by Howe, A. E.
“I appreciate that. I would never let you or the bank down.”
“I will be going out of town for at least three weeks, and possibly a month or more.” She set the key back down on the desk. “I’d like you to put this key in the safe until I return.”
Robertson’s mouth opened and closed several times, and the areas of his face not covered by his beard blushed red.
“I’ll be needing some cash for my trip,” she told him while he was still trying to decide how to react.
“Where are you going?” he asked when he’d regained some composure.
“Romania,” Josephine said flatly, as though she were taking a trip to Montgomery.
“Romania?” He stared at her as though she’d suggested a trip to the moon.
“It’s a country in eastern Europe. The other side of Hungary.”
“Yes! I know where Romania is… basically. But why are you going there?”
“My father asked me to take my grandfather’s ashes and spread them in the Carpathian Mountains,” she said simply.
Robertson’s mouth made more fish-out-of-water movements. “Why in the world would your father ask you to do that?”
“It was a promise he’d made to his father.”
“A man in your father’s condition can get all kinds of funny ideas. You can’t take a request like that seriously.”
“My father was in his right mind when he asked me to do this,” Josephine said, not totally sure this was the truth.
“Of course, but when you’re dying… you… get ideas. I remember my grandmother wanted us all to sing hymns by her bedside during her last days. A person facing death has… fears. Talk to Father Mullen. He’ll be able to advise you better than me.”
Josephine had no intention of going to Father Mullen. The priest’s opinion that women should not do anything other than run the household was well known.
“I’ll think about it,” she lied. “Now, here is what I’m going to need.” She laid out a piece of paper with several figures written on it.
“Who is going with you?” Robertson asked, ignoring the paper.
“Grace will accompany me,” Josephine answered, though she hadn’t yet brought the subject up with the opinionated maid.
“That’s one thing, but what about a proper chaperone? Grace is… black. She won’t be able to enter restaurants and other establishments. You can’t eat alone. Seriously, Josie, you can’t do this.”
“Seriously, Mr. Robertson, I am going to do this. This is not a pleasure trip to Saratoga. I’ll be eating my meals in my room while traveling and Grace can eat with me. I have thought this out. My plan is to go to Romania by the most direct and expedient route. Once at my grandfather’s village, I’ll spread his ashes and return.”
Josephine knew Mr. Robertson was right to some extent. She would have to be discreet to prevent any trouble, but it was not unheard of for a middle-aged woman to travel with her servant. Middle-aged, she thought. Am I really middle-aged? Thirty-five was not old, but she was very close to being labeled a spinster.
“Still, that is a very long trip.”
“When we arrive, I’ll be met by relatives,” Josephine said, hoping that it was true. She had found a few letters from distant cousins that her father had kept. She hadn’t been able to read them since they were in Romanian, but she’d been able to discern that they were from family.
“Have you talked to Bobby?” Robertson asked.
Josephine sighed. Robertson was clearly floundering about for any lifeline in this argument. Bobby was Robert Tucker, a local sheriff’s deputy who had courted her off and on since they were in school together. He was a nice man, but he didn’t seem to understand that while she liked him, she didn’t want to bind their lives together in marriage. Ever.
“Bobby Tucker has nothing to do with this,” she said bluntly, tired of humoring Robertson. “Provide me with what I’ve asked for, and I’ll think about the objections you’ve raised.”
“If you are determined to do this, then at least let me see if I can find someone else to act as a chaperone.”
“You may do as you wish,” she said and purposely slid the note with her proposed travel expenses across his desk.
Chapter Two
Josephine returned home two hours later. She’d gotten the money and sent several telegrams, including one to an agent requesting passage on a ship from New York to France.
She was drenched in sweat as she entered the house. Though it was only early April, it was already too warm to wear a heavy black woolen dress, but she didn’t mind suffering to mourn her father.
“Grace, would you come in here?” Josephine called out.
Grace was removing dead flowers from the arrangements that had been left in the house after the funeral. “Yes, ma’am.”
She followed Josephine into the front parlor, which still held Mr. Nicolson’s bed.
“Have a seat,” Josephine said, remaining standing while Grace, uncertain, sat on the edge of the sofa.
“I need a favor of you.” Josephine hesitated, trying to decide the best approach.
Meanwhile, Grace’s mind had raced ahead to the worst case scenario and was seeing a future without a job or the chance of getting one.
“No, Miss Josephine, I’ve got to work for you. Just ’cus your daddy’s gone… I don’t know what’s the matter, but I need this job.”
Josephine held out her hand, trying to quiet her. “I’m not firing you. Nothing of the sort. How could you think that?”
’Cause white folk are crazy, the voice in Grace’s head answered. What she said to Josephine was: “With nobody havin’ any money anymore, I thought maybe you were broke like everyone else.” Grace wondered what Josephine wanted from her.
“I want to you to accompany me to Romania,” Josephine blurted out.
“Roman what? You talkin’ the other side of the world?” Grace asked, astonished at the idea. She’d once traveled as far as Atlanta, but the trip had been an ordeal with many dangers for a black family traveling through strange towns and counties. They hadn’t known the local rules or where it was safe for them to stop for food, fuel or to use the restroom. She remembered her father being so nervous that he had lashed out at anyone who’d asked him a question.
“Not quite the other side of the world, but the other side of the ocean. A long way. But I need your help. Papa made a request before he died. I can’t do this alone.”
“But can’t you go with some white folks?” Grace couldn’t understand why Josephine wanted her to go.
“No. I can’t go with a man, and I don’t have the time or patience to go with a woman my age.”
The latter was certainly the truth. Most of Josephine’s friends were married and their husbands would never let them be gone for weeks at a time. She knew a few unmarried teachers, but the women at the local school who were young enough to make the trip would be as much, if not more, trouble than her other option, which was to take an elderly woman who’d need an extra bag just for her medicines. “No, I need you to go with me. I’ll provide a travel bonus for your trouble.”
Bonus. Grace liked the sound of that word. She lived in a small house on the dirt street behind the Nicolson house. The street was little more than a large alley lined with neat and tidy shotgun houses where the servants and workmen for Sumter’s rich and comfortable lived. The Depression had fallen hard on the small community of working men and women. Grace’s little green house was in need of some serious repairs. She’d given her brother what little money she’d saved up to help his family after he’d lost his job at the railroad yard.
“I don’t mean to be forward none, but how much would this bonus money be?” Grace asked carefully, not wanting to scare the golden goose away.
“Your current salary is eight dollars a week, which is above average for your job,” Josephine said unnecessarily. Grace already knew she was being paid more than twice what a lot of her friends were getting.
“Yes, ma’am.
Mr. Andre was always very kind to me,” Grace said, thinking that spreading some honey wouldn’t hurt.
“We’ll be gone for possibly as long as a month,” Josephine said, calculating what a generous bonus would be. “Let’s say, on top of your regular salary, you’ll receive an additional forty dollars.”
Grace was amazed. She wanted to act uncertain, but that much extra money would allow her to fix up her house. She’d get her brother to do the work. He needed something to keep him busy.
“You sure we don’t need more than a month?” she asked, warming to this whole idea of international travel.
“I think a month will be long enough. You’ll need some items from the dry goods store, and I can loan you one of our suitcases. Maybe some new clothes,” Josephine told her and watched as suspicion was replaced by excitement in Grace’s eyes.
The next two days were spent in preparation for the trip. Josephine realized early on that Grace had no experience with travel and needed advice on most aspects of packing. Josephine had accompanied Grace to the small clothing store that catered to the middle-class black community in town. Grace’s status was raised in the eyes of the shopkeeper when she was accompanied by her boss, who brought in cash money. Everyone was all smiles by the time they left with packages piled high.
Josephine had already purchased their train tickets at the depot for travel on a first-class carriage via the Southern and Atlantic Railway to New York. From there, her New York agent had secured them tickets for the transatlantic crossing on RMS Majestic.
The evening before they were to leave, Josephine was upstairs in her room, trying to decide what and how to pack. She envied Grace, who wasn’t required by convention to have a dozen different outfits. Even though this was the 1930s and women like Amelia Earhart were able to get away with dressing in practical clothing, on board a ship and while staying in hotels, Josephine didn’t have many options. Josephine had been assured that the captain of the British ship would be more than willing to confine her to her room for the duration of the voyage if she wasn’t wearing what they considered to be appropriate dress.
She had just finished cramming everything into two trunks and a Pullman bag when Grace came up the stairs and knocked on the door.
“No sense hidin’. He’s not going away this time!” Grace shouted.
With a sigh, Josephine opened the door.
“You told him I couldn’t see him right now?” Josephine asked and Grace frowned.
“Didn’t you tell me to tell him that? He’s not budgin’. Mr. Bobby says he’s gonna be on that front porch until you come out.”
“He’ll get tired and go away.”
“I don’t think so. He’s got a blanket roll and everything.”
“Fine! I’ll just have to deal with this,” Josephine said petulantly and moved past Grace.
“You better put on some clothes!” Grace said and Josephine realized that she was still wearing the robe she’d donned after trying on various outfits.
Ten minutes later, composed, Josephine opened the front door.
“Bobby, Grace told you I don’t have time this evening,” she said, going on the attack.
“Josie, what are you doing? Mr. Robertson told me you were off on some foolish journey to Italy or some place.”
Bobby Tucker, just a year older than Josephine and still boyish-looking, had always had a crush on her. She’d tried to get him to move on, but he had a well deserved reputation for being one of the most stubborn men in the county, which was saying a lot. His competition included Old Man Floyd, who’d stood out in a half-plowed field for two days waiting out a mule who was determined not to plow another foot of ground. In the end, the field had been plowed and one hungry mule had learned a hard lesson.
“I’m going to Romania to spread my grandfather’s ashes.”
“That’s crazy. If you want to go to Europe, there are folks you could travel with. Going by yourself is dangerous.”
On the one hand, Josephine really wanted to slam the door in his face, but on the other she knew his concern was real. As well as being stubborn, he was kindhearted to a fault. He still had a scar on his arm from saving an old stray dog from a shed that had caught fire.
“I’m taking Grace with me. I told Robertson I’d send a telegram a couple of times a week to let him know my progress. After all, this isn’t the dark ages.”
“You’ll be in a foreign country without any friends, Josie. No matter how you look at it, that’s dangerous.”
“I’ve got family in Romania. I won’t be all alone.” In truth, she had no idea whether she’d be able to locate any members of her family or not, but she had the names from the letters she’d found in her father’s desk.
“I don’t know about that, but, look, give me a week and I’ll find someone to go with you.”
“No,” she said firmly.
“But Josie…”
“No! I’ll be back in a month. People travel all over the world all the time and they don’t disappear or get attacked. If it makes you feel better, I’ll send you a telegram at the same time I send one to Robertson.”
Bobby narrowed his eyes and stared hard at her. He knew her well enough to know he couldn’t push things any further.
“Okay, but you got to let us know where you are, where you’re going, how and when. And if we don’t get a telegram, I’m coming to look for you,” he said with a determination that carried his word and his honor.
Josephine had no doubt Bobby would be on her trail in an instant if he thought something was wrong. If she was honest with herself, knowing that she would have the cavalry in reserve if something did go wrong was comforting.
“If I give you a little kiss on the cheek, will you take it the wrong way?” she asked him.
He blushed and leaned down. She gave him a quick peck and he reached out to take her hand gently in his.
“You have any problem, you just let me know and I’ll come runnin’ or flyin’ or swimmin’. Whatever I have to do to get there.”
“I know that, Bobby.”
After an awkward pause, Josephine told him that he had to go so she could finish packing and get some rest. As she shut the door behind his retreating back, she wondered if she was doing the right thing. Not just about the trip, but about Bobby. He was a good man, there was no question about that. And she’d seen enough of life to know that good men weren’t as common as one would hope.
There had been a day when she was sixteen, down by the river, when Bobby had kissed her for the first time and she’d felt all the goosebumps and wild excitement that you’re supposed to feel when someone you love kisses you. But the feeling had faded years ago. Now she just felt comfortable with him. He was a man she could count on. Was that enough? Damn it, I can’t think about all this right now. We’ve got to be at the train station by nine, she reminded herself and started back up the stairs.
Three steps up the stairs and she remembered the one thing she couldn’t forget. She came back down and went into the front parlor. The vase with her grandfather’s ashes stared back at her from the mantel. With everything else, she hadn’t taken the time to think how she was going to transport the ashes. Taking the vase would be impractical.
How much ash is there? she wondered.
She lifted the vase up off the mantel. It was heavy, but mostly because of the vase itself. Josephine peered inside. The vase was over halfway full with maybe a quart and a half of ash. Thinking about her options, she set the vase back on the mantel and noticed a small book that had been behind the vase.
The book was handwritten in Romanian. As she flipped through the leather-bound journal, she recognized the names of her grandfather and grandmother. Taking the book, she went into her father’s library and found the old Romanian/English dictionary that she’d tried and failed to master as a child when she’d wanted to impress her grandfather.
With both the journal and the dictionary firmly in hand, she went upstairs and packed them in her Pullman case so sh
e would have them close by while they traveled. Then she yelled down to Grace to dig up a large mason jar. Once she had the mason jar in hand, she filled it with her grandfather’s ashes.
“Whoever heard of such a thing?” Grace asked, watching the ash shift from the vase to the jar. In spite of herself, she was fascinated by the dark grey material. “How do they do it? I mean, have they got a big old fire pit or an oven or something?”
“Honestly, I don’t know. I guess an oven. Papa didn’t say much about it after he came back.” She was concentrating on not spilling the ashes.
At last the jar was filled. There was about half a cup of her grandfather’s remains still inside the vase. “Sorry, but part of you is going to stay in Alabama,” she said to the ashes.
Carefully screwing the lid down on the mason jar, she debated which suitcase the jar would travel in. Reluctantly, she decided that it needed to go into her Pullman case. She’d seen trunks fall off of luggage trucks and the thought of the jar breaking and her clothes covered in ash wasn’t appealing.
Chapter Three
Josephine and Grace made it to New York in two days’ time, a bit rougher for wear. Amazed at the sights whizzing past the window, Grace hadn’t slept much on the train.
For her part, Josephine had spent hours on the train going through her grandfather’s journal. The grammar was lost on her, but by defining as many words as she could with the dictionary, she was able to make some sense of it.
The journal had been started in the spring of 1865 while her grandfather was living in the village of Satul de Dealuri Verzi high in the Carpathian Mountains. The words boala and moarte were repeated over and over. Sickness and death. The words for “fear” and “unknown” were also repeated along with a great many names. Some of the dead were copii, children. The more Josephine translated, the more she understood the sorrow that the little leather-bound book represented. She wasn’t sorry when they reached New York and she could put the diary away for a while.
