nightgowns, see-through red robes, black lace underpants, things my mama would never look at, let alone buy. Ruth and I looked at each other sideways.
We got in another taxi for the short trip to the hotel with our bags, packages, and hatboxes. The driver was as polite as could be and he winked at me like we had some secret. I began to think that New York City was full of winking men.
Ruth poked me with her arm and said, “I wish we was home, down by the creek, waitin on Miss Lutherine to come by so we could throw a rock up after her and scare the dirty drawers off her wide b’hind.” I laughed until my belly ached.
After dinner, I wrote Mama and Daddy a letter, telling them that we were fine, wishing they were here. I let them know that I was going to be a teacher, like Mrs. Redcotton, and that Ruth was probably going to be one too. I told them about the hotel, our sailor dresses and new swimming suits. I addressed it to Mr. and Mrs. Willie Hopper, 56 Creek Road, Sulphur, Louisiana, licked the envelope, sealed it, put a stamp on it, and gave it to the bellhop with the smooth skin, who wore a jade ring on his pinkie finger. He winked twice.
Ten
A red, white, and blue boat cut through the water, leaving small waves as it chugged along toward the Statue of Liberty and Uncle Bill teased us, “Are you sure this boat is not a slave ship, taking us to parts unknown or the lost continent of Atlantis? I sure hope we don’t sink because I can’t swim. Got feet made of stone.”
He was usually serious and it was the first time I’d heard him make a joke. I thought about my daddy and his tall tales. Then I looked up at Uncle Bill and smiled. I looked at his feet and said, “No, they aren’t, you got feet like everybody else.”
“We oughta be in a balloon like in Around the World in Eighty Days, ” Ruth told him.
He looked out over the dark blue water and rambled, “When I begged your Aunt Olivia to marry me, and I’m not ashamed to say I begged, I told her that I would give her the best of everything.” He turned to Olivia and asked, “How am I doin?”
Olivia replied with a sly-as-a-fox smile, “You are a man of your word.”
Then he turned to Ruth and me. “Make sure when you get married and waltz down the aisle that he’s a man of his word. That’s the one thing you can’t take from a man, his word.”
Ruth and I replied, “Yessir.”
“Leave those girls alone with that old man talk.... Old man talk, that’s all it is.” Olivia laughed.
Uncle Bill put his arm around his wife’s waist and said, “Old man nuthin, pretty brown gal.”
We approached Lady Liberty, holding her torch high.
I smiled, squinting into the sun, and thought that I was still just a poor colored girl, used to walking barefoot, catching fish with nothing but a string and a piece of crayfish on a hook.
I felt happy when I looked around and saw land, happier still when my feet touched it.
During our trip, we tried to behave like we were the well-brought-up young ladies that Aunt Olivia intended us to be, and she asked us not to slip back into our old habits once we got back on southern soil.
Ruth informed her, “That’s gonna be hard because everyone in Sulphur, everyone cept the schoolteachers, talks like that.”
Olivia said, “Except, Ruth, not cept.”
Ruth echoed, “Except.”
I knew that as soon as we got back to Sulphur we would again be accused of being high-minded, trying-to-forget-you‘re-colored, mama-ain’t-got-but-one-washtub girls. I pictured myself taking off my country ways, saving them in a place where they’d be safe and sound, in case I needed them to make me warm and comfortable.
The Red Rose Box Page 6