The Mirror (Northwest Passage Book 5)

by John A. Heldt

  "Yes. I know."

  James chuckled.

  Ginny smiled and then looked at another protester, who marched in a meandering line about ten feet away. The protester – a petite blonde in a light blue dress – nibbled on the ear of one Mike Hayes.

  "My sister's something too. Aren't you, Katie?"

  Ginny pulled on her own earlobe.

  Katie loosened her grip on Mike and shot her twin a playful glance.

  "You just mind your own business, Ginny."

  Ginny laughed and returned her attention to James, who continued to keep to himself. She was not at all surprised by his reserve. She knew he was still adjusting to the role of political activist. She also knew he was wrestling with new feelings – feelings for her, feelings she had done nothing to discourage.

  Ginny sighed as she thought of Katie's comment during their heart-to-heart on June 28: Oh, Gin. Isn't your life complicated enough? She was right, of course. Even if Katie herself was incapable of practicing what she preached, she was still right. The last thing Ginny needed now was another complication in her life. Yet every time she looked at James Green, she wanted to spend more time with him. He was becoming a habit she didn't want to break.

  So, for that matter, was Steve Carrington. If every minute with James was like a walk in the park, then every minute with Steve was like a stroll on a beach. He had not lost any luster in two weeks and certainly none since the Fourth of July, when he had taken her out in a large rowboat on Lake Washington and treated her to wine, cheese, and fireworks under the stars.

  The problem, as always, was the running clock. Ginny knew the fun and games were drawing to a close. If, as she suspected, the 1964 Cedar River Country Fair offered excursions to the twenty-first century, she would leave behind a lover, a good friend, and experiences that she would never be able to prove but which no one would ever be able to take away.

  She pondered the matter for several more minutes but decided to think of other things when the marchers turned onto Yesler Way and headed toward a park near the county courthouse and city hall. Though the questions about James and Steve would come up again in the next two months, they could surely wait another day.

  As the four courtesy clerks – part of a throng of eight hundred – approached the park, Ginny thought instead of the pleasant march. She waved to a group of onlookers at Yesler and Third and then at an elderly black gentleman who smiled and tipped his hat. Ginny was glad she had decided to do this instead of go to the beach. She was making a difference.

  When Ginny reached the lawn, she lifted James' hand high, yelled something silly, and turned to face a small stage and a podium that had been set up for the march's scheduled speakers. Standing on the stage and returning her attention were two event organizers, a policeman, and a man she had seen on her visit to the Seattle Sun. He was a man with a large smile and an even larger equipment bag. He was a man with a camera.

  CHAPTER 52: GINNY

  Kirkland, Washington – Sunday, July 12, 1964

  Ginny couldn't complain about the view from the restaurant patio. The vistas of Yarrow Bay and the northern half of Lake Washington were positively delightful. The people at her table for five were another matter.

  "That is quite a picture of you in the Sun today," Richard Carrington said as he placed a cloth napkin in his lap. "I didn't realize you were politically active, Ginny."

  Ginny knew that the photo on the front page of the Sunday edition – the one showing her raising James' hand to the sky – would be a contentious topic at dinner. It had been a contentious topic all morning, or at least the part of the morning that followed the late service at Lakeside Christian Church.

  For nearly an hour Ginny had discussed the photo with church members over coffee and rolls. Many were supportive of her participation in the march. Some were not. A few seemed more interested to know how such a "spirited girl" had come to know and befriend one of the most connected families in the area.

  Richard and Joyce had kept their opinions to themselves at the church. Proper families, it seemed, did not discuss delicate matters in the presence of the Lord – or at least fellow parishioners who stared, gossiped, and asked a lot of questions.

  "I'm not politically active. I'm socially conscious."

  "I meant no offense, Ginny. I admire a person with conviction. In fact, I am personally very supportive of efforts to improve the plight of the Negro in this state."

  "I wish you'd use a different term, sir. I don't like that one."

  "What? 'Negro'?" Richard asked.

  "Yes."

  "What term do you prefer?"

  "I like African American," Ginny said. "You should use that instead."

  "I suppose I could, but is it really necessary? I've never been a fan of all these modifiers, whether Irish, Italian, or even German. I find them kind of silly, actually. It seems to me that we are either all Americans or not Americans at all."

  "I don't find them silly. But what do I know? I'm just a girl."

  Ginny looked across the table and saw that her comment didn't sit well with Her Royal Snootiness. Connie Carrington glared at Ginny like she had just called her a dingbat.

  "Now, now. There's no need to get defensive," Richard said. "We just have a difference of opinion, that's all. If you prefer that I use the term 'African American,' I'll use that instead."

  "Thank you, sir."

  Richard took a sip of water.

  "I am a little curious, though, as to what prompted you to participate in the march," he said. "You're new to Seattle, you're clearly not 'African American,' and your housing situation, from what Steven tells me, is more than sufficient. Why jump into something like this?"

  "I jumped into it, as you put it, because I don't see discrimination as a problem that affects just one group. It affects all of us. I want to do my part in putting an end to it."

  "I see. Do you believe marching through the streets is the best way to achieve that goal?"

  "I do," Ginny said.

  "Really?" Joyce asked.

  "Yes. Really."

  "Do you also believe that joining hands with that boy in a defiant way will win over hearts and minds to your position?"

  Beam me up, Scotty.

  "Yes. I do."

  "By the way, who is that young man holding your hand?" Joyce asked. "Do you know him?"

  "Yes, I know him. His name is James Green. He's a courtesy clerk at Greer's Grocery, near the university campus. I work with him three days a week."

  "I see. Do you always hold hands with coworkers?"

  "Just the ones I'm fond of," Ginny said.

  Ginny glanced at Steve and saw that her snappy rejoinder had drawn blood. Part of her didn't care though. She wanted Mr. Wonderful to come to her defense and was both disappointed and irritated that he had been content to listen but not speak.

  She returned to Mrs. Carrington and saw that her comments had done little more than feed her contempt. Ginny could have said that James was a self-made millionaire and a Rhodes scholar, and it wouldn't have made a difference. Joyce had already considered the merits of marching and handholding with certain people and had clearly come down against them.

  "Ladies, ladies. There's no reason to spoil a fine lunch over this," Richard said. "I think the point to remember here, Ginny, is that there's a right way and a wrong way to help these folks. I can't think of a single person who supports discrimination in housing or jobs or anything else. Seattle's a pretty fair town, and Washington's a pretty fair state."

  Ginny was more than tired of this conversation, but she saw an opening she couldn't pass up. When Richard took another sip of water, she pushed the discourse in a different direction.

  "I generally agree, Mr. Carrington. One of the things that impressed me most about the march was how fair-minded and well-behaved people were – in the street and on the sidewalks. I really believe people are ready for change in this country."

  "I do too, young lady," Richard said. "I'm just not sure th
ey're ready for photos like the one in today's paper."

  Ginny took a moment to pummel Joyce and Connie with her eyes – simply because they deserved it – and then returned to Richard, who seemed oblivious to his offensiveness. If she did nothing else during this dinner, she would defend actions that were defensible in any era.

  "So what you're saying is that it's OK to help black people by giving them jobs, access to affordable housing, and rights that the rest of us take for granted, but it's not OK to appear with them in photos published in a metropolitan newspaper. Is that right?"

  "That's not what I said, Ginny. Nor is that what I believe. There are many ways to achieve the same goals. I believe we want the same things. I really do. I just think it's wise to exercise discretion in situations like this."

  Ginny couldn't blame Richard for trying to win her over. He obviously didn't want to upset a woman who meant a lot to his son. That didn't, however, make his words any less noxious.

  Ginny pulled her napkin from her lap and placed it on her plate. She gave Joyce and Connie another death stare, gazed disappointingly at Steve, and turned to face Richard.

  "I'm not feeling well all of a sudden, sir. Thank you for the appetizers," she said. "I'm going for a walk. Excuse me."

  Ginny got up from her chair, blew past several tables, and pushed open the patio gate. She then walked along the side of the restaurant to the parking lot in front. When she finally reached the street, she turned north and began walking north to no place in particular. She found that walking to no place in particular was one of the best ways to rid a mind of anger.

  A minute later she reached the first intersection, stopped, and waited for the light to change. She didn't know if or when she would return to the restaurant. She knew only that she had enough cash in her purse to cover cab fare back to the duplex.

  Ginny stepped forward when the light turned green but didn't advance three feet before she felt a hand on her shoulder. She turned around and saw Steve.

  "Where do you think you're going?" he asked.

  "I'm going where I don't have to listen to your dad talk about the 'plight of the Negro' or 'discretion' or anything else that pisses me off. I'm not going back to that table, Steve. I'm not."

  "I'm not asking you to," Steve said. "I'm just asking you to calm down."

  Ginny put her hands on her hips.

  "Calm down? You mean like you? You weren't much help back there. I could have used a helping hand instead of a potted plant. Do you agree with your dad? Do you think I should 'exercise discretion' in situations like that?"

  Steve put his hands on her shoulders.

  "No. I don't think you should exercise discretion. I think you should do what you believe is right. I support that stuff too. So does my dad. He just has a different way of expressing himself."

  "Well, I don't like it," Ginny said. "I don't like any of it."

  Steve pulled her in closer.

  "I don't expect you to like it. I'm not dating you because you agree with my dad. I'm dating you because you don't. You have a mind of your own," Steve said. He kissed her lightly on the lips. "I find that very appealing."

  Ginny looked at him with angry eyes but couldn't maintain the glare. Like her people-pleasing sister, she couldn't hold grudges for long – particularly against males who said the right things at the right time.

  "Then why didn't you speak up? If you support me, then why didn't you say so? At the very least you would have given your mom and sister someone new to stare at."

  Steve pulled back and looked away.

  "I didn't because I have problems with the picture too," he said. "I don't give a crap about the march, but I do give a crap about seeing you with another guy."

  Ginny sighed and shook her head.

  "He's just a friend, Steve. James is just a friend, a friend who happens to have a pretty big stake in things like fair housing and civil rights."

  "He's just a friend, huh?"

  "Yes. He's just a friend."

  "Fair enough. That's good enough for me."

  Ginny looked at Steve's face and saw that he meant it, but she was ticked that he felt obliged to even ask the question. She didn't know what to make of the emotions swirling through her system, but she did know she didn't like them. She didn't like them at all.

  "I don't want to go back to the restaurant, Steve."

  "You don't have to," he said. "If you want to go eat somewhere else, I'll take you there."

  Ginny shook her head again.

  "No. I'm not hungry now."

  "Are you sure?"

  She grabbed his hand and met his gaze.

  "I'm positive. Just take me back to your car. Just take me home."

  CHAPTER 53: GINNY

  Seattle, Washington – Thursday, July 16, 1964

  Sitting at a bar with Katie and Virginia in the basement family room of the Jorgenson house, Ginny gazed at a large television and watched in awe. She had gotten accustomed to watching live events in black-and-white, but not events like this. She pivoted on her stool for a better look and watched a gray-haired man with seriously thick glasses make history in real time.

  "I would remind you that extremism in the defense of liberty is no vice. And let me remind you also that moderation in the pursuit of justice is no virtue."

  "What do you think of Goldwater?" Ginny asked.

  "I don't care for his views, but I like his style," Virginia said. "He speaks plainly, which is more than I can say for most in Washington these days."

  "Do you think he'll win?"

  Virginia laughed.

  "That's quite a question coming from someone who knows the outcome of this election."

  Ginny blushed.

  "I thought I'd ask anyway. I don't know as much as you think I do, but I do know that."

  Ginny kept her voice down. She didn't want Joe Jorgenson, sitting in an easy chair near the TV at the other end of the room, to know that his man Barry was going down to defeat.

  Virginia sipped iced tea from a tall glass.

  "Don't sell yourself short, dear. You're sitting on knowledge that many would kill for."

  "Do you mean bettors?" Ginny asked.

  "Yes, I mean bettors. I also mean doctors, scientists, investors, and particularly politicians. Whatever you do with that knowledge of yours, be very careful."

  "My dad wasn't careful, was he?"

  Virginia smiled wistfully.

  "He took liberties, Ginny. He used his knowledge to win three large sports bets," Virginia said. "For the most part, though, he was responsible. He kept his knowledge to himself, despite what must have been a great temptation to do otherwise. He knew we would go to war with Japan and Germany and knew that Tom would die in that war, but he said nothing. He knew it wasn't his place to play God."

  "I suppose you have a lot of questions for us – about the world, I mean," Ginny said.

  Virginia started to say something but stopped when Joe got out of his chair, turned off the TV, and walked to the back of the room.

  "So much for speeches," Joe said as he approached the bar.

  "Did Senator Goldwater not meet your expectations, dear?" Virginia asked.

  "He did fine by me, but I don't think he helped himself tonight. I saw a lot of sour mugs in that convention hall. Barry's going need every one of them to win."

  Joe looked at Ginny.

  "How about you? Are you following much of this?"

  "I'm afraid not, sir," Ginny said. "I'd rather listen to cereal snap, crackle, and pop than listen to politicians make promises."

  Joe laughed.

  "I feel that way too. How about you, Katie? Are you following all the snaps and crackles?"

  Katie shook her head.

  "No," she said. "I'm like Ginny. I find politics pretty boring."

  What a crock, Ginny thought, as she laughed to herself. She knew that Katie found the presidential race and politics in general anything but boring. Katie went through the Sun every morning with a pen and ma
rked political articles she wanted to read more than once.

  "You're not alone. A lot of folks have turned away from politics in the past year," Joe said. "I suppose that's to be expected when you go from Jack Kennedy to a miscreant like Johnson."

  Joe grabbed a potato chip out of a bowl.

  "Well, I'd better get back to fixing those cabinets. You girls have fun."

  "See you later," Ginny said.

  Ginny watched her great-grandfather walk away from the bar toward the base of the stairs. When he turned the corner and disappeared, she returned her attention to Virginia.

  "Were you going to say something?"

  "Indeed I was," Virginia said. "I was about to respond to your comment about questions. As it turns out, I do have a lot of questions for you – more than you can possibly imagine."

  "Then why haven't you asked?"

  "I haven't asked the questions, Ginny, because I'm not sure I want the answers. One of the benefits of ignorance is being able to move blissfully from one day to the next. I'm not sure what I would do if I had prior knowledge of a dreadful event."

  "Oh."

  "That doesn't mean I'm not curious. As a newswoman, I trade on curiosity," Virginia said. "Are there some things that you can tell me without getting too specific?"

  Ginny glanced at Katie and awaited the sign. She knew there was a lot she could say without disrupting any lives, but she wanted to get her sister's OK before proceeding. She knew as well as anyone that she was playing with fire. When she saw Katie nod, she returned to Virginia.

  "There are, Nana. There is one thing in particular you should probably know about. It's been nagging at Katie and me for several weeks."

  "What's that?"

  "The war."

  "What war?"

  "There's going to be a war in Vietnam," Ginny said. "It's going to kill a lot of people."

  Virginia stared at Ginny with incredulous eyes.

  "A war in Vietnam? Really? I know we have advisors there, but advisors are not armies."

  "That's going to change," Ginny said. "Something is going to happen this year that changes everything. I don't remember exactly what. I just know it's going to happen – and happen soon."