One Day She'll Darken

by Fauna Hodel

  “OK. Then it’s settled. You,” pointing to Bobby, “be back here at six o’clock with the best man. And wear a suit! I’ll take care of the rest.”

  “Momma, what are you gonna do?”

  “You both want to get married, don’t you? Then that’s what you gonna do—today. I’ll show the Welfare people what I think of them and their rules.”

  Bobby didn’t understand what Jimmie was up to; he really didn’t seem to care, either. Without another word he made a dash for the car.

  Jimmie phoned Reverend Webb and told him to be ready for a wedding at around six. They then proceeded to make plans as to what Pat was to wear and whom she was to invite.

  The day was hectic. First, they went to the clerk’s office to secure a license. Once there, Jimmie told Pat to lie to the clerk about her age. But she didn’t have to, no one asked for proof. When they returned home Jimmie was frazzled at the thought of Pat leaving permanently and drank until she was completely tight. A couple of months on the wagon didn’t change her attitude. She still managed to keep control of everybody.

  Bobby returned at about 6:30 with his brother. Even Jimmie thought he was handsome in a new suit. He handed Pat a neatly wrapped flower box that contained a beautiful corsage, which Jimmie promptly placed in the refrigerator. Neither Pat nor Jimmie were anywhere near ready for this special occasion. Jimmie had the three of them waiting on her hand and foot, almost as if she were getting married. In her condition, it took forever. Finally, at about 11:45 that evening, the four of them were ready to walk out the door on their way to Reverend Webb’s.

  Jimmie knocked on the door of the unlit house where the minister lived, then knocked again and yelled out, “Hey, Mr. Reverend Webb, open up, it’s me!” She knocked twice more before a light came on and the door opened. Reverend Webb looked as though he had been sleeping for hours.

  “What you doing here?” he mumbled, “Is something wrong?”

  “I told you we were coming over to get Pat married, didn’t I?”

  “Yeah, but that was this afternoon. What are you waking me up in the middle of the night for?”

  “Don’t sweat the details,” Jimmie yelled, “let’s just get this show on the road.”

  Jimmie didn’t understand Webb’s look of disbelief when he shook his head in obvious consternation. Jimmie just followed his motion to come inside. Within a few minutes, the minister, clad in his pajamas, filled out paperwork, which both Bobby and Pat signed. He arranged them in a proper setting and read the marriage vows. Within fifteen minutes, it was all over. Pat was now Mrs. Bobby Ward, pregnant, in the tenth grade, with still a few months to go before her sixteenth birthday. Jimmie didn’t shed a tear.

  Bobby and Pat moved to his small apartment on the south side of town. As an expectant mother and housewife, Pat’s confidence soared. She sensed empowerment, and a knack for taking on responsibility, including her new husband. Her days were filled with school studies; her evenings remained free for Bobby. At night, her dreams came alive, alternating between the faceless woman who gave her away and an infant that bore skin both black and white. When she awoke, the images were gone, but the longing remained.

  Yvette was born on August seventh, only six days after Pat’s sixteenth birthday. Her skin was a light caramel, her head bursting with straight black hair.

  “She’s the color I’m suppose to be,” Pat said to Bobby as she saw him enter her hospital room.

  It was the first time he laid eyes on his daughter. “At least she’ll know who her father is; and she’ll know she’s black like me,” Bobby added with a smile.

  “Well, at least my baby won’t grow up with the same bigotry that I dealt with,” Pat said, “she’ll be proud of who she is.”

  “What are you talking about?” Bobby asked, “It’ll be just the same, she’ll be treated just like me.”

  “Yes, but at least the blacks won’t be prejudiced because she’s white,” Pat added.

  “Well, she’s half-white, ain’t she?” Bobby asked slyly.

  “A quarter,” Pat said, “she’s just a quarter white.”

  “Yeah, that and a dime will still buy you nothing.”

  It wasn’t long after the baby arrived home that Bobby and Pat realized the apartment was much too small.

  “I found a new apartment on Spokane,” Pat said, “it’s perfect. Two bedrooms, a full bath—there’s room for everything.”

  “How much is it gonna cost?” Bobby asked. “I don’t have anything extra as it is, and this baby’s a whole lot more expensive than we thought.”

  “I know; I’ve got a job,” Pat said nonchalantly.

  “A job! What kind of job? What about school? Who’s gonna watch the baby?” Bobby was relieved, but perplexed.

  “I can’t go back to school with the baby. She needs too much care.

  “I was over Momma’s talking to her and she. . . .” said Pat before Bobby interrupted her.

  “Your momma’s involved with this? Then that could only mean trouble. What’s she want you to do be a maid like her? Cleaning people’s houses?” Bobby said.

  She knew he was annoyed, but continued anyway, “As a matter of fact, that’s exactly what I had in mind. But Momma threw a fit when I mentioned it and told me that if I needed money than I should go talk to one of her neighbors, Mrs. Williams who just happens to be the personnel director of St. Mary’s Hospital. So I did.”

  “Well, what she say?”

  “Mrs. Williams said that I was way too smart to be working as a maid.”

  “Damn straight, you’re too smart. That’s why you married me,” Bobby said.

  “No seriously,” Pat continued, “she told me I shouldn’t throw my life away by being a maid. Of course I told her that it wasn’t a career choice; I just needed money for the new apartment.

  “Anyway, she told me to apply for a file clerk’s job and she’d make sure I got hired.”

  “Well, who’s gonna take care of Yvette?” Bobby asked. “I can’t, I’m working two jobs now.”

  “I’ll get Momma—she’s the only one,” Pat added.

  “But I thought you dreaded her watching the baby?” Bobby said.

  “I do,” Pat paused for a moment then added, “but I’m praying all the time that everything will be alright.”

  CHAPTER 18

  Catholic nuns administered St. Mary’s Hospital and they were efficient, methodical, and ever-present. They managed the lay staff quite easily. Pat began using her legal name, Fauna, and was assigned to filing in the accounting department. She worked alongside a young girl named Luanne, just two years older than herself. Luanne worked there for almost a year before Fauna arrived and was asked by the supervisor to instruct Fauna on her duties. The filing position amounted to nothing more than moving patient records, insurance forms, letters, and folders from one filing cabinet to another, simple tasks that required no thought. Luanne’s real expertise, however, was social. She loved to talk and made friends easily. She was so adept at piloting Fauna through the machinations of the hospital, that by the end of the first week, Fauna already knew the histories of everyone she met—the nurses aides, the maintenance people, the office manager, and even one of the doctors.

  “So what about you,” Luanne asked as she placed a stack of files on Fauna’s desk, “aren’t you in school?”

  “I had to quit school, I’m married,” Fauna said, “and I have a baby daughter, too. Here, I got a picture.” Fauna watched Luanne’s eyes lock-up as she showed the girl Yvette’s smiling brown face.

  “She’s your daughter?” Luanne asked, “So—her father’s black?”

  “Well, yeah, but I’m half-black myself,” Fauna added.

  Luanne’s mouth was moist and steadily dropping, but she managed a reflexive gulp, “Your black? How can that be, you look white as me?”

  “My father was black, and my mother, she was very young, and was forced to give me away when I was born cause they were society people. So, my momma who raised me was black
and I just grew up that way. Cause I am black. It says so on my birth certificate.” Fauna said.

  Luanne was silent for a moment than asked, “Did you ever meet your real mother?”

  “No, never,” Fauna said, “but I will—one day I’ll find her. When I look through these files I try to put faces on them, but none of them look like my mother would look.”

  “Oh yeah, I used to do that when I first started, too.” Luanne said, “but I don’t bother with it no more. Luanne stepped around to the other side of the desk, closer to Fauna, “Where did you come from? I mean were you born?”

  “St. Elizabeth’s in San Francisco,” Fauna answered.

  “I’ve heard of that hospital,” Luanne said.

  “You did?” Fauna said. “You’re the first person I ever met who knew about where I was born.”

  “Wait,” Luanne said, “I don’t know the place, I just heard the name mentioned once or twice because it’s run by nuns like this one.”

  “But still, it’s amazing. I mean the connection, don’t you think?” Fauna asked.

  Luanne shrugged her shoulders, “I guess.” She sauntered back to her desk, “So how did you get here?”

  “My momma worked as a maid in a restroom at the Riverside when she was asked to adopt me.”

  “The society people asked a single maid in a restroom to adopt their baby?”

  “Oh Momma wasn’t alone. Her husband was a shoeshine man,” Fauna said, “but he took off when I was real young.”

  Luanne’s mouth hung low as Fauna slowly walked away.

  The next day, Fauna’s story was known throughout the hospital. A nun with creamy white skin in her mid-forties wandered in and out of the accounting area. She frequently glanced at Fauna in a way that made her feel uncomfortable. Fauna feigned busyness to gain her approval. “Who is that nun?” Fauna whispered to Luanne.

  “Which one?” Luanne asked.

  Fauna turned and noticed there were now three nuns chatting near the office. “The one with the big wire-rimmed glasses. She never says nothing, just keeps looking at me.”

  “Oh, that’s Sister Hillary,” Luanne said. “No one knows what she does, but it seems like she’s always in the middle of something.”

  “What do you mean?” Fauna asked.

  “Well, I don’t really mean in the middle of something specific, but the other nuns are always looking for her. I don’t know if she hides or what, but they always seem frustrated whenever they ask about her,” Luanne whispered, then added, “but it’s a good frustrated, you know what I mean? They always seem to smile, like she’s doing practical jokes or something.”

  One of the nuns left the area and the shorter one came over, handed Luanne a box filled with forms and said, “Luanne, I need you to take this over to admissions, please.”

  “Ok,” replied Luanne.

  The nun thanked her and followed her out of the room.

  Fauna found herself alone with Sister Hillary who appeared to be hovering about with her arms folded inside the sleeves of her habit. To Fauna she looked like a floating spirit with sparkling blue eyes.

  Sister Hillary peered down at Fauna with a Tony the Tiger grin and said, “So, you’re the young lady who has a daughter, and a husband, two mothers and a mysterious past.”

  Fauna said, “Yes, Sister, but I only know one mother.”

  “I’m Sister Hillary,” the nun said, “and you’re Fauna.”

  “Yes, you know a lot about me.” Fauna said.

  “Oh no, I know very little. Just the rumors about you were given away to a colored maid in a restroom?” Sister Hillary said. “Is that true?”

  “Uh, huh.” Fauna nodded.

  “And what other rumors do you have to tell? You must tell me more. I love a good story,” Sister Hillary said as she pulled up a chair and sat next to Fauna.

  “Where do I begin?” Fauna said, and then proceeded to relay her saga to the inquisitive nun. She ended with a plea for help in searching for her real mother.

  “I understand your frustration,” said Sister Hillary sympathetically, “but there isn’t much I can help you with.” Fauna’s shoulders drooped. “At least not officially.”

  “Oh, what can you do?”

  “Well, I’m not sure, other than offer encouragement right now. But we must keep this very quiet.” The nun said as she lifted two fingers and then twisted them at her lips, pretending it was a key, which she tossed in the air. She smiled, “The other sisters will not approve of my meddling, so we’ll need to communicate surreptitiously.”

  “What does that mean?” Fauna asked.

  “Stealthily, on the QT.” Fauna’s eyes glazed over. “Under cover,” said Sister Hillary.

  “Oh, I get it, like James Bond.” Fauna said.

  “Yes, like James Bond. When I find something out, I’ll use the code name ‘Lucy’, but don’t expect too much.”

  “Who’s Lucy?”

  Sister Hillary stood up and shuffled toward the door. She turned and whispered to Fauna Peanuts. Then disappeared into the hallway.

  The nun’s enthusiasm and keen interest were all the encouragement Fauna needed to keep her focused over the next year and a half to do something, anything, to find her real mother. One evening, with Yvette put to bed and Bobby working late, Fauna again found herself studying carefully the only link to her past—her birth certificate. There has to be something here—something that would get me a step closer—but what? St. Elizabeth’s Hospital, Tamar Hodel, my mother, Dr. Torkelson, the physician, father ‘Negro’, date. Her eyes widened. Oh, how stupid, stupid, stupid. How dumb not to have seen it all these years. Of course! The attending physician, the doctor, would know where my real family was. He’d have records, just like at St. Mary’s! Immediately she wrote a letter to Dr. Torkelson in care of St. Elizabeth’s Hospital in San Francisco asking him for any information regarding her mother, Tamar Hodel.

  The following day, Fauna told Jimmie what she had done.

  “Patta, I know you been looking for her your whole life. What do you thinks gonna happen when you find her?” Jimmie said.

  “I don’t know, I just need to know stuff,” Fauna said.

  “What stuff you need to know? Why’d she do it? Who’s your real daddy? And when you get the answers, what you gonna do? Go move in with her? I’m sure your ‘white’ momma’ll be real happy to know she got a black granddaughter and a black son-in-law, useless as he is. ”

  “Momma, that ain’t true,” Fauna said.

  “She gave you away cause you was suppose to be mixed, now you really are mixed. Yeah, she’ll be ready to take you in now.”

  “Momma, I’m not gonna leave you, no matter what you say,” Fauna said. Neither was entirely convinced.

  Yet, in spite of Jimmie’s abusive and manipulative manner, Fauna was devoted to her. It was a new maturity that appeared with having a child that kept Fauna loyal. On one hand, she accepted Jimmie’s contempt of the whites, knowing how much Jimmie hated being a minority. She knew Jimmie blamed all whites for keeping her from reaching her potential, putting her life on hold while manipulated into caring for a mixed-race girl who looked white and was trying to be black. And on the other hand, Fauna felt Jimmie’s loving and protective instinct as a mother when she was sober, but she lacked the biological attachment that only Fauna’s real mother could provide. Fauna knew that she was the center of Jimmie’s woe. She knew it was the reason Jimmie continued to drink. Jimmie drank heavily, stopping occasionally for a month or two, vowing never again to touch the bottle. Inevitably, at the first sign of tension, or sometimes for no discernible reason, she resumed her unattractive role as the neighborhood drunk, keeping everyone in abeyance with her outrageous displays and violent temper. Everyone, that is, except Homer, who by now had become immune to Jimmie’s antics, and Reverend Mayfield, who had his own reasons to stay lit.

  Mayfield’s congregation had withered away to an occasional tourist visiting the area for the first time. Abandoned by his flock, h
e discovered Jimmie’s warm heart and a soft shoulder to cry on—and a bottle of gin. They became a team, sharing their sorrows and officiously advising anyone who listened. They talked about everything, occasionally causing a ruckus for lack of something more productive to do. They sat and drank together and Jimmie usually outlasted the minister.

  Bobby dreaded the thought of going over to Jimmie’s house, and avoided her as much as possible, stopping just long enough to pick up Yvette whenever Jimmie optioned to baby-sit.

  In early November, as Bobby was ready to leave with the baby, Jimmie stopped him. “Oh, a letter came here addressed to Miss Fauna Ward. Is that some relation of yours?”

  “You know who Fauna is,” said Bobby.

  “Oh really,” Jimmie said, “When she was living here, her name was Patta. Now that she’s married to you, you not only changed her last name but her first name, too! What’s next? You gonna try to change my name? Stop trying to be something you ain’t!”

  “I didn’t change nobody’s name, she did that herself, besides, it’s her real name,” Bobby grabbed the letter and left without another word.

  Minutes later he was with his wife. “What did I ever do to your momma? That woman makes me crazy. Except I know I ain’t crazy. So that means it must be her.” He handed Fauna the letter. Quickly, she went off by herself and read it in silence.

  October 31, 1969

  Dear Fauna,

  Dr. Torkelson has referred your letter to me requesting information regarding your mother. Fauna, I would not say your mother gave you away. Your mother was a very unsophisticated girl who would not have been able to care for you because she was immature and was dependent on her mother financially. Her mother did not believe she was capable of rearing a child.

  Your grandmother did make all the arrangements for the adoption, of course, with your mother agreeing. It was a private adoption; therefore they were not consulted and had no part whatever in the placement. We do not know the whereabouts of your mother; in fact, her parents have heard nothing from her since she left them after you were placed with your adoptive parents.