Lottie had a dream. She was going to be a doctor. The boldness of it awed Maggie. They had never heard of a Negro, male or female, being a doctor. But there was a supervisor who visited Lottie’s school, a young Negro woman sent around by the state, who took a special interest in Lottie. Miss Monross told her there were colored colleges she could go to, and schools where Negroes learned to be doctors. Miss Monross threw around names like Spelman and Bethune-Cookman—names Lottie wrote in the diary she kept under her mattress. When the time came, Miss Monross said, if Lottie worked hard at her studies and prepared herself, she, Miss Monross, would see to it that Lottie got to one of these schools. But she warned Lottie that she would have to study on her own. The education she was getting was not adequate for a future college student.
This was not a surprise to Maggie and Lottie. It hadn’t taken them long to figure out that the Negro school was inferior to the one Maggie went to. Lottie’s school was held in the church; the children sat in pews and worked on their laps. There were subjects the Negroes weren’t taught, because they didn’t have books or supplies. While Maggie was learning fractions and the capitals of Europe, the kids in Lottie’s school were struggling with basic reading and writing. By the time they were in high school, most of the Negro children had already left school to work.
So Maggie and Lottie began studying together, as they had done before when they learned to read. There was an old barn on the property that no one ever used that had become a storage place for unused junk. It was perfect for them. At night they waited until everyone was asleep; then they put on coats over their nightgowns and sneaked out. Lottie brought an oil lamp from the cabin, which they lit and put on the floor so they could see enough to read, and Maggie brought her school textbooks and spread her worksheets on a blanket on the floor. Lottie worked her way through the books, asking questions when she didn’t understand something, and Maggie would have to remember what she had learned in class and explain it. Later, she realized she got as much as Lottie did out of those nights. Knowing she would have to answer Lottie’s questions, she became a much better student than she ever would have been. Her ability to absorb information quickly would last for the rest of her life. But back in those days, it was all about Lottie. The memories of those nights in the old barn, huddled in her coat against the chill of winter, working by the light of the oil lamp, were some of her happiest.
MAGGIE SET HER LITTLE KITCHEN TIMER for thirty-five minutes and took the thing back into the living room to wait. Laverne, whose arthritis had been bothering her, had to scramble to follow. Maggie sat in her chair, and the dog settled next to her on the floor, muttering canine curses under her breath. “I know,” Maggie said sympathetically. “Getting old is just plain nasty.” She leaned back in the chair, her head finding the dent she’d made in the upholstery over the years.
WHEN HAD IT STARTED TO CHANGE for her? It was hard to remember so far back. Maybe it was when she saw Lottie walking home with three girls from her school. Maggie was in her room watching them from the window as they stopped at the end of the driveway to talk. It only took two or three minutes before they went on their way and Lottie ran up the drive to the cabin. But it was the first time Maggie realized that Lottie was making new friends. And what was worse, they were her own kind, as Mama would say. Suddenly Maggie was angry, in a scary kind of way she had never been before. Thoughts of getting even raced through her brain. She would refuse to talk to Lottie. She would not go to the barn that night; let Lottie wait and wonder what had happened. But when night came she couldn’t stay away from the barn, and once she was there she couldn’t stay mad at Lottie.
Or maybe it started when Lottie was crying over some hurt Maggie had now forgotten. But she could remember how she had wanted to put her arms around Lottie and hug her tight. But for reasons she couldn’t put into words, she didn’t.
Sometimes it seemed to her that she had always known she was different. Certainly by the time the girls in her school were giggling at boys and trotting out their early attempts at flirting, she knew she was. She understood their feelings, the giddiness, and the misty half-formed urges that drove them. But also she knew, by some deep instinct, that there would never be a boy who would inspire those feelings in her. If it had been important to her to fit in, she might have been horrified. But her life happened in the barn, after the rest of the world was asleep and she was alone with Lottie.
Loving Lottie was such a habit that it felt like the most natural thing in the world when she realized her feelings had changed to the kind that made other girls blush when they talked about boys. She watched the shadows on Lottie’s face as the oil lamp flickered, watched Lottie close her eyes to concentrate on a tricky math problem, and she was full of achy longings she could not describe. She waited for something wonderful to happen, something bigger than she had ever known before. Sometimes she drifted as she waited; sometimes she felt she would explode with all the things she was waiting for.
They had always stayed to talk after they were through studying, but Maggie found she had less and less to say. And Lottie seemed to be pulling into herself too. Now there was pain in being with Lottie; there was a distance between them that she wanted to smash through, but she was afraid. Because, for the first time in all the years she and Lottie had known each other, she wasn’t sure how Lottie felt.
A boy named James who went to Lottie’s school had walked her home twice after the Saturday-afternoon movies. Maggie had looked up at the colored section of the balcony and watched him maneuver so that he was next to Lottie when they got to the stairs. The second time he brought Lottie home he asked if he could sit with her on the porch. Lottie dismissed him. “I have better things to do with my time,” she told Maggie. “I’m not gonna end up like Momma, having a baby before I’m twenty and with no work I can do but cooking.”
But Maggie could see Lottie was pleased, because she liked the attention from a boy. Maggie wanted to cry out, What about me? but she was too afraid. She became irritable and moody, snapping at Lottie for no reason and then apologizing. She had always been a rational, confident child, but now she was full of doubts. Mama wanted to take her to the doctor, but Maggie knew what she needed. She had to find the courage somewhere to tell Lottie how she felt.
There were several nights when she came close to saying it. There were nights when she thought Lottie knew. Once, when she had been staring at Lottie, she found Lottie looking back at her. Their eyes met and she almost blurted it out; Lottie looked away quickly and she lost her nerve. But she had to say something because time was running out. They’d be graduating in a year, and they had to work out a way to be together when they went to college.
Then the county school board announced they’d be closing the colored high school in Charles Valley. Negro students who wanted to continue their education would have to get themselves to Ashtabula, twenty miles away.
Lottie was beside herself. There was no way she could make the daily round-trip. Maggie was heartbroken for her, but there was nothing she could do to help. Even if she kept on tutoring Lottie every day, it wouldn’t get Lottie the diploma she needed. Charlie Mae said it was just as well. Lottie’s Aunt Grace had started working as a maid at the new resort the Garrisons had just opened, and she thought she could get Lottie a job there too. Times were still bad in Charles Valley, work for pay was hard to come by, and Lottie’s family could use the money. Desperate, Lottie spilled all this to Miss Monross, who came up with a solution.
“She says there’s a family I can live with in Ashtabula,” Lottie reported to Maggie. “They have a girl my age who’s going to high school. Miss Monross is gonna talk to Momma and Daddy and see if they’ll let me stay with those people and finish high school.”
It was like a physical blow. “You want to . . . to go away?” Maggie stammered.
“I don’t want to, I’ve got to, Maggie. I have to get my diploma.”
“But what about me?” The words were tumbling out now. “What will I do?”
&n
bsp; “I’ll be back sometimes. . . .”
“We’ve always been together. . . .”
“I know. . . .”
“You can’t go.” As she said it, Lottie’s eyes met hers the way they had before. Only this time there was something in her look. As if Lottie sensed what she’d been trying to tell her. And then she could tell that Lottie knew. For a moment she was just plain happy. Lottie knew. It was out in the open. They could say it. But then Lottie turned away again.
“You can’t leave,” Maggie repeated, determined now.
“Maggie—”
“You can’t leave me.”
Lottie wouldn’t look at her. But it was too late. They had to have it out now. She was starting to cry.
“Lottie, please!” she begged, as she reached out to take Lottie’s hand.
She never knew what happened next, whether she knocked the oil lamp over or Lottie did when she jerked her hand away. The hot oil spilled on the papers they had been working with and the burning wick fell into it. The papers blazed into flame, and the dry straw on the floor of the barn began to burn. Lottie and Maggie froze, watching as the fire started spreading across the floor to the junk piled up on the sides of the barn. Then together they went into crazed action. Lottie grabbed the algebra book they’d been studying from and began beating at the burning floor until the book caught fire in her hands. Maggie grabbed the blanket and threw it on the flames, stomping on top of it in a crazy dance. They managed to put out the fire, and she didn’t even realize the ruffle at the hem of her nightgown had caught until Lottie started screaming.
Both sets of parents heard the commotion and came running. They found the girls outside the barn. Lottie had bundled a coat around the burning nightgown and was helping Maggie roll on the ground. Maggie was screaming now in agony as together they smothered the flames against her bare legs. When it was over, Lottie’s hands were burned and the doctor said Maggie’s left leg would be scarred.
Later, after the doctor had wrapped her leg in gauze and ointment and given her something to help her sleep, Mama demanded to know what happened. Maybe the drug loosened her tongue. Or the pain. Or maybe she thought her mother would help Lottie if she understood. Whatever the reason, Maggie told her mother about teaching Lottie. She explained about the colored school being so terrible, and Lottie needing help because she was going to college to be a doctor. She stopped short of telling her mother that she planned to pick her own college to be with Lottie. She wasn’t that far gone.
She never knew exactly what Mama told Charlie Mae, but Lottie never went to live with the family in Ashtabula. Her schooling ended that night. Miss Monross called at the cabin to protest to Charlie Mae and Ralph and was politely told to stop filling Lottie’s head with foolishness. As soon as Lottie’s hands were healed she went to work at the new Garrison Lodge, cleaning bedrooms.
If Maggie had hoped to keep Lottie home, she had won. But in another, much more painful way, she’d lost. Because Lottie was staying away from her. And Maggie knew it wasn’t just because Charlie Mae had ordered it, or because Lottie was angry that Maggie had spilled their secrets to her mother. It was because of what Maggie had started to say in the barn. In the dark days that followed the fire, Maggie got the answer to the question she had never been able to ask. Lottie understood what Maggie felt and it disgusted her.
The months that followed were bleak. In all her charmed life, Maggie had never been seriously unhappy. Now she felt swamped by waves of despair. Everything that had happened was her fault. She hated herself. And worst of all there was no one to confide in. Lottie was as far away as if she had left Charles Valley. Maggie was alone. The doctor told Mama her low spirits were to be expected, after the shock she’d had, and to give her time to get over it. Maggie was afraid she never would.
But then, because she was young and resilient, she began to fight her way back. She learned to live with Lottie’s rejection because she had to. And she learned not to think about the guilt she felt for the disaster she’d set in motion. Above all, she knew she had to get away from home. With nothing else to distract her, she focused on her books and finished high school a year ahead of schedule. She was accepted at Emory in Atlanta and started making her plans to leave in the fall.
James got himself a job as a waiter at the resort. He stood behind the buffet tables wearing a uniform and white gloves while he served the guests boiled shrimp and baked chicken. He walked Lottie home from work every day; Maggie watched from the window in her bedroom, where she now did her studying.
The night before Maggie left for Atlanta, she walked down to the old barn. She hadn’t been there since the night of the fire. As she passed the cabin where Lottie’s family lived she thought she saw someone at the window watching her. Then she heard what might have been the back door of the cabin opening. She didn’t look back to check, but as she walked she prayed.
A faint smell of burnt wood still hung around the barn, and one wall was charred. She stood in the middle of the floor, in the place where she and Lottie used to spread the old blanket and set out the schoolbooks. She heard footsteps behind her. She turned and Lottie was there.
“Momma never would have let me go away to high school,” Lottie said.
Maggie felt tears start to sting at her eyes. She blinked them back, terrified of scaring Lottie again. “Maybe we could have convinced her.”
Lottie shook her head. “She doesn’t understand. She can’t.”
“Maybe you don’t have to have a diploma to go to college. Maybe there’s some kind of test you could take. You’re so smart—”
But Lottie was shaking her head. “Maggie, I’ve got something to tell you. I’m going to marry James.”
The words were out before Maggie could stop them. “You can’t. You’re only sixteen.”
“I’m going to have a baby.”
There was no way to stop the tears now. But Lottie smiled at her.
“It’s okay, Maggie. I won’t turn out like Momma. Work hard in college.” Then she ran off into the night.
THE SWEET SMELLS OF BAKING—cocoa, sugar, and butter—filled the house. Trusting her nose more than the kitchen timer, which still had minutes to go, Maggie went into the kitchen and opened the stove. The cake layers had risen nicely, with no cracks; the sides had pulled away from the pans. She knew they were done, but just to be sure she stuck them with a broom straw, which came out clean. She pulled the pans out and put them on cake racks to cool. Later she’d make the frosting, take a piece to Lottie at the nursing home, and tell her what had happened last night. Lottie wasn’t going to hear about it from anyone but her.
Chapter Six
WHEN SHE WOKE UP, it took Laurel about thirty seconds to realize that the pillow next to hers was empty. And it took another two or three seconds to tell herself that that was just fine. In fact, it was the way she wanted it. One reason why she gladly worked the weekend shift at the Gazette was because she had a built-in excuse for getting rid of the occasional Friday night date who wanted to hang around on Saturday morning. Clearly, today that was not going to be a problem.
Still, as she looked at the blanket pulled up neatly on the empty side of the bed, she remembered a morning when she was a kid and had awakened to find her mother had taken off with the latest man who was going to rescue them. Laurel had known by the time she was five or six that none of them ever would.
She banished the memory instantly. No need to start thinking about abandonment because a guy who was passing through town and would never see her again had laughed at her jokes. Even if he was a hotshot writer who worked for magazines she inhaled when she could get her hands on them. And even if he had wrapped his body around hers when he slept.
She hauled herself out of bed and padded barefoot toward the bathroom. She was moving slow, but that was to be expected after the amount of beer she’d put away. If she drank about a gallon of water and swallowed an aspirin or two along with some caffeine pills, she could probably fend off the headache
that threatened to take over the top part of her head. She was firmly convinced it was the caffeine that did the trick. She looked down and saw that her toenail was turning blue. But it didn’t hurt, so all in all she was in better shape than she deserved to be.
Then she swore loudly. Because she remembered that her car was still in the Sportsman’s Grill parking lot. Josh Wolf Eyes had left her high and dry without a way to get to work. Cursing all men, not for the first time in her life, she went into the bathroom.
She was in the shower when she heard the police siren. It was a shocking sound in Charles Valley; she could count on one hand the number of times she’d heard it before. Ed and the boys must have something really big going on. It was followed a few seconds later by what had to be a voice talking on a bullhorn. She couldn’t make out the words, but it was definitely coming from the direction of the highway. She couldn’t imagine an accident big enough to warrant such commotion on a peaceful Saturday morning. She’d pulled on her clothes and was heading out the door when Josh appeared in front of her with two white Styrofoam coffee cups in his hands. He thrust one at her.
“Come on. All hell’s breaking loose, and you can get more from the cops than I can,” he said.
“You came back.” She tried not to sound impressed. Or pleased.
“I went out for coffee. You can drink it in the car.” He turned and started for the SUV.
“Good morning to you too.”
“Hurry!” he said. She got in next to him.
“What’s going on? Is it an accident?”
“I think something happened at that cabin,” he said, as he turned on the engine and peeled off.
They reached the highway in time to see an ambulance come down the road from the cabin. Four squad cars, half the Charles Valley highway patrol, were parked haphazardly by the side of the highway. Several yards away, men in uniforms were standing in a circle around Ed. She couldn’t hear what her ex was saying, but he seemed to be in high cop mode.
The Three Miss Margarets Page 6
