Laelia

by Ruth-Miriam Garnett

  The music segued seamlessly into “All Hail the Power of Jesus’s Name.” Reverend Wilson, with Deacons Smitherson and Johnson slightly behind him, walked down the red-carpeted aisle to the front of the church singing loudly. The choir followed, stepping rhythmically in their burgundy robes with gold satin collars. The congregation sang along with the choir, with many persons knowing the words by heart and holding their open hymnbooks out of habit.

  At the end of the song, Wilson, standing at the pulpit, delivered the invocation in a sonorous voice. Smitherson and Johnson stood next to their chairs on opposite sides of the pastor’s, looking out over the congregation like stern yet kindly grandfathers. The choir, assembled in the loft, the congregation, and the two deacons up front all waited for Wilson to finish speaking so they could be seated. At Wilson’s instruction, everyone sat down in one motion. An usher scrambled forward, motioning to the just-entering Bartleson family to follow her. She was able to seat the clan, James and Amelia and their three children, in the seventh pew, directly in back of the Cates sisters. The children bustled and whispered uncomfortably after they were settled. Rebecca, turning her head and torso to face them frontally, narrowed her gray eyes to slits, intimidating the three into silence. This morning she would brook no disruptions to her agenda. Claudia would not be distracted by the unruly urchins.

  The pastor gave instructions to read silently from the Bible, Timothy 3:1–6, as he read aloud:

  Thus, know also, that in the last days perilous times shall come.

  For men shall be lovers of their own selves, covetous, boasters, proud, blasphemers, disobedient to parents, unthankful, unholy.

  Without natural affection, trucebreakers, false accusers, incontinent, fierce, despisers of those that are good,

  Traitors, heady, high-minded, lovers of pleasures more than lovers of God;

  Having a form of godliness, but denying the power thereof: from such turn away.

  For of this sort are they which creep into houses, and lead captive silly women laden with sins, led away with divers lusts.

  Wilson’s choice of scripture signaled to Rebecca that she should tune out the sermon. Claudia’s announcement would come right after the offering. In the interim, Rebecca let her mind wander. She half-listened to the choir’s selection of spirituals, catching the refrain of “We Are Climbing Jacob’s Ladder,” then drifting again into her reverie. A man appeared in her mind, tall and light-brown-skinned with large hands outstretched to her. She was brought back to alertness by the sopranos’ high notes in “Lord I Want to Be a Christian, in-a My Heart” and by the shock of apprehending her fantasy: The face belonging to this man was Dr. Leighton’s.

  Her mind racing to make sense of this image from her subconscious, Rebecca indeed heard none of the sermon. How was it possible, she asked herself, that such a fantasy had taken root following a very brief meeting with a man she had not been particularly taken with, and who she suspected might be guilty of larceny? She brushed her thoughts aside for the moment.

  Reverend Wilson had called the ushers to come forward for the offering, and as four women assembled in the front of the church, Deacons Smitherson and Johnson distributed a brass plate for the collection to each. Claudia, realizing the announcements were next, was certain Rebecca and Gracelyn, seated on either side of her, could hear her heart thumping inside her chest. She lasted through Wilson’s highlighting of items already printed in that morning’s church bulletin, his recognition of visitors, and carefully worded commendations on the work of the various church committees. At the end of his remarks, he called upon the congregation in general for additional information needed to be made known during that portion of the service. A slight murmur swept the congregation when Claudia rose from her seat.

  “Brothers and Sisters,” she began tentatively. “I have a word to share with you, should it please our pastor.”

  “Go ahead, Sister Cates.”

  “My sisters and I have decided that we wish to open our hearts more frequently to our church family, and ask for prayer in our time of great need.”

  Immediately, heads began nodding and Amens were shouted to punctuate Claudia’s statements. Others listened silently, transfixed by the soft-spoken woman’s queenly appearance and bearing.

  “We know that many of you have loved ones who are ailing and, like us, wish to unburden yourselves periodically and witness to the Lord’s great power to strengthen and save.”

  “Amen!”

  “Do Jesus!”

  “Testify!”

  Encouraged by the vocal responses to her words, Claudia continued more boldly.

  “I just want to say that, with all our tribulations, we don’t feel no ways tired, and we want to thank the members of this congregation for their Christian example. We want to make certain that you let us know how you are faring so we can mention your loved ones’ names whenever we bow our heads and come before the presence of the Lord. Lastly, I want to thank the pastor for all his visits to our menfolk over the past months during our time of trial.”

  As Claudia’s final statement registered, there was a momentary pause in the twitters and murmuring of approval for her plea for spiritual connectedness through their common plight. Rebecca attributed the brief silence to puzzlement, since Wilson seldom made visits to members. She felt confident that, according to her plan, a small controversy had been sparked.

  Outside the church building following the service, several members embraced Claudia, offering words of encouragement and thanking her for stating what was in so many of their hearts. She had completely surprised the congregation, accustomed as they were to her reticence and seeming indifference. Now, any resentment toward her was utterly dissolved, and her attire and attractiveness would be remarked upon with utmost approval for the remainder of the week. Rebecca knew that this initial response would heighten, and Claudia’s role as the Cates family mouthpiece would bring both credibility and admiration to the sisters’ apparent sacrifice as they continued boldly in their strategy.

  That evening, Rebecca, Claudia, and Gracelyn sat along with Lucy at their massive dinner of London broil, mashed potatoes, and stir-fried zucchini and red pepper. Lucy had been totally mesmerized that morning by Claudia’s speech and was also reeling from excitement over Gracelyn’s upcoming play. The Cates women’s vibrancy had always inspired her, and this evening, sitting alongside them at their dinner table, she displayed a new-found confidence and enthusiasm.

  “Oh, Sister Claudia, you made my heart glad this morning. You are just a beautiful soul, inside and out. And you just keep the faith. I’m going to help as much as I can with these menfolk. You can rest assured.”

  “Thank you, Lucy. I really do take that to heart.”

  Claudia took quiet pride in accomplishing her duty that morning, and so was less chatty than usual. She knew Rebecca was proud of her and she intended to do even better next Sunday.

  “Sister Gracelyn, I would be pleased to have a bit more of your potatoes. How on earth did you decide on such a wonderful mixture?” Lucy went on, referring to the puréed celery Gracelyn had blended with the whipped concoction.

  “Oh, Lucy, they are really just mashed potatoes with a little milk, butter, and salt, and the celery adds a nice flavor. I’ve been known to throw in some scallions or some grated cheddar when I’m out of celery.”

  “Well, my tongue is telling me I’m in heaven.”

  “Lucy,” Rebecca broke in, “we’re so glad you could be with us today. We couldn’t make it around here without your helping us out. How’s our young Dorothy Dandridge getting along?”

  “Miss Rebecca, she can’t wait to get started. But I told Melba that when you do something like this, you have to audition. There’s other talented young girls out there. You can’t always expect to be the best.”

  “Well now, that’s wise counsel. But keep in mind that Gracelyn is already very impressed with Melba from that Easter show last year. She stands out in a special way.”

 
“Thank you, Miss Rebecca. I—”

  “Lucy, finish up eating so we can go upstairs,” said Gracelyn, in her excitement cutting off Lucy’s comment. “You can never start too early on a project, and I need you to help me sort some petticoats and a trunkload of fabric. I want the children to look like real slaves, with headwraps and stuff. I’m not too handy with a needle, but Claudia is, and maybe Raphaela can give her a hand with costumes.”

  “Now, hold on, Gracelyn.” Rebecca spoke mildly. “Let Lucy have some strawberry shortcake and fresh cream before you put her to work. I’m surprised you’re ready to miss out on dessert.”

  “Oh, of course. There’s time. It’s still early in the evening. I’ll make us some coffee, unless Lucy would rather have tea.”

  “Miss Gracelyn, coffee sounds wonderful.”

  The four women resumed their leisurely chat, with the three sisters filling Lucy in on as much history from the slave period as they could remember. Each of the Cates sisters, bookish in their younger years, had excellent memories.

  Gracelyn began the animated discussion. “I know one thing about Harriet Tubman. She pulled a gun on people who wanted to turn back before they reached the North. She told them, ‘Dead Niggers don’t talk.’ We can’t have the children using that language, though. Maybe our lead character could say ‘Dead Negroes don’t talk.’ ”

  Lucy was delighted to be included in what seemed to her a learned discussion.

  “Oh, I think ‘Negroes’ wouldn’t offend anybody.”

  “Uhm hum.” Gracelyn continued, “I think there should be a scene or two where she falls asleep. You know, she had that somnambulism from being beat over the head by her master. Imagine going through life being beat like that whenever you turned around, or whenever the people in charge of you got ready. And to go out with no map, just following the North Star, and being responsible for hundreds of people who put their lives in your hands.”

  “Sounds like you know quite a bit about her,” Rebecca said, smiling at Gracelyn’s flushed face. She knew her excitement about the play was building to a fever pitch.

  “And risking death over and over. There was a price on her head, and you know those white posses would have been happy to shoot that little black woman on sight. She kept making such a fool of them.”

  “She did well,” Rebecca said feelingly. “Didn’t end up like poor Nat Turner tied up to the hanging rope. I remember Papa used to talk about how he thought Turner was like a hero from another age. He always said there wasn’t anyone braver, except maybe that Henri Cinque who took over the Amistad slave ship.”

  Claudia ventured, “Now, I know you all don’t think much about her in the heroic way, but I kind of admire Sally Hemmings. I have a picture in my mind of President Jefferson entranced by a beautiful young girl who reminded him of his dead wife.”

  “She should have strangled him!” Gracelyn exclaimed, while Lucy’s eyes widened in mild shock.

  “Well, maybe, maybe not. You just don’t know when or how love is going to blossom.”

  “Claudia, he owned her! That is not love.”

  “But Gracelyn, honey, she went along willingly.”

  “As far as we know, but we don’t really know, since there’s no evidence. It’s not like she was a person with rights, and if she did go along, it was because she was young and stupid.”

  “Fourteen, I think,” Rebecca said calmly. “Lucy, you’re the mother of a fourteen-year-old daughter. What do you have to say on this topic?”

  “I just think that’s terrible. If any man, black or white, tried to even so much as look at my Melba in that demon way, I would shoot him.”

  The Cates sisters, all astonished by Lucy’s frankness, erupted into laughter.

  “Well, I just don’t know,” Claudia went on unfazed, “love comes in many guises.”

  “Claudia,” Gracelyn earnestly remonstrated, “what planet are you from? Sally Hemmings was property. Her children were property. On his deathbed, Jefferson didn’t free them. They became his white children’s property. Sally Hemmings should have stabbed that white man.”

  Rebecca, amused by the heated exchange, asked mischievously, “Let’s see now: We’ve got stabbing, shooting, and strangulation. Are you all sure you’re Christian women?”

  The laughter resumed.

  “I see I just can’t win with my romantic notions,” Claudia said as she pushed back from the table to follow Gracelyn, already in the kitchen preparing their dessert tray.

  “Lucy, I’m so happy you joined us tonight,” Rebecca said to the beaming woman. “We appreciate your taking time away from your own family to be our Sunday guest.”

  “Thanks, Miss Rebecca. I did want to ask you something.”

  “Go right ahead.”

  “When does Pastor Wilson come by to visit? Is it normally on Sunday or during the workweek?”

  “Well, now, Lucy. He really doesn’t.”

  “But Miss Claudia thanked him for visiting you all.”

  “Why, yes, I remember she did. But I think Claudia was just being diplomatic. We’re hoping he starts to come by more frequently.”

  “Well, I wondered about that, because you know when my Earl had that back injury a few weeks back, I did expect Pastor to come by and check on him. But he never made it. Miss Claudia is right; we need pastoral prayer especially during troubled times.”

  “You are so right, Lucy,” Rebecca agreed. “And you know, I am so glad you were listening. I wouldn’t feel right bringing up any strong criticism of our pastor over something that just concerned me. But if there are other members who have had the same experience, it is probably something we need to bring out in the open. I for one don’t believe in keeping my light under a bushel, and if I can help out somebody else, I feel it’s my duty.”

  “Oh, yes, Miss Rebecca. That is a true statement. And I just want to say—”

  Before Lucy could complete her thought, the doorbell rang. Rebecca stood up to go answer it.

  “Lord, who on earth would that be? Honey, we’ll talk more about this later.”

  Rebecca practically skipped to the front door, so happy was she that Lucy had caught Claudia’s drift from her morning speech-making.

  It crossed Rebecca’s mind what a huge irony it would be should this in fact be Pastor Wilson come to call at the Cates residence. Through the glass rim on the side panels of the oak door, Rebecca could vaguely see the shadowy outline of a tallish, broad-shouldered man in casual clothes. Certainly not Wilson, but she thought perhaps one of her workmen needing reimbursement for yard supplies. When she opened the door, Rebecca’s mouth fell open. Standing before her smiling slightly was Dr. Leighton from the Aphrodite Clinic.

  “I can see you are surprised to see me.” Leighton spoke in the slight cadence Rebecca had first noted seated across from him in his office.

  Rebecca, recovered, said evenly, “Why, yes. This is totally unexpected. May I ask if there is something amiss?”

  “Oh, not at all, Rebecca. But I did feel the need to explain something to you in person. This is not my regular procedure.”

  “Do come in.”

  Leighton followed Rebecca’s gesture to come forward. Sensing that their conversation needed to be private, she motioned him again, this time toward the library.

  “This is a beautiful house. Is it quite a hundred years yet?”

  “Just over; one hundred two. It requires a fair amount of upkeep. Please do have a seat.”

  Leighton sat dutifully in one of Reuben’s softly burnished leather club chairs. Rebecca sat directly across from him on the leather sofa, facing him, as she had done in his medical office.

  “Dr. Leighton, what did you come here to tell me? I don’t intend to be rude, but I have a dinner guest waiting.”

  “Of course, I understand totally. You see, Mrs. Furness—”

  “Rebecca.”

  “Rebecca. When we spoke at my clinic, I offered up to three free consultations on your decision about having surgery. I
came here tonight to tell you not to plan on coming back to see me.”

  Rebecca looked slightly baffled but said nothing, waiting for him to explain why he had driven just under two hours on a Sunday evening threatening a thunderstorm to confront her.

  “I think most people would agree I am both an ethical man and an ethical doctor. Certainly, in my professional life, this has never happened to me before.”

  Hearing this, Rebecca thought he must suspect her motives for coming to his clinic. She waited for him to accuse her of prying into Julia Wilson’s medical affairs for her own less-than-ethical purposes.

  “You see, Rebecca, since you visited me, I have felt it was not appropriate to perform surgery on you or to advise you in any medical capacity.”

  Rebecca waited for him to state clearly that she had been prying. However, Leighton looked at her without saying anything.

  After what seemed several long moments, he blurted out, “I can’t stop thinking about you.”

  Rebecca’s thoughts converged as she considered this curious statement. Had this handsome man, several years her junior, really driven all the way from Bloomington to initiate a courtship with her? Could her first thought have been wrong, that he was not Wilson’s collaborator in larceny, just a moonstruck romantic? Knowing she needed more time to sort this out, she decided to stall this discussion for the time being.

  “Do you care for strawberry shortcake?”

  VII

  REBECCA, EXPERIENCING mild shock, noted that Leighton was smiling at her. It took her several moments to remember her offer of food and, doing so, she felt this would be the best follow-up to their awkward exchange.

  “Will you have some dessert?” she repeated.

  “That’s very kind of you, Rebecca.”

  Rebecca opened the doors to the library and motioned for him to follow her down the hallway into the dining room. Gracelyn and Claudia had resumed their seats and were chatting casually with Lucy, a delectable portion of shortcake piled in front of each diner. Rebecca’s entry into the grand room with the handsome Leighton stalled the conversation.