“Oh, Hannah! It’s beautiful! I could never – I could never have anything like this.” Harriet put the dress up to herself and spun around. Just then, Harriet’s parents entered the kitchen.
“Why hello, Hannah!” she said cheerfully. “Nice to see you today. Would you like a slice of peach cobbler?” Harriet’s mother offered.
“No ma’am, but it smells and looks mighty fine. I have a little stomach trouble right now, but as I told Harriet, please consider me in the future.”
“Hannah, the pretty nigger girl!” exclaimed Harriet’s father, each syllable weighted by his heavy Irish tongue. Hannah pursed her lips and looked away.
“Well, I should be going. Thank you Harriet. I’m glad you like the dress.” Hannah passed Harriet’s father abruptly. He shrugged his shoulders as she exited the house.
* * *
Later that evening, John held Hannah close next to him in bed.
“How are you feeling?” he whispered as he pulled down his pajama pants. Hannah smiled faintly.
“Still not feeling my best, but getting better,” she answered, her voice muffled from the pillow. Delicate swirls of her hair covered it like dark spirals of smoke. John moaned in agitation.
“It’s been such a long time.” He rubbed her shoulder as he slid closer to her, embracing her tightly. She felt his nature rising as he held her waist and brought her bottom towards him, pressing firmly into her.
“You know I would,” Hannah explained quietly.
“I know,” he said as he kissed her shoulder. He then turned away and pulled his pants back up.
“You didn’t ask me about the blankets and corsets,” he said, changing the topic. Hannah turned and faced him.
“Yes, what happened?” she asked anxiously.
“Oh, ye of little faith!” John joked. “They’re all gone, of course!” he smiled, his teeth glistening in the darkened room. “They want more. You’re going to have to do something about the demand,” he stated.
“I already did,” Hannah mumbled. “Look in the baby’s room.” Hannah pulled the covers over her body and nestled in. John laid there silently for a couple of minutes. He wiped his mouth with his hand, then slowly rose out of the bed, stumbling into the darkness of the hallway as he made his way to Jonathan’s room. He tiptoed around the crib to discover three blankets folded neatly in the corner. One was a vibrant green with tiny red stars along the border. Another was dark red with yellow circles, and the last was white with black flowers – one flower for each corner. His eyes adjusted as he brought them into the bedroom, turning on the lamp. He ran his hands over the stitching. Not one mistake could be seen from the naked eye.
“I’m awestruck,” he whispered. The following morning, John took the new blankets to a textile factory before heading to work. He walked inside the large barn-like door, feeling stagnant heat all around him. Making his way to a front counter, he laid the garments down.
“My name’s Mr. Stewart. My wife made these,” he said nonchalantly as he pushed the articles down in front of the head seamstress. The stout, pale woman looked at John then down at the blankets. She studied them carefully.
“How much do you want for them?” she asked, exposing a rotten front tooth.
“I don’t want money. I want my wife to run this place,” he said with a wide smile. The woman laughed.
“I don’t believe Mr. Peterson has it for sale. I must say though, your wife has quite the eye. Were these sewn by hand or machine?” she asked, lifting them up into the light.
“A bit of both,” John replied.
“These triangles here are ideal. Every stitch is lined up perfectly. This is quite impressive,” the woman said with a stern face.
“When will Mr. Peterson be available?” John asked, taking out his pocket watch.
“Just a moment. He’s here at this moment,” the woman said before slowly turning away and walking into the abyss of a room full of perspiring women that were preparing for their morning. Several of the single women stopped to sneak looks and smile at Jonathan. He nodded their way with a faint, nervous smile.
“Ladies, get to work! Stop eyeballing that man. He’s wedded,” barked the woman as she disappeared into the crowd.
“Hello, Mr. Stewart!” exclaimed Mr. Peterson several minutes later. Mr. Peterson was a beet red man with thinning white hair. His laughter was infectious. John looked at Mr. Peterson’s well fitted, expensive suit and began to speak.
“My wife’s a talented seamstress. She does it for pleasure. Her first line of work is taking care of my son and me, but I felt that she could benefit, as well as the public, from her talent,” John explained.
“Mary showed me the blanket. They’re very nice, but what do you want me to do?” asked Mr. Peterson.
“I want you to sell my wife’s blankets and linens here,” John stated.
“But she’s only one woman. There’s no way she could keep up with our demand, Mr. Stewart,” Mr. Peterson said sincerely.
“These would be a specialty item. Kind of like special teas you only receive around Christmas and Easter. She also makes exceptional clothing,” John added.
“I tell you what, bring more of her items down and I’ll put a sign out front. Every week we have various stores stop in and pick up the product. If we sell your wife’s items, I’ll contact you and give you say, forty percent of the profit,” Mr. Peterson offered.
“Sixty and you have a deal,” John said as he folded his arms. Mr. Peterson stood and thought for awhile.
“Fifty-five,” he said pensively. The two men shook hands. John walked briskly out of the factory, got into his wagon, and headed to work.
* * *
“I’m glad this is my last visit with you,” Hannah said curtly as she adjusted her blouse. Dr. Armstrong laughed. The bass in his deep voice tickled Hannah’s ears.
“I’m a pain, you say?” he asked as he looked into her eyes.
“You’re uncouth, arrogant, and rude,” Hannah answered.
“I do respect you, Hannah. I respect your Mr. Stewart, too.”
“Mr. Stewart’s my husband. You can say my husband,” Hannah said as she tucked her blouse into the top of her skirt.
“You’re definitely doing better now. Very feisty!” he nodded. He leaned in close, attempting to kiss her. Hannah quickly turned away.
“I hope to never cross your path again. Forget me, and I’ll forget you,” Hannah added as she slipped her narrow feet into her slippers. “And don’t you ever try to kiss me again,” she angrily warned.
“You’re a prize. I believe your husband knows that,” Dr. Armstrong said with a grin as he crossed his arms over his chest.
“Yes, he does. Good day, Dr. Armstrong. You will remain a haunting memory for me.” Hannah waved nonchalantly as she disappeared out of the door.
“I’m going to walk home,” she told the elderly man in the carriage. Hannah hadn’t walked the five blocks to get back home up until that point. She wanted to survey the neighborhood closer. She bundled her coat and walked past various stores, admiring the clothing, purses, shoes, and linens. She stopped in her tracks in front of the butcher shop. Hannah walked inside and eyeballed the most tender steak she’d ever seen.
“I haven’t had steak in such a long time,” she sighed as her mouth watered. She walked up to the butcher. “May I get two ribeyes, sir?” she asked. The butcher prepared the meat for her and packaged it, wrapping it gingerly in the white, crinkly paper that sealed in the freshness and juices so well. Hannah planned in her mind all the fixings she was going to arrange with it as she proceeded to walk home. Picking up Jonathan, she entered her house. Hannah walked into the smell of freshly baked cinnamon raisin bread. She heard noises coming from the kitchen.
“Who’s there?” she asked cautiously as she held Jonathan close to her.
“It’s your loving, dutiful husband,” laughed John.
“You scared the dickens out of me,” Hannah smiled as she walked assuredly towards him.
“What are you doing home?” She looked up at him. John planted a firm kiss on her soft, full lips then ran his fingers through his son’s thick, black curls. Jonathan squinted and laughed.
“I came home early because my Dearest has been given a clean bill of health, and I have some exciting news for you. Have a seat,” he requested. Hannah sat down at the table with anticipation, laying the fresh meat on the table. She bounced Jonathan on her lap while John poured her a glass of wine and brought her a thick slice of piping hot bread.
“This is from our neighbors,” he said as he sat down across from her. Hannah smiled and popped a torn edge from the loaf in her mouth. She swirled it around her mouth, feeling it seemingly disappear upon contact. The light, buttery airiness made her salivate even more. John looked at her and grinned. He clasped his hands together.
“Well, we need to toast to your health.” He rose his glass up to her. Hannah followed suit, and they sipped from their glasses simultaneously. John audibly swallowed, his Adam’s apple moving quickly up and down as he finished his last taste.
“Second bit of good news is that your dresses and quilts have completely sold out for the second time. Mr. Peterson informed me that he wants as many as you can give him,” John smiled. Hannah laughed.
“I can’t believe it. I feel important,” she teased and grinned.
“You’re important,” John said, still smiling at her. His smile went from adoring to lustful as the liquor began to take a hold of his inhibitions.
“Third, my suspension will be lifted very soon. I had the ruling appealed. I’ll be starting my own practice in a couple of months.” Hannah hopped out of her chair and ran towards him. John grabbed her and Jonathan, placing both of them on his lap as he chuckled.
“Oh. John! This is fantastic news! I’m so happy.” She kissed his face affectionately, holding him closely as she looked into his eyes.
“I am too,” John said calmly. “I have to run a quick errand. When I get back, we’ll finish our celebration.”
“Alright. I’m going to prepare dinner. Where are you going?” Hannah asked with concern in her voice.
“Oh, here and there. I’ll be back before you can blink an eye,” he said as he winked at her on his way out.
* * *
“Well, this is rather unorthodox. I have patients right now,” Mr. Armstrong said as John continued to stand there.
“I think you may want to excuse your patient.” John looked over at the elderly Black man whose suspenders hung loosely around his narrow hips. The man slowly rose and walked out the room.
“Why would you do that? What’s the problem? Is Hannah ill?”
“No, she’s not, Dr. Armstrong,” John said as he removed his hat and shoved his hand into his pocket. “I’m not a jealous man. I’m not a violent man unless provoked. I respect you as a person of great intelligence and someone possessing the gift of healing. You assisted my wife a great deal, and I’m certain, without your assistance, she may not have survived. However, though some part of me is in debt to you, another part of me has had to resist the urge to lose my composure in your midst. Hannah doesn’t know I’m here. I want to make that certain before I continue.” John shifted his weight leisurely. “She alerted me after our first visit that you made her uncomfortable. I told her she was overreacting and simply resistant to having to receive help. My wife’s a very stubborn woman at times, so I assessed that her latest gripe with you was only due to her nature. However, I noticed after a few more visits with you that she was acting somewhat despondent at home.”
“Mr. Stewart, I really have to see my patients now and…” Dr. Armstrong interrupted.
John continued, “Knowing my wife the way I do, she wasn’t going to bring the subject matter up anymore but instead deal with it in her own way, especially after I dismissed her concerns. Her last visit here, today, I waited in the back here.” John pointed to a small closet adjacent to the examination room. You hold your supplies there. There was barely any room for me to stand. I slipped back there when you left briefly. Upon your return, I watched my wife and the mother of my child be treated like a piece of meat by you. Now, I do get it, Dr. Armstrong. You don’t approve of our relationship. You don’t respect it, and you believe it’s fraudulent. There are many people who’d believe your medical degree is fictitious. They believe no one in their right mind would give a Negro a medical degree. Someone must have played a cruel joke on you or afforded you a slab of pity. Just because some believe that your degrees are unlawful, doesn’t make it so. In some parts of the country, your degrees are nothing more than a piece of paper, Dr. Armstrong, just a like a marriage license and certificate.
“However, you know in your heart that you did the work to warrant that recognition. So did Hannah and I! You don’t know us. You have no idea of the history we share together and what we’ve spent years doing in order to arrive at the place in time we are as I speak before you. Your disapproval is laughable. That’s something I hear and see daily. It renders no surprise to me. You feel that Hannah’s willingness to be with me is a slap in your face. You’re educated, good-looking, and had the pleasure of being born free which most of your race hasn’t experienced. You’re used to formal acceptance from Caucasians as well as colored people. This, however, doesn’t give you the right to help yourself to my wife. I know that she’s beautiful. I realize that she also looks very innocent, and there are bits and pieces of her that are rather childlike in the sense that she’s expressive and emotional. With that said, you were playing a dangerous game. Hannah isn’t a push over. Even though she’d allowed communications regarding you to all but disappear, I know my wife, and I knew she was troubled. You’re in a position to help, not hinder. I don’t give a damn if you don’t like Hannah’s and my being together. I don’t care how attractive you find her or what you believe your status can afford you. She’s not for sale.” John walked up close to Dr. Armstrong, pushing his finger into his chest.
“You shall never disrespect her again. I watched you try to kiss my Hannah this morning – how reprehensible and repugnant.”
“Are you finished?” asked Dr. Armstrong passively.
“Yes, I am, and you will be too if I find out anything more occurred in prior visits. Goodbye, Dr. Armstrong, and remember – just because someone does not believe it, does not make it untrue.”
* * *
CHAPTER 21
“I remember when you stood by that huge, white dogwood tree, waiting for me,” John said as he entered the dark bedroom. Hannah sat on the edge of the bed, sipping a cup of warm chamomile tea. She smiled at John.
“What brought this on?” she asked sweetly, crossing her legs under her thin, white gown.
“I was just thinking as we ate dinner tonight, about all the time we spent together as children.” John closed the door slowly behind him. He stood in the darkness, gradually unbuttoning his shirt. “You leaned onto the trunk with your small body, waving to me as I ran closer and closer to you. You laughed when I fell. I got right back up and kept on charging in your direction. What were you – thirteen?” he asked seductively as he unbuttoned his pants.
“I was young,” Hannah responded quietly as she watched her husband disrobe. She felt her center throb with anticipation. She turned away shyly as he continued to speak.
“I collected all of those bluebell flowers for you. You liked bluebell flowers. I put one in your hair. I asked you if…”
“If you could touch my hair,” Hannah laughed. “You touched it and said it felt like cotton.”
“I had never touched a colored person’s hair before. I knew it looked different from mine, and I wanted to see what it was like.” John smiled as he stood at the doorway, naked, leaning his back against it with his arms crossed over his muscular chest. He slowly rose from the door and walked over to Hannah’s side of the bed. Hannah looked away again, smiling. John lifted her chin.
“You act as if you’ve never lain with me before, like you don’t know me,” he gri
nned. “Come, don’t be timid,” he said softly, raising her up to her feet. He held her close, swaying as he danced with her in the cool air of the quilt-covered bedroom. Hannah only heard his heavy breathing and the shuffling of his legs as he swayed, bringing her to him.
“Sing to me,” John said deeply, sighing as he squeezed Hannah so close to him she could hardly breathe. Hannah cleared her throat.
If you should go in summer time,
To South Carolina's sultry clime,
And in the shade you chance to lie,
You'll soon find out the blue tail fly.
And scratch 'em with a briar, too.
There's many kind of curious things,
From different sorts of insect springs,
Some hatch in June and some July,
But August fetches the blue tail fly.
And scratch 'em with a briar, too.
She smiled wide as John lifted her lightly off the ground and laid her gingerly onto her back. He delicately lifted her nightgown. He peeled the thin layer back, picking her up off the bed slightly and resting the negligee around her curvy hips. He lowered his head to her stomach, inhaled deeply and exhaled, then laughed lightly. “The perfumed bouquet of a woman is so heady and lovely,” he whispered as he rubbed her knees and thighs. Hannah trembled with delight as he kissed her navel. John spread her thighs apart, and delicately kissed the folds of her love, repetitiously. He then swam up slowly towards her breasts and lay steadfastly between the same thighs he’d held steady. His chest planted firmly against hers, he kissed and sucked her neck with extreme pressure. Hannah sighed and moaned loudly as he pinned her and lavished her with pent up affections.
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