Treasure in Exile

by S. W. Hubbard

  “Vareena told Maybelle about this later?” Sean asks.

  “Yes, much later. All Vareena knew at the time was this truth explained the distance and estrangement she’d always felt toward Emilia Soares. She now felt utterly free to go her own way. So Vareena ended up working at Newark Army Airfield, and she met Lawrence as he was preparing to ship out. Perhaps it was love at first sight, or perhaps it was a case of two young people who recognized in each other a desperate need to escape the limiting expectations of their respective families. Lawrence Tate was expected to take over his father’s business even though he had no interest or aptitude for it. He wanted to become a doctor.“

  “Did she tell Lawrence that she was adopted?”

  Martin shakes his head. “She never told her fiancé. You see, in those days, adoption was regarded as rather scandalous, and Vareena would have been ashamed that she was born out of wedlock. This notion of getting in touch with your birth parents was unheard of. Vareena knew her adoptive parents would keep her secret. After all, their friends also didn’t know she was adopted because she had been adopted so soon after her adoptive mother miscarried.”

  “Lawrence promised Vareena that when he returned from the war, they would travel the world together and that he would never require her to be a dutiful housewife. He would go to medical school and she would work as a nurse by his side. Like all young people, they were full of dreams. Until he returned, Vareena could escape her mother and continue her work as a nurse by living at the Tate mansion. But the Tates’ old housekeeper didn’t take kindly to the notion of working for this unconventional young woman. She decided to retire, so...”

  “Raymond brought home the news there was a job opening with the Tate family,” I speculate.

  Martin nods. “Maybelle applied without telling Cassie or anyone else. And of course, she got the job.”

  “Wasn’t Julius suspicious that Maybelle took a job working for her half-sister?”

  “You would think so, wouldn’t you? But like many powerful men, he didn’t take much notice of the doings of lesser mortals. He had solved his problem with Eula twenty years ago. He’d barely given the matter a thought since then. And he thought Eula had kept their secret. So if he noticed Maybelle’s employment at all, he must have assumed it was an ironic coincidence.”

  “And what was Cassie’s reaction?”

  “Oh, she wasn’t pleased, to be sure. But Maybelle promised she only wanted to get to know Vareena, and Cassie was preoccupied with other, more important matters. You remember I told you that World War II changed the fortunes of my family. Well, things changed both for the better and for the worse. With Cassie’s husband and her two brothers serving in the military, Cassie had to hold together the extended family, which now included eight children under the age of ten. One sister-in-law was reliable, the other not so much. And then a series of terrible tragedies struck, one after the other.”

  On May 14, 1942 the Simpson family received the dreaded telegram: brother William was killed, leaving three young children. And after William, Cassie’s husband was killed. And six months later, Brother Len returned, disabled and angry.”

  Martin sighs. “And finally, their father Raymond was seriously injured when a truck struck the car he was driving. Julius forced him to retire.”

  “So now everyone in the whole family was relying on Cassie and Maybelle.”

  “Everyone. Even Vareena. Because in 1943, a telegram was delivered to the Tate Mansion.”

  Chapter 45

  MARTIN LEANS FORWARD, his eyes no longer focused on me but on a scene seventy years in the past. “Imagine the dread when the front door bell rang at a time when you weren’t expecting a caller. Remember, at this time and in this neighborhood, deliveries of packages would be made to the back door. Only invited guests called at the front door. Guests, and the Western Union telegram delivery boy. Nowadays, the Army sends two officers to deliver the sorrowful news of a soldier killed in action. But in the darkest days of World War II, every officer was needed on the battleground. And so this terrible, sensitive job was entrusted to a boy, a mere child on a bike. Perhaps Maybelle looked out the window while she was dusting and saw the boy pedaling up the long driveway in the late afternoon sunshine.

  “She raced to the door, and opened it before he even rang the bell. But the telegram was special delivery, and could not be handed to her. The boy must place it in the hands of the next of kin. So Maybelle went to fetch Vareena, who was resting in her bedroom after a tiring day working as a nurse. Mr. Tate was at his office.

  “Imagine how heavy Maybelle’s legs were as she trudged up the long staircase to bring her sister face-to-face with heartbreak. Yet she had to maintain the charade that she was merely a servant passing along a message. ‘Mrs. Tate, there’s a telegram for you.’

  “The blood drained from Vareena’s face and she began to scream, ‘No, no!’ You might think that surely every wife and parent understood this news was a possibility, but remember, Vareena was only twenty years old. The young never truly believe that death can touch them, even in times of war.

  “So Maybelle half dragged, half carried Vareena to meet her doom. The boy placed the telegram in her trembling hands and escaped as quickly as possible. It was left to Vareena to read the terrible words.”

  Martin recites them from memory:

  “The Army Air Corps Department deeply regrets to inform you that your husband, Captain Lawrence tate, was killed in the performance of his duty and the service of his country....”

  “Vareena collapsed on the polished parquet floor of that magnificent house. In two short months, she had met the love of her life, a man who shared her dreams and valued her desire to serve others. She had quarreled with her parents and learned she was adopted, and defied them to marry her love. She had enjoyed two weeks of wedded bliss and then assumed the new and strange role as Mrs. Tate, mistress of a twenty-room mansion.

  “And now she was a widow.”

  Martin takes a deep breath. “In the week after Lawrence’s death, Vareena and her father-in-law avoided each other. Both were numb with grief, and there wasn’t even a funeral to plan to help them move on because the body hadn’t been recovered. Mr. Tate retreated to his office. Vareena holed up in her bedroom. She had no one to talk to, so she began to confide in Maybelle. She intended to move out of the mansion and volunteer to serve overseas as a nurse. She was all alone in the world; what did she have to lose? If she were lucky, she told Maybelle, she would be killed in action and be reunited with her husband in heaven.”

  Martin smiles. “Maybelle didn’t like this talk one bit. It was time, she debated with Cassie, to tell Vareena the truth. She wasn’t alone. She had kin who loved her.

  “But Cassie cautioned restraint. The family was already in upheaval. If the truth came out, Cassie would lose her job with Julius Crawford and Maybelle might lose her job with Mr. Tate. Cassie promised Maybelle she would find a new job, then they would tell Vareena. But as Vareena was making her plans to move out of the mansion and request a transfer to active duty, she fell ill.

  “Let me guess the symptoms,” I say. “Light-headed. Exhausted. Nauseated.”

  Martin smiles at me. “Maybelle, having lived with plenty of pregnant women, recognized what was going on before Vareena did. She went home and told Cassie what she knew and together they stewed. There was a distinct possibility that the baby could be born with darker skin than its mother. How would Vareena explain it if she herself had no idea of her pedigree? What if Edgar Tate thought the baby wasn’t his son’s?

  “Meanwhile, Vareena finally put two and two together about her symptoms. Overjoyed that she was carrying this little bit of her love within her, she shared the news with her father-in-law, and instantly his demeanor toward her changed. She was no longer the girl who had encouraged his son to turn his back on the family business and become a doctor. Now she was the mother of his grandson. He was, of course, positive that Vareena would have a boy.

&nbs
p; “Every night, as Maybelle served dinner, she listened to the two of them plan for the child’s future. It seemed that Mr. Tate had cancer, and he feared he wouldn’t live to see the child born. But the impending birth gave him a reason to fight. The more he planned for the child’s future, the more he grew to appreciate his daughter-in-law. His son had been right: she was smart and sensible. She would be a good mother to his heir. Edgar Tate was a man who prided himself on his judgment, his “gut” instinct. He called in the lawyers to make their plan legally sound. After his death, Vareena would hold a controlling interest in the company, in trust until the day she could turn it over to his grandson. The day-to-day operations would be handled by his managers, who would report to his executor and to Vareena. She would inherit the house and a living stipend outright. She would forfeit both if she married again or had other children.

  “Vareena was satisfied with the plan. In her naiveté, she could not imagine ever being able to love another man. She fully intended to devote her entire life to raising Lawrence’s child.

  “The lawyers were not so happy. They warned against giving Vareena—a woman, a very young woman, a working class Portuguese woman—so much control. But Edgar Tate had made up his mind. His will would be done.

  “Now Maybelle and Cassie argued continually about whether to tell Vareena the truth about her parentage. But Cassie won the battle. If they told Vareena the story of her birth, how could they prove it? The adoption had been done without any paperwork. Vareena would believe they were scheming to get her money.

  So the days until the birth ticked away with Vareena in blissful ignorance and old Mr. Tate growing weaker. Vareena had decided that she would give birth at home, attended by her doctor, rather than in the hospital. In this way, Mr. Tate, who was clinging to life in his bedroom, would be able to immediately see the baby. As the due date drew near, Maybelle moved into the house to assist both the man on his way out and the woman about to bring in new life.

  “On a rainy September day, Vareena’s water broke. The doctor arrived and after a protracted and difficult labor, a baby boy was born. Maybelle hovered anxiously, eager to check her nephew’s appearance. After his ordeal, the baby was dark red and prune-y with a dark fuzz covering his rather misshapen head. Maybelle was asked to carry the baby in to Mr. Tate so he could meet his grandson, Lawrence Tate, Jr.

  “The old man lay in a stupor, but the baby’s lusty cry roused him and he smiled as his grandson was placed in his arms.

  “By morning, Edgar Tate was dead.”

  Chapter 46

  BY THIS TIME, MARTIN has been speaking nonstop for over half an hour. Although his voice is growing hoarse, he seems to be drawing energy from telling the story. I don’t want to mention that I already know the baby dies. I figure I’ll let him get there in his own good time.

  After taking a deep breath, Martin continues. “In the furor over Mr. Tate’s funeral, no one other than Maybelle and Vareena took much interest in baby Larry. The lawyers and the executor had shown up for several intense meetings with Vareena, despite her weak condition.

  “As the traces of his difficult passage into this world dissipated, one thing became abundantly clear to Maybelle: the heir to the Tate fortune bore a decided resemblance to his maternal grandmother, Eula.

  “While Vareena napped, Maybelle carried the baby down to the kitchen to show the visiting Cassie.”

  Martin acts out the dialogue. “‘Sweet Jesus,’ Cassie murmured as she stroked the baby’s café au lait arm.

  “ ‘His hair’s gonna be nappy,’ Maybelle predicted as she touched her nephew’s head.

  “How could Vareena—raised as white, presented to the world as white, believing herself to be white—raise this little black baby?

  “ ‘Has she noticed yet?’ Cassie asked.

  Maybelle shook her head. ‘She’s been too worn out. She wakes up to nurse him and falls back to sleep.’”

  “ ‘Eventually she’s going to notice. Maybe she won’t want him.’ “

  Martin spreads his hands. “Imagine the sisters’ dismay. They loved their nephew, but the last thing they needed was another orphaned child to look after.

  “ ‘How does she treat you?’ Cassie asked. It wasn’t the first time she’d enquired about her younger sister’s relationship with their half-sister. Maybelle tried to explain. Vareena wasn’t like Mrs. Crawford and the other white women they’d worked for. Vareena had not been raised with servants. She and her mother had done their own cooking and cleaning, and Vareena always seemed uncomfortable asking Maybelle to do things for her. She was unfailingly polite. But at the same time, there was a distance between them. The year was 1943. Even though there were never official Jim Crow laws in New Jersey, segregation was a fact of life. White women simply did not have black friends. But they were two young women, alone together in that huge house. So despite the societal restraints, a bond was growing.

  “If they told Vareena about her parentage, how would she react? Would she believe them, even with the evidence of the baby’s appearance?

  “ ‘I wish we had that photo of mama that the Crawfords took,’ she told her sister.

  “Cassie looked sheepish. “I have it. I took it with me when I quit as cook. I figured the Crawfords had plenty of pictures of their own kids, but this is the only picture we’ll ever have of our mama. I figured they’d never miss it.’

  “Now Maybelle’s argument for full disclosure to their sister began to make sense. Armed with the photo of Eula, Maybelle could probably convince Vareena.

  “But now Maybelle got cold feet. How could she bring up such an outlandish story out of the blue?

  “The next week, Vareena gave her an opening. She had been growing stronger and now spent more time rocking the baby and gazing into her son’s face. When Maybelle entered the nursery, Vareena looked up and asked her opinion. ‘Who do you think he looks like?’ ”

  “ ‘He doesn’t resemble his daddy,’ Maybelle agreed.

  “’But I don’t see much of myself in him either,’ Vareena said.

  “ ‘Must look like one of his grandparents,’ Maybelle said, and Vareena looked perturbed. Of course, she didn’t realize that Maybelle knew she’d been adopted.

  Maybelle took a deep breath and blurted out, ‘I have something to show you.’”

  She ran to get the photo before she had time to change her mind. By the time she returned to the nursery, Vareena was putting the baby down in his crib.

  Maybelle handed over the photo and Vareena saw a darker version of her own face staring back at her. Her hand shook as she examined the picture. “Who is this?”

  “Our mother.”

  Chapter 47

  “THE HOURS THAT FOLLOWED were intensely emotional,” Martin tells us. “Maybelle told Vareena the story of their mother’s life, the story of her birth and adoption. Vareena never doubted her. It all made sense. She realized her adoptive parents hadn’t been lying when they said they didn’t know who her birth mother was. Clearly, they would never have agreed to take her if they had known.

  “She knew that Julius Crawford was a friend of her father-in-law’s but she had never met him. Her father was a rapist! A wealthy rapist. This seemed to shock her more than the fact that her mother was a black maid.

  “As the shock receded, Vareena grew cheerful. She had sisters! She had a family after all. She was not alone. She and Maybelle embraced.

  “Maybelle too felt as if a weight had been lifted from her. But she was more world-wise than Vareena. Their family reunion wasn’t one of unmitigated joy. If the lawyers and the executor suspected baby Larry was part Negro, there would be grounds for challenging Edgar Tate’s will. She had overheard old Mr. Tate grumbling about distant cousins and nephews angling for part of his fortune. The lawyers would claim the baby wasn’t Lawrence Tate’s. Or they would claim that Vareena had married him under false pretenses. How would Vareena support her child if she was stripped of her inheritance?

  “Vareena pooh-poohe
d this. She had only been wealthy one year of her life. She didn’t need the big house. She was a nurse and could work to support herself.

  “Maybelle brought her back to reality. She had been a white nurse. If she embraced her new family and acknowledged her son’s ancestry, she would become a black nurse. Her employment opportunities would be limited to black hospitals, black doctor’s offices. She could expect to struggle financially the rest of her life. Is that what she wanted for her son?

  “The sisters went to bed exhausted, with no plan for the future.

  “The next day Cassie arrived—at the back door, as always. Vareena met her older sister, the woman who’d witnessed her birth. Cassie told her how much Eula had loved her, but how she’d done what she hoped was best for her child and the rest of her family.

  “Now Vareena wanted to meet her brother and her nieces and nephews. Maybelle and Cassie weren’t sure how to handle this request. How could they explain the presence of a strange white woman in their home? None of them were ready to reveal the truth.

  “Finally, they settled on a cover story. Since Vareena was a nurse, and one of their brother’s children was always ailing, Vareena would visit as an angel of mercy, a white do-gooder.

  “And so, brimming with excitement, Vareena went to visit her sisters’ home, a tiny frame house in East Orange, New Jersey, that Maybelle and Cassie had scrimped and saved to buy. As Vareena walked down the street, she felt the eyes of every neighbor boring into her. Who was this white woman? The scent of unfamiliar foods—perhaps collards and ham hocks—drifted on the air. She passed a beer hall on the corner and some black men looked her up and down. She hurried along to her sisters’ home.