Within a month of Ruby’s marriage to Arthur, both Pearl and Samuel also married. Knowing that Pearl needed to remain close to Estée, Samuel and CeCe found a place closer to his work. Although Samuel struggled with CeCe’s superstitions, he loved her and worked hard to give her a steady life.
On the other hand, by my Auntie Pearl’s own admission, she was a driven woman. She lived in a society that did not believe a black person—let alone a black woman—could accomplish anything. She never asked of others what she herself was not willing to do. It was her honest belief that, once given her freedom, she was going to strive for the best life of freedom she could have, and nothing less was ever good enough. Then she learned that love required her to temper her drive. I loved Pearl’s honesty.
Our Life
Joseph was a good man. He treated me well—better than I did him. I have always been a driven person, and my desire to improve myself has always overflowed onto those closest to me. My motives have been good; however, my actions can and have hurt those I cared for the most. I don’t know why I can never be satisfied with someone’s best efforts. I push them, believing I can get even more out of them. I did this to Joseph, the man I loved and the best man I ever knew besides my brother, but that fact did not keep me from pushing. He worked hard and brought home his pay every day, but I knew there had to be better work and better pay out there. I was never satisfied, and I let him know it.
During the first two years of our marriage, I tried to teach Joseph how to read, but he had no interest in learning. He felt he was too old and set in his ways. The truth was, he came home so bone-tired every night he had nothing left to give. It wasn’t enough that Joseph had given up his first love—fishing—to do backbreaking labor. I always wanted more from him; that is, until our baby girl was born.
We were so excited when we learned a baby was on the way. We fixed up Ruby’s old room, and there was nothing Joseph would not do for me. We thought the baby would arrive near Thanksgiving, but a full two months early, I took to my bed, knowing something was terribly wrong. Joseph ran for the old midwife while Estée sat by my side. We all knew the baby was coming too soon.
We named her Caramel Hannah, after both of our mommas. She came into this world without a sound, save the pleas for mercy from her daddy. The midwife handed little Caramel into her daddy’s waiting arms, and I saw the most tender of moments shared between my husband and his child. Joseph stood by the window so he could see her little face as the sun rose that morning. His sweet French accent became even thicker when filled with emotion. He caressed her little face, committing to memory every part of her as he sang a song I had never heard.
After the midwife finished with me, she bent down and whispered, “I need to take the baby from him now. Can you help me talk him into handing her over?”
Ignorant of what was really going on, I asked, “Do we need to send Joseph out to get a doctor?”
The midwife, realizing I did not understand, said gently, “No, Pearl, your baby came out dead. Joseph has been singing and talking to her as if she could hear him. I am afraid to ask him to hand her over for fear of his coming undone when he realizes she’s gone.”
I immediately ordered the midwife and Estée out of our room. “Leave us alone with our girl.”
Estée knew exactly what I wanted and took the midwife’s arm and led her into the kitchen. Once we were alone, I asked, “Joseph, bring our daughter over here so we can both say goodbye to her.”
He laid our little girl down beside me and unwrapped her tiny body so we could both see her fingers and toes. I traced my finger across her little mouth and chin, while Joseph took her little foot, bent down and kissed it ever so gently. “We must say goodbye to her, Pearl.”
“So you know she is dead, Joseph?” Relieved that I did not have to tell him, I asked, “What were you singing to her, Joseph?”
”It was a song in my native tongue that my momma sang to me and to my sisters when we were little. She sang it to the baby born on the slave ship before she was tossed overboard. Pearl, at least you and I will not know that pain. We shall bury her properly with a headstone that says she was loved by her momma and dada.”
That morning I vowed never to push Joseph ever again. How could I do anything but love this kind, caring man? Two days later we put Baby Caramel to rest. For the next three years, we were exceptionally happy. I kept my vow and found myself unusually content, except that we wanted another child. I was now in my mid-thirties and seemed to be one of those who struggled with carrying a baby. Several times we were sure I was with child but after a month or so, there was no baby. Joseph, true to his nature, never chided me or showed his disappointment. I knew how badly he wanted a child. I saw the desire in his face the morning he had held Baby Caramel, but he never blamed me. Oh, how I loved that man!
I was thirty-eight the day the men came to my workplace to get me. No one would tell me what was going on; they simply said, “Gather up your things and come with us.” They took me to a filthy makeshift, back-alley clinic—the only place Negroes were taken for medical care. Few ever walked out of these clinics, and my Joseph was in there. The wagon stopped at the street, and I was ordered to walk down the narrow alley and take the second door on the right. As I made my way to the door, the smells that assailed my nostrils were unbearable. Right across from the clinic door was the entrance to a back-alley butchery. Hindquarters of beef were hanging from hooks, waiting to be cut up. An old lady was sitting on a wooden box, plucking dead chickens, and a great amount of wretched feathers, mixed with animal blood, covered the alley walkway. As I reached the clinic door, I was attacked by a swarm of flies that had obviously declared that alleyway as their possession.
It took my eyes a minute to adjust to the darkness of the room. A woman was sitting at a desk, but she did not look up when I approached. She simply asked, “Who are you here to see?”
“I believe my husband was brought here,” I said, still praying that a big mistake had been made.
Without looking up, the woman asked, “What is the name?”
“Lagolaei, Joseph Lagolaei, and I am his wife, Pearl.”
The woman looked up with dead, cold eyes and said, “We have a Joe Leggs here. How do you spell your husband’s name?”
Shock set in as I heard the name Joe Leggs, and I hurriedly explained, “That is what Joseph’s boss calls him. He cannot pronounce Lagolaei, so he just calls him Joe Leggs. That is my husband. Can I please see him? Is he hurt? Why is he here?” Even as I asked the questions, I could feel myself coming apart. I really did not want any of my questions answered because I was afraid to hear them.
I spelled our name for the woman, and then I was led down a dimly lit hallway through two sets of large doors that had muffled the sounds that were coming from behind them. With each set of doors, the screams grew louder. I did not know if I was strong enough to face the cause of those screams. I was ushered into a dark room that held five beds, and each one occupied by screaming men. It took a moment for my eyes to adjust to the dim light, but once they did, I wished I had been stricken blind and deaf. I did not want to see or remember what I saw. Joseph was out of his mind in pain, as were the others. Their screams of pain were agonizing. He did not know me nor could I do anything for him. He lasted only one more hour, and to say I was relieved when he gasped his last breath is an understatement. I could not bear to see him in such agony.
I learned that these five men had been ordered to uncouple the last four fully loaded flatbed cars attached to the train before it was to go on northbound. Once the cars were uncoupled and the train had pulled away, then the horse-drawn wagons would be pulled alongside so the cars could be off-loaded. All five men were down between the cars, uncoupling them when the engineer misunderstood the flagman’s signals. He mistakenly put the train in reverse, crushing all five men.
Because this was the second time this engineer had done this, the railroad had a lawyer sitting in the waiting area of this rundown clini
c to ambush each wife as she came out of that terrible room. I had not even been able to arrange for Joseph’s burial, and this offensive man was already in my face. He was a very large man who obviously believed the cologne he splashed on himself would hide the fact that he desperately needed to bathe, let alone change his suit more often than he did. It was not yet the height of the day, yet his neck was already covered with sweat at the labor of carrying around so much weight.
He stepped in front of me, blocking my exit and demanding a few moments of my time. He actually took hold of my arm and pushed me toward a table where all of his papers were spread out. I took a seat across from him and simply stared back at him. He did not say a word; he merely unbuckled his leather satchel and began laying out $100 bills. When he had finished, he sat back and said, “Mrs. Lagolaei, do you know how much money this is? It is $1,000—a huge amount of money. The railroad usually does business by check, but you Negroes have a hard time grasping the amount when written on a check. Besides, none of you have bank accounts, and you would have a hard time cashing such a large check.”
I wanted to scream at this man’s rudeness. I wanted to defend myself, showing him I indeed knew how to read a check and could comprehend the value of this amount of money. Instead, I remained silent. I did not want to show my anger, and I was certainly not going to gush over that money placed on that table. I was not going to give this man any response. I didn’t touch the money. Actually, I did not even look at it. I continued to stare directly at him.
“Mrs. Lagolaei, this is a huge amount of money. Even for a white man, this would be a huge settlement. All the railroad wishes in return is that you talk to no one about what happened to your husband. Do you understand? No newspaper people—no one. The railroad is willing to pay this amount to ensure your silence. If you refuse, trust me, Mrs. Lagolaei, even if you could secure a representative, no court in the city would grant you this much money—not for a Negro with no future. You have funeral expenses, don’t you? You are now a widow; how are you going to survive without a husband if you refuse this very generous offer? All the other wives have signed this document. If you refuse, they will not come to your aide in court without having to repay the railroad. Don’t you see how foolish it would be for you to refuse this very generous offer?”
I knew I had no stomach for such a fight, but I also knew I would never touch a penny of this blood money. I took the pen and signed the paper. He was so arrogant, he had no idea he had insulted me. He smiled at me as he placed his final signature into his satchel. His work was completed. He had done the same for all five widows. As he picked up his satchel, he said, “For a moment there, I thought you might not sign. You are a very lucky woman, Mrs. Lagolaei. Even white people don’t get this kind of money. I told my boss I could get all the signatures for half that amount, but the railroad is bidding on a new line contract next week and cannot afford any bad press right now. If this had happened week after next, the railroad would only have paid for the funeral—if that. So you see how lucky you are?”
I was given $1,000 for Joseph’s life, which was a large sum for the day. However, no amount could come near his loss to me. Who could put a price on a loved one? I never spent a penny of that money. I felt I would somehow be dishonoring Joseph. Not being a person who cares to show her emotions, I did my grieving in private. I thought I had settled my heart over the loss of our little girl. I had gotten busy and went on with life because that is what I do. But now, with the loss of Joseph, I felt like I was drowning in a sea of emotions. I pulled Joseph’s clothes out of our wardrobe cabinet, buried my face in them and wept bitterly over my loss. I cried for him, for Caramel Hannah, and for all those children we would never have. I think I cried for three whole days—until there were no more tears left to cry. I never realized how much I always held inside, not willing to show anyone how I truly felt about things. I knew it was wrong, but I have always had a hard time showing my emotions. I think it’s because when I was little, I was the volatile one. Momma would scold me about my quick temper and tell me, “Pearl, you gunna get yerself sold if’n you keep that up. Ms. Victoria won’t allow her slaves to disrespect her. You best keep what you think’n to yerself, girl.”
I think I have bottled up my feelings for so long I don’t know how to be open and free. I am thankful I was able to show Joseph how much he meant to me. I really don’t believe I could have done that had we not come together to grieve over our little girl. I know he died knowing that I loved him deeply.
I knew I needed to pull myself together. I decided I had to go on with life, so I went on working and caring for Estée for three more years before Ruby returned home.
CHAPTER 22
Ruby Remembers Arthur and I Had A Dream
TOBIAS REPLACED HIS tin box on the shelf next to their suitcase. The water closet was beckoning him, and he again needed a few moments away from his vivid memories. As he returned to his seat, he knew the real reason he needed a short break was because his Auntie Ruby’s story was always difficult to review. He remembered how angry he had gotten the first time he heard what Uncle Arthur had done to his beloved Auntie Ruby. No matter how often she warned him to be careful, it took years before he could forgive that man. Some lessons are just harder to learn.
Of Grandpa and the sisters, the one who lived the longest was fragile little Ruby. Tobias stared out the train window and thought, “Auntie Ruby, I cannot believe eight years have passed since I lost you. I was forty-eight years old when you died, and I cried like a baby. I loved my Grandpa Samuel, and I loved Auntie Pearl, but you, Ms. Ruby, are the one I miss the most. Even though your story is the most difficult one to review, review it I must. You lived it, Ms. Ruby. You not only lived it, you became even stronger because of it.”
Tobias took a deep breath and allowed his mind to return to the day when Ms. Pearl asked Ruby to tell me her story. Aunt Ruby started this story the same way she would tell it a dozen more times to me. She’d get this twinkle in her eyes, and she would try not to smile as she opened her story with…
Everyone liked Arthur right away. He was a very likeable man, but a quiet man. During one of our Sunday dinners, Brother Samuel was surprised to learn through a slip of the tongue that Arthur had been married before. Everyone could all tell he was sorry the minute it came out of his mouth. Arthur enjoyed hearing everyone else’s story, but he was not forthcoming about his. This fact bothered Samuel, who knew that Arthur was pressing me to set a date and that he intended to take me far away from Atlanta once we were married. Therefore, Samuel decided to be very direct with him.
Samuel waited until the dishes had been cleared, and I was out of the room, to ask, “I like you, Arthur, and I know Ruby does. I only have one serious problem with you. What are you hiding that you don’t want us to know about you?”
Arthur responded rather defensively, “Why? Because I won’t lay out my pain in front of all of you? Why do I have to talk about something I vowed I would never think about again?”
“Arthur, you don’t have to tell me anything—ever, that is, unless you want to marry my sister. Then you had better start talking because I’m telling you if I tell Ruby she is not going to marry you, she won’t marry you.”
Brother was telling the truth. I never would have gone against my brother’s wishes. I returned to the table, shook my head in agreement and said, “Arthur, we need to hear your story.”
Arthur’s Story
“Okay, okay,” he said, feeling rather cornered. “I was twenty and six when the war ended, and I was set free. I about starved that first year because I refused to become a sharecropper. I never wanted a white man to order me around again. My daddy didn’t feel strong enough to hold out. He had my momma and my three sisters to feed. He went back with his hat in his hand, hung his head and begged our old owner to take him on. I think that was the hardest thing he ever had to do. The second hardest thing was watching me walk down the road, leaving my family behind.
“I was sure I wa
s going to get hanged that first year. I was forced to steal just to get a bite to eat. I slept where I could and went barefoot for three months after another boy stole my shoes while I was sleeping. I can’t tell you how many times I thought about going back with my hat in my hand, hang my head, and beg for work. I was just about broken when I came across this girl with the sweetest smile. Her daddy was one of the few black farmers who owned his own land. It wasn’t a big place, but it was his. Celia offered me one hot meal a day and a clean, dry place to sleep if I would come out and help her daddy clear a field.
“A few months later Celia was with child, and her daddy told me he would kill me if I didn’t marry her. He didn’t need to threaten me because I wanted to marry her. I agreed to work the farm as long as Celia, the baby, and I could live there and have enough food to get by. We were really happy. I liked the work, Celia was getting big, and we were anxious to see our baby.
“One night I woke up to Celia’s screaming something awful. I knew something wrong with the baby, but all I could do was hold her hand and hope it would come out soon. Celia’s daddy didn’t know what to do either. Her momma had been dead for three years by then, so no one was around who would help us. I watched my woman and my baby die that night. After her daddy and I buried them, he asked me to stay on, but I couldn’t. I never wanted to climb back into that bed. I said my goodbyes, and I walked away. I never wanted to think about that pain ever again. I kept busy working for other farmers.
“I got good at clearing land. I would finish one field, and two more would be waiting for me. I didn’t stick around long enough to see those fields planted, let alone see a crop brought in. I kept moving—until I met Ruby, and I guess I got tired of moving on. I want to own my own land, Samuel. I want to clear my own fields and plant my own crop and have a family. I know lots of clearing jobs are available in the Carolinas. If Ruby and I work hard and save our money, I know we can get a place of our own in about ten years. Samuel, I was good to Celia, and I will be good to Ruby.”
Treasure in a Tin Box (Wall of Silence Book 1) Page 18
