Hidden Hearts

by Ann Roberts

  By the time she was a senior her fear of failure and her unwillingness to disappoint them had suffocated her passion. One afternoon she’d carried all of her art supplies to the basement and put them in a corner. Then she’d gone upstairs and cried for an hour. Whenever she thought of drawing, a pang of regret tapped her on the shoulder and the memory of the trek to the basement sent her into a funk.

  Ding!

  She finished her dinner and stood and stretched. She still tingled all the way to her core. Was it Alicia’s superb skill, or was it the thrill of being in a public place and knowing they might get caught? She laughed out loud when she remembered holding the underwear up as a shield. Her cheeks were warm and she knew she was blushing, but she realized she didn’t feel lonely. That hadn’t happened in a while.

  This time her phone rang but the number was unfamiliar. “Hello?”

  “So have you thought about what I said today?” Penn asked.

  She put her hand on a hip. “What happened to, ‘Hi, how are you CC? This is Penn.’ Didn’t your mother teach you any manners?”

  Penn gave a sigh of exasperation. “I’m sorry, but there’s not a lot of time here. After you left I tried to get Viv to open up and talk about the past but she wouldn’t even though she could lose her place. I wanted you to know that you may be her only hope. She’ll hate me if I go public with this and I’m just being honest with you. Can’t you do anything?”

  She raked a hand through her hair. “I don’t know what to do without jeopardizing my job. He’s my client and I’m sworn—”

  “You don’t need to lecture me, CC. I passed ethics class.”

  She glowered. “Then why are you calling me?”

  “Because I thought you cared.”

  She disconnected and CC stared at the phone.

  Ding!

  She rolled her eyes. She had no interest in reading the replies, but as she glanced around the bare walls of the empty apartment her finger automatically hit the view button and she scrolled through her latest round of prospects. Only two replies of the six were grammatically correct and free of craziness. She saved those into a folder and saw that she had seven actual prospects if she ever chose to respond.

  It almost made the thought of facing her briefcase bearable. She unloaded her files onto the pub table and fired up her computer. She needed to complete the request for the handwriting analysis despite Viv’s insistence that it was real, and Blanca would expect the rewritten report first thing in the morning. She groaned. She hated writing.

  Then why did I become a lawyer?

  Her mother’s voice answered the question as it had a million times before. “Because you like money, dear. You like nice things and you don’t want to risk your future.”

  She skimmed through the Rubenstein file for the fiftieth time wondering if there was some clue as to why Viv’s father had signed away the land. And why had the Rubensteins held on to the note for so long?

  She imagined Viv losing the house, the place where she created Chloe. Then she thought of Penn, so strong and definitely smart. And those dimples. She covered her face with her hands and willed away the tingling feeling shooting through her body.

  Penn had said, “I choose.”

  How could she choose to help Viv without getting fired?

  She reread Seth Rubenstein’s bio. He and his brother were heirs to a chain of family-style restaurants called Della’s, named after the Rubenstein matriarch, Jacob’s wife. Seth had inherited the family business after Jacob passed the previous year. Despite the challenging economy Della’s quarterly reports showed a steady profit margin for a company worth millions. Only after the family had perused Jacob’s personal files did they come across the note from Chet Battle, Viv’s father, to Jacob. Seth Rubenstein had put the pieces together and realized he was entitled to the enclave.

  She tapped her pen on the table. Why? Why hadn’t Jacob Rubenstein claimed the property back in the fifties? He could have forced Lois Battle and her children out of the farmhouse decades ago.

  “Why, Jacob?” she asked out loud. “What were you hiding?”

  Chapter Five

  April, 1954

  “Hey,” a voice whispered.

  I nearly fell off the window seat, too lost in my sketching to hear Kiah shimmying up the vines for her nightly visit. Mama never heard her when she was smoking out on the sun porch because Kiah was quite athletic and the trellis lined the backside of the house, away from the other bedrooms.

  “Is that Mr. Rubenstein out there with her?” Kiah asked, crawling through the window. “He was just at our place.”

  “Uh-huh. He stopped by to see Mama after he visited with your daddy. Did the same thing last week, too.”

  Laughter floated up from the sun porch and Kiah said, “They sure sound like they’re having a good time. I don’t think I’ve ever heard your mama laugh.”

  It was true. Mama rarely laughed and it was usually at something stupid I’d done that didn’t cause danger, doctor bills or embarrassment to her. Just the week before I’d managed to get my head caught between the banister spindles and she’d left me there for an hour, laughing every time she passed by.

  It was odd hearing her speak in an unfamiliar way. Her voice was usually hard and bitter like a cold wind, but with him she sounded like a song on the radio.

  “What does your daddy think about Mr. Rubenstein sitting on the back porch with his wife?”

  I could tell that she didn’t think Pops would approve, but I didn’t think he’d care. Lately he was gone in the evenings, spending time with people from the nursery after work. We ate dinner without him and then Mama sat outside for hours. I never knew when he came home but it was after I’d gone to bed.

  “Why’s he always late?” Will had complained one night at dinner. I knew he wasn’t happy that Pops wasn’t around much.

  “He’s working overtime,” Mama said absently.

  “But the nursery closes at five,” he said. “And I thought we had a whole lot of money now.”

  She wouldn’t look at him. “Young man, the family finances are not your business. And there’s still much to do after a business closes. That’s when the crew can get the real work done.”

  He hadn’t bought it. “In the dark?”

  She gripped her silverware so tightly her knuckles turned white before she threw them down onto her plate, causing a terrible clatter. She’d stormed out to the sun porch and we watched her pace. We didn’t understand why she’d exploded, but we hadn’t discussed it since.

  “I’ve got a surprise for you,” Kiah said.

  She wrapped an arm around me and pointed to a row of three cabins that had been built after Mac killed the orange grove. They were identical to the one she lived in on the adjoining property, but I knew those were being torn down to build more houses for the subdivision.

  “Do you see that one right over there?” she asked, pointing to the one that sat closest to our house. “Daddy says that Mr. Rubenstein is going to keep him on as the foreman. He’s going to help build this subdivision so we don’t have to move again.”

  My eyes widened. “You aren’t leaving?”

  “Nope,” she giggled. “We’re gonna live right there. I’m going to be next door. You can come over whenever you want and play Scrabble with me, and we’ll keep eatin’ your mama’s sweet potato pie. Daddy says that was the best he’d ever tasted, by the way.”

  We hugged each other tightly and squealed with delight. I stared into her rich brown eyes, still amazed at how dark they were.

  Ever since that awful afternoon when I’d attacked Mac we’d been best friends. After school I’d run to the bus stop and wait for her. She was always one of the last off, letting the white kids go first and hoping to avoid Billy Smith, a teenage boy who routinely picked on her.

  We’d walk home together, and she’d help me with my math while we drank lemonade. She was whip-smart and finished her homework long before I did. She often complained the work wasn’
t hard enough.

  “Why would you ever want harder work?” I’d asked.

  “Because I like school and learning. That’s why I’m going to Tuskegee.”

  She constantly talked about going to a university that was all the way across the country in a city called Birmingham, where the rest of her people were.

  I hugged her again, happy that we were still together at least for now. While I had a few other friends none of them was like Kiah. They were all stupid in some way, either very immature or prejudiced. I’d discovered recently that I couldn’t stand listening to them say awful things about black people. Kiah said they were ignorant, but I had a different word for it—one that wasn’t so nice.

  “I like holding you,” she said quietly and I knew what she meant.

  “Me, too.”

  Everything felt better when we were together. I felt stronger. I wondered if this was what it was like to have an older sister, but we didn’t feel like sisters. Maybe it was because she was black, but that didn’t make sense either.

  I squeezed her tighter and she cried, “Ow.”

  I backed away. “Did I hurt you?”

  She rubbed her shoulder and shook her head. “No, it’s nothing.”

  I pulled up the sleeve of her dress and stared at a huge welt on the side of her arm. “What happened?”

  “I just got in the way of Billy Smith’s fist,” she joked.

  He was a dropout and a greaser. I’d heard from Will he’d been kicked out of high school for beating up a freshman, and now he worked downtown as a gas jockey at a service station. Unfortunately he left work at the same time Kiah got out of school and took the same bus back up town.

  He didn’t seem to bother her as much when I was around, so I made a point of meeting her bus whenever I could.

  I may have been younger, but I had no problem whacking Billy Smith with Will’s baseball bat and drawing blood. Most likely the root of my courage was Billy’s fear of Will, who was an excellent fighter and had won all his fights. Not that he went looking for problems. Will was exactly the opposite. He only fought when challenged and Billy had taunted him the year before he got kicked out. Will had taken him down in two punches.

  I gazed at the purple and black welt. It was harder to see against her dark skin, and I imagined how bad it would look on a white person.

  “What happened?”

  With her back to me she said, “I got off the bus and he asked me for money. When I said I didn’t have any, he said I’d have to pay in another way.”

  “What was that?”

  “He wanted to kiss me. He said he’d never kissed a nigger. I’d be his first. But I got scared and started running. When he caught me he punched me in the arm and walked away. There were a lot of people around so I knew he wouldn’t do nothin’ too serious, but it scared me.”

  Her voice choked and I held her gently. She pressed her cheek against mine like she was preparing to tell me a great secret, sharing her tears with me. But she said nothing, and I closed my eyes enjoying the softness of her warm cheek against my own.

  “I need to go,” she said sadly, drying her eyes. “Do you need me to show you how to do your math before I leave?”

  “No, I still got it from yesterday.”

  “Good. You’re so smart.”

  “Not me. You’re a good teacher. That’s what you ought to be when you go to Tuskegee. I don’t know anyone who can explain things the way you can.”

  She kissed me on the cheek. “You’re sweet. But I’m not going to be a teacher. I’m going to be a lawyer and fight for civil rights.”

  “What are civil rights?”

  “They’re the things black people don’t have now. It’s bein’ able to sit on the bus wherever we want or eat at restaurants or go to any school we want. It’s all of those things.”

  Her voice was angry and I was afraid she was mad at me. “I think you should have civil rights,” I said quickly. “Can I help you get them?”

  She shook her head. “No, Vivi, you can’t, not really. You don’t have any power.”

  That was true. I was just a kid. What could I do?

  “But it’s nice of you to want to help me, to help us.”

  “I want to help, Kiah, I really do.”

  She took my face between her palms. “I’m so lucky you’re my friend.”

  “Me, too,” I said back.

  She kissed me on the lips and hurried out the window and down the trellis. I touched my lower lip as if I could press her kiss into my skin so I wouldn’t forget it. I’d never kissed anyone so I didn’t know how I was supposed to feel, but it felt nice, like the smell of freshly baked cookies or the sky filled with puffy clouds.

  A car started and I realized Mr. Rubenstein was leaving. I peered through the window as Mama trudged up the back steps and returned to the divan on the sun porch. I imagined if she’d seen Kiah kiss me she wouldn’t have approved. It wasn’t right. Blacks and whites weren’t supposed to kiss but maybe that was part of civil rights, too.

  Staring down at Mama I felt incredibly sad for her. I had something she didn’t, a best friend. She had those ladies in the sewing club that she talked with on Tuesdays, but none of them ever came over for a private visit. That wasn’t like Kiah and me. I couldn’t imagine a day passing without seeing her.

  I grabbed my sketchpad and turned to a portrait of Mama that I’d drawn for a class assignment. I erased some of her features—the turned-down mouth and deep lines in her forehead. I imagined what she’d look like if I could sit right next to her while Mr. Rubenstein made her laugh. I drew a broad smile and bright eyes. When I finished it an hour later, she wasn’t just happy, she was overjoyed. I held it up to the window hoping I could wish it true.

  ****

  The next day I raced to the bus stop just as it rumbled to the curb. Billy was one of the first off, pushing aside a young girl and laughing about it. The other whites followed in his direction toward our neighborhood. Kiah was one of the last people off. She said goodbye to some of her friends who walked in the opposite direction toward the poorer neighborhoods, before she ran up to me.

  “How was that math quiz?”

  “I got a B,” I said proudly.

  She jumped up and down with joy, and I knew if we weren’t in public she would’ve thrown her arms around me. “That’s great, Vivi! Good job.”

  “It’s all because of your help. I couldn’t have done it without you.”

  She smiled and we rounded the corner and headed up a side street that bordered the property now owned by Mr. Rubenstein. Remnants of the destroyed trees rested in enormous piles until the refuse truck hauled them away.

  Billy Smith sat against one of them smoking a cigarette. He seemed to be waiting for Kiah, but when he saw me his face twitched a little, and I could tell he was debating whether to change his plans.

  He reminded me of a bulldog, with a square face and a lip that curled upward. He was plump in the middle and wore his dark brown hair in a typical ducktail, but he used too much goo and it always looked a little lopsided.

  I stood in front of him, fearing nothing. “I got something to say to you, Billy Smith. You better leave my friend alone.”

  “That nigger’s your friend?” he asked disgustedly.

  Kiah took my arm. “Vivi, don’t. Let’s just keep walking.”

  But I wouldn’t. “I’m telling you to stay away from her, you ignorant piece of shit.”

  I’d made the decision for him. There was no way he could back down now. He flicked his butt away and came toward me, his hands in the front pockets of his jeans.

  “What are you gonna do about it? Fight me?” he added with a sneer.

  “I might,” I said. “If my brother can take ya, I think I can, too.”

  His face turned red and in a flash he shoved me to the ground. Kiah grabbed his arm but he threw her to the side and she landed on her knees, book and papers flying everywhere.

  “Vivi!” she cried. “Run!”


  I sat up, but everything was spinning. There wasn’t any way I could run even if I wanted to.

  “You got a big mouth and need to learn some manners.” He stepped back and kicked me in the thigh like he was punting a football.

  I fell on my side in agony. I forgot he wore steel-toed boots. He sauntered over to Kiah, who was sitting on the ground sobbing. He circled her, whistling, his arms behind his back. She hugged her knees and wouldn’t look at him. I sat up again and felt a searing pain shoot through my leg that brought tears to my eyes.

  He leaned over, whispering, and she stood up slowly—apparently too slowly—since he grabbed her and pulled her up the rest of the way. She was terrified, her face nearly unrecognizable. He pushed her against one of the tree piles and hugged her.

  “C’mon, nigger, gimme a kiss.”

  She twisted from side to side, screaming, “No!” in a hoarse voice, which only excited him more. If he’d really wanted to kiss her, he would’ve, but I knew he didn’t. He’d never kiss a black person. It was all about torturing her.

  I grabbed a tree branch and pulled myself up. Her screams turned to moans, and she was loud enough to be heard in the next county. I trudged toward them holding the branch over my head, the pain in my thigh nearly unbearable.

  “You son of a bitch!”

  As I brought the branch down in the general vicinity of his head, an arm sailed in front of my face and snatched it from my hand.

  “Whoa, there, missy,” Mac’s voice said.

  Billy whirled around and shuddered at the sight of what had almost happened.

  Mac threw the branch away and stared at Billy, who still had his arms around Kiah. The look Mac gave him made me nervous. He didn’t need a tree branch.

  “Move away from my daughter.”

  Billy gazed at him with hatred, his fear tossed aside with the branch. He let go of her but not before he caressed her shoulders. “Not a problem, nigger,” he said. “She’s not my type, anyway.”

  Mac clenched his fist and took a step toward him.

  “Mac!”

  I turned and saw Mama hurrying up the road, still wearing her apron. She stepped between them and said sternly, “Go home, Billy.”