by Fauna Hodel
Cyrus Waters hung up the phone and stared at the couple from over the top of his glasses long enough to make them uncomfortable. He opened the folder lying on the desk in front of him and slowly read to himself, occasionally glancing up in a suspicious manner. Finally, he looked up again and spoke.
“Are you Jimmie Lee Greenwade?”
“Yes, sir,” she answered politely.
“And I am Reverend Greenwade,” Chris interjected.
The lawyer sat back in his chair, placed his hands firmly on the armrests, and looked down past the tip of his nose at the young couple. “I see here that you are the colored couple who want to adopt that little nigger lover’s baby.”
Chris sprang to his feet, squarely placing his big hands on the front edge of the desk. He leaned over, face to face with Waters. Just as quick, he felt a jolting stab to the back of his leg. It was Jimmie who reacted swiftly, kicking him hard enough to make Mr. Waters notice. Chris realized that Jimmie was well aware of the manner in which black people were supposed to act in the presence of whites. He saw how she would sometimes kowtow to get what she wanted, then denigrate them when their backs were turned. It was the only satisfaction in an otherwise hopeless situation. From her simple reaction, Chris understood that nothing would be accomplished by a confrontation with this white bigot.
“Now, Mr. Greenwade,” said Waters slowly and deliberately, as if to provoke the gentle giant, “did you want to say something?”
“It’s Reverend Greenwade,” Chris said firmly as he sat back down.
“Oh yes, you are a minister. I almost forgot,” he said in a voice tinged with sarcasm.
Jimmie nudged her husband and whispered softly in his ear, “Losin’ ya temper is not the way God intended you to spread His Word.”
Chris realized that she was right and for the first time understood the trouble this little baby could cause.
After a few further unpleasant exchanges, Waters explained that this custody was merely a trial period and that it would take at least a full year before the adoption would become legal. He then allowed the Greenwades to sign the papers. They left the office hoping never to see Cyrus Waters again.
Chris and Jimmie delivered the notarized documents to St. Elizabeth’s Hospital, picked up their newborn baby with some last-minute instructions from the nurses, and headed back home to Reno.
CHAPTER 4
A grin stretched across Chris’ face as the joy from his sudden change of fate engulfed him. He glanced occasionally at the bundle of life sleeping peacefully on the soft blankets next to him. It was less than thirty-six hours since he first laid eyes on Louise and now the miracle baby was in the car. Only at this moment did he start to think about the practical side of his decision. He wondered how to explain the sudden appearance of a baby to the congregation? Would they believe the enlightenment that he made clear to Jimmie the night before? Can he let the hotel know? Fragmented thoughts raced about in his mind, exciting every nerve. The pride that only comes with fatherhood overcame any of his imaginary obstacles. “Daddy, what are we gonna name her? I ain’t calling her Fauna. That’s a dumb name. Besides, she don’t look like no Fauna.” Jimmie’s question suspended his blissful reflections.
“Yeah, you’re right,” Chris said, “she looks like a little star—sent from heaven. How’s about we name her Esther, like Esther from the Bible?”
“Esther? Do you think I’m gonna tell everybody I got a daughter named Esther? Esther? No way!” Jimmie paused for a moment staring at the child. “The more I look at her, the more I think she’s white. Are there any white-sounding names in the Bible?”
“No, but there’s Ruth. Ruth stands for friendship,” Chris said.
“Ruth Greenwade . . . Ruth Greenwade . . . nah,” Jimmie shook her head. “Don’t feel right.”
“How about Miriam? She was rebellious.”
“Sounds like broken glass to me. She sure looks white. Yeah! We got a white patty on our hands.”
They looked at each other, neither saying a single word until Jimmie added, “We should name her Pat. Yeah. Patty—Patricia! Patricia Ann Greenwade. Yeah, that’s it! Now that sounds like her!”
The birth certificate with the child’s legal name given by the natural mother wasn’t even a consideration. Fauna Hodel meant nothing at all. The child was to be called Patricia Ann Greenwade and that was that.
Chris’ silence was his agreement. He seemed unconcerned, knowing it would be impossible to legally change her name at this time anyway. It was more important that Jimmie be satisfied. He knew that to argue over such a moot point would be more trouble than it was worth.
“Sure, that’s a fine name. We’ll call her Patty,” he said. Jimmie smiled contentedly.
Chris noticed calmness in her. The obstinacy that plagued both their lives diminished. No longer was Jimmie argumentative and contrary. Chris hadn’t heard a vile word leap from her tongue all day. But more significantly, she never reached into her purse for a ration of gin. It was as though she never even knew it was there. The message, although quite premature, was becoming evident. Jimmie was finally becoming a woman, and a mother, and a wife.
The return trip was the most enjoyable time they spent together in years. The hot, arid air during the late August drive kept their minds clear of the social hurdles that were looming because of their decision to accept this mixed-race baby. But for now, a few brief hours of peace were a welcome respite. Patricia Ann provided both curiosity and excitement. She was silent during the ride.
As they approached the Sierras, the sudden drop in temperature and the sweet smell of summer pine refreshed not only their bodies but also their hearts.
It was around 8:30 in the evening when they reached the outskirts of Reno. The sun had set. The proud new parents were anxious to show off their newfound possession. “Let’s stop by Rosie’s,” said Chris.
“Yeah, Daddy, you promised to see her when we got back. She’d be pissed off if we didn’t. There’s still plenty of time.”
“This’ll be kind of a shock to her. After all, she didn’t even know you were pregnant!” Chris said with a chuckle.
Rosie Bilbrew was a few years older than Jimmie, more stable, and much wiser. Neither had been formally educated for more than a few years, but Rosie was more independent, determined, and grounded. She read a lot, particularly in the area of psychic phenomena. Everyone in the family counted on her sensitivity and understanding. Her dark reddish-brown hair and light complexion contrasted with Jimmie’s more accentuated features. She was generous—a true helper. Her manner was feisty, often argumentative, but in a loving, more amusing way.
Rosie stood on the porch, her arms folded, watching Chris glide the Cadillac into a space in front of her house while Jimmie Lee leaned on the horn announcing their arrival. Rosie ambled down the hollow wooden steps with a half smile and greeted the two most unlikely parents with suspicion.
“Let’s see what you got here.” She peeked her head in the open window, but Jimmie had the baby wrapped up tighter than a pot roast. “Well, I’ll be damned! I didn’t believe you two this morning! And I still don’t. But it sure looks true now! You really went to San Francisco and adopted a baby?”
“Yeah, sister, we surely did,” replied Jimmie as she stepped from the car.
In the dark, Rosie could only make out a small bundle of fluffy blankets. “Well let the Lord be praised! This is sure some kind of miracle. Come on inside, that little baby’s gonna catch a cold in this night air.”
Before they got to the front door, friends from the neighborhood made their way out of Rosie’s on to the porch, greeting Chris and Jimmie, while anxiously waiting to see the baby.
“What’s all this?” Chris asked.
“I just invited a few of friends and neighbors to see the new baby,” Rosie answered, “kind of like a baby shower, without the gifts.”
The atmosphere was charged with cheers and well wishing, handshakes, hugs, and congratulations. Jimmie Lee and Chris beam
ed, acting as any proud parents would, bringing home a newborn infant for the first time. There was constant noise and chatter, each vying for the right to see the baby first and catch every word of how this whole thing had happened. Somehow they felt this was a momentous occasion.
“Wait, wait a minute,” yelled Jimmie. “The first thing that’s got to be done is to change my baby’s diaper.”
Like the Piper, Jimmie marched into Rosie’s bedroom with everyone merrily following. Jimmie could not have asked for a better spotlight to show her off. Rosie’s bedroom was small and congested with furniture. There were statues of Jesus and Mary on every flat surface with photographs, odd wooden boxes, books and trinkets mixed in between.
“Let me see, let me see,” someone kept yelling.
“Just a minute. Just wait. I’ll show ya,” Jimmie mimicked back. From all the commotion and excitement, the baby started crying. Jimmie gently placed the infant on the bed.
Over the “oohs” and “aahs” Rosie asked, “What’s the baby’s name?”
“Patricia Ann Greenwade,” said Jimmie proudly as she unveiled the baby under the pink blanket.
Suddenly, all the chatter went quiet as though the film broke. “What kind of baby is that?” asked Julian, a friend of Rosie’s.
“That’s a white baby!” Shellie said.
“A white baby!” added Mrs. Rollet.
“Maybe you all got the wrong baby,” Julian replied.
“What did they do, get the wrong baby? That ain’t no mixed baby! Somebody made a switch,” Shellie said. The silence turned to a constant murmur.
Rosie eyed Chris as he looked at the puzzled group of friends, expecting a display of emotion. “No, no, no! This is a mixed baby,” he explained in an effort to arrest their obvious confusion.
Rosie gazed quizzically from the opposite side of the bed directly into Jimmie’s eyes. She was astonished at her sister-in-law’s acceptance of this white-looking baby in spite of Chris’ remarks. She had a hundred questions on her mind, but held her tongue. Jimmie never noticed Rosie’s penetrating stare. Her response to the enthusiasm was a mix between elation and embarrassment—just what Rosie expected.
Chris’ powerful voice quickly drowned out all the noise and confusion. “Now, hold on to your pants, everybody. You’re all making a mistake here. This is a mixed baby. You all know that. babies are born light and as they get older they darken.”
“With blue eyes?” said Mrs. Rollet.
Chris ignored the remark, but the comments kept coming. “Nah, don’t worry about that, her eyes will darken, too!”
Margaret and Bonnie Ulster just gazed at each other with a look of total disbelief.
“Who does she look like?” asked Julian.
“Where did you get her? How much does she weigh? Do you have to give her back?” Ellie Daniels’ rapid-fire questions rolled out without waiting for a response adding to the giddy spectacle of a white-skinned baby within their midst.
Rosie leaned across the bed and finally spoke quietly to Jimmie, “Sister, you’re in a heap a shit. What are you doing with this white baby?”
Jimmie completed the diaper changing ritual. She looked back at Rosie and snapped to attention with her hands planted firmly on her thin hips, her all-too-familiar stance, and her head cocked to the right. “Now you listen here, Rosie Bilbrew, we ain’t in no shit at all! We did this whole deal right and legal—with the lawyer and everything. We signed the papers. This is a legal adoption, as legal as you is standing there. Everything was taken care of and we even know the people that gave us the baby. Ain’t that right, Daddy?”
Chris nodded proudly, as he listened to his wife’s explanation. It was the first time that he could remember them both being on the same side of an argument. Jimmie continued, “The woman who set this thing up is a dear friend of mine. She knows we didn’t have no children, and she thought it’d be just the right thing for us.
“The baby is a mixed-baby. Her real mama’s only sixteen, and white—too young to take care of a little one like this. Why, she’s just a baby herself.”
“And the father?” Rosie asked.
“He’s colored,” Jimmie responded, “just as colored as we is. It says so right on the birth certificate, too! She’s our baby and we’re gonna keep her.”
While Jimmie got everyone’s attention, Chris took quick advantage of the mood she created. It would be a perfect time to rest any rumors before they got started.
“Everything Jimmie is telling you is the absolute truth. I was there through the whole thing. This little baby, our Patricia Ann, is mixed, all right; we’ve got the papers to prove it. Besides, if the baby was white—all white, I mean who in the world would give her away; a beautiful, healthy, little girl . . . to a colored couple in this day and age?”
His logic was obvious to Rosie. Neither Chris, nor Jimmie, nor any of her friends from this small group could possibly imagine a circumstance. Rosie saw that Chris was happy, proud, and content with the knowledge that his first encounter with prejudice had been successful and far less difficult than he expected.
Rosie prepared a small potluck buffet and Mrs. Barbre made a chocolate layer cake decorated with a hastily written, “Congratulations—Mom and Dad!” Chile, a housekeeping client of Rosie, brought a white-laced infant’s gown as a gift. The same gift as James and Martha—the only two gifts that were identical. Bert, Elaine, Mrs. Rollet, and Ellie Daniels, also brought something for this unusual and spontaneous occasion.
They all savored the story of how this whole situation came about. They wanted to hear as many of the details as possible. Alternately, both Jimmie and Chris enthusiastically obliged for almost two hours before calling it a night.
The following weeks were full of discovery and busyness. In addition to numerous trips to the store for supplies and baby food, there were also constant adjustment to the feeding times, washing diapers, and waking up in the middle of the night; a chore that quickly became Chris’ responsibility. Jimmie did not have the patience to calm the baby when she cried at night. Chris, on the other hand, had a soothing voice with women, and baby Pat was no different.
Both knew that their lives had changed for the better. Taking care of a baby was more work than either anticipated. The focus of their life was now altered and their routine was no longer determined by their own whims but by the constant demands of the baby.
The congregation at the Pentecostal Church became aware of the little miracle at the very next service after their return from Reno. Chris Greenwade spent much of his spare time passing out cigars and shaking hands, as though he was running for mayor. His reputation as a dignified preacher was enhanced by being a proud new father of a mixed-race little girl. He told everyone of his new daughter, the angel that had come into his life.
His sermons would change dramatically too, both in tone and content. The orations moved from urging sinners to repent, to that of hope for the future of his race.
As the weeks passed by, he would bring the new infant with him as a headliner to show off to his congregation, elevating his status among the parishioners. This new spark of enthusiasm created by the baby absorbed much of the preacher’s time. It left him little to spend with Jimmie, a woman who thrived on attention.
Jimmie Lee went from a life of independence, earning her own way, to that of a housekeeper, babysitter, nursemaid, and full-time attendant to the impulses of both Chris and the baby. Her entire life revolved around diapers, formulas, and the like. In addition, at the most inopportune time, sisters from the church would drop by to see “Reverend Greenwade’s daughter.” Jimmie made it her business to spend less time in the house and more time away with the baby in order to avoid some of their unkind comments about raising a white baby. She did not fear confrontation but chose the time and place as it suited her purpose.
Together with Rosie, her confidante and sister-in-law, and the baby, she took long walks around the neighborhood, often removing the blanket from the infant leaving Patty
naked, exposed to the sun. Frustrated by the restraint the baby placed upon her own freedom, Jimmie became more insecure in her life and bored with the baby. When Rosie noticed, she would cover up the baby and mumble something about how she couldn’t understand how such a little one could kick off the coverlet so quickly. Jimmie just smiled. When Rosie wasn’t looking, she’d removed the blanket again.
Rosie responded in a cautious tone, “Why you keeping that baby in the sunshine all the time? You know that it’s not good for her white skin to have that hot sun beating on it all the time. She’s gonna get burnt!”
“Oh, she’s all right. Fresh air and sunshine is always good for babies—especially this one.”
“Yeah, but she’s just an infant and her skin ain’t used to the sun like ours; she’s got that pinkish white skin, you know!” Rosie covered up the baby with the light blanket; Jimmie promptly removed it.
“You’ve got to keep the covering over the eyes, or that baby will never get to see the light of day. You keep this nonsense up, and you’re gonna bake this baby’s brains out!”
“Listen to me, Rosie Bilbrew,” she snapped back, “Chris promised me that the baby would darken. All I’m doing is helping her along.”