by Karen White
I wasn’t convinced, but I wanted the magic that had filled the air before to return to us. “Sure,” I said, hoping he was right. “But why do you associate with him?”
Gently, John placed his hands on either side of my head and softly kissed my forehead. “Because I’ve been poor my whole life, and living in somebody else’s house for most of it. There are opportunities now where a man of humble beginnings can make something of himself, make a little dough along the way, and maybe even build a nice nest egg so that he can settle down with his best girl and live a comfortable life. And sometimes that means associating with people he’d rather not, but being able to live with it because it’s only for a short time.”
I wasn’t sure what he was talking about, but I’d heard the words “settle down with his best girl,” and none of the other words seemed to matter.
I reached inside the jacket to cover my arms and move the lapels closer to cover my chest. My hand felt something hard and round, like the top half of a horseshoe, but smaller. Curious, I reached into his pocket to pull out the object, then held it up to the moonlight. “What’s this?”
John threw back his head and laughed. “Your New Year’s present. I didn’t get you a Christmas present because I needed my bonus from Mr. Peacock so I could pay him back for the parts. I was waiting for the right moment to give it to you. I guess right now is a good time.”
I turned so that my shadow didn’t block my view, moving a few steps so that we stood beneath a lantern in one of the trees. Holding my breath, I looked carefully at the object in my hand. “What is it?” I asked, afraid that I already knew.
“Your mother’s watch. Your aunt Louise has been keeping it for you.”
When I moved it in the moonlight, I saw the deep blue of the enamel, like the color of John’s eyes. I didn’t need the light of the moon, but saw in my memories the shimmering mother-of-pearl rectangular face with a tiny sapphire at the top for winding, the numbers and the hands in black. At the top, right under the number twelve, was the manufacturer’s name: Cartier. It seemed so old and familiar, yet somehow new as well.
“Turn it over,” John said quietly.
My hands were nearly numb in the cold, so I was very careful not to drop the watch. I could barely make out that there was something engraved on the back, something I hadn’t seen before. “It’s too dark. What does it say?”
His eyes met mine. “It says, ‘I’ll love you forever.’ Your mother had it engraved before she died. She’d planned to give it to you when you were older. When you told me about your mother’s watch that you used to play with, I asked your aunt and she told me that she still had it. And she agreed that this would be a good time to give it to you. I had to replace some of the parts and the crystal, but it’s still the same.”
His smile was uncertain, and it hurt my heart to see it. I stood on my tiptoes and kissed him. “It’s my first gift from you, and that’s all that matters.”
“And from your mother. I don’t want you to forget that there are two souls who have promised to love you forever.”
My throat was thick with tears, strangling my words of protest, my words to explain to him that old hurts are like broken bones that never heal, the pain reappearing when you least expect it, and aching in your dreams.
He took the watch from my hands and opened it, then placed it on my wrist. It was heavy and solid, and the words on the back seemed to burn my skin like a kiss. “I know we haven’t known each other that long, and you’re so young. But I know we were meant to be together—I’ve known it since the first moment I saw you.” He raised my hand to his lips and kissed it. “I’d like this to be like a promise ring. I just want to be more settled, to get my own repair shop. I want to give you the life you deserve. I just need a little more time.”
I threw my arms around him, not caring that his jacket slid from my shoulders. “Yes, John. Yes. I’ll wait. But we don’t have to. I’d live in a shack in the woods with you if we needed to. As long as we’re together, it’ll be okay.”
He looked at me carefully, measuring his words. “When do you turn seventeen?”
“May twenty-ninth.”
“All right. That’s my goal. To be a man and make you proud by the time you turn eighteen. I know that’s over a year and sounds like a long time, but I want to make sure that we’re both ready. I should probably spend more time with your aunt and uncle between now and then so they can get used to the idea.”
“I don’t know if I can wait that long,” I said, my voice breathless again.
He kissed me lightly. “The wait will make it all the sweeter.” Bending down, he picked up his jacket and placed it back on my shoulders. I would have been warmer if I tucked my arms inside, but I wanted to see how the watch looked on my arm, and imagine I could feel the words pressed against my skin. I’ll love you forever.
“Come on,” he said, taking my hand. “Let’s go before we freeze to death.” He began running and it hardly seemed as if my feet touched the ground at all.
Inside the tent a Negro band had started to play, and Sarah Beth and Willie were already kicking it up on the dance floor that had been erected in the middle of the tent. Cloth-covered tables with orchid centerpieces were placed around the floor like petals on a flower. I looked closely at the orchids, wondering if they weren’t real, or if even flowers wouldn’t defy Mrs. Heathman by wilting in colder temperatures.
At the far end of the tent was a bar with two servants standing behind it, both busy mixing and pouring drinks for the line of men in front of them.
“Aren’t the Heathmans afraid of getting raided?” I asked John in a low tone.
He regarded me for a long moment, as if he wasn’t sure if I was serious. “Didn’t you see the guests? He’s got the county sheriff, a state senator, and a federal judge here drinking his wine. Even if somebody’s dumb enough to raid the party, I doubt anybody’s going to be doing any jail time.”
I frowned up at him. “How do you know who those people are? I wouldn’t know any of them if they jumped in the car on the seat next to me.”
He smoothed my hair over an ear, a corner of his mouth lifting. “I’ve done business with them.”
It made sense that such important men would be customers at the jewelry store, and I smiled at John, proud to be the girl of a man with such business connections. “Let’s get more champagne,” I said, tugging on John’s hand and leading him to the bar. The band started playing another song, the lead singer crooning the words to “The Sheik of Araby”:
The stars that shine above
Will light our way to love
You’ll rule this world with me
I’m the sheik of Araby
I sang along quietly, knowing the words from being forced to listen to Sarah Beth pound out the song on her piano, and watched as more couples joined Willie and Sarah Beth on the dance floor. My feet, in a pair of not-so-high heels, tapped to the music, as if they were even more eager than I was to start dancing. I’d been practicing with my pillow for months now so I could impress John.
He handed me another glass and I downed my champagne quickly, barely giving him a chance to drink his own before I dragged him onto the dance floor. The beat of the music had changed to something even faster, the singer’s face now drenched in sweat that darkened the collar of his shirt. I’d left John’s jacket on the back of a chair, neither one of us needing it as the crowd swelled in a gyrating frenzy stuffed onto the dance floor with no space between dancers, like a cotton field ready for harvest.
We danced the Black Bottom and the Charleston, and I kicked my legs higher than any of the other girls, holding my dress up above my knees, the champagne helping me stop considering what my aunt might think. We took infrequent breaks at our table, where servants would make sure we had fresh drinks and food that we would down quickly before heading back to the dance floor.
I
saw Sarah Beth laughing and chatting with everyone, and I tried to forget my own shyness and do the same. I talked with girls from school who’d rarely paid me any attention before, but who could suddenly forget that when they saw me on John’s arm. True to his word, he didn’t dance with anybody but me.
It was past midnight, and the party showed no sign of slowing down, which was fine by me. Uncle Joe hadn’t given me a curfew, since I was with Willie, and I knew he would most likely be one of the last guests to leave.
John had excused himself for a few moments, and I sat alone at our table. My head was spinning from either the alcohol or the loud music—or maybe both. Perspiration dampened my hairline, and I decided I needed to find a mirror to make sure I wasn’t a complete fright. Slipping John’s jacket around my shoulders, I stepped out into the chilly night and began walking across the lawn toward the house.
The sounds from the tent behind me seemed muffled now, almost as if the music and the laughter were already a part of an old memory. Thousands of stars, their light unfettered by clouds, sparkled like icicles slipping across the sky toward the horizon. I threw my head back in awe at the spectacle, as if it had been placed there just for me, and found myself wondering how old these stars were, and if my mother had gazed up at a moment in her life and seen the same ones. It comforted me, somehow, knowing that we shared at least this one connection to the universe.
I heard a shout from the woods on the far side of the property, and turned my gaze in time to see a woman, dressed in a maid’s uniform, run between the trees, her white cap falling on the grass.
I realized it was Mathilda, and was about to call her name when I saw a white man dressed in evening wear, his tie undone and his jacket missing, run after her. She shouted again, and it sounded like the word “help.”
Without thinking, I started running after them, fueled by the champagne and the music and the stars, unaware of my ankle twisting in the soft grass or the branches that slapped at my clothes and face. The moon’s milky glow fell through the trees, turning the ground into a sea of shadow and light. I could hear Mathilda crying now, the sound muffled, and I moved forward without regard to what I might do once I found her.
My foot hit something soft and yielding, and I flew through the air, my palms skidding against dead leaves and pine needles. I flipped around; then, digging my heels into the ground, I skidded away until my back was pressed against a tree and stared at the two people lying on the ground in front of me.
Mathilda was flat on her back, the man’s hand over her mouth as she cried, her tears reflecting the moonlight. The man—or boy, really—was lying on top of her and looking at me with an expression I’d never seen before. I started when I recognized him as one of Willie’s friends, Chas Davis.
“You go away now,” he said, his voice slurred and snarling. “This ain’t none of your business.”
I could see Mathilda struggling to get away, but she was like a fly trying to escape a spider’s web.
I’d been raised around livestock and had a vague idea about what was going on, but I’d also been raised with a sure knowledge of right and wrong, and it was pretty easy to see which side of the coin holding down a person against her will fell on.
I swallowed thickly. “No,” I said. “You go away. I don’t think she wants you to be here.”
He started to laugh but it came out as a burp instead. “And if I don’t, what are you gonna do about it?”
I didn’t know what I was going to say until the words were pouring out of me. “I’m going to start screaming as loud as I can, and then I’m going to tell anybody who will listen that you attacked me.”
His eyes narrowed for a moment, as if deciding whether I was serious. To show him that I was serious, I opened my mouth to scream.
The boy cussed, then slid off Mathilda. He was silent for a moment while he attempted to fasten his pants and braces, then swayed and jerked until he was standing. “Wasn’t worth it anyhow. Thought I was doing her a favor.” He staggered toward the direction we’d come from, stopping about fifteen feet away so he could throw up. It seemed as if both Mathilda and I held our breaths until we could no longer hear him stumbling through the woods.
I crawled to her, noticing that her dress was torn and she was holding it up over her chest. I helped her sit up, then made her put on John’s jacket. She protested at first, but I told her it was okay. It was like I was somebody else who suddenly knew all the answers and what to do, but I didn’t stop to think about how or why.
I helped her stand, my mind somehow managing to think clearly and start planning how I was going to get her into her room near the kitchen without anybody seeing us. I placed my arm around her and began leading her forward, but she stopped and looked at me with wide eyes.
“You can’t tell nobody, Miss Adelaide. Nobody, you hear? Robert can’t find out nohow.” She hiccuped, her eyes clenched tight. In a loud whisper, she said, “Robert will kill him, and there be hell to pay. You understand, Miss Adelaide? You understand what I say?”
I wanted to argue, but I knew that she was right almost as much as I knew that she wasn’t going to let either one of us leave those woods without my agreeing. “All right. I won’t tell anybody. I promise.” My lips trembled into a little smile. “It’ll be our secret.”
She didn’t return the smile, but nodded solemnly. Then she allowed me to lead her out of the woods. As we paused in the shadows at the edge of the trees and I planned our path back to the kitchen, I became aware of a lone figure standing at the side of the house. A match flared, and as he raised it to his face to light a cigar, I inhaled quickly. It was the man I’d met in the jewelry store, the man John said wasn’t somebody he wanted me to associate with. As I stared across the moonlit yard, I realized that he had recognized me, too. He tipped his hat toward me in acknowledgment.
Looking away quickly, I squeezed Mathilda closer to me and began running toward the back door of the kitchen, feeling the man’s eyes on my back, just like I imagined I’d feel somebody walking on my grave.
Chapter 22
Vivien Walker Moise
INDIAN MOUND, MISSISSIPPI
APRIL 2013
I parked in front of the midcentury ranch that hadn’t changed much in the decade since I’d last seen it. Rocking chairs still sat on the front porch, and an old tire swing still hung from the ancient oak tree in the front of the house that shaded the structure from the hot summer sun. The house wore a coat of fresh white paint, and the lawn had been meticulously manicured with a mower and an edger. Yet there were no flowers in pots or in beds, and no seasonal wreath on the front door. It was like looking at a magazine cover where everything was perfect except for the absence of life.
Tripp answered the door and smiled without showing any surprise, as if we were still in high school and I was coming over so he could help me with my math homework. He wore old jeans that were slung low on his hips, and a Duke University T-shirt. I remembered the day he’d received his acceptance letter, and how I’d let him kiss me. He filled out his shirt and jeans a lot better than he had in high school, and I blushed when he caught me looking. He clutched a napkin in his hand and I could hear a baseball game on television inside.
“I can come back later if you’re busy. . . .”
He pulled the door open wider. “I was just finishing up my supper, although I think there’s plenty left if you’re hungry.”
I stepped inside, shaking my head. “No, but thank you. Carol Lynne and Chloe are setting the table in the dining room, so I’d better show up. I won’t take up too much of your time.”
I looked around the small foyer, recognizing the same furniture and faux-oil landscape paintings on the walls, the same doilies on the backs of chairs in the living room, a triple frame of a toddler Tripp spread out on top of an old-fashioned stereo console that most likely had a turntable and cassette player inside. Everything was dated and t
ired, a pale memory of the warmth and welcome I’d once felt here. Before I’d even opened my mouth to ask the question, a ball of dread fell thickly into the bottom of my stomach.
“How are your parents?” I asked, my eyes darting around for a pair of slippers or a stray pink hair curler.
“They passed a little over two years ago. Drunk driver hit them on Highway Sixty-one. They were coming back from a big crafts fair in Hollandale. Mama had gotten it in her head that she wanted to start making dollhouses.” He grimaced. “I got the call on my radio about the accident and was at the scene to examine the two fatalities when I recognized their car. Not something you forget in a hurry.”
I felt sick, remembering Mr. Montgomery’s bad jokes that always made me laugh, and his wife’s string of hobbies that changed almost as often as a teenage girl changed clothes. They’d been the closest thing I’d had to parents next to Bootsie and Emmett, and they’d loved me like a daughter. It hadn’t occurred to me that I’d never see them again.
“I’m so sorry, Tripp. I didn’t know.”
“You didn’t ask,” he said, closing the door behind me.
I felt my chest cave with shame at his words. I’d been so lost in my fog that I hadn’t even lifted my head to see past my own troubles. As if mine were the only ones worth seeing. “They were good people,” I said, Bootsie’s words coming back to me without prodding.
“Yes, they were.”
“And your sister, Claire? How is she?” Asking Tripp these questions was all wrong. I had grown up with his family, had considered his sister one of my best friends. I should have known that his parents were gone, should have been to the cemetery to see them placed in the ground. I should know where Claire was. Of all that seemed lost to me, this was the hardest to accept. I felt my throat tightening, and the encroaching bleakness that usually sent me for a pill pulsed through me.
“She’s in Michigan. Married a boy she met in vet school. They have their own practice in Lansing, and two kids—a boy and a girl.”
