One Day She'll Darken

by Fauna Hodel

  “I was not aware of any of the details of this . . . this. . . .” he was somewhat at a loss for words.

  “Parenthood?” Louise interrupted.

  “Ah, yes, parenthood. I need to speak with my wife for a few moments . . . in private . . . if you don’t mind.”

  Louise stood firm, contemptuously nodding her head in agreement. Chris led his wife to the side of the shoeshine stand far enough away to be out of earshot of Louise. Before he could say one word Jimmie started ranting in a guilt-ridden manner.

  “Daddy, I had no idea this crazy white woman was for real. When I talked with her a few months ago, I thought she was drunk. You know how many of these crazies come in. . . .”

  “That’s OK, that’s OK,” Chris whispered.

  “No it ain’t OK! I can’t take care a no baby.”

  “Listen Blessie, this woman came all the way down here . . . from San Francisco . . . just to meet us for the second time. She’s taken care of all the paperwork. Now she could have just as easily picked out anyone up there . . . but she came to us! Now God must have wanted us to have this baby for some special reason. I don’t know what it is yet, but if it’s His will . . . and He wants us to do this . . . then we got to think of the baby.”

  Chris watched Jimmie roll her eyes. He knew she was trying to get through to him.

  “But what if this Louise is really crazy, like I think she is?”

  “Well, I don’t think so, I may be wrong, but she seems too legit. And I know people. I deal with white people all the time. She seems serious. Besides we’ll find that out when we get to San Francisco and all we’d have wasted is a short vacation . . . besides I wanted to try our new car on a trip anyway.”

  Jimmie remained silent with her arms folded and her lips taut.

  “This is a good sign that this baby is coming into our lives at this time. Don’t you realize that? We need to have something more important than just ourselves. It’ll make us a family, a real family, just like we planned years ago.” Chris knew that changing Jimmie’s focus to a baby meant less time for gossip, and more importantly, the responsibility would keep her from drinking. It seemed like the best course of action, even though he still wasn’t convinced it was legitimate.

  He continued, “We could raise the little girl as if it were our own. It’s a baby, just a baby . . . something we always wanted.”

  Jimmie continued her silence, but he saw that the look in her eyes was softening, and he continued, “You love children!”

  “I hate children,” she snapped back.

  “You love children!”

  “I won’t have no baby named Fauna,” she said, “sounds like some fairy-tale.”

  “So we’ll change the name.”

  “But I got to go to work. How I’m gonna take care of a baby while I’m working?”

  “Don’t be foolish, woman! You don’t have to work. We got plenty of money. I make enough here plus with the church growing all the time, you won’t have to work at all. Besides, people do it all the time.”

  Chris knew that he was finally getting through to Jimmie. He saw hope and trust in her eyes.

  “Blessie, we just got to adopt this baby, or at least find out more about it—God has put her in our hands.”

  Between Louise’s insistence and forceful guilt, and Chris’s divine logic, it was more than Jimmie could understand. She reluctantly agreed by nodding her head to Chris saying, “Let’s see what we can do.”

  Chris put his arm around Jimmie and walked back to where Louise was standing and waiting impatiently.

  “Well,” demanded Louise, “when are you going to San Francisco?”

  Chris smiled and said, “First thing in the morning.”

  CHAPTER 2

  On the following morning, the sound of sparrows chirping in the crisp air broke the silence as Jimmie wobbled into the kitchen. She noticed two tweed travel bags near the screen door. She frowned at the sight of the luggage, poured a cup of coffee, sat down at the gray Formica-topped table, and began to grasp the profoundness of the situation. The predicament she created made her anxious and afraid—another excuse to drink to excess. She was only hours away from potentially accepting the unending responsibility for another human being—something that she had successfully avoided for many years. In her mind it wasn’t a question of capabilities, but more of adjustment. Within the span of only twenty-four hours, her life was forever altered.

  Jimmie Lee glanced through the kitchen window and noticed Chris fiddling under the hood of their new Cadillac—a well-deserved reward for years of hard work and frugal living. Jimmie understood why Chris avoided using it to transport himself back and forth to work, concealing it from the jealous white bosses at the hotel. If they suspected that a Negro who shined shoes was able to afford a new Cadillac, the job would go to a white person. As she watched, she noticed Chris’ energy and enthusiasm come alive. Something she hadn’t seen in a long time.

  Jimmie felt Chris enter through the door before she could see him, just as she felt the warmth of the sun on her arm before noticing it burst forth from behind the clouds. He wore a yellow polo and brown slacks and he was ready to go.

  “Mornin’ Blessie!” He opened the small icebox and then asked, “I wasn’t going to wake you until breakfast was ready. Want some bacon? Or how ’bout some nice, hot oatmeal with toast?”

  “Oatmeal! I can’t eat no mushy shit in the middle uh the night. What in hell ya doin’ out there making a racket anyway?”

  Chris paused and looked at her bloodshot eyes, mussed hair, and shabby form.

  “What do you mean? I was checking out the car, making sure that it’s safe to take on a long trip. Today, Blessie, is the day we go to San Francisco and get our new baby. The bags are packed and I’m ready to go.”

  “You can go by yourself. I’m exhausted.”

  “Nonsense! We’re both going. Besides, you’re the one who got us into this in the first place. Didn’t you sleep well last night?”

  “Sleep? Sleep! Huh. I feel like some spooks dragged my ass out a bed in the middle of the night and beat me up.”

  Chris chuckled, “You’ll feel better after a shower and some fixing up.”

  A big day was ahead of her with many uncertainties and the only way to get through it was by being relaxed. While Chris sat in the car with the motor running, Jimmie retrieved a pint of gin stashed away in the linen drawer. Within minutes they were on the road heading toward California. She sat quietly in the passenger seat staring blankly at the road ahead, without enthusiasm for the trip, or the potential obligation of raising a baby that seemed to come out of nowhere. It irked Jimmie to watch Chris and his eagerness. He was at the prime of life, in good health, with a little money in the bank, and now about to get a baby.

  “Ya know Blessie, God sure has a strange way of throwing the knuckle ball. It seems like only a short time ago we were struggling with those folks down in Canton. Yeah, those people used to gossip about us a whole lot—spreading rumors and making up stories. It’s a wonder we lasted as long as we did.

  “Now things are a whole lot different. Everything is going nice and smooth; we’ve made a new life, in a new town, with new friends. Sure is great. But the best thing of all is that we are going to have a baby! And you didn’t have one day of morning sickness—or labor pains! Ha! Ain’t that great!” he laughed as he sat up taller behind the wheel, pouring out giddiness.

  Jimmie turned toward Chris with a sardonic glance and then let her eyes wander out the window. As she watched the familiar sights just outside of town quickly turn from desert into tall pines, she turned to Chris and said, “I gotta pee.”

  “What? We’ve only been driving half an hour.”

  “Well, that’s long enough for me.”

  “Didn’t you go before we left?”

  “Whats that gotta do with it? I gotta go now.”

  Jimmie knew that Chris pushed his luck about as far as she’d let him, convincing her to go to San Francisco; s
he knew there would be no argument. Within minutes Chris pulled into a general store with Texaco pumps and a sign in front with an arrow pointing to restrooms. Before she made it to the restroom, she wandered into the store and hurriedly bought a pint of Gordon’s gin and a few bottles of 7-Up. She hid the liquor in her satchel, went into the ladies’ restroom and emptied half of each soda into the sink, refilling the bottles with the gin. She gulped down the remainder of the liquor and went back to the car.

  “You feeling any better?” Chris asked as Jimmie closed the car door.

  “Fine, I’m fine,” she said, “Now let’s get this buggy going. I ain’t got all day.”

  By midmorning, Chris’ lighthearted eagerness turned into a lesson in etiquette on how to deal with the Catholic nuns at St. Elizabeth’s. “You just got to be polite, that’s all,” Chris said as he concentrated on his driving, “and if they ask you anything about your job, just say you’re a housewife, but don’t get into any other details.”

  “What details?” Jimmie asked, “I don’t know no details.”

  “That’s okay, just don’t go there. And be respectful, no cussing and no swearing either.”

  “Do I got to bow?”

  “No, you don’t bow.”

  “Do I got to curtsy?”

  “No, you don’t curtsy, they’re nuns, not royalty. Just act yourself.” Chris hesitated, “No, on second thought, just follow my lead. Let me do all the talking.”

  “Sure, you do all the talking.” Jimmie said as she turned toward the window again. “And the diaper changing, and the getting up in the middle of the night. Yeah, you do all the talking.”

  As the Cadillac sped along the open highway at 70 miles per hour Chris continued his lecture. Jimmie drowned out his incessant chatter by pickling herself with the contents of the 7-Up bottle. The routine nudged her thoughts away from Chris’ idea of family life and brought it to the present—staring at the boundless vistas of the picturesque California countryside. The gin alleviated her monotony. By the time they reached San Francisco, Jimmie had forced Chris to pull over five times in as many hours and she was totally soused.

  Upon arriving in the Bay City, they headed toward the Jack Tarr Hotel, the only first-class lodging available to coloreds in San Francisco in 1951. Chris confirmed their reservations and prepaid their bill with cash. He was anxious to see his new daughter, so he allowed Jimmie barely enough time to freshen up before making the short trip to the hospital.

  As Chris entered St. Elizabeth’s, he held Jimmie firmly with both hands, trying to steady her walk. Her eyes were glassy and bloodshot, and she maneuvered about awkwardly, weaving from side to side as if these were her first moments on dry land after months at sea. Her head bobbed while Chris walked proudly. In the quiet atmosphere of the waiting room, Chris approached the receptionist, a pregnant girl of about sixteen.

  “Good afternoon,” he said, “I’m Chris Greenwade, and this is my wife, Jimmie Lee.”

  Startled, the naive teenager took one glance at Jimmie and politely interrupted. “Oh, I’m sorry, we haven’t any emergency facilities here. This is a Maternity Hospital.”

  “What?” replied Chris.

  “Isn’t she sick? What’s the matter with her?”

  Chris looked at the girl and then glanced at Jimmie, plastered to the core. “No. Well, yes, she is. We drove a long way and, uh, she gets carsick. She’ll be all right. My name is Greenwade, Reverend Greenwade.”

  “Oh, yes, Reverend Greenwade, Sister Teresa is expecting you. Please sit down and I’ll get her right away.”

  He helped Jimmie over to the oaken bench opposite the receptionist’s desk. With a firm tone he said to Jimmie, “Now Blessie, let me do all the talking. I’m sure they’re gonna ask a lot of questions, probably a lot of forms to fill out. They don’t give away babies just to anyone, you know! They’ll probably have to check us out first, so I’ll answer all the questions.”

  He raised his eyebrows, looked straight at her and then continued, “All I want you to do is just smile, and use your charm—the way you do with those white folks at the casino.”

  Jimmie Lee sat silently with her eyes half-opened, grinning stiffly, as if her face was frozen. Chris glanced at her blank expression, shook his head, and hoped for the best.

  The receptionist returned with a tall, thin nun in her fifties with horn-rimmed glasses that rested gently on her shiny soft white cheeks. She dressed in a dark blue habit trimmed in white with the customary rosary beads draped around one side. She stood silently with her hands gently touching each other at the waist, patiently waiting to be introduced. Nervously, the teenager fumbled with the words, but the nun interrupted and introduced herself. “Hello, I’m Sister Teresa. You must be Reverend and Mrs. Greenwade. I’m so glad to finally meet you both.”

  “Same here, Sister Teresa,” replied Chris.

  “I’ve heard so much about you. How was your trip from Reno?”

  “Oh fine, just fine. It took us a little longer than expected. We just bought a new Cadillac and I took it nice and easy.”

  “Well, that’s wonderful!”

  Jimmie burped loudly, interrupting Sister Teresa’s thoughts. Chris tightened his fist nervously waiting for time to erase the moment of awkwardness that sliced through the delicate meeting.

  The nun finally spoke, “Well. I’m sure you’re both very anxious to meet your new daughter. So, why don’t you come with me and I’ll take you to our family room.”

  Before Chris could answer, Jimmie blurted out, “Where’s da bathroom?”

  “I’ll show you,” replied the young girl.

  To his chagrin, the nun never acknowledged his wife’s obvious condition, but instead, began to exchange some information concerning the care and feeding of an infant, which Chris found quite boring. He was far more interested in the legal adoption process and its obvious ramifications. Sister Teresa briefly apprised him of the situation from an experienced layman’s vantage point and provided the name of the attorney who would handle the arrangements.

  Upon Jimmie’s return, the affable nun led them into a labyrinth of corridors and stairways that eventually led to a small area near the maternity ward.

  “Please, make yourselves comfortable while I go and prepare your daughter for her first glimpse of her new parents.”

  “Ah, wait a minute, Sister. We’re not her parents yet,” said Jimmie. “We just come to look her over . . . to see . . . uh . . . to see.”

  “To see what?”

  “Well, uh, we’re not sure.” Chris took over and stammered to find the right words. “Well, we were under the impression that we . . . could. . . .” It was evident to him that the nun was unaware of how all this began.

  “The arrangements have been made, I can assure you. Just wait until you see her. You’ll see.”

  Chris looked at Jimmie as Sister Teresa quietly slipped out of sight. He noticed the expression in her face change from semi-consciousness to curiosity. The pungent odors of newborn babies mixed with the requisite, yet peculiar, hospital smells, intensified the experience and reality began to set in. Chris bit his lip and smiled nervously, ambling back and forth while clutching his hands. The few minutes wait seemed to go on forever.

  When Sister Teresa came into view, her bright smile lit up the room. She stepped lively and stood before Chris and Jimmie holding a tiny bundle of pink blankets in her arms. “Reverend and Mrs. Greenwade, let me be the first to introduce you to your new daughter, Fauna Hodel,” she said, carefully raising the tip of the cotton coverlet, revealing a seven-pound, white-skinned baby girl with sleepy blue eyes and thin blond hair. “Hi, Fauna, this is your new Mommy and Daddy.”

  Chris’ broad, natural smile radiated white teeth, his eyes widened and his brown face glowed. Instinctively, he raised his hand to affectionately stroke the infant with his finger. His first impression was that she was a gift from heaven and it reminded him of Mary handing over the baby Jesus. But before he could comment, Jimmie jerked away as
if Sister Teresa had unveiled a voodoo doll and exploded into a fury.

  “That ain’t no colored baby!” she screamed. “What kind a fool ya think I am? You white folks is all alike, tryin’ to con us simple, God-fearin’ coloreds into takin’ care of ya rejects! We drove all the way from Reno across mountains to get ah’selves a new mixed baby. A mixed baby is always brown skin, with brown hair, and brown eyes. Everybody knows dat!”

  The baby began to cry, but Jimmie continued.

  “Ya come out here with that—that pinky skinned, blue-eyed, white patty, and expect us to be jumpin’ wit joy! Well, I got a news flash for you, Sistah: we don’t want no white baby and we ain’t gettin’ no white baby!”

  Chris felt a cold chill fill his body, his knees weakened. The baby began to cry. Sister Teresa held the howling infant closer to her breast, trying to shield her from the rage of what appeared to be a possession.

  Jimmie pushed her finger into Chris’ face while she continued her tirade. “I knew there was something fishy about this damn deal right from the beginning. This son-of-a bitch is tryin’ to dump this white baby on us—and we ain’t takin’ it!”

  Chris turned his back on Sister Teresa, grabbed his wife’s shoulders, forcing her back toward the wall. His body went hot with embarrassment, enough to make him spit steam. His brow rose below his tightened forehead and his voice exhaled a deep vibrating tone powerful enough to drown out Jimmie’s hysterics. “Blessie, please. This is a woman of God you’re talking to. Calm down! This must be some mistake. She probably has the wrong baby, that’s all. Now control yourself. We’ll just get it straightened out.”

  “I’ll tell ya what the mistake is,” she screeched as she struggled to free herself from his grip, “We come up here to get a mixed baby, and that baby ain’t mixed!”