by Robert Ward
“I must have given him the most sickly smile I’ve ever given anyone as I congratulated him on his decision. And all I could think of was, He’s doing this because of me. He’s changing his whole life because of me.
“He hugged me again and said, ‘I love you, Grace Ward,’ and all I could do was hug him back, without saying a word, because I felt such total confusion. First of all fear and then, too, a kind of sickening and frightening responsibility for his safety.”
Cap at 19
S ince I’d met Wingate I’d let things slide. I had a lot of schoolwork to make up, and so I buried myself in my work. I tried to talk to Bonnie about all this, but she was busy so there was no one I could confide in. After reading and writing for long stretches, I’d go on walks down by the South River. It was so beautiful there. All the swamp grass was in bloom, and the flowers and trees gave off an amazing perfume. I walked, trying to remember facts for history and science class … and occasionally thinking of Wingate. One day it occurred to me … maybe it was the flowers and some cherry trees that inspired me … I don’t know anymore … you lose so much as you get older. Anyway, I had this thought that maybe Wingate was right, that it was God who was guiding us, and that what I had really gained from all this was that I had actually met someone who, unlike myself, truly believed in God.”
I must have looked shocked when she said this, because Grace shook her head.
“Wait,” she said. “Of course, I believed in God in my own way, the quiet, humble way that we Methodists do. We believe in kindness and good works and being humble … like Christ himself was … except I often wondered if that was true. Read John 2: ‘He drove them out of the temple and the sheep, and the oxen; and poured out the changers’ money, and overthrew the tables; and said unto them that sold doves, “Take these things hence; make not my father’s house an house of merchandise,’ “ And only a few verses before that, Jesus turns water into wine. All these things, violence and miracles, make citified Methodists very queasy. So in true Methodist fashion, rather than debate these matters, we simply choose to ignore them. Deep down, I think we feel that any religion that emphasizes the more sensational side of Jesus is lower-class. It’s the kind of thing we associate with Southern Baptists. Hillbillies. Buddy Watkins’s people. But now I’d met someone I respected and loved deeply as a friend, and he believed in signs, miracles. God help me, he believed I was a sign for him. And I had had enough of those feelings myself around him … feelings that we were fated to meet. How ironic it was that I had come to this little place and had the most important relationship of my life. Perhaps Wingate knew something my own lukewarm experience of religion didn’t encompass. And I respected him for being able to embrace what he felt, like an Old Testament prophet. And I knew in my heart that he was more serious about changing the world, more serious about all we had studied and talked about, and finally that he was more serious about God than myself, which made me see how shallow my faith really was.
“I thought about all these things for days, walking through the woods near my uncle’s place. Ironically, even though Wingate hadn’t left, I saw less and less of him. He had gone to work for the mission, and he had long hours. I promised to get down there soon, to spend the day with him, but I had schoolwork to catch up on. And to be honest, I felt jealous of the church itself. I had talked him into staying here purely for selfish reasons … I wanted our little communion of saints to go on undisturbed, just as before. Now, though, he was working for the poor, and he was always busy. I knew he was doing good, but what of me? I was now more alone than ever.
“I took more long walks alone, trying to sort out my feelings. One afternoon I was walking down by the South River. Spring had finally come, and the trees were budding, the river was roaring by, and the sun was shining. It was a glorious day, and I looked out at the sparkling water and saw him rowing. The skater. I felt my mouth get dry and my stomach turn…. It was definitely him, and he saw me and rowed toward the spot. I was so excited, all I could say was, ‘You … the ice skater.’ And he looked at me and said, ‘The girl on the shore. I won’t tell you how many times I’ve rowed by here looking for you. Would you like to go for a row?’ I didn’t say another word but got into the boat. And as we rowed out into the water, Rob and I … I was speechless, and we rowed by the oaks on the shore and the bluffs and back into an inlet where the banks were covered with blue-green moss, and by the time we got home I was seriously smitten. Lord … it seems like yesterday.
“I can see why,” I said, laughing.
“Can you, honey? Even now?” my grandmother said.
“Yes,” I said. “I feel I’m just getting to know Cap … but I can see how when he was young he must have been handsome…. He’s still good-looking and strong.”
My grandmother smiled and looked at me.
“He’s still so cute,” she said.
I felt my heart tighten when she said that. It was so sweet and sentimental and heartbreaking.
“Well,” she said, “I was crazy about your grandfather, believe you me. Young people today think they invented sex. Surprise, it’s not true. I knew then that Rob and I would never have the kind of meeting of the minds and soul that Wingate and I did … but it didn’t seem to matter much.”
She stopped and looked breathless just recalling their courtship.
“Well,” I said, trying to fend off my own worries about this story and her part in it, “you were a young girl and you were falling in love, right?”
“Yes,” she said. “But I allowed those feelings to provide an excuse for me to avoid my responsibilities to Wingate.”
“But what could you do?” I said. Suddenly, I realized that I didn’t want her to go on. My stomach was in knots.
“I don’t know what I could have actually done,” she said “But I believe that when you have a friend and that friend acts on what you instructed him to do, then you have a responsibility to him.”
“Yes,” I said. “But is it your fault that he took what you said in a moment of anger or jealousy and interpreted it as the word of God?”
“I don’t know,” she said, shaking her head. “You’re asking me the question I’ve asked myself for forty years …”
“Tell me what happened,” I said, though I knew it wasn’t going to be good.
“Well, I spent every day of the next few weeks with Rob. He was a Bayman, I discovered. He lived near Annapolis and had quit school when his father had drowned. You know that story, though … right?”
“Yes,” I said. “Cap told me the other day.”
“I’m glad. There’s so much you don’t know about him. In so many ways he was … is a wonderful man. But he was so much more wonderful before the drinking took hold of him. He was fearless and capable and so masculine…. He could take a boat anywhere, through any kind of water, and I knew that we’d be fine. I loved him and was drawn to him, but I also admired him.”
We were both quiet when she said that. I had felt much the same thing when Cap and I had gone downtown together. Though he was old and worn out from his hard life and from booze, it was easy to see the man he’d been.
“Anyway, I acted shamefully … in regard to Wingate. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to see him, but I was fearful and jealous and a little ashamed. I mean we had talked about God, and helping the poor and destiny and all the rest, and he was actually doing it … while I stayed in a school that was meaningless to me. Oh, Lord, I was confused. I just didn’t want to think about it anymore. So I let school and Rob become my life for a time. Wingate sent me a message through Bonnie that he was working with the Reverend Phillips and that he was preaching at the Baptist church, and that he and Dr. Phillips were starting to make a difference in the neighborhood. He told her that he was happy … but missed me terribly, and that I should come see him soon.
“I told Bonnie I would … as soon as tests were over.
“But Lord help me, I didn’t do it…. I was enjoying myself too much on a completely different
level, sailing and taking walks and being overwhelmed by your grandfather, and I didn’t want that to end … or even to be interrupted. Not for all the ideals in the world.
“And then I heard something, something I’d dreaded from the day Wingate had announced he was going to work in town. Rob and I were getting ice cream at a place called Murphey’s … an old-fashioned ice cream parlor in town, and sitting at the counter were J.J. Randall, Lee Harrison, and a couple of their local girlfriends. To tell you the truth I rather enjoyed the fact that they were there, because when I was with Rob, they wouldn’t dare say a thing about me. J.J. knew Rob was tougher than any of them and that if he said a word against me, he’d have his block knocked off They were chattering on about sports and clothes and the prom that was coming up … and then Randall said, ‘Did any of you hear about the little nigger who’s preaching down there at their mission?’ I looked up from the booth we were sitting in. It was like someone had slapped me in the face. Of course, J.J. was aiming all this at me, but he wouldn’t dare look in my direction, the coward. Instead, he said, ‘Yeah, he’s making quite a name for himself. Preaching all kinds of nigger propaganda … from what I hear. I’m thinking we all oughta go down there and hear him sometime. Maybe he could explain Jesus to us.’ And all of them said, ‘Yeah, right!’ and laughed in this horrible way, a real hater’s laugh. I was so upset that I told Rob I wanted to go home at once. He hadn’t really heard any of this. He was busy eating and paid no attention to those boys, so he had no idea why I wanted to go. He thought maybe I was sick … which was right…. I was sick at heart, and I knew I had to go see Wingate at once.
“Two days later, I went down to the Negro section of town and found the little mission on Front Street. On the outside someone had painted in neat red letters ‘The Temple of Hope Non-Denominational Church, Reverend Garret Phillips. Assistant Minister, Wingate Washington.’ I couldn’t help but smile a little. To think he was now somebody in the world … maybe it was going to be all right…. I knocked at the door, and it fell open. I found myself in a very pleasant little room, with about ten chairs facing a homemade altar. I had to smile at that altar, because it was made partly from driftwood. The cross, too, on the wall was carved from trees, and the figure of the Savior was Wingate’s as well. I couldn’t help but notice, too, that his work had improved. He was always skilled with his hands, but there was a subtlety and power to the carving now. I stood there admiring it … when suddenly he came through the back door. “You’ve come at last,” he said.
“I turned, and I was so glad to see him that I nearly began to cry. He was wearing laymen’s clothes, but he was dressed in black, and he wore a white tie.
“ ‘How are you, Grace?’ he said, and there was such warmth and sweetness in his face that I embraced him at once. “ ‘Fine,’ I said. ‘And you?’ “ ‘Excellent. Do you like our little church?’ “ ‘It’s beautiful,’ I said.
“ ‘I’d introduce you to the Reverend, but he’s out making sick calls now. Come in the back room … that’s our rectory, nothing to speak of … but we’ve got a fine backyard. We’re doing a little work out there now.’
“I followed him through the little rectory. Like the church it was clean and neat, but Wingate was right … the real prize of the place was the backyard, which was surprisingly large. There were rosebushes and a decent-sized plot of grass and an elm tree. There were three other Negroes, two men and a woman, working in the yard. The woman was tending the roses, and the two men were nailing the fence. They barely looked at me.
“ ‘We’re mending the old fence,’ Wingate said. ‘Then we’re going to bring camp chairs out back, and I’ll preach here.’
“When I heard the word ‘preach,’ I must have given a start because he got a grave look on his face.
“ ‘All right,’ he said. ‘I know that look. This isn’t just a social call, is it?’
“ ‘No,’ I said. ‘I came to warn you.’
“He knelt down and picked up the saw and began cutting a length of board. I saw he was having some difficulty, so I held it for him. He sawed through it with long, powerful strokes.
“ ‘Warn me about what?’ he said.
“ ‘Your speeches are reaching more than the Negro Community.’
“ ‘Good,’ he said stubbornly. ‘I intend them to.’ “I sighed and shook my head.
“ ‘You ought to come hear me sometime,’ he said. Tm even managing to include some of the history of our people in the sermons. Not to mention mythology, signs. The very history that my good friend Grace taught me.’
“ ‘I’ve heard about that, too. Doesn’t it occur to you that you’re in danger?’
“ ‘No,’ he said, smiling at me. ‘We dumb Negroes aren’t smart enough to recognize danger.’
“I frowned and shook my head.
“ ‘Now you’re being unkind,’ I said.
“He sawed the wood again, then looked at me sincerely.”
“ ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, ‘but that’s kind of an insulting question, don’t you think?’
“ ‘Is it?’ I said. ‘You don’t act like you recognize it.’
“ ‘I choose not to,’ he said. ‘Listen, I’m not alone. That’s what I’ve found. Do you remember how excited I was when you first showed me the door into history?’
“ ‘Of course.’
“ ‘Well, now I’ve started to teach other people the same things you taught me, and I see the looks on their faces…. Not all of them, of course, only a few so far … but people are starting to get it, to understand what’s been done to them. And when I see that wonder at becoming conscious—when I see that, I don’t care about danger. I don’t care about anything as small as myself.
“I heard him say all this as if I were in a fog. Because on the way down to see him, I had convinced myself exactly how it was going to be. I would charm him, and he would be sensible and listen. And somehow, we would become as we were before, the two of us against the world. But now … now, almost before we had begun, it was over. I knew I wasn’t going to get anywhere with him. So, in spite of my best intentions, I felt furious with him all over again. He had his own people, his own friends, a community, and he had left me as surely as if he had gone to Harlem.
“I was jealous of his new friends, his responsibilities. I felt abandoned … but I was also really worried for him. He didn’t know J.J. Randall and his crowd. Or what they might do.
“ ‘Well, maybe you don’t care about yourself,’ I said. ‘But I do. And these people I heard … they’re bad … they’re ugly, and you’re frightening them.’
“ ‘Good,’ he said as he stopped sawing. ‘Good. If they’re frightened, maybe they know a little bit of what a colored man feels every single day.’
“I felt like crying all over again. Crying and beating him on the chest. Now I understood he was way beyond me, though it didn’t occur to me that I had also grown away from him by dating Rob. I only thought of myself.
“Then he suddenly said:
“ ‘Look, I’ve got something to show you. The most remarkable thing.’
“He reached into his vest pocket, pulled out a letter, and put it in my hand. It was from A. Philip Randolph himself. Wingate had written to him at The Messenger, and Randolph had replied. I don’t recall precisely what the letter said, but there were words of encouragement for Wingate’s work. Wingate was ecstatic and wanted me to share those feelings with him, but I couldn’t do it. I felt utterly betrayed, and underneath I was terrified for him. I knew that nothing I could say could compare to a letter from a man as great as Randolph. And so instead of sharing his happiness with him, I said, ‘That’s all well and good, but does the great Mr. Randolph know you’re only a kid?’
“That stung Wingate to the core. I knew it the moment I said it, but things once spoken …
“He looked at me and said, ‘My age has nothing to do with anything. Which I thought you understood.’
“He started working again. I wanted to cry, I fe
lt so confused…. I mumbled something about being sorry. But now he was hurt and proud, and he wouldn’t hear of it. I didn’t want to make a scene, so I turned to go.
“But something inside me wouldn’t let me leave it there. I turned back and said to him:
“ ‘Please, can we go inside for a second?’
“ ‘Why?’ he said. ‘Do you want to insult me in private now that you’ve done it in public?’ “ ‘Please,’ I said.
“Reluctantly, he put down the saw, got up, and followed me into the rectory. I paced around the room, thinking, I’ve got to say something that will cut through all the confusion, all the twisted arguments I’ve made before. Something decisive. Something he couldn’t escape from.
“Finally, I looked at him and said, ‘Listen, Wingate, listen to me, please. I’m nobody … I’m not special or wonderful, and I’m not … I’m certainly not some emissary from God. I’m just a regular girl from Baltimore, Maryland, and when I told you to work here in this town instead of going to Harlem, I was just thinking of myself. I knew I’d miss you, and I didn’t want to be here in godforsaken Mayo all alone.’
“ ‘Stop,’ he said. He’d shut his eyes as though what I was saying was too much for him to bear. I knew I was hurting him, but I couldn’t stop now. I knew this was my last chance.
“ ‘Wingate,’ I said. ‘You hear voices and see signs everywhere, but have you ever considered the fact that … they’re just in your head because of your granddaddy, and because you’re poetic and imaginative and talented?’
“ ‘No,’ he said. ‘That’s not true. You don’t really believe that.’
“ ‘But I do,’ I said, tears coming down my cheeks now. ‘I do believe it. It’s all inside you, because you’re wonderful. Talented. But these things … shooting stars and animals that are talismans and all the rest of it, they don’t really exist…. The star of Bethlehem, the gods and goddesses … it’s all superstition, fantasy. Make-believe. Things people had to believe in to explain away their fears before we had reason and science.’
