Tananarive Due

by The Black Rose

  The boy giggled. “Is this your great big house, Mother Walker?”

  “It sure is! Wait until you and your brothers see the nursery upstairs.”

  Soon the other boys crowded noisily around her, expecting their hugs, too, while their parents tried to hush them. Freeman Ransom’s hair was shaved much closer to his head than it had been the last time she’d seen her attorney, and he seemed just a few pounds stockier, too. But otherwise this man seemed to change less than anyone Sarah had ever known. He gave her a warm smile. The love and admiration he felt for her seemed to glow from his skin, and Sarah understood how he felt. In some ways Mr. Ransom had been more a partner than C.J. And Nettie seemed to be recuperating well from the birth, if she looked a little tired.

  “Madam,” Mr. Ransom said, squeezing her hand. “I’m speechless today.”

  “Not you, Mr. Ransom. As soon as you take a walk around, you’ll start scolding me for the cost,” Sarah said. “Let me see the baby!”

  The tiny newborn swathed in a blanket in Nettie’s arms looked like she’d just left the womb, she was so small. Her brown eyes squinted at Sarah. “Oh, Nettie . . . she’s a little wonder! You have to find Lelia to show her,” Sarah said. Her daughter would be especially thrilled to see this baby, since she was the child’s namesake: A’Lelia Emma Ransom.

  “I will, but I just can’t get over this house! You’ve really done it this time, Sarah,” said Nettie, who was wearing a lilac-colored summer gown and matching hat. It had taken Nettie a long time to finally agree to call Sarah by her Christian name instead of Madam, but Sarah was grateful Nettie had made the transition. She had few true friends in the room today. “I do believe you finally have everything in the world.”

  Her words, to Sarah, felt like a bolt of lightning. Jarred, she glanced at the Ransom children, then at her huddles of guests, before returning her gaze to Nettie’s smile. In that instant she forgot the strange sense of sorrow she’d felt before dawn. “You know something, Nettie . . . ?” Sarah said with wonderment. “I do believe you’re right. And I’ve had it a long time, long before I built this house. How have I been so blessed?”

  “You know how, Sarah—work,” Nettie said.

  She raised her index finger to Sarah’s chin to stroke it before giving her a long, warm hug with her free arm. Sarah hugged her back tightly, careful not to press against the baby.

  “You go find Lelia and get the boys some of that punch, Nettie,” Sarah said, pulling away. “I need to talk to Mr. Ransom.”

  Sarah took Mr. Ransom through the Gold Room to the balcony outside, closing the French doors behind them. She could hear some of the din from inside, but she could also hear her fountain’s gurgling and the calls of nearby birds. Without meeting Mr. Ransom’s eyes, she gazed out at the trees and shrubbery lining her lovely property, feeling a growing sense of peace.

  “I’m a better gardener now than I was as a girl, that’s for sure,” Sarah said. “I should take you down to see my roses and vegetables. I must have gained a magic touch.”

  “You’ve always had that, Madam,” Mr. Ransom said, standing beside her. He rested his hands on the balcony, leaning forward. “That’s apparent here today. You’ve shown yourself to be a true woman of standing with this occasion. And I only want to caution you not to spoil it.”

  “Spoil it how?” Sarah said, confused. Then, before Mr. Ransom could answer, Sarah knew his concern: He thought she was becoming too heavily involved in politics, consorting with activists like William Monroe Trotter, who was considered a radical. There had been a vicious political rivalry between Mr. Trotter and Booker T. Washington before Dr. Washington died, to the point where Mr. Trotter had hampered the deceased leader’s speaking engagements; but although Sarah didn’t always like Mr. Trotter’s tactics, she believed he had the best interests of the race at heart. Perhaps Negroes had been too conservative until now, Sarah thought.

  “I know you can’t help yourself, but I’m not in the mood for a lecture just now, Mr. Ransom,” Sarah said. “I’d much rather hear if you’ve thought about what I’ve offered you.”

  Freeman Ransom sighed. “I’ve thought about little else, Madam,” he said.

  “Then I hope you’ll say yes.”

  He paused. “I talked to Nettie first, and then I talked it over with God. I think they’re both trying to push me in the same direction. But sometimes I think it’s men who are the weaker sex. I’m afraid I still have doubts, Madam.”

  “Good,” Sarah said, looking at him with a smile. “I’d be scared if you didn’t.”

  “How will A’Lelia like it?” Mr. Ransom asked solemnly.

  “Maybe not much at all. But in her heart, she knows what’s best.”

  Sarah turned around because she felt someone watching her through the window. Sure enough, as if she’d known they were talking about her, Sarah saw her daughter standing there staring. There was a hardness in Lelia’s face, but also resignation. Quickly, Lelia cast her eyes down and moved away. A piece of Sarah’s heart seemed to follow her daughter.

  “So, Mr. Ransom . . . will you be the lifetime general manager of the Madam C.J. Walker Manufacturing Company? We need you. I want it specified in the will I’m drawing up that the ownership always has to be in the hands of women, and Lelia will be the president. That’s the only thing that feels right. I’ll make it clear that she can’t dispose of the company. And in terms of running it, Mr. Ransom, there’s no one better than you. If I don’t hand it over to you right now, I don’t see how I or this company can go on. And that’s the truth.”

  There was something in Mr. Ransom’s eyes too large for words. He looked humbled, saddened, and the slightest bit awestruck. But slowly, at last, he nodded.

  “I’ll draw up . . . the papers. . . .” Mr. Ransom said, mumbling.

  Quickly, Sarah took her attorney’s hand and gave it a firm, definite shake. Their hands did not part for a long time.

  Chapter Thirty-seven

  December 21, 1918

  Madam C.J. Walker

  Villa Lewaro

  Irvington, New York

  Dear Madam:

  When Christmas comes around, I am always reminded of the number of years that I have known you and, looking back over your remarkable career, I take a peculiar pride in the fact that I have had the pleasure of watching you develop in business and also broadening along all lines, and then I congratulate myself on having the honor of knowing you and representing you in some small way. I, of course, am writing in the hope that God will continue to smile on you and that you will continue to bless and help the less fortunate. Villa Lewaro will always stand as a monument to your business ability and foresight as well as a milestone in the remarkable advance of a people.

  Our little token will be completely lost among finer surroundings and more appropriate remembrances. However, you will please accept same as an expression of our love and affection.

  Frank and your sister-in-law, Mrs. Prosser, will leave tomorrow morning and will arrive in New York Monday. Will wire you as to the exact time.

  Again wishing you a Merry Christmas in which my whole family joins me, I am

  Respectfully,

  F.B. Ransom

  * * *

  January 11, 1919

  Dear Madam:

  Frank is telling wonders about New York, saying that you took him to halls, moving picture shows, theaters, etc., and he is telling of some of the great things he saw in these halls and places, all of which I take are figments of his rather vivid imagination. He said he slept with you and that every morning you and he would wake up and talk. I asked him what you talked about and he said, “We talked business.”

  I note what you say about Mr. Trotter’s National Equal Rights League, and the only thing I am concerned with is the danger of your becoming identified with some person or persons whose acts will hurt your future in this country. You are traveling in the right direction, and I do not want to see anything occur to hamper or lessen your influence in this co
untry.

  Respectfully,

  F.B. Ransom

  * * *

  VILLA LEWARO

  IRVINGTON-ON-HUDSON

  February 4, 1919

  Dear Mr. Ransom:

  Your arguments have been passionate indeed against my participation in the Paris peace conference meetings planned by Mr. Trotter. I agree it is best to try to change a system from within, but I thought Mrs. Ida Wells-Barnett and myself would have represented our race well in the talks overseas. My great fear is that the world will finally forge its peace treaties, but Negroes will be left out entirely.

  But do not think your pleas have fallen on deaf ears! I do understand I must be concerned for my business and future too, so I will separate myself from those radical elements you feel would be harmful to me and the company.

  All this talk of Paris has made me very excited at the prospect of traveling abroad, however, and Lelia shares my excitement. She is making plans to take Mae on a sales trip to South America, but we have already decided that we would like to spend some time in Paris together afterward—perhaps even up to a year! I am pursuing plans to secure a passport. I’m pleased to say that the Long family has been very helpful in establishing my birthplace, as you know I have no proper birth records owing to my family’s condition when I was born.

  Thank you again for your very thoughtful advice.

  Sincerely,

  Madam

  P.S. There are so many heroes among us! Dr. Ward is back visiting me with Zella. I think my schedule still alarms him, though he is glad to see me calmly tending my garden. I have become a real “farmerette.” Roses abound! He is now Major Ward, you know—and he commanded a base hospital in Paris! And Dr. Kennedy has written to Lelia that he is very likely to receive a Croix de Guerre for his bravery overseas. Negroes certainly represented our race well in this unfortunate war.

  * * *

  The Madam C.J. Walker Mfg. Company

  640 NORTH WEST STREET

  INDIANAPOLIS, INDIANA

  F.B. Ransom

  Atty. & Mgr.

  March 20, 1919

  Dear Madam:

  I do look forward to seeing you! I am in receipt of your note mentioning that you will leave Irvington on or about the 26th of the month. I was reasonably sure that this would be the time of your leaving, as I heard you were going to speak in Wilmington. And while Dr. Ward advises against speaking dates, I am sure that it will not hurt you to make this meeting and then come on to Indianapolis.

  I am glad to know that you are resting.

  Respectfully,

  F.B. Ransom

  * * *

  The Madam C.J. Walker Mfg. Company

  640 NORTH WEST STREET

  INDIANAPOLIS, INDIANA

  F.B. Ransom

  Atty. & Mgr.

  March 22, 1919

  Dear Madam:

  Enclosed are samples of the new literature. I am aware that you requested me when in New York to go ahead with these things, relieving you as much as possible of any such business details, but I have gotten in the habit of consulting you, so you will pardon me at this time. In all seriousness, however, I consult you in this respect as I do not wish to make such change, necessitating a slight additional cost, without first securing your approval.

  Lottie stated that you are suffering from a severe cold. I hope this will find you feeling much better, as I want you to be in your best health during your travels.

  Respectfully,

  F.B. Ransom

  P.S. Nettie and the boys are on their heads to see you! We hope you will be able to stay with us a few days before you move on to St. Louis to help launch the new products line. After that, please take Dr. Ward’s advice and stay at home to rest.

  * * *

  Chapter Thirty-eight

  ST. LOUIS

  EASTER SUNDAY

  1919

  It’s a cold. Just a very bad cold, Sarah repeated to herself as she sat in the empty back office of St. Paul AME church holding a cold, damp cloth to her feverish head. A fan gently stirred the papers stacked on the pastor’s rolltop desk, and she could hear the distant voices of choir members rehearsing in one of the wings. She’d asked to sit alone for a few minutes, hoping she would feel better before services started. Her skin was burning, but she could hear her teeth chattering. Oh, she hated to be sick! She’d hoped to shake this cold weeks ago, but it had refused to leave her. She’d felt all right in Indianapolis, but she’d felt steadily worse since her arrival in St. Louis. Oh, I should have just gone on back to New York like Lottie said.

  Her hosts, Jessie and C.K. Robinson, had suggested she stay in bed at their home that day, offering to miss the Easter service themselves to nurse her, but Sarah had been sure she could bear to at least sit through the service. She wouldn’t address the congregation, she knew—she’d save her strength for her speech at the Coliseum in a few days—but she’d wanted to at least make an appearance. There were so many old friends at the church, so many people who had known her as Sarah McWilliams. She might not have the chance to come back soon. . . .

  Sarah coughed, and she was dismayed to feel her entire chest constrict painfully.

  It’s a cold, Sarah. Just a cold.

  The voice in her head continued to coo its assurances, but Sarah believed that voice less and less. She’d never had a cold that made her feel like her body was hardening to rock, as if it would take more strength than she’d ever had just to stand up and make her way back into the sanctuary where the Robinsons were waiting for her. Lottie or Jessie would come back here looking after her soon, she knew, and she wanted to put on a good face. If she sat perfectly still during services, she might be all right. And even if she wasn’t all right, she’d look as though she were. Then she’d go right to bed just as they had suggested in the first place. Maybe she would have to cancel her Coliseum speaking engagement. She’d been looking forward to it, but enough was enough. This is what you get for being stubborn, she thought. You shouldn’t be here at all.

  Sarah heard uneven footsteps approaching the pastor’s doorway, so she forced herself to sit up straight. She removed the damp cloth from her forehead, holding it in her lap. She didn’t know how her face looked, but she hoped she’d managed something at least resembling a smile.

  When the shadow in the doorway finally took its human shape, Sarah held her breath and forgot her ailments: It was a man, but it wasn’t the pastor or Mr. Robinson. An old man who looked familiar and yet unfamiliar stood there with a walking stick and a slightly rumpled brown suit. He kept glancing down from her eyes, clearly nervous. But wait . . .

  It wasn’t an old man, Sarah realized. The man’s hair and mustache were graying and his posture was poor, making his bones look frail, but this man was hardly any older than she was. Then she allowed herself to recognize what she’d known from the moment she’d seen him.

  This man was C.J. Walker.

  “I, uh . . .” C.J. cleared his throat, wiping the side of his mouth with a white kerchief he’d crumpled in one hand. “I know I shouldn’t have come back here . . . but I saw ’em bring you back, and . . . well, I . . .” Sarah noticed that C.J.’s hand was trembling on his walking stick. He was putting most of his weight on it, and it was a struggle for him. The sight of the shaking hand transfixed her. How could this be . . . ?

  “I know you’re sore, Sa— Madam. And not in a million years did I ever think I’d be standing in front of you like this. But I couldn’t help myself. When I was passing outside and saw you walk inside this church, it brought a whole lot to mind. A whole lot.”

  Ordinarily, Sarah thought, she’d probably have leaped to her feet and screamed every epithet she could think of at C.J., or else wrested that walking stick away to knock him in the head. Or would she have leaped to her feet to hug him . . . ? She honestly didn’t know. But it didn’t matter now, because any leaping was out of the question. She wondered if she could really speak a word to him, even if she wanted to. She was using all of her conce
ntration to listen to him, and she had to ask herself in all honesty if he might be only a hallucination. The way she was feeling, a hallucination wouldn’t surprise her at all.

  But no. She never would have imagined him like this. His skin, which she’d always remembered as so fine and smooth, looked thin and dry, nearly leathery. Had his drinking altered him so horribly? Or was it the rheumatism he’d always complained about in his letters? It was hard for her to imagine there was a time when he’d been neatly dressed and handsome. He didn’t look quite like a hobo, but his clothes hadn’t been given the same care and attention C.J. used to be so proud of, and his shoes were scuffed.

  Finally Sarah felt an emotion; it was neither anger nor love, just pity.

  And C.J. must have recognized it in her eyes the way she’d always been able to recognize it in the eyes of others. He tried to straighten his shoulders some, but the effort didn’t help much.

  “I know,” he said, nodding slowly. “I must be a real sight to you. I told my sister she better never say a word to you ’bout it. If you asked, I told her she should just say, ‘He’s gettin’ by.’ But she say you don’t hardly ask, and I’ve been glad about that. After you told Mr. Ransom I could start selling the Walker goods again, I figured that’s about all I could hope for. But I guess I ain’t completely lost my selfish streak, Madam. I didn’t know how bad I needed to say some words to you until I saw you today.”