The Color of Secrets

by Lindsay Jayne Ashford

  It had been a difficult decision, choosing the right book for him. In the end she had gone for Three Men in a Boat, because it was funny and involved a journey through a very English landscape. Then, when she was wrapping it up, she had slipped in a slim volume of love poems in case he was in any doubt about the strength of her feelings.

  Now the hard edges of the parcel pressed against her legs through the fabric of the bag on her lap. She felt terribly alone, sitting there with an offering so tender, so personal, when he was somewhere else. With someone else.

  When the film ended, she stayed in her seat as everyone else got to their feet.

  “Come on,” Dilys said. “He could be waiting outside—maybe they wouldn’t let him in.”

  “Why wouldn’t they? We’ve been coming here every week for the past three months!”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” Dilys shrugged. “He could have got into a fight or something—you know what it’s like when the two of you are out together. Some people take offense, don’t they?”

  “But I wasn’t with him, was I?” Eva hissed. “Why would anyone pick a fight with him if he was on his own?”

  “Don’t ask me!” Dilys grabbed Eva’s arm and pulled her to her feet. “Come on, you’re not going to solve anything by staying here, are you?”

  Eva allowed herself to be pushed forward by the throng of people leaving the cinema. Outside a gust of wind blew a pile of brittle leaves against her legs. A few of them caught on her stockings. “Damn,” she said, snagging them as she pulled the leaves off. She gulped as she felt tears threaten. Where was he? Why hadn’t he come? Through blurred eyes she saw a figure running across the street.

  “Eva!” He ran up to her, his face beaded with perspiration. “I’m so sorry! I couldn’t get here any sooner—it’s Jimmy,” he paused to catch his breath, “he’s been arrested!”

  “What?” Eva blinked. “What’s happened?”

  “You know that girl he was seeing?”

  She nodded.

  “She’s pregnant,” Bill gasped, “and she’s telling everyone he raped her!”

  “Raped her?” Eva echoed. “But it’s not true, is it?”

  “Absolutely not true.” Bill grasped her hands, panic in his eyes. “But when her folks found out she’d been seeing a black guy, they just hit the roof. Her daddy’s a powerful man, Eva. He says Jimmy’s going to hang for what he’s done.”

  Chapter 9

  OCTOBER 1943

  They met in the cinema again the following Saturday, but neither of them watched the film. Leaving Anton and Dilys in their seats, they crept to the back and sat on the floor with their backs against the wall, talking in whispers.

  “They’ve taken Jimmy to the glasshouse,” Bill said, tugging distractedly at the lapel of his jacket.

  “What?” Eva stared at him, uncomprehending.

  “Some old prison miles away from here. A place called Shepton Mallet. US Army’s taken it over.” He sniffed. “Guess they’re keeping him there till they decide what to do with him.”

  “What do you mean?” Eva peered at his face in the darkness.

  “Well, it’s a straight choice, isn’t it?” Bill hissed. “They’ll either hang him or shoot him!” He gave a deep sigh that was almost a sob, and people on the back row turned to shush them.

  “But how can they do that?” Eva whispered, taking his hand. “That girl’s lying! Can’t you tell them that?”

  “God knows I’ve tried, but nobody listens.” He drew in a breath, shaking his head. “You don’t know what it’s like. We’re nothing in their eyes. If a white girl says it happened one way and a colored guy says another, who do you think they’re going to believe?”

  Eva fell silent. The memory of the soldier who had felled Bill with a punch that first night at the Civic Hall came flooding back. If that was what they did to a black man just for dancing with a white girl . . . She reached out, pulling him to her. His head sank onto her shoulder, and she sat rocking him to and fro, his tears seeping through her woolen sweater.

  Like David, she thought. How could she possibly tell him now?

  At work on Monday the trumped-up rape case was the talk of the station canteen. Although the girl’s name had never been mentioned in the newspaper reports, it was being bandied about by some of the women on the rail gang. Betty Pelham had let it drop that her sister was Philippa’s parents’ housekeeper.

  “You should see the house,” she said, a lump of sausage on its way to her mouth. “I had a sneaky look once when they were away on holiday. It’s got three bathrooms, a billiard room, and this enormous glass aviary full of parrots and things. And you should see the cars they’ve got! Two Bentleys and a Rolls-Royce Silver Ghost.”

  The others gaped as she stuffed the food into her mouth, agog for more juicy gossip.

  “It wouldn’t be anywhere round here, then,” Eva said, her heart beating faster as she tried to sound casual. “I suppose it’s in Finchfield. Or Tettenhall.”

  “No, it isn’t.” The sound of the words was distorted by Betty speaking with her mouth full, so eager was she to correct her. “It’s up on Goldthorn Hill. A big black-and-white place right at the top: Rookery House, it’s called.”

  It took Eva nearly an hour to walk to the mock-Tudor pile on the hill. She set off first thing on Saturday morning, pushing David in his pram. There was a cold wind, but by the time she got to the top, she could feel the perspiration running down her temples. She stopped when she caught sight of the place. It was surrounded by a thick stone wall with a castellated top. Even standing on tiptoe, she couldn’t see over it. She followed the wall around a corner and came upon a pair of huge wrought-iron gates. She peered through and glimpsed a red-tiled veranda and a black-painted door with polished carriage lamps on either side of it.

  She watched and waited for a while, but there was no sign of life. There was a whimper from the pram. David was stirring in his sleep. He’d be awake soon and hungry, probably. She wondered what to do. Suddenly she saw a flash of color behind the laurel bushes fringing the house and the end of a broom pushing leaves into a pile.

  “Excuse me!” She tried not to shout, not wanting to wake David. “Hello!” She tried again. The broom disappeared and a thin old man in a tweed jacket came ambling toward her.

  “What do you want?” He peered through the iron gates.

  “I’m a friend of Philippa’s,” she said, trotting it out just as she had planned. She was amazed at how confident her voice sounded. “Is she in?”

  “No she isn’t,” the man said, raising an eyebrow as he caught sight of the pram. “They’ve gone away.”

  “Gone . . .” Eva’s voice faltered. She swallowed in an effort to clear her throat. “When will they be back?”

  “They didn’t say.” There was a superior look on his face. “Two weeks, maybe three. Do you want to leave a message?”

  “No,” she said, turning away. “No message.”

  That night Eva and Bill sat in the air-raid shelter just holding each other in the dark, listening to the music coming from the dance hall.

  “I thought if I could just talk to her,” Eva said, “I could maybe change her mind. Get her to tell the truth. I felt so stupid when he said she’d gone away.”

  Bill sighed as he stroked her hair. “You took one hell of a risk. No telling what could have happened if her old man had been home.”

  “I didn’t think about that. I just wanted to do something. You said they wouldn’t listen to you, so I thought . . .”

  “I know, I know,” he whispered, “and I appreciate what you tried to do. But folks like that—rich, powerful folks—there’s no way you’re gonna change their mind. Not even if you’re the same color as they are.”

  In the gloom of the shelter she touched his face, half expecting to feel tears on his skin. But she sensed he was beyond that now, as if he had resigned himself to Jimmy’s fate. He had given her so much, and now she felt she had failed him. Moving closer, she kissed him, h
er lips lingering on his, longing to blot out his misery.

  “I’ve been reading that book you gave me,” he said when they drew apart. “It’s beautiful.”

  “Really?” The beam of his torch, suspended from the ceiling, caught her puzzled face. Of all the words she might have chosen to describe Three Men in a Boat, “beautiful” would not have occurred to her.

  “I mean the love poems, not the novel—I haven’t read that yet.”

  “Oh,” she smiled. “I’m glad you liked them. Which was your favorite?”

  “That’s hard to say.” He ran his finger along her jawline, cupping her chin in his hand. “The sonnets by Shakespeare—well, they’re amazing, of course, and that one about the flea—John Donne, was it?—that made me smile. But the one I like best?” He paused, pursing his lips. “Well, it’s a little bit strange: I’m not sure anyone else would choose it. It’s called ‘A Sanskrit Proverb’—about the crocodile. Do you remember it?”

  Eva’s look of puzzlement deepened. “Yes, I do: Love is a crocodile on the river of desire . . .”

  “That’s the one.”

  “Are you serious?” Eva reached up for the torch, batting it with her hand so that the beam fell on his face. “Why that one?”

  “Because love is a risk, isn’t it? Like the guy says, life is dangerous enough, but falling in love is like swimming in a river full of crocodiles.” He leaned toward her, snapped his jaws, and chuckled as he went to kiss her.

  “Is that what you really think?” She turned away, hurt that he was making light of it.

  “Don’t you?” He cupped her chin in his hand again, turning her back to face him. “Don’t you think that loving somebody is dangerous?”

  “Like Jimmy and Philippa, you mean?”

  He shook his head. “That wasn’t love.”

  “You don’t think he loved her?”

  “I know so. He told me.”

  A silence descended. Another question hung in the air, with an unspoken answer.

  And what about you? The words beat a tattoo inside her head as she leaned forward to kiss him. She was afraid to ask, afraid to know the answer.

  Chapter 10

  Three weeks later Eva’s mother was preparing a birthday tea for Dilys. Eva was helping, although the last thing she was in the mood for was a celebration.

  Jimmy’s execution the day before had knocked the war off the front page of the Express & Star. Eva watched her mother push aside the mound of bread she had sliced to pick up the paper. The headline screamed at her: “HISTORIC HANGING FOR GI RAPIST.”

  “Have you read this?” Without looking up, her mother began to read aloud: “‘An American serviceman was hanged yesterday at Shepton Mallet prison in Somerset for raping a sixteen-year-old Wolverhampton girl . . .’” She tutted under her breath. “‘It is the first time that a man has been hanged for the crime of rape in Britain.’” She continued, “‘The soldier—a colored man from the Quartermaster Corps based near Bridgnorth—was executed under US Army jurisdiction.’”

  Eva sat motionless, staring at the knife she had just dipped in a jar of fish paste.

  “They say she’s pregnant.” Her mother glanced up from the paper, clearly expecting a reaction to this bit of gossip. Eva kept her head down. “Imagine what it’s going to be like for that poor child,” her mother went on. “They won’t let her keep it, that’s for certain. But who’s going to want it? She’ll never find anyone to adopt it.” This was followed by a heavy sigh. “I suppose it’ll end up in a home.” The knife rattled against the jar of fish paste as her mother dug it in. “Won’t it?”

  “I’ll just go and check the cake,” Eva mumbled, dashing toward the kitchen.

  The small front room was filled with people, all glad to get out of the biting October wind. It was a noisy mix of neighbors and friends, some clutching presents and others with rations to donate for the party. Cathy arrived last with a large tin of pineapple chunks, which brought cheers from the other guests.

  Dilys made a grand entrance, swanning into the room with Anton on her arm.

  “Don’t look so shocked!” she whispered to Eva. “I’m sixteen now—I can do what I like!”

  “Never mind me!” Eva hissed back. “How are you going to explain him to Mum?”

  An awkward few minutes followed, during which their mother shot speaking glances at Eva. Better to go along with the pretense that this was a new romance, Eva thought. Otherwise her mother might start asking what her daughters had really been up to on all those long Sunday walks.

  While Anton was working his charm on her mother, Dilys started opening her presents. It was an interesting assortment: “A pair of shoes, three pairs of silk stockings, a brooch, half a dozen grapefruit, and two Hershey bars! I didn’t do too badly, did I?” Dilys laughed. “Did Bill get you these?” she whispered, picking up one of the bars of chocolate, peeling back the paper and taking a big bite.

  “Dil! You’re supposed to be saving them! What about all this food?” Eva waved her hand at the table.

  “It’s only one bite!” Dilys grinned, stuffing the chocolate back into its wrapper. “Anyway, I’ve got to keep my strength up.” Eva shot her a worried glance, but her sister was too busy examining her presents to notice. “I’m starting my training next week,” she said, without looking up.

  “What training?”

  “I’ve signed up for the Auxiliary Territorial Service,” Dilys said. “Didn’t I tell you? I’ve been planning it for ages.”

  Eva stared at her sister. “Does Mum know?”

  “I haven’t told her yet—thought I’d wait till after the party.”

  “Oh, Dil . . .” Eva bit her lip.

  “Listen,” Dilys said, “I’m sorry if it’s a bit of a shock, but I can’t go on like this.” She fingered the rhinestone pin in the shape of a D that Anton had given her for her birthday. “You might not mind skulking about, hiding from people, but I do. The ATS camp is just down the road from Anton’s barracks. We can be together—really together.” Her expression was one Eva remembered her using as a child when she was trying to wheedle something out of their father. “You do understand, don’t you?”

  “Well, yes . . . but you’re so—”

  “You mustn’t breathe a word of this to Mum,” Dilys cut in, glancing over her shoulder, “but Anton’s asked me to marry him! He wants me to go back to Holland with him when the war’s over!”

  “What?” Eva’s jaw dropped. A jumble of words rushed through her head, but she felt numb, paralyzed. A thin cry from the room above broke the spell. “That’s David,” she said, “the noise must have woken him up.” She made for the door, glad of an excuse to get away. For the first time in her life she had looked at her sister and felt jealous.

  Eva scooped David up in her arms, rocking him in an effort to comfort him. “Nanna gone?” he lisped, pointing to the door. “Dilly gone?”

  “They’re downstairs, sweetheart,” she said. “We’ll go and see them in a minute. Let’s just change you first.” She laid him on the bed and rolled down his rompers. He kicked his legs as she did it.

  “Want Dilly! Want Nanna!” he cried.

  Eva shushed him, wondering what Bill would think if he could see her now. She tried to imagine David calling his name, following him around the way he trailed after Dilys and her mother. Calling Bill “Dad.” It frightened her, knowing how desperately she wanted it, because right here, right now, it seemed utterly impossible.

  As she undressed her son, she found herself thinking about the baby Philippa was carrying, a baby who would never see his or her father. The injustice of Jimmy’s execution had shocked her to the core. The Americans are supposed to be our friends, she thought. They’re supposed to be just like us.

  She remembered what Bill had told her about Louisiana, about the demeaning laws that kept black people away from whites. What would it be like for the child she was carrying to grow up in a place like that—a country whose laws allowed a black man to be hanged
for doing nothing worse than what she and Bill had been doing? Could they ever be a family in a country like that?

  There was a knock at the bedroom door. “Can I come in?” Cathy’s head appeared. She sat down on the bed, making faces at David until he stopped kicking and started to giggle.

  “How’s Bill?” Cathy’s smile vanished as she looked up. “I saw the paper.”

  “I don’t really know,” Eva said. “I haven’t seen him since last Saturday.”

  “He must be going through hell.”

  Eva nodded. “You’d never guess it, though.” She stopped trying to pull one of David’s socks over his wriggling toes and gave a deep sigh. “He’s so hard to read. When Jimmy was arrested, he was in a terrible state. But the past couple of weeks he’s been really calm.” She stared at the sock in her hand. “Unnaturally calm, really. It was his birthday last week—his twenty-first—and he didn’t even tell me. But then he sent a note to the station asking for a date with me, even though he knew Jimmy was going to be . . .” She stroked the soft, plump skin above David’s toes.

  “Sounds like it hasn’t really sunk in yet.”

  “He’s asked me to book a table at the best restaurant in town. Says he wants to give Jimmy a good send-off.”

  “Grief comes out in strange ways, sometimes.” Cathy brought her face close to David’s and he grabbed at her hair. “I remember when we got the news about Stuart, it took a long time for me to accept that he was never coming home. People used to say how well I was coping, but about two months after the funeral it suddenly hit me. I just broke down in tears one morning while I was peeling the potatoes. I was counting them out, and I thought this is it: we’re never going to need any more potatoes than this for Sunday dinner ever again, because he’s not coming back.” She pulled a silver bangle from her wrist and gave it to David to play with. “Bill’s really going to need you,” she said, “more than he probably realizes at the moment.”