Sweet Violet and a Time for Love

by Leslie J. Sherrod

  “What?” Leon’s face wrinkled. “Sienna, please, leave it alone. With all that is going on with you and the baby, you need to let it go.”

  “What’s going on, Sienna?” Yvette seemed interested in whatever I had to say. “I know my sister,” she directed at Leon. “If something is bothering her, it’s best to let her talk it out. We don’t need her holding on to any kind of stress, especially in her current condition, so we’re just going to have to hear her out. What’s going on, sis?” she cooed.

  “Wait.” Mike held up a hand. “Maybe she just needs to share whatever it is with Leon. Perhaps you and everyone else in here should leave so he can address a situation that really doesn’t involve all of us.” He looked serious, but I didn’t miss the quick wink he directed my way.

  “I’m sorry, but who are you again?” Yvette’s head tilted to one side and both hands went up on her hips. “I know my husband had a chance to talk with you for a while yesterday, but I was never given the pleasure of a full introduction.”

  My mother moved closer toward us; my father moved closer to the door.

  This was Yvette post-Jesus. Had it been pre-Jesus, we all would have been ducking by now. Leon and I knew that. My parents understood.

  But Shavona did not. Her head tilted the other way.

  “Oh, I thought we’d already been introduced, especially seeing that we were at your lovely house yesterday evening for your Bible Study. I guess you forgot who we are. I’m sorry. My husband is Mike Ulysses Grant II and I am Shavona Wilnetta Grant. He and I are the godparents of Sienna’s baby. Again, I apologize that wasn’t made clearer to you as we are all just looking out for your sister’s wellbeing.”

  Yvette looked over at me, as did Leon. My father had a sudden interest in the floor tile. Everyone else had their eyes on my sister.

  “Godparents.” Yvette’s eyelids fluttered. “I see.” She smiled, but her teeth were clenched. Several strained seconds passed as I watched her take two really deep breaths before continuing. “Sienna, I think I’m just going to go so you can get your rest.”

  She turned to leave and I sat up. “Wait, Yvette.” She was the one person I did not want to leave. My sister was the one person who recognized that I had concerns that were eating away at me. She understood that I needed someone to help me digest it all before I went crazy. With this baby half ready to pop out of my belly, crazy was not a good state for me to be in. She got that. “Don’t leave.”

  “It might be best, Sienna,” Leon chimed in, ignoring the smoldering fire in Yvette’s eyes. “I hear what your sister is saying, but I just don’t think this is the time to get worked up again over matters that are not important to focus on.” He stared at me directly, as if to remind me of the sensitive nature of our situation.

  “You know what?” I sighed. “I’m tired of the secrets. I’m tired of tiptoeing around subjects that make you uncomfortable, and, most of all, I’m tired of being told what I can and can’t think about, what I can and can’t talk about, especially as I’m starting to believe that you don’t have all the details and knowledge about the situation you say you’re handling.”

  “Sienna, I am handling things. I just need you to—”

  “No, I need you to listen.” Maybe because Yvette was standing next to me with her arms crossed and her head nodding, I felt a little more emboldened than usual to have such a conversation with my husband in front of an audience. “Since we’ve been in this place, I’ve come across some more information about that woman, Sweet Violet.”

  My mother’s forehead wrinkled as she looked over at my father. He shrugged. I didn’t care who did or didn’t understand or know what I was talking about.

  “I can no longer go with any plan, any escape route, anything, until I know for sure that Sweet Violet has nothing to do with the murders I witnessed, the shooting at your bakery yesterday, the attack on my son.”

  “Sienna.” Leon shook his head. “Let’s talk alone. I don’t . . . We don’t need to get anyone else involved more than necessary. You’ve seen for yourself how bad things can get when you start stirring up people, places, and things that aren’t relevant to our situation.”

  “You keep talking about ‘our situation,’ but what really is it, Leon? What other secrets are you hiding from me? What other surprises are you trying to keep me from discovering? You say you are trying to preserve my stress level by keeping me in ignorance, but don’t you see that your dismissal of my concerns is having the opposite effect? When my gut tells me something is awry, I can’t ignore it, no matter how much you don’t take me or my observations seriously.”

  “Sienna,” Mike spoke up and all eyeballs rolled over to him. “As an officer who is standing on the sidelines of what you and Leon have endured over the past twenty-four hours, in my professional opinion, I think it’s best you let Leon, with his former police knowledge and as the man who is most concerned about your stress and wellbeing, be the one digging up information and making safety decisions.” I took his emphasis on the words “sidelines” and “former” as his attempt to keep me from blowing any covers more than they already had been blown.

  “Mike, I appreciate your concern, and please know that I trust my husband. I just want to make sure that as he is making decisions that affect all of us he has all the information he needs, including info that he hasn’t been looking into but which my gut feelings tell me is important.

  “Humph,” Shavona spoke from the corner, her eyes still on Yvette, but her words directed to me. “I think at this point if I were you, I’d be trusting my former cop husband and not my hormone-fed instincts.”

  Maybe it was my hormones. Maybe it was my fatigue. Maybe it was my strong will wanting to break through any self-imposed filter. Maybe it was all of these things combined, but I could not keep a lid on what flew out of my mouth next.

  “And I think I’d be reevaluating my trust in my husband if I knew he was winking at other women every time I looked away.”

  “Excuse me?” Shavona’s mouth dropped open as all the eyeballs in the room turned back toward me. “Are you trying to say something about my husband?”

  Couldn’t take it back and I couldn’t clean it up, so the only thing left to do was put the dirty spoon out on the table for everyone to be fed.

  “Yes, your husband,” I said to her, “and your friend,” I said to Leon, “has been winking his eyes at me every other moment, with both of you right here in the room.”

  How had my little hospital room become so hostile?

  Once again, the aftereffects of anything Sweet Violet.

  “My name is Sweet Violet and I suggest you go on about your way before I put the ‘n’ in Violet and acquaint you with my bitter side.” Her words and stank breath pricked my memory at the most inopportune times.

  “Wait,” Shavona spoke slowly, “you think that my husband has been winking at your eight-month pregnant self?”

  “It’s not a thought. See, he’s winking at me right now.”

  And he was. Both eyes in rapid succession.

  “Sienna,” Leon spoke slowly, as if I needed special help in understanding what he was about to say next. “Nobody ever talks about it, but Mike has a tic disorder. It looks like he winks at everybody, especially when he’s overly stressed. The disorder almost kept him off the force.”

  Mike’s eyes were winking and blinking so much at this point, I thought he would have a seizure.

  “Well,” my mother spoke up, “I can’t blame you, Sienna, for misunderstanding his eye movements. I thought he was winking at me when we came in here.”

  “He sure enough winked at me a few times,” Yvette piped up. “I guess that’s why I’ve been a little salty toward you, Mike. I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

  “And I was about to set you straight, son,” my father spoke for the first time since coming into the room, “because after the third wink you sent my way, I was ready to—”

  “Okay, okay,” I interrupted, whatever boldness I’d had
moments earlier deflated like a latex balloon with a hole pricked in its side. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know and I didn’t mean to embarrass you or upset your wife.”

  “No harm done.” Mike gave me a half smile, the winks and blinks slowing down. “I’m just trying to help my brother here out. Things have gotten complicated and more dangerous than any of us expected.”

  “Don’t worry. My lesson is learned. I will stay in my lane and leave the investigation to the experts. I usually can trust my gut, but, I guess my hormones have me off. I’m sorry, Shavona, for . . . everything. I hope you can forgive me.”

  “Oh, girlfriend, if we can’t get past a simple misunderstanding, then how could we ever come together to raise our child?” Shavona chuckled. “I’m just playing. I’m not going to go too crazy over this baby. I’m just happy for you, and I’m honored to be the godmother. We are all family in here now, and I’m thankful. I ain’t mad at you.”

  Hugs. Back slaps. Smiles and chuckles. Even Yvette’s shoulders relaxed, though I didn’t miss her blank stare at me at the mention of the word “godmother.”

  And then Roman came to the doorway, looking alarmed. “Turn on the news.”

  Chapter 36

  “Good evening. We begin tonight’s newscast with several breaking stories related to the Delmon Frank triple murder trial.” The news anchor, a blond-haired man with clear green eyes, stared solemnly into the camera as it zoomed in. “Officials are reporting that the defendant, accused of killing Baltimore philanthropist Julian Morgan and two other victims, has escaped from jail. Authorities are not releasing any details on how the escape occurred or their current efforts to locate him.

  “We are also being told that within the last half hour, some type of incident has occurred at the original murder scene, A New Beginning House. Authorities are responding to the scene and have not released any further details about the nature of the incident, possible victims or injuries.

  “You may also recall that just yesterday, in a shocking and tragic twist, we learned that the lead prosecuting attorney for the case, Alisa Billy, died on the courtroom steps of an apparent accidental overdose of prescription drugs. An autopsy confirming the cause of death is pending as other sources are raising the possibility of intentional poisoning. In the meantime, reports are surfacing that the trial’s star witness, Sienna St. James, may have fled the country out of an abundance of caution for her safety due to these disturbing developments. This follows reports that her husband, former Officer Leon Sanderson, may have been the instigator in a domestic disturbance yesterday.”

  “I’m turning this off.” Mike reached up and pressed the power button of the hospital room’s flat-screen television. “We already know that some of those stories are not true, so there’s no need in wasting time following this flawed coverage. We need to get out of here.”

  “Agreed.”

  “Are we going back to the safe house?” Roman asked, pacing the length of the room.

  “Safe house?” My mother raised an eyebrow. “What on earth is going on?”

  “We’ll explain what we can later, but no, the safe house is not an option seeing that Sienna’s original plans were somehow outed. I do not trust anything or anybody right now.” Mike continued. “I think we need to split up to leave the hospital. We’re too big of a group to travel together. Yvette, Mr. and Mrs. Davis.” He nodded at my parents. “You come with me as I’m sure Leon’s going to want to stay with Sienna.”

  “I’m going to stay with Sienna too,” my father spoke up. “I don’t know what’s going on, Leon, but I’m here for backup. This is my daughter and my grandchild. Roman you stay with your aunt and grandmother.”

  “But Roman was coming—”

  “It’s okay, Sienna,” Leon interrupted me. “Plans are changing as we speak. I just want to get you out of here. If there is some kind of leak to the media, it will only be a matter of time before everyone knows you are here.”

  “That killer is on the loose. I think we all need to get out of here.” My mother’s alarm was apparent as she and Yvette scurried behind Mike. Shavona and Roman took the rear.

  “I’ll walk you to the elevator, honey.” My father caught up and held my mother’s hand. “But I’ll be back, Sienna.”

  Just me and Leon.

  “Do you know what you’re doing?” I asked him as he began disconnecting the wires and belts, unplugging machines, eyeing my IV.

  “I got you, babe.” He gently removed the IV and helped me back into my street clothes. “I want to get out of here before the doctor comes back. I don’t want her to have any additional information about you to give to anyone, including the authorities, if, no, when they come asking.”

  “You’re not trusting anyone right now, either.” I thought about Mike’s words.

  “I fully expected Delmon to ‘escape’ as that’s the only way he could keep his cover and not go to jail, but someone in the department is not keeping quiet on matters that they should, and the fact that there’s been another incident of some nature at the shelter—not to mention Alisa’s death, well, murder—is really concerning. Come on, Sienna.” He helped me slip back into my shoes, grabbed my things, and peeked out into the hallway. “All clear. We’re heading to the elevator. Your father is holding the door open. Now.”

  I followed him, my head swirling. Within seconds, the three of us were inside the closed space, my father breathing heavy as the elevator descended.

  “You okay, Alvin?” Leon looked concerned, but my father didn’t.

  “Yup.”

  “Is the cab driver waiting for us somewhere?” I asked.

  “I told you, I’m not trusting anyone until I find out what’s happening at A New Beginning House.” We were almost at the bottom floor. I pressed the button for the second floor.

  “What are you doing, Sienna?”

  “That unfinished space on the second floor. We need to sit down for a moment and figure out what we’re doing. I can’t be walking around in circles with these contractions just getting under control. Plus,” I said, lowering my voice, “I want to share with you the information I learned earlier.”

  Leon sighed, but he didn’t object. We got off the elevator, headed for one of the empty cubicles off of the main corridor. I plopped down in a desk chair. Leon and my father rolled chairs over next to me.

  “This is a picture Sister Agnes texted me earlier today.” I handed Leon my phone. His eyes narrowed as he zoomed in on the image on the screen.

  “Marta Jefferson and—”

  “Sweet Violet,” I finished for him. Leon looked up at me, a question on his face. “Sister Agnes found this picture in that photo album on her desk. I guess she started reminiscing about Marta after we left and ended up finding this snapshot.”

  “What year was this taken?”

  “I forget what she said.” I shook my head. “1971? 1972?”

  “What are y’all looking at there?” My father reached for the phone and took it out of Leon’s hands. Then he shook his head and chuckled. “Now ain’t that something? I haven’t seen this woman’s face in, what, forty years.”

  “You know her?” I gasped.

  “Of course. I mean, I don’t know her, but I know who she is. Anybody who grew up in West Baltimore back in the sixties knows who she is.”

  “Who is she?” Leon and I asked at the same time.

  “Francesca J. Dupree, better known by her pen name, Frankie Jean.”

  “Pen name? She was a writer?”

  “Yeah, she was a columnist for one of the little black newspapers that sprung up around town back then, wrote a bunch of short stories and poems.”

  “She wrote stories . . . for a paper?” I shook my head, still trying to wrap my head around what my father was saying.

  “Yup, well, it was supposed to be stories. Everybody was scared to be around her because rumor was that if you talked to her long enough, your personal business would make the front page of the Garwyn Oaks Gazette, the little news
letter she wrote for, disguised as a short story. The theme was supposed to be something about planting seeds of knowledge in the black community, but her stories made that paper more of a place for rumors to take root and blossom. Once those stories became the feature, that paper really took off. Actually, now that I recall, she owned that paper along with her husband. They did really well off of it for a time.”

  “Husband? She had a husband?” I asked, looking at Leon who was sitting back in his chair, his face scrunched up in deep thought.

  “Yeah, sure did. Can’t remember his name. He was older than her. Real well-dressed fellow, an old-fashioned man’s man.” My father smiled. “Always had a hat on, a cigar in his mouth, a tall glass of whiskey in his hand. I know that they was real popular at all those clubs down on Pennsylvania Avenue, back when that area was really something. The Sphinx, the Arch Social Club, all of those. True party people.”

  “Samuel Otis King,” I blurted.

  “Who?” my father asked.

  “Samuel Otis King. That was her husband’s name, right?”

  “No, not at all.” My father chuckled. “But Silent Sam? Haven’t heard that name in a while either. Samuel Otis King.” He shook his head.

  “Silent Sam?” Leon leaned forward in his seat. “That was a real person? I heard that name every now and then when I was working full time for the department. He was supposedly the ultimate gangster, the man who ran Black Baltimore back in the day.”

  “Oh, he didn’t just run Black Baltimore. He ran all of Baltimore, behind the scenes of course. He was a large funder and loan shark for black businessmen who couldn’t get money from the banks. He stayed out of view because his business ventures up and down Pennsylvania Avenue were on both sides of the law: liquors, drugs, women; medical clinics, restaurants, beauty salons. He kept control over it all by keeping a firm grip on Baltimore’s powerhouses: politicians and the police.”