The Secret Life of Lula Darling

by Alex Dean

  Marcus turned off the ignition and hurried around to open the rear door of his SUV. I got out, and he ushered me across the lawn while holding one of his sweatshirts over my head.

  Hustling to the porch, we looked like two young celebrities conspicuously shielding our faces from the paparazzi.

  We went inside, and Marcus quickly shut the door. The house smelled of grilled onions. Mama D. was in the kitchen, cooking and humming a tune I could not place. You could hear food sizzling on the stove. After the clatter of setting down what sounded like several utensils, she made her way into the living room, smiling.

  “Congratulations, Lula. You all back so early?” she said.

  Marcus nodded nervously. “Yeah, Soldier Field was a madhouse today. We couldn’t wait to get back home, Mama D.”

  “Well, that’s pretty unusual. You young people normally like to go out on the town and celebrate after graduation. But I guess each generation is different.”

  “What are you cooking?” Marcus inquired, changing the subject.

  “Smothered steak and a baked potato, along with a side salad. As a matter of fact, let me get back there and turn this skillet off.”

  Mama D. shuffled back into the kitchen while Marcus looked at me and shrugged. I glanced at my watch to note the time. It was a quarter to six.

  Marcus then went over to turn on a small flat-screen that sat on a dinner tray in front of the fireplace. Mama D. made her way back into the living room, grabbed her reading glasses, and then sat in her recliner. She let out a heavy breath.

  “I’m so tired. Been standing for almost an hour in that kitchen. Why couldn’t I be rich like Oprah and have someone who could do all my cooking for me? Maybe if I keep playing the lottery I’ll get lucky one of these days,” she said. Mama D. then cocked her head and focused her eyes on me. “What do you think, Lula? Think I can win the big game one day and have my own chef?”

  I giggled. “You never know. Anything’s possible.”

  Marcus paced the room as I sat on the sofa talking to his grandmother. Then he went to the front picture window and peered out of it.

  This did not go unnoticed by Mama D. Watching his inability to sit still, she suspected that something was amiss.

  She barked, “Marcus, what’s bothering you, boy?”

  “Nothing.”

  “I don’t believe that. I was there from the time you were born and instinctively know whenever there’s trouble brewing. Are you in some kind of trouble?”

  “No, ma’am.”

  “Only by the grace of God did you survive that shooting down there in Bronzeville. Consider that a warning, Marcus. But do you ever listen? Nope. You keep doing the same things over and over again. Hanging in the wrong places. Hanging with the wrong crowd. Until tragedy strikes.”

  “But Mama D., you—”

  “You’ve been doing well up till now, Marcus. Don’t come this far just to screw up!” Mama D. tilted her head and raised her cane slowly, pointing it in Marcus’s direction. “Now something’s wrong. What is it?”

  Marcus sat down next to me on the sofa and swallowed hard.

  “I don’t know if you’ll believe it,” he said.

  “Try me,” Mama D. replied.

  “Some men are after Lula. They’re from the government. Washington, D.C. They want to talk to her about her journey here from being a slave in the 1800s, Mama D. She’s what you call a time traveler.”

  Mama D. lowered her reading glasses onto the bridge of her nose. “Say what now?” she said.

  I grabbed Marcus’s hand, looked at him and smiled before I moved my gaze to Mama D.

  “He’s right, Ms. Whitaker. I was born a slave in Natchez, Mississippi, in 1840. I discovered a fascinating invention on the plantation where I labored with my mother picking cotton. That machine, owned by the slaveholder’s father, transported me here to present-day Chicago.”

  Mama D. glared at me for several seconds.

  “Are you on drugs or something?” she said with a straight face.

  Marcus stood up. “Mama D., she’s telling the truth! Yo, I know it sounds really crazy. But those men were at the graduation to take her away. We escaped—and now we need to find a way for Lula to safely hide.”

  Mama D. shook her head in disbelief. “I think I’ve heard it all. Either you two are crazy, or I’m crazy for sittin’ here listening.”

  She reached for her cane and got up from the recliner. “I’m going to get my food before it’s too cold to eat.”

  Suddenly I heard my name on the television.

  “Turn it up,” I said.

  Marcus almost tripped on an area rug while grabbing the remote off the dinner tray to increase the set’s volume. A picture of me taken at the graduation flashed across the screen. The news reporter mentioned that I was the city’s top valedictorian and that my family members were involved in an “altercation” at the ceremony.

  Even though I had only been several hours gone, they were spinning my “disappearance” as a missing persons case without any mention of what was really going on.

  “See, Mama D., this is exactly what we’ve been trying to tell you!” Marcus exclaimed, pointing at the screen.

  The broadcast shifted to a reporter live in front of the First District police station on State Street. I saw Ariel and her parents, and a heavyset woman I did not recognize.

  Ariel’s dad stepped forward after a reporter asked him if he wanted to say anything in case I was watching. “Lula, if you’re out there watching this, or if someone is holding you against your will, we ask for your safe return here at police headquarters,” he said, peering into the camera.

  I looked at Marcus, then at Mama D.

  “We’re telling you the truth,” I told her boldly.

  “Well, you need to turn yourself in,” she said. “And I think it’d be wise that someone of higher means accompany us to that police station,” she added.

  “Who should that be?” asked Marcus.

  “Pastor Tompkins. As much as I’ve donated to the church and its food drives, I’d say it’s time he returned the favor.”

  Mama D. went to a wooden sideboard situated under the clock in the living room. She pulled out the top drawer and rummaged through some loose pieces of paper.

  “I found his number. Hopefully, I can get in touch with him on such short notice,” she said.

  Mama D. went into the kitchen, where her one and only phone, a landline, was affixed to the wall. During the conversation with the pastor, I overheard her say that her grandson and his friend had found themselves in a predicament and needed his assistance. “It’s an emergency,” she assured him before ending the call.

  She hung up the phone and returned from the kitchen. Grabbing my hand, and then Marcus’s, she instructed us to bow our heads and began with a quick prayer. I began to feel terrible. Only because of me, she now found herself in the middle of all this drama.

  Roughly twenty minutes later, the doorbell rang.

  Mama D. grabbed her cane and trudged to the door to open it.

  “Good evening, Pastor.”

  “Evening, Delores.”

  “This is Marcus’s friend, Lula. A nice young lady who finds herself in quite an unusual situation,” Mama D. said calmly as she pointed in my direction.

  “Criminal?” Pastor Tompkins asked matter-of-factly.

  Mama D. shook her head. “No. No. Nothing like that. She just needs to talk to the authorities. I’ll go into more detail on the way there. We better be going.”

  The pastor shook Marcus’s hand and then mine. He wasn’t much taller than I was. Maybe around five-eight or five-nine, with black-framed glasses and a slightly protruding stomach. He wore a double-breasted two-piece black suit with a white shirt and silk yellow tie, and on his feet, I saw, were expensive-looking leather loafers.

  We walked out onto the porch, and Mama D. locked the door behind her, including the screen.

  “You can never be too careful around here,” she said.
“Another reason I need to win the big jackpot.”

  Pastor Tompkins opened the door and assisted Mama D. into the front passenger seat as Marcus and I got in the back. As we pulled from in front of the house, Ariel had sent me another text, this time with a sad face emoticon attached.

  They’re looking for you. Will be going to Marcus’s house next.

  I quickly texted back:

  No need to. On our way to police headquarters.

  I glanced over at Marcus. He appeared even more worried than I was. As Marcus and I quietly stared out the window, Mama D. and Pastor Tompkins talked to each other in the front seat. All she’d told him was that they wanted to talk to me about some information I might have. Nothing more than that.

  We pulled in front of the station, and the four of us got out of the car to go inside. Two well-dressed men came from another area and walked toward us as we stood in the lobby.

  One of them, a Hispanic agent who looked no more than thirty-something and holding some papers was the first one to confront us. The badge around his neck encased in plastic read Garza, I noted. “Anyone accompanying Ms. Darling will need a security clearance before proceeding any further,” he said.

  After asking Mama D., Pastor Tompkins, and Marcus for their ID, who they were, and what their association had been to me, the other agent made a call to someone from his cell phone. My guess was to get approval from whoever was in charge.

  I glanced over at Marcus and began to wonder if his sudden withdrawal and quiet demeanor could have had anything to do with whatever he was involved in outside of school. Was it something illegal? If so, was he afraid the police would find out?

  After ending the call, the other agent whispered something into Agent Garza’s ear. Garza then turned to address the four of us and said, “In adherence to government security protocol, any cell phones and recording devices must be left outside of the debriefing.” He then pointed to a plastic container, and we dropped in our devices before being led down a corridor and inside what looked like some type of meeting room.

  All eyes were sharply focused on me.

  Ariel and her parents hurried over to hug me, beaming. During our tight embrace, I glanced around the room, only to see CIA agents, Homeland Security, and several Chicago cops waiting patiently, some stone-faced.

  “They’re now reporting that you’ve been found,” Ariel whispered gently in my ear.

  One of the agents seated at the end of the table I’d been leaning against, quickly rose to his feet and said, “It’s time we got started.”

  I sat at the table flanked by Ariel and her mother on my left, her father on my right. Mama D. and Marcus sat next to Ariel’s father. I was nervous and didn’t quite know what to expect.

  There was a small Sony tape recorder on the middle of the table. One of the men, I think he was from Homeland Security, courteously excused himself from the room.

  I had decided on this fateful evening that I would tell everything I knew about the Mansfields, their plantation, and most of all, Mr. Hartley Mansfield’s invention.

  I looked to my right as the agent that had stood started to walk toward me. “Lula, my name is Agent Haupht with the Central Intelligence Agency, and this evening will consist of a debriefing before your scheduled departure for Fort Meade by motorcade tomorrow at zero eight hundred hours. Tonight’s interview will be videotaped and recorded. Given your circumstances, the government and the scientific community at large are extremely interested in your journey here from the past. Do you understand?”

  “Yes,” I nodded.

  “Good. I’d like for you to take a deep breath and then please recount for me the events on that fateful day that changed your life forever,” he went on.

  I stared at the table’s shiny surface for a moment, then at the Evanses, at Marcus, and then at Mama D. Mama D. smiled, put her hand on top of mine and gave a slight nod to assure me that everything was going to be okay.

  I imagined she had no way of knowing for sure, only that she obviously had faith that everything would somehow work itself out.

  “It was a day the Mansfields had received unexpected visitors. I was not supposed to be in the big house that morning, but was only inside because the lady of the house, Martha Mansfield, had been secretly teaching me how to read.

  “When the doorbell rang, Mrs. Martha frantically urged me to run upstairs and hide in the attic. That was when I first saw it. The Transporter,” I said.

  “What did it look like?” Haupht asked.

  “It was a wide rectangular box. At first, I thought it might have been a coffin. But the thought quickly faded when I noticed wires and additional equipment connected to it.”

  A gentleman seated at the far end of the table had been busy drawing as I talked. And then he rose from his seat and walked toward where I was sitting.

  “Lula . . . Mike Warwick, and I’m a sketch artist contracted by the US government.” He laid in front of me a pencil drawing on a white sheet of canvas paper.

  “Did the machine you’re speaking of resemble what I have here?” he asked.

  I looked at what he had drawn. “Yes, except for the right side of it was different.”

  “How? Please demonstrate,” he replied.

  “From what I recall there was a smaller section attached. Not as big. In the smaller section, there was a slot. I saw a circular disk on the floor and figured that it must go inside of the slot. I was scared but still curious. Once I inserted the disk I opened the lid and climbed in. On my right, I noticed a lit button.”

  “Did the button have any words inscribed on its surface, Lula?”

  “Yes, the word ON,” I replied.

  I watched as most of the agents in the room took notes. They hung on to every word which set forth from my mouth.

  “And then?” asked Haupht.

  “And then I closed the lid and pressed the button. The machine started to vibrate and hummed loudly.”

  “What do you recall happening from that point on, Lula?” Haupht went on.

  I momentarily scanned the room and then stared at him blankly.

  “I remember losing consciousness. And I saw my spirit or soul separate from my body. Still, somehow I saw everything that was occurring in the house. They were frantically searching for me.”

  “Who are they? Who was looking for you?”

  “The Mansfields had sent several field hands up in the attic looking for me. The very next thing I knew, I was coming to on Fifty-Third Street, the sun beaming down, halfway obscured by Ariel, who had, fortunately, found me lying there.”

  I glanced up as the agent who had left earlier reentered the room. He and several other agents, including Agent Haupht, went and huddled in the corner of the room. I wondered impatiently what they could have been discussing.

  Moments later, Agent Haupht walked back to the end of the table, sat down, leaned forward and then studied several sheets of paper before him.

  “Lula, according to our dossier, you left behind a part of your family. It says here that both your father and brother died in Natchez.”

  He looked up from examining the papers.

  “I’m sure I speak for everyone in this room when I say we’re sorry for your loss.”

  I nodded. “Thank you.”

  “But it also says your mother was still alive. Is that correct, Lula?”

  I nodded again. “Yes, sir. That’s correct.”

  He shook his head. “How traumatic it must be for a girl your age to be—”

  “Wait, sir. May I have just a moment?” interjected the agent who had just entered the room. He glanced at Haupht and then got up and set his chair right behind mine. I turned in my seat so that I could look at him.

  He was clean-shaven with skin the color of dark roasted coffee. His hair, black, with sprinkles of gray throughout, uniquely matched the gray suit and patterned tie he wore. Through eyes sharply focused, he looked at me with a perfect sincerity.

  “Young lady. The name’s Earne
sto Baker. Let me start by saying it was very brave of you to come down voluntarily and talk to us like you did. But most of all, you have absolutely no idea how truly blessed you are.” He raised his hand and motioned to someone out in the hall and then directed my attention toward the room’s entrance.

  My heart beat wildly. A chill ran up from the base of my spine as I, at first, slowly saw the brim of a hat, then the rest of the woman who emerged into view.

  It was Mama.

  I bolted from the table and ran to hug her as she did me.

  “My baby,” she cried.

  We hugged each other with every ounce of strength in our bodies. My heart pounded fiercely in my chest as I tried my best to register the moment. Tears flowed freely as we embraced and kissed. Then I reached up and held Mama’s cheeks as we met each other’s gaze, cherishing the moment. “Didn’t think I ever see you again,” Mama said and smiled, as we caressed each other while nodding in appreciation for what God had done. Almost everyone in the room appeared amazed at our union.

  “How?” I asked Mama, sobbing hysterically.

  “Same. I did the same,” she said as we took our time on this miraculous occasion. I nodded again. Mama looked just as I had remembered her, with the exception of her modern dress, hair, and the new shoes on her feet. After several more minutes of displaying our mutual affection, slowly, we began to move forward.

  Agent Baker introduced his wife, Marlene. The Evanses, Marcus, Mama D., and even Pastor Tompkins stood next in line to hug Mama. This is so amazing, I thought as I watched what had supernaturally happened here. Through our trials and tribulations, through a vortex of uncertainty, Mama and I were together again.

  I pulled out a chair for Mama as Marcus and Mama D. moved down one seat. I knew that Mama and I were going to have a lot to talk about. But I also figured that Mama had no idea what this meeting was about. The real reason we were here.

  I leaned over to gently whisper in her ear. “They want to talk to me about what happened, Mama. It’s going to be all right.” She nodded, and I clasped her hand into mine.