by Lynne Bryant
August 11, 1918
Dear Mother and Father,
I fear that I might not see your faces again in dear old Mississippi and I have persuaded a nice nurse who has been taking care of me to write a letter for me. Don't worry, they are able to keep the pain under control with morphine, although I must admit, it makes me a little foggy at times, so please forgive me if this letter seems disorganized.
I have on my conscience a terrible thing that I did before I left to join the French air force and I must tell you. I've heard so many of these Catholic boys around me calling for priests to confess their sins before they die. I know that we Baptists don't believe that we need priests and such, but I cannot die knowing that the truth has not been told about what happened five years ago between myself and Monroe Clark.
The truth is I slept with Monroe's wife. Mama, I'm ashamed to have to admit this to you. I know that you raised me to be a good Christian, but I confess I was tempted and gave in to temptation. The bigger shame is that she was not willing. I came on her alone one day up at the big house doing some of her chores and I forced her into one of the upstairs bedrooms and took her. I didn't hurt her, I swear. Nevertheless, I know what I did was wrong and I have asked God to forgive me for it. I'm sorry to say that I will never have the opportunity to ask Mary herself for forgiveness.
I didn't realize that Mary was pregnant because by then I had left for North Carolina to learn to fly airplanes. I came home for a short time later that year, and when I saw Mary with her big belly, I made myself believe the baby was Monroe's. And Mary, of course, would have nothing to do with me.
Monroe, as you know, always hunted with us boys to help carry the guns and manage the dogs. One night, while I was home visiting, we were getting ready to go coon hunting and I noticed Monroe hadn't shown up yet. One of the boys said his wife was having her baby. After the hunt I had started back out of the woods, and just when I got to the road, Monroe drove up in the wagon. He was carrying a gun and he pointed it straight at me. He said his wife just had a healthy eight-pound baby girl. When I tried to congratulate him, he said that the midwife told him that there wasn't any way a baby could come out looking that white and be his child. I reckon Mary finally told him what happened between her and me.
I tried to talk him down, honest I did. I told him it was all going to be all right, that I would help them out best I could. He said he didn't want to look at his daughter every day and think about a white man raping his wife. He just kept pointing that gun and coming closer and I got scared and shot. He fell down and didn't move. I just stood there scared to death. I've killed a lot of men in this war, but it never felt like it did that night when I shot Monroe Clark.
The boys heard the shot and came out of the woods behind me. I was still shaking when they knelt down beside him and felt his pulse and told me he was dead. I made up a story about him being mad at me about a hunting dog and pulling a gun on me. What was crazy is that they believed me. Not one of them questioned me a bit. We loaded Monroe in his wagon and took him to the colored hospital and told the doctor it was a hunting accident.
I'm telling you all of this now because I don't think I'll survive this injury, and I left Mississippi right after all of this happened, so I never got a chance to make any arrangements for that little girl. I don't even know what her name is. But I can't go to my grave knowing that I have a child in this world and not let you know. She's probably about five years old now and I want to be sure that you take care of her. I realize that what I've done has caused shame for our family, but please don't make the wrong I've done even worse by refusing to acknowledge my daughter.
I'm forever in your debt. I beg your forgiveness as I do God's.
Your loving son, Gerald
Roxanne
"Lord have mercy, Grace! What did you do?
How did you feel?" I'd been listening with rapt attention as she read the letter.
"Looking back on that day after all of these years, I think what I felt was shame. I didn't know it then. Right then, at that moment, all I could feel was anger. I sat there just stunned, and Mr. Calhoun put that letter down and said, 'Grace, we think my father was embarrassed by all of this business and hid this letter. We never knew it existed until now.' I just looked at him. I didn't know what to say. After all, these were the bosses. These were the people my family had been working for more than eighty years. We were friendly, but we weren't in the habit of revealing our personal feelings to them.
"Mrs. Calhoun chimed in then. She started to tell me how they had talked and that they wanted to make it right somehow. At that point, I couldn't listen anymore. My head was spinning. The man I thought was my daddy wasn't. My mother had this happen to her and I never knew. And worst of all, I was now just another illegitimate colored girl with a white daddy who wouldn't claim her. I'm telling you, Roxanne, all I could think to do was run. I ran out of that house and back to my grandmother's little house and just sat there all night crying my eyes out and trying to make sense of it all.
"By the time the sun started to come up the next morning, I had made a plan. I packed what few clothes I had in my grandmother's old suitcase and I walked to the bus station in Clarksville. I bought a ticket to Jackson."
"Why Jackson?" I ask.
"Because Tougaloo College is only ten miles north of Jackson. I had decided, by hook or by crook, I was going to get out of Clarksville and, even if I had to beg them to take me, I was going to go to Tougaloo and become a teacher."
"Did you know anyone there?"
"No, and I had never been that far away from home in my life, either. It was quite an adventure for a young girl."
Grace stops telling her story and sits rocking quietly. It's so quiet out here all I can hear is the rustle of the wind through the red and gold leaves of the sweet gum trees outside the porch and the occasional soft thud of pecans hitting the ground near the driveway. I look at Grace, trying to determine if she's dozed off, but her eyes are open and she starts to fold the letter she has just finished telling me about and put it carefully back in its yellowed envelope. I'm holding my breath, hoping she's not finished. There's so much more I want to know.
It's shocking to me to find out she's half white. She doesn't look it. As far as I can tell her features are like most black people I've seen. Her skin is certainly not any lighter. I study her features surreptitiously. I've never really noticed, but maybe she has some resemblance to the Calhouns I've seen in the photographs. I remind myself to examine that family photo more closely next time I'm in the parlor. I remember that day I first met Grace, several weeks ago now. I was studying the family pictures that day. Who could believe then that I would end up feeling so close to this small, fragile woman who's taught me so much?
Grace looks up as I gently pose another question. "What was it like?"
She raises her eyebrows. "What's that?"
"What was Tougaloo College like?"
She sits up straighter in her chair and her eyes sparkle. "It was the best and the worst time of my life," she says.
September 1931
Grace
It's so hot and dry today, the wagon wheels leave a cloud of dust behind as the kind colored farmer who gave me a ride from the
Jackson bus station drives his mules on down the winding dirt road. I set Grandma's old suitcase down and brush the dust off my dress, wishing I'd just stayed on the back of that wagon. Maybe I could go home with that farmer, find a new family and new life. I'm a hard worker. I could pick cotton. No one would know me. No one would know this terrible secret I carry about myself.
As the dust clears, I can see a brick arch and the words "Tougaloo College" displayed in the curve of the arch. Once again, I wonder how I'm going to make this work. I don't have much money and I haven't even applied for the fall semester. All I could think about when I got on that bus this morning was getting away from the Calhouns and Clarksville. I still can't take in the idea that my father was Gerald Calhoun. I've never known a father
, colored or white, but Mama and Grandma always told me my daddy died when I was a baby. They always said it was a hunting accident.
Now I find out the man who fathered me died in a hospital somewhere in France. A white man. And not only that, I find out that I looked so white the day I was born that Monroe Clark lost his life over it.
I look down at my arms and hands as I stand there on that dirt road in the hot Mississippi sun. My skin is as black as Mama's was, as black as Zero's or Grandma's. There's never been any reason for me to suspect I might have any white blood. Then it strikes me. It's my nose. Grandma and Mama always said I had such a pretty nose. But they never said why my nose is long and sharp and not wide and flat like theirs. I always thought it was just a twist of nature, a fluke. I reach up to touch my nose and run my fingers along the bridge of it. I silently curse my nose and Gerald Calhoun for forcing himself on my mama the way he did.
Mama and Monroe Clark probably had big dreams for our little family. But Gerald Calhoun took that away from them. I spit in the dust, feeling contempt for the man who ruined my mother's life, and right then I decide I will not let him ruin mine. If only I could talk to Junior. I miss him every day and he knows nothing about all of this. But I don't even know where he is right now. I feel hot tears stinging my cheeks.
But I've felt sorry for myself long enough. So I wipe my face with the handkerchief from my pocket, pick up my little suitcase, square my shoulders, and strike out down the long driveway and through the arch to Tougaloo College. I stop to look overhead as I pass through the arch. A mockingbird flies over my head and lands on top of the arch, looking down at me with quizzical eyes. I stare at the bird and think of Mama, rocking me to sleep at night when I was a little bitty girl, singing, "Hush, little baby, don't say a word. Mama's gonna buy you a mockingbird ..." I'm flooded with the memory of my mother, her smell, her kind eyes, and I feel those tears coming again.
I remember asking her, "When are you gonna buy me a mockingbird, Mama?"
"Hush, child," Mama would say. "It's just a song." And she would keep singing, "If that mockingbird won't sing, Mama's gonna buy you a diamond ring. If that diamond ring turns to brass, Mama's gonna buy you a looking glass ..."
Once again I brush away those tears with the back of my hand. I don't have time for sadness now. I came here to get an education. I can't let Mama and Grandma down. In the distance I see a large white house with columns and a generous front porch. This must be the Tougaloo mansion I read about in the pamphlet my teacher in Clarksville, Miss Wilson, showed me. As I get closer to the building, I can see that the entire second floor of the mansion has a series of multipaned windows across the front. I think how beautiful it is.
A quiver of excitement runs through my body and I smile with pride to think that this is a college, a real college, just for colored people. The mansion reminds me of the white people's homes I've seen in Clarksville. As a matter of fact, a white cotton planter built this mansion back before the War. The closest I've come to seeing the inside of any of the Clarksville houses, other than Pecan Cottage, was to go in their back doors for some errand I might be running for the Calhouns. I realize then that I've worked for the Calhouns all my life and I've never been in the front door of Pecan Cottage.
I resist the instinct now to go around to the back door of this grand old house. I set my jaw and march up the wide front steps. I'm busy admiring the arched window over the door when the door opens and I find myself face-to-face with a colored woman different from anyone I've ever seen before. She's dressed in a dark well-fitted suit. I know that her shoes and clothes are the latest fashion because Adelle and I have seen clothes like this in the Good Housekeeping magazines that Mrs. Calhoun lets us have when she's finished. Her shoes are good leather, polished and shining, with pointed toes and a smart little heel. Her hair is combed in a straight bob with short bangs and she's wearing red lipstick. I notice that her skin is lighter than mine and very smooth. Her smile is immediate. She looks so young that I assume she's one of the students.
"Why, hello there," she says. "May I help you?"
I'm suddenly very self-conscious of my dusty, old-fashioned dress and worn shoes. I decide that I'd better make up for what I lack in appearance by showing some spunk. I set my suitcase down and extend my hand.
"Hello," I say in my bravest voice. "I'm Grace Clark. I would like to be a student here."
The beautiful woman smiles again and a slight look of surprise crosses her face. She motions toward two wicker chairs on the shady porch. "You look hot and tired, Miss Clark. Please, have a seat. It's cooler out here on the porch right now than it is inside." She calls back over her shoulder through the still open door, "Marjory, could you please bring my guest a glass of iced tea?"
I move to the chair and stand in front of it, waiting for the woman to join me. I marvel at a colored woman asking someone to bring something to her. Other than my experience fetching and carrying for Mama or Grandma, I've never seen a colored woman have someone wait on her. The woman joins me and sits down.
"Please, sit down, dear. You look exhausted.
Forgive me, I didn't introduce myself. I am Dr. Inez Prosser. I am a member of the faculty, in charge of teacher education."
I'm so overwhelmed I can't speak. This young woman is the very person I need to see and I've had the good fortune to meet her even before I got through the doors of the college! I feel Mama and Grandma watching over me like angels. I do think it's strange that Tougaloo College would put a doctor in charge of teachers. I didn't even know women could be doctors. This is all so exciting and very confusing.
"Now, Miss Clark," Dr. Prosser is asking in a businesslike tone, "have you applied to the college and been accepted?"
While I'm searching for a way to answer this question that will not make me look completely incompetent, Marjory appears with a tall glass of iced tea. I thank her as I take the tea and feel the cool sweat from the glass on my hands. In my excitement I forgot how hot and thirsty I was after the long bus ride here, not to mention the ride on the back of the farmer's wagon the ten miles from Jackson. I try not to gulp all of the tea down at once. Dr. Prosser is waiting patiently for me to answer. I take a deep breath, sit up straight, and hold my shoulders back. Grandma always said, "Start out like you can hold out." I figure I'd better start out honest with this impressive doctor woman because I just don't have the energy or the inclination to live a lie.
Roxanne
"So right then and there I poured out my whole story to Dr. Inez Prosser," Grace says. "You probably didn't know this, but Inez Prosser was one of the first black women in this country to earn a doctoral degree."
"No, I didn't know that," I answer. Of course this is just one of the many things that I don't know about black history. I've never had any reason to care about black education or anything related to it. Funny that it's now interesting to me. Because of my friendship with Grace Clark, I have a sense of what Inez Prosser must have gone through to get as far as she did academically.
Grace continues. "She was such a kind woman. Of course, I had shown up without papers or an application. I was so distraught, I told her that I would do whatever it took just to stay there — mop floors, wash dishes, anything. Right then and there she called for Marjory and sent her to the college cafeteria to get Miss Crump."
"Who was Miss Crump?" I ask.
"She was just about the meanest, orneriest woman I ever met." Grace laughs. "But she saved my life. She gave me a job that very day in the kitchen. She saved my pride and gave me a chance to earn my keep."
"And did you get admitted?"
"Yes, I did. Dr. Prosser was so gracious. She took me under her wing and helped me with everything. She talked me through the admission process step by step. She made sure I got registered for classes." Grace pauses and leans forward in her chair. "I would have done anything to make her proud of me." I can feel the intensity of her gratitude to Dr. Prosser.
Grace leans back and sighs. "Then one day sh
e called me into her office. I was terrified. I just knew that I had done something wrong or someone had come to take me back to Clarksville."
"Why would anyone do that?"
"Oh, it was just a young girl's foolishness to think that. I was always looking back over my shoulder, thinking someone would find me out. Someone would tell the world I was just a poor colored girl from Clarksville and I didn't deserve to get an education. But that's not what she wanted, of course. She wanted to tell me that she had received a letter from the Calhouns. They had set up a fund for me."
"A fund?"
"Yes, Dr. Prosser sat there quietly that day, waiting for understanding to dawn on me, I reckon. I must have seemed thickheaded, because I remember she said to me, 'Grace, do you know what this means?' and I said, 'No, ma'am, not really.' 'Your entire education is paid for,' she said. I'm here to tell you, Roxanne, I could hardly take that in. And then, I got angry."
"Angry?" I can't imagine why Grace would be angry when a college education had just been handed to her.
"Yes, you have to remember how young and stubborn I was. I stormed around Dr. Prosser's office, talking about how this was guilt money and how I wasn't going to take it and how they couldn't buy my silence."
"What did Dr. Prosser do?"
"She just sat there, real patient, and let me do my ranting. Then, when I paused to take a breath — by now I was crying — she said very quietly, 'Are you done?' I told her I was, and I plopped down in the chair in front of her desk and buried my head in my hands and just bawled my eyes out. I missed my mama and my grandma so much. And I missed Zero, and Junior, and Adelle, too. Even though Dr. Prosser was so kind, I felt so alone."
Grace shakes her head at the memory. "Dr. Prosser let me cry for a little bit. Then she told me something I've never forgotten."
