by Linda Ellen
The short-statured, ebony-skinned man had a surprisingly strong grip, a big, white, happy-go-lucky grin, a wide nose, and receding wiry black hair liberally sprinkled with silver. He immediately reminded Vic of his favorite musician, Louie “Satchmo” Armstrong. However, the resemblance ended when the man spoke, as rather than a raspy voice like Satchmo, this man’s tone was several octaves higher.
“Aw, jus’ calls me Duke. M’real name’s Eustis Brown, but I gots bone tired ’a people callin’ me Useless Brown, so’s I copped de’ name Duke and it jus’ kinda stucks ta me,” he explained with a chuckle.
Vic nodded, liking the man straight away. It was hard not to, as he had an infectious, cheerful air about him that immediately put you at ease, as if you’d known him all your life. “So, Floyd tells me you’re a preacher…”
Duke nodded animatedly, flashing his big smile at Floyd. “Dat’s right, dat’s right. Gots me a lil’ chu’ch down in Po’tland,” he explained, referring to a neighborhood in the west end of the city. “Gots me a room at de’ back,” he added, cackling as if what he said had been funny. Vic would soon realize that old Duke cackled all the time. His explanation for that was, It’s jus’ de joy of de Lawd slippin’ outta me.
Vic nodded, but his brows drew together a bit. He gauged the man to be in his sixties, or maybe older. It was hard to tell. “Floyd says you might wanna come work for me…but Portland, man that’d be a long trip every day…you got transportation?”
Old Duke shoved his hands in his pants’ pockets, rocked back on his heels, and cackled. “Long trip. Yezza, that it is. Ain’t got no auto-mobeel, but de bus does me jus’ fine. An’ I’s make good use a’ de’ time. Prac’tis m’sermons on a…captive aud’ence!”
The three of them laughed together at that.
And so, Old Duke the preacher became a bona fide member of the crew at Matthews’ Service Station. He quickly became a solid wheel in the cog, performing any task that Vic told him to do. No matter what it was, sweeping the floor, stocking a shelf, changing oil in a car, pumping gas, or any of a dozen other duties, Duke always completed it with his big grin flashing. His cackling chuckle accompanied anything he said, and with a profusion of “Praise de’ Lawd’s” at every turn.
By the start of February, it seemed as if Duke had always been part of the team. Maybe a rag-tag team at first observation, but between the three, they got the job done – and what was most important to Vic, his employees were men he could trust.
Vic was exceedingly thankful for the station – a place where he could control the outcome and know that his hard work would result in a job well done.
His home life, on the other hand, had him scrambling for answers and wishing for things to be the way they used to be…
*
Louise stood gazing out the large front window at a heart-tugging scene as she clutched a forgotten dust rag in one hand, as her other hand formed a fist pressed against her chest. As it was an unseasonably warm February day, the next-door neighbor was out front taking a walk; her little girl was pushing a pink and white baby stroller and happily following along behind her mother.
The child’s sweet laughter found its way to Louise’s ears.
Jerry and Sue Bridges, the couple that occupied the house to the Matthews’ left, had bought their house new four years before, so Louise had been told. Sue Bridges had confided over the fence one day, about a month after the Matthews had moved in, that when she and Jerry had been married ten years with no babies, she feared she would never get pregnant – then not long after the move, it suddenly happened. Now, they had an adorable three-year-old little girl named Debbie and Sue was pregnant again. The two women had laughed together that maybe it was the water in the neighborhood, as there seemed to be an ever-increasing number of children being born. Sue had smilingly ‘warned’ Louise that she might be next…
Now, it had become Louise’s silent obsession.
Five months…we’ve been trying five months to have another baby. It had always happened so quickly before…what if I can’t get pregnant again?
The longings plagued her night and day, with the result being that everyone in the family had begun to suffer. She snapped at the boys, argued with Lilly, and worst of all, her relationship with Vic had degenerated to “testy” at best. When they made love now, it was with the desperate objective of procreation. Although she hadn’t realized it, unconsciously, Louise blamed Vic for her barren situation, citing the fact that on their fifth anniversary, when he had decided they would start having kids, it had happened almost immediately. Then later, when they had talked about Buddy needing a companion closer to his age, whalah, she found herself in the family way again.
But now…five months they had been trying, with no success.
Doubts, regrets, fears, and torments swirled in her mind and filled her thoughts – and in these last few days she had found herself lamenting over the baby she had lost on the shores of the Ohio nearly fifteen years prior. Although the baby had been the product of an extremely unhappy first marriage, Louise had grieved its loss until she became pre-occupied with the happy fact of Vic being back in her life.
Now, she wondered…what if that baby had been a girl? What if that baby had been the only girl she would ever have? The fear of that twisted her heart into a tight knot, so much so that at times she could barely breathe.
Just then, Sue turned and knelt down to tie Debbie’s shoelaces, and happening to glance over, she spotted Louise in the window. Smiling widely, the neighbor waved, before saying something to the child and pointed to the house. Little Debbie turned and flapped her hands with innocent joy up at Louise. Reaching into the stroller, she grasped the baby doll Louise had given her for her birthday, and clasped it to her chest in a fierce hug. Sue told me just the other day that Debbie took that doll everywhere; that it was her most prized possession. Tears sprang to Louise’s eyes as she waved in return, and she closed them tightly, swallowing back the sadness and dread.
You should be grateful for what you have, her conscience whispered as she turned from the achingly sweet scene out front. Picking up a framed family photo from an end table, she gazed down at the images while gently wiping the dust rag over the glass. The photo had been taken the year before, and everyone was smiling brightly. She blinked away the tears as she softly ran a finger around the sweet faces of her two youngest children…they were growing up too soon! No longer babies; each had very strong personalities and were most decidedly male. And sixteen-year-old Tommy – he was so handsome, and very nearly a man now.
Her three sons…
But no girl.
Oh, why am I feeling this way? Why can’t I just be satisfied with what I have? Why do I feel such loss, such a hole in my heart for someone I’ve never even met? What if…what if God doesn’t allow me to have my longed-for little girl. What will I do…? I have to get HOLD of myself!
A moment later, Lilly came in with a load of laundry and sat on the couch to fold it.
“It’s such a nice day today, Louise – you really should go out and get some fresh air. We’ve been cooped up here in the house for months,” Lilly observed as she folded one of Jimmy’s shirts. “With that nice breeze, these dried in no time. Why, a body would think its springtime, and not the first week of February.” Pausing for a moment, she shook her head as a thought occurred. “My my, so different from twenty years ago…all that rain and water…then all that wet, miserable snow, and then all the mud. My lands, I thought we’d never get the musty, damp smell out of everything once the flood receded. You remember?” she added, casting an eye at her daughter, who was listlessly wiping at a table that was already dust-free.
Lilly studied her for a moment. “What’s wrong, Louise? You’ve been moping around like this for weeks.”
Knowing her mother would probably give her a lecture on being ungrateful for the good things she already had, and knowing she would deserve it if she did, Louise drew in a breath and then let it out slowly. “Nothing.
I’m all right.”
Stepping over to the basket on the couch, she reached down and picked up a pair of Jimmy’s pajamas. Starting to fold them, she paused, and then brought them to her chest as she pictured him wearing them. He needed new ones; these were inches too short, as he’d been going through another growth spurt as of late. That wasn’t the only change – her ‘baby’ had told her the previous night that he was a big boy now and she didn’t need to tuck him in and kiss him goodnight anymore. She felt a twinge of hurt again as the thought ran through her mind. She couldn’t help but wonder how things would be if Jimmy had been a girl.
She glanced at her mother, who had gone back to folding.
“Mama?” she began as she wondered how to phrase the burning questions in her heart. “Which of us did you feel closer to?” At Lilly’s puzzled look, she added, “Did you feel closer to the boys, or to us girls?”
Lilly wavered for a moment, searching her memory. Then with a shrug, she reached for another article of clothing.
“Oh, I wouldn’t say I felt closer to…” she delayed a second and shot Louise a look before continuing. “Well…I was always a bit partial to Sonny…because he was my first with your father after all the trouble I had about Edna.” Rushing on, she added, “But when all of you were young, we were just trying to survive and I had many things on my mind, like where I would get food to feed everyone once your father couldn’t keep a job after the Crash.”
Louise nodded, images from her childhood running through her mind. “And, now that we’re all grown?”
“Well…I guess because I live with you, I feel closer to you. I never felt especially close to Edna…but Billy and I share a close bond…and of course, Sonny.”
Louise stayed silent for a few minutes as they finished folding the load of clothes. Finally, she picked up the basket to take it to the boys’ bedroom, when she suddenly halted in her tracks to look into her mother’s pale blue eyes. “Mama…how come you never lived with Sonny? I mean…do you live with me because I’m your daughter and you feel a closer kinship because of that…or…”
Lilly rose and headed into the kitchen to begin preparations for that night’s dinner, saying over her shoulder, “That might be one reason.” Then stopping in the doorway, she turned back and added, “Another might be that Sonny’s wife never offered me a spare bed.” Meeting Louise’s eyes to let her meaning sink in, namely that Louise’s spouse was a much more accommodating person than Sonny’s, she went on through the doorway.
Louise thought for a moment about that. Vic was, indeed, a good son-in-law. And a good husband. You’d do well to remember that, young lady, her conscience, sounding suspiciously like her mother’s voice, whispered.
Yes Ma’am, she answered as she followed her mother into the kitchen.
‡
CHAPTER 11
The Flirt, The Bigot, and The Fight
February marched on.
Louise’s birthday came and went, celebrating with just the family. It was pleasant, but Vic worked at the station all day on several big repair jobs. He apologized profusely when he got home, and promised to make it up to her the following weekend as he handed her a hastily purchased birthday card. She forced a smile and thanked him with a kiss. Obviously relieved, he kissed her back, and then went on down the hall to take a nice, long, hot shower. She stuffed her disappointment back into a closet in her heart and locked the door.
Valentine’s Day came on a Tuesday, and between Louise’s responsibilities at the boys’ schools, as she had volunteered to bake cupcakes for each of their classes, and Vic being busy at the station, they didn’t do anything special. He did get her a card, that he signed, “To my lil’ babe, from your Honeybabe,” which normally would have melted her heart, but this time it seemed to sour her stomach just a bit when she read the words.
Louise spent her days in deep contemplation over the problem of her not getting pregnant. She told herself she should just give up and go on with her life, but the more she tried to do just that, the more she seemed to long for another baby. Not just another baby – a little girl she could dress up in pink. She thought about it every waking moment, and dreamed about it at night.
And with each passing day, the relationship between herself and Vic grew just a tad bit cooler.
*
At the station one unseasonably warm day in early March, Vic backed out from under the hood of the ’47 Mercury he was working on just as a decidedly feminine voice called out, “Yoo-hoo, Vic!”
He leaned around the car’s fender to see his neighbor from three doors down, Barbara Dixon, waving at him from the open bay door. He could see her yellow, ’53 Chevrolet convertible behind her, the engine still running.
Reaching for the shop rag in his back pocket, he walked toward her as he wiped his hands. “What can I do for you, Mrs. Dixon?”
The attractive and shapely woman, wearing a yellow and white plaid dress with a pleated skirt and buttons up the form-fitting bodice, stood with one hand fluttering at the neck of her dress, looking up at him with that helpless female gaze that always hooks a man to want to help. A soft white sweater surrounded her shoulders, and he absently noticed that she had left a few of the top buttons on her dress undone. The thought went through his mind that his neighbor in the service, Tyler Dixon, sure had him one heck of a wife waiting at home. She knew just how to accentuate her “assets” and seemed to enjoy getting attention, especially from all of the male neighbors on Granvil Drive. It seemed there was always one at her house doing something or another for the “helpless” military stay-at-home wife. He wondered idly how the wives in the neighborhood felt about her – and in particular – how his wife felt, since he’d not heard Louise mention the woman’s name since the welcome committee the first week they moved in.
“Oh, call me Barbara, since we’re neighbors and all,” she corrected, batting her eyelashes at him. “But I don’t want to take you away from what you’re doing,” she smiled innocently.
He smiled back and gave her a nod. “That’s okay, Barbara. It’ll keep. What can I do for you?” he asked again. “Do you have a problem with your car?”
“Oh yes, I do. With Tyler gone, it seems like there’s always something I can’t do. It’s just so aggravating sometimes,” she purred, touching Vic’s arm as he edged past her through the doorway to get out to the car.
He listened for a moment. “Sounds like it’s runnin’ okay…”
The woman laughed and fanned her face with a white lace hanky. “Oh, silly me! It’s not the engine, it’s the top.”
“The top?” Vic repeated, walking closer and running his hands over the convertible top, which seemed in A-1 shape.
“Yes. It’s such a nice, warm day…I was going to take a drive out to see my mother, and I wanted to put the top down – but I can’t for the life of me get the silly thing to work! I’ve never put it down by myself…Tyler always took care of that,” she added with a helpless shrug.
Vic smiled absently at the woman, thinking the last time he had talked to her, she hadn’t seemed quite so…clueless. “Aw, there’s nothin’ to it,” he explained, opening the driver’s door and leaning inside. Feeling for the levers above the windshield, he moved them to the open position, and then reached down to push the button on the dashboard. Immediately, the mechanism’s motor started humming and the top began to fold slowly back just like it should. “See? Easy as pie. You just flip those levers there, push the button, and it does the rest. Then later, when you want to put the top up, you push the button again and let it come all the way forward, then lock the levers back in place. No problem,” he explained, as if he were teaching a child.
“Oh Vic, thank you! You make everything seem so easy!” the woman simpered, pushing up a little too close to the back of him in the guise of looking where he was pointing.
He cleared his throat and maneuvered out of her grasp.
“No problem at all. Do you need some gas for your drive?” he asked, gesturing toward
the pumps.
“Oh no, thank you. The tank is still full from when I came yesterday…” she answered as he nodded with a small, polite smile. She seemed to be waiting for him to say more, but he looked around at the car he was working on, his mind already back under the hood. Just then, a car came onto the lot, making both driveway bells ding.
“Well, you have a good drive out to your mother’s, then. Bye now,” he ended, hoping she would go on about her business. Something about the way she was gazing at him, kind of like looking through the glass case at the butcher’s at a slab of prime beef, made him uncomfortable.
She seemed to take the hint and climbed into her car, moving the gearshift into drive and waving at him. “Thanks again!”
He watched her go with a return wave.
A raised voice floated over from the direction of the gas pumps, attracting his attention immediately.
“I’m sor’y, suh. I’ll jus’ go get Floyd tah pump yo gas fo yah,” Duke was saying to a man in a brand new, bright red 1956 Lincoln Premiere with a gleaming white top and wide white wall tires.
The man looked over Duke’s shoulder and saw Floyd headed their way, having also heard the raised voices. “Another darkie? What is this, a station run by coloreds?” he sneered just as Vic came striding up.
“What’s the problem, mister? You got something personal against my men, here?” he asked in a tight voice as he stopped at the man’s door.
“I don’t want no colored putting his filthy hands on my car, chipping the paint when they try to get the pump nozzle in the slot, and anything else they can think of to mess up,” the man fumed self-righteously.
It was all Vic could do to keep from hauling the insolent man through the car’s window, and he had a mighty urge to plant his fist in the man’s mouth. Gritting his teeth instead, he growled, “You get out of here, mister. We don’t need your business.”
“And you won’t get it!” the bigot sputtered. “I’ve got friends and I’ll spread the word to skip your place. There are plenty of other gas stations, you know! I can make trouble for you and your ni****-loving kind!”