The rest of the table seemed quite unconcerned that he planned to hire Emma Lynn as a maid. He felt relieved and angered at the same time. He decided to push away his conflicting emotions and go after his older brother.
"Henry, wait," his mother said. "Shouldn't we at least meet them?"
"Who?"
"Well, the Goodwins."
"I don't think that's necessary," Henry said in a panic. He hadn't thought about this. Of course his mother would want to meet them. He should have just let the whole marriage thing be a surprise. Why did he even see the need to tell his family at all? He wondered if they would have been more or less surprised if he had just shown up next week as a married man. It was too late to think about that now. Now he just had to figure out a way to make the whole situation somehow believable.
"Nonsense. We're about to be family and we've never been formally introduced."
"Really, Mother. That's not necessary."
"And why not?" Mr. Miller asked. "You ashamed of us, boy?"
"Oh, no. Of course not. It's just that, well …" he had no idea how to get out of this. Thinking on his feet had never been his strong suit. "It's just that, they don't know about the pregnancy. Rebecca Jane hasn't told them."
"Oh, I see. But they know you are a couple, correct?" Mr. Miller asked.
Henry nodded.
"And you have properly asked for her hand?"
Henry nodded again, thinking of Emma Lynn. Though it would be a secret marriage, he had still felt the urge to ask her parents. It was just the way he was raised. Though now, he completely regretted getting any parents involved.
"But won't we have to meet the Goodwins eventually?" Mrs. Miller asked.
"Yes, I suppose, but not yet. Please, not yet."
"Well, I really don't see the harm in going over there and introducing myself. I really want to hear the story of how you asked for her hand. The way a man asks a girl's father for her hand says a lot about him. Will you tell us Henry?"
Henry glanced at the door, begging for any excuse to take his leave. He wouldn't begin to know how to conjure up a false story about how he asked for Rebecca Jane's hand. He certainly couldn't draw upon what really happened when he asked for Emma Lynn's hand. Those God-awful people tried to deny she was even their child.
Anger started to rise in Henry. This was all completely ridiculous. Emma Lynn's parents tried to deny her birth and her existence. They'd made her feel like nothing. And he, a man that claimed to love her, wasn't doing any better. He was completely denying his love for her. She deserved better.
Just as Henry was about to confess everything, John came storming back into the apartment. "Forgot my hat," he said before leaving again.
John. Henry thought. I need to talk to John. I'll tell John everything and then I'll tell the rest of the family.
"John, wait. I'll walk with you."
John took one look at Henry then scurried out of the door.
Once outside, Henry had to run to catch up with his brother.
"John wait. Didn't you hear me?"
"I don't want to talk to you, Henry."
"Well, I need to talk to you. I need your advice."
John stopped walking abruptly. "Advice? You want my advice? Well, I'll tell you what to do. Stay away from that Negro. That's what's really going on here, isn't it? You're using Rebecca Jane to cover up what's going on between you and Emma Lynn, aren't you?"
"How did you know?" Henry asked, staring at the ground.
"It's obvious to me you're still in love with the Negro."
"Her name is Emma Lynn," Henry said, a bit annoyed that he had never called her by her given name. Yes, she was a Negro but that wasn't all she was. She was smart, beautiful, kind and strong. She was his Emma Lynn, not just some label that society had placed on her because her skin was slightly darker. If she stayed out of the sun for a few days and wore a bit of powdered make up, she could easily pass for white. Even Frank had thought she was white without the added makeup. What made her any different from any white person just because of a few shades of pigment?
"You have no idea what you're dealing with. This is the wrong time to be fraternizing with the enemy. The Negro is single handedly responsible for yanking the food right off of our tables."
"I can assure you, Emma Lynn has nothing to do with the food on our table."
"Well, of course not her directly, but the Negro people as a whole. They are all the same."
"How can you say that? Just because their skin is darker doesn't make them all the same. Look at us. We are the same color as Walter and Willie, but we're nothing like them, are we?"
"You just don't get it, Henry. You are ruining this family? What will people think of us when they find out you're sleeping with a Negro? You'll ruin any chances of me, Walter or Willie finding a wife. No one is going to want to marry into a Negro loving family. If I didn't think it would kill her instantly, I would tell Mom myself."
"That's what I was coming out here to ask you. I'm tired of lying about how I feel about Emma Lynn. I love her and I'm going to marry her. I wanted you to know it first before I tell the rest of the family."
Anger masked the hurt Henry felt at his brother's reaction. Henry knew John hated Negros. Most white people were proud of their Negro hate. But somewhere deep down inside, he'd hoped his brother would understand. He'd hoped John would set aside his personal prejudice for the sake of his feelings. But that was apparently too much to ask.
Head bowed, Henry turned around to return to their apartment.
"I just don't understand you. You're ruining the life of your entire family over one little colored whore."
Without thinking, Henry turned around and punched his brother in the face.
"Don't you ever talk about my wife like that again," he said, standing over where John had fallen to the ground. Henry shook his head and glared at him. "We are no longer brothers."
Related by Marriage
Lillian Miller thought it was utterly ridiculous that she hadn't been invited to the Goodwin home. Their children were about to be wed. Tomorrow. Yet, Lillian had never even been to the Goodwins’ store. She couldn't afford their outrageously overpriced candy. That had to be the reason why the Goodwins didn't want to meet her. The Goodwins obviously thought the Millers were poor white trash. Well, Lillian was about to prove them wrong. She knew just how to as well.
Going to the small nearly empty closet in her bedroom, she pulled out a large rose-colored box. In it lay her most prized possession. It was a burgundy party gown that belonged to her mother. Through all the hard times, she had refused to sell it even though it would most likely fetch quite a handsome sum. Lillian had always held on to it in hopes that one day she would be able to pass it on to her daughter. Unfortunately, Lillian had all sons. But maybe she could pass it on to a granddaughter. Perhaps the granddaughter Rebecca Jane currently carried. She was near giddy at the thought.
Holding up the dress to her chin, she stared at her reflection in the broken mirror atop her dresser. It was a little too formal for a casual Sunday afternoon visit, but Lillian had nothing else to wear to the Goodwin's lavish home. And to the Goodwin home she was definitely going.
***
Elizabeth couldn't imagine why a woman dressed in an outdated burgundy gown was currently banging on her window. At first she thought the woman was a crazy street vagrant looking for a handout, but then the lunatic called her name.
"Oh, Elizabeth, yoo hoo! I came by for a visit."
She stared at the woman again, searching for an ounce of familiarity. There was none. Everything about the woman was wrong. The burgundy dress was suited for winter. The woman had to be dying of heat wearing something like that on the first day of July. And the woman wore no hat. Who would go out in this sun with no hat? A lunatic and that was all.
Instead of being securely and fashionably tucked under a hat, the woman's thin, gray-streaked blond hair hung to her shoulders. Her skin seemed weathered and worn as if time had
not been kind to her. She could really use some face powder and cream.
Elizabeth would never be caught dead parading through town with a woman who looked like this. There was no way she knew her. It didn't explain how the lunatic knew her name though. But somehow, the poorly dressed lunatic knew Elizabeth's name. Mostly out of morbid curiosity, Elizabeth opened the door and allowed her entry into the shop.
"We are closed for the day, but we still have a few samples leftover if you were looking for something small," Elizabeth said politely. "We close early on Sundays. We try to make the evening service at King's Cathedral."
"Oh, I'm not here for candy. Why ever would you think that?"
Elizabeth looked around the shop. "You do know this is a confectionary, do you not?"
"Oh yes, of course I do. But I'm not here about candy. I'm here about our children. Given the exciting news, I thought it best that we talk."
"Children? Exciting news?" Elizabeth asked even more confused than before. What did she have to do with this woman's children?
"Oh yes, may we sit?"
"Oh, yes, of course. Follow me, Mrs. … "
"Miller. I'm Mrs. Miller. I'm sure Henry has mentioned me."
"Henry?" Elizabeth took a moment to try to recollect how or why she would know that name. Suddenly it hit her. He was the insane milkman who was in love with Emma Lynn. Elizabeth looked Mrs. Miller up and down. Apparently, crazy was a family trait. "Oh, yes, of course. Henry. The milkman."
As they sat down, Elizabeth noticed a strange expression befall Mrs. Miller.
"You're not aware of the surname of the man who is about to marry your daughter?"
"My daughter?" Elizabeth said, bolting out of her seat. She was amazed at how quickly her feelings toward this woman had shifted from mild amusement to fervent anger. "How dare you? What has she told you?"
Now it was Mrs. Miller's turn to get angry. "So my husband was right." She stood and crossed her arms. "I was wondering why we hadn't met and why I never even knew our children were courting. You are ashamed of us. Just because we're not as rich as you and don't have our own business doesn't mean we aren't good enough to be a part of your family."
"I don't know what Henry has told you but she is not part of my family."
Elizabeth didn't understand why the woman looked so confused. Why was she so apt to believe that Emma Lynn was a Goodwin? Elizabeth had spent over a decade carefully convincing people that Emma Lynn was no more than hired help. And it had worked. No one even questioned Emma Lynn's parentage. No one until Henry Miller. What on Earth had he told her about this family? Why was Mrs. Miller so accepting of her son marrying a Negro?
"Oh, I understand," Mrs. Miller said, softening a little. "This must be about the baby."
"Baby? What baby?" How much did this woman know? How could she possibly know about Mary Anne's baby and the possibility of it coming out Negro? Had Emma Lynn overheard the conversation and reported it to Henry? Maybe Mrs. Miller was talking about Charles' baby. Or was Emma Lynn pregnant and that was why Henry wanted to marry her? In either case, Elizabeth had horribly underestimated this woman's craftiness. She was obviously looking for a payout. Elizabeth closed her eyes and took a deep calming breath. "All right. If this is how you want to play it, how much do you want?"
"Excuse me?"
"Money. That's obviously why you're here. How much money do you want to make all of this go away and never speak of it again?"
"I ... I don't understand."
"One hundred dollars," Mrs. Goodwin said, folding her arms. Elizabeth paced the sitting room. Already she was deep in thought about how she would be able to pay this woman off without telling George. He would never agree to blackmail. He would rather reveal the secret than lower himself to such a standard.
"A hundred dollars?"
Would this woman stop at nothing? One hundred dollars wasn't enough for her? "Fine, three hundred."
"Mrs. Goodwin, I'm not quite sure —"
"Four hundred dollars and not a penny more." Elizabeth had to give this woman credit. She was most likely trying to take care of her future half Negro grandchild. Elizabeth just hoped Mrs. Miller didn't get too smart and ask for some sort of monthly payment. That was exactly what Elizabeth would have done if put in the same situation.
"Four hundred dollars is more money than my husband made last year," Mrs. Miller said with a wild and surprised expression.
Had she gone too high with four hundred? Maybe she should have said three hundred and fifty instead.
"Then I trust it will be enough for your silence." Elizabeth motioned for the door. "I will send payment forthwith."
"Oh, Mrs. Goodwin, I wasn't going to tell anyone about the baby. I understand how these things happen. My first child was born six months after I was married, if you understand what I am saying."
"Mrs. Miller, this conversation is over. I trust you can show yourself out." Elizabeth had no intention of making polite conversation with an extortionist. Instead, she needed to deal with Emma Lynn.
Another Argument
Henry borrowed the Wideman’s milk truck, volunteering to make service calls on all the customers on his route. In reality, he just needed a reason to see Emma Lynn during the day. No one would question a milkman talking to a maid too much. He often talked to maids during the day when adjustments needed to be made to orders.
“I told my family,” Henry said to Emma Lynn as they stood in the alley behind the Goodwin home a safe distance apart from each other. Emma Lynn’s eyes expanded. “You told them about me?”
“Well, not exactly. I told them I was marrying Rebecca Jane. But I did say that you would be our maid.”
“Oh,” she said simply. Henry could tell she was upset.
"Are you all right?" Henry asked.
She nodded yes, but he knew it wasn’t true. Every inch of his body yearned to take her in his arms and kiss her but because it was daylight, they couldn't touch. They were taking a risk even just talking to each other. He decided right then and there he was going to tell his family the truth. He hoped it would go better than how it did with John, but he was quietly resigned to the fact that it probably wouldn’t.
***
Emma Lynn wanted to invite Henry down to the cellar, but she couldn't take a chance of getting caught by Mrs. Goodwin. She had already asked Emma Lynn to move out. She needed a few more hours before she could permanently move with her new family, Henry, Rebecca Jane, and Clarence. If Mrs. Goodwin caught her with Henry in her room, she would certainly throw her out immediately and Emma Lynn would have nowhere to go for an entire night.
"I'm fine. Really I am," Emma Lynn said looking at the ground.
"No, no you're not," Henry replied. He sighed deeply. "We shouldn't do this. It isn't fair to you or to Clarence for that matter."
"There's no other way."
"Yes there is. We can get married and live together without Rebecca Jane and Clarence. We can move far away. I hear Canada looks more kindly on Negros."
Emma Lynn shook her head. "No, this is best for you. This way, you can have a partially normal life."
"And what about you, Emma? When are you going to start thinking about what's best for your life?"
Looking into his eyes she said, "You are my life."
Henry closed the distance between them in a single step and swept her up into a kiss.
"Henry, no. Someone might see," she said, pushing him away.
Henry squeezed her tighter and said, "I don't care." He kissed her again.
She would never tire of kissing Henry. Each time their lips touched she was sure her passion for him grew. Her feelings for him amazed and frightened her. How could one person be so important to her?
Though she wanted to lose herself in his embrace, she couldn't relinquish the tingle of doubt and fear that loomed in her consciousness. This life they were about to begin together was about to be fueled with terrible challenges. But she had to try it. Henry was right. A life without him scared her so
much more than the challenges of a life with him.
"Will you come back tonight?" she asked as they stared into each other's eyes. They were still so close that she could feel his breath on her lips.
"If you want me to," he answered.
She nodded. "I do. Come back after dark when it's safer."
"All right. I’ll return the truck and I’ll be right back." He kissed her forehead, and then slowly backed away. When he was only a few steps away, he hurried back to her and kissed her again. "I'll see you tonight." He put his hat on his head then hopped into his truck.
Emma Lynn watched until he disappeared around the corner. Then she turned and walked toward the broken window that led to her cellar.
To her surprise, the window was fixed and wouldn't open. She'd have to go in through the kitchen.
When she finally made it to her room, Mrs. Goodwin was there waiting for her. Without saying a word, Mrs. Goodwin walked straight up to Emma Lynn and slapped her across the face.
Emma Lynn clutched her face and stumbled backwards, stunned. She had no idea what this new wave of anger was for.
"You just couldn't leave well enough alone. After all we've done for you, this is how you repay us."
"What are you talking about?" Emma Lynn said, regaining her footing. She wanted to slap Mrs. Goodwin back even harder. She wanted to tackle her to the floor and beat some sense into that stubborn prideful woman, but something stopped her. A lifetime of learned submissiveness prevented Emma Lynn from acting on her true feelings, no matter how badly she wanted to.
"I'm talking about your little milk man. You told him everything and now his mother is blackmailing us. I knew this would happen. That's why I never wanted to tell you the truth. I knew you would want your revenge on us somehow."
"You are correct, I have dreamed of revenge against you," Emma Lynn said approaching Mrs. Goodwin. Years of repressed anger bubbled inside her threatening to spring forth. She was sick of being the victim and being blamed for anything and everything that went wrong in the Goodwin home as if she was some sort of walking curse. She was tired of being the outcast. She didn't even care that she was being falsely accused at this point. She just finally wanted to stand up for herself. If that meant taking credit for a blackmailing scheme she had nothing to do with, so be it. Emma Lynn just really felt like seeing Mrs. Goodwin squirm. "But trust me when I say my revenge will not be limited to money," she said walking closer to her. It was Mrs. Goodwin's turn to stumble backwards. Emma Lynn could see the fear in her eyes though she would never betray her true emotions with words. Emma Lynn knew she was having an effect on Mrs. Goodwin. "I don't want your money. When I take my revenge you'll definitely know it's from me and you'll feel it more than in your wallet. You'll feel it in every fiber of your being."
Shadows of St. Louis Page 11