Harlem Redux

by Persia Walker

  His thoughts were confused and ran in circles. As he gazed out the car window, watching the streets fly by, one thing was clear to him, however. And that was that he had to find answers—and soon. If he stayed too long, then people—people like Canfield—would start asking questions of their own, questions he didn’t dare answer.

  So he would assume it was Sweet. It had to be. She just hooked up with Snyder and strung him along until she landed Lilian’s husband.

  But that didn’t explain why she wanted a public breakup.

  And her saying that she wanted the folks to have something “to remember” her by––that sounded like a good-bye—not just to Snyder, but to everybody. Like she was already planning on leaving town ...

  Did she believe that she and Sweet would run away together? But why would she? He wasn’t the type to give up his career and they both wanted the house and the money that went with it.

  Maybe he made promises he never intended to keep. Maybe he gave her the money to leave.

  Or maybe it really wasn’t Sweet after all—

  But then, damn, who could it have been?

  16. Clarifications

  Early Tuesday, David went to see the family physician. Dr. Steve Johnson had delivered David and his sisters. Known to them as “Dr. Steve,” he was short, chubby, and dapper. He had a habit of looking at patients over the top of his glasses. When David was a child, Dr. Steve’s dark, merry eyes had reminded him of Santa Claus.

  “I heard you were back,” Dr. Steve said. He shook David’s hand and offered him a seat. “It’s good to see you. I’m so sorry about Lilian.”

  “It was a shock.”

  “I can imagine.”

  “I want to know what caused it. Did you see her during that last illness?”

  “No,” Dr. Steve shook his head. “No, I didn’t. The last time I saw her was more than a year ago. She was pregnant and fairly healthy.”

  “Pregnant?” David felt his stomach tighten. “How far along was she?”

  “In her third month.”

  “Was it a normal pregnancy?”

  “Up to that point, it certainly was. But I never heard from her again, so I don’t know how the rest of it went. It broke my heart to read about her dying like that. Odd, how the papers didn’t mention a surviving child. What did she have? A boy or a girl?”

  David paused. “There was no child.”

  Dr. Steve looked at him with disbelief. “But that’s impossible. Was there a miscarriage?”

  “Not that I know of.”

  Dr. Steve cleared his throat uncomfortably. Abortion was unmentionable.

  “Well, then I don’t understand.”

  “Neither do I,” David said. “Neither do I.”

  David returned home. So Lilian had been pregnant ... but there was no baby. Only a couple of explanations were possible. She wouldn’t have had an abortion, because she wanted the child. Not unless she told Sweet and he forced her to it. David felt sick with anger at the thought of her in some filthy room with a back-alley cutter. But in all fairness, he couldn’t accuse Sweet of that. Not yet.

  According to Lilian’s diary, she’d never even told Sweet about the pregnancy. Perhaps she’d had a miscarriage. But if so, then surely she couldn’t have kept it a secret. Sweet would’ve learned about it. But if he had known, then he would’ve mentioned it, wouldn’t he? He would’ve had no reason not to. On the other hand, Annie had said nothing. And she must’ve known. She must’ve.

  But had she?

  Now back at home, he went looking for her and found her in the kitchen. She was wiping down the top of the stove, humming to herself. She stopped when she looked up and saw his expression.

  “What’s the matter?”

  “Did you know that Lilian was pregnant?”

  Annie moaned and got a pained look on her face.

  David felt his temper rise. He fought to keep his voice steady. “So you did know. And you said nothing to me?”

  Her forehead creased with worry. “How’d you find out?”

  “Her diary. And Dr. Steve just confirmed it. Why didn’t you tell me?”

  She sighed and shook her head. “I just didn’t know what to say. Truth is, she never said nothing to me. I caught her being sick in the bathroom. And she was tired all the time. I guessed what was going on. I tried to help her, but there wasn’t much I could do.”

  “But the baby ... She didn’t have it, did she?”

  “No, she didn’t. And I don’t know why. I don’t know what happened. One week she was sick every day. The next, she was fine.” Annie snapped her fingers. “Just like that and she was okay. Months went by. There was no baby. No nothing. She never mentioned it no more.”

  “And you didn’t ask her?”

  She gave him a strange look. “I had a feeling it’d be better not to. I had a feeling... it was too late.”

  He felt a terrible disquiet. “What does that mean?”

  “I don’t know, Mr. David. I just had the feeling that whatever was gonna happen had happened, that it was, well... over and done with.”

  It was a strange answer, one more intuitive than rational, one that chilled him. He started to ask her more but then stopped. She’d said exactly what she meant. She didn’t know how to say more.

  So he asked another question, on another subject, and framed it carefully.

  “After that scene in the parlor, are you sure you didn’t notice any particular ... closeness ... between Miss Gem and Mr. Jameson?”

  “No,” she shook her head. “Definitely not. There weren’t no closeness between them two. Miss Gem certainly had an affection for Mr. Jameson. She sure did. But that man didn’t care nothing for her. He was polite, but cool.”

  He felt he could trust Annie’s observations in most instances, but this time he was unsure. Sweet would have taken great pains to hide his feelings for Gem, especially from Annie.

  “He says he was in Newark that weekend.”

  “That’s right. Mr. Jameson said he had a conference. He said he’d be gone till Mond’y. He left Thursd’y. When he come back, Miss Lilian was already gone.” She gave him a shrewd look. “Now, there ain’t no way anybody reason’ble would say Mr. Jameson had anything to do with it. But ...”

  “Annie, you’ve never liked Mr. Jameson, have you?”

  She hesitated. “Mr. David, you know I’m not one to judge people. But I distrusted that man the moment he walked in the door. It was how he looked at the house. He stared so hard. At the furniture, the silverware, even the paintings on the walls. I couldn’t understand why Miss Rachel put that man in Miss Lilian’s path. There was greed in his face. Greed. Just like the moneychangers Our Lord Jesus threw outta the Temple.”

  “Do you remember the name of the hotel Mr. Jameson stayed at that weekend?”

  She squinted, trying to recall. “The Newfield, I think.” She nodded. “Yes, it was, the Newfield.”

  “And where’s Mr. Jameson now?”

  “He done left for work already. But he’ll be back later.”

  He needed to talk to Sweet. But maybe he could use the fact that Sweet wasn’t home to his advantage. Leaving Annie, David went to his father’s office door, put his hand on the knob, and turned. Naturally, it resisted, but this time, he expected it to. With a little effort, he could pick the lock. And a little while later, he did.

  “What’d you say the name of that hotel was?” the driver asked.

  “The Newfield,” David said.

  It was twenty minutes later. The break into Sweet’s office had yielded results, but not the results David expected. Now he was out looking to check Sweet’s alibi.

  The hotel was a modest but attractive establishment. The woman behind the counter was polite but uncooperative. She refused to confirm or deny that Jameson Sweet had had a reservation at the hotel on the night David mentioned.

  “We respect our guests’ confidentiality.”

  “Listen, his wife died that night and I’m her brother. I just wa
nt to make sure he was where he said he was.”

  The woman’s eyes became knowing. She looked to be in her mid-fifties, plump and gossipy. “You mean, you think he was stepping out on her?”

  “I don’t know what to think. That’s the problem. All we know is that she’s gone and there’s a question ...”

  The woman nodded. “My baby girl had a cheating husband. It was terrible.” She considered. “Look, I’ve got to go in the back for a second to check on something. People think I’ve got eyes in the back of my head, but I’ll tell you a secret: I don’t. So I won’t have no idea of what you’re up to while I’m gone. Just make sure you’ve cleared out before I get back. You hear?”

  “Thank you.”

  With a wink, she turned her broad back to him and bustled into the back office. David spun the register book around and flipped the pages back for several weeks. He found Sweet’s signature for the weekend that Lilian died. David scanned the room numbers and saw that Sweet had shared a room with another Movement official, Charlie Epps. David quickly copied Epps’s name and address.

  He took the hired car back to Manhattan and found Epps’s building on 145th Street. It was midday. There was a small chance that Epps had come home for lunch. David rang the doorbell and waited. No reply. He rang again, long and loud, and waited. Still, no reply.

  Disappointed, he turned away and went down the two steps leading to the street, then headed home.

  17. Speaking of Secrets

  Annie met him at the front door. “Mr. Jameson’s back. He’s sitting in the parlor.”

  “Good,” David said. “I want to talk to him.”

  Sweet sat on Augustus’s throne, reading a best-seller, The Man Nobody Knows by Bruce Barton. He glanced up when David entered and gave him a slight nod.

  David leaned against the fireplace mantel. “So, Sweet,” he said casually, “did you know that Lilian believed she was pregnant last year?”

  Sweet looked up. He appeared to be stunned. “What?”

  “Lilian told Rachel she was expecting a child.”

  “That’s impossible. Lilian never said anything to me about it.”

  “Maybe she was afraid to.”

  “Why? I would’ve been thrilled.” He frowned, apparently thinking it over, and then shook his head. “No, there was no pregnancy. There couldn’t have been.” He spoke more to himself than to David and his tone held the urgency of a man who as trying to convince himself more than another. “A pregnancy,” he muttered. “That can’t be true.”

  “How can you be so sure?”

  Sweet regarded David with resentment. “She would’ve told me. I was her husband.”

  “Yes, you were, weren’t you?”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “Just how well did you get to know Gem?”

  Sweet’s dark eyes took on a hard glint. “Not so well.”

  “How well?”

  “Not as well as you’d like to imply.”

  “Gem is a stunning woman—”

  “But obvious. It was easy to see what she was after.”

  “And did you give her ... what she was after?”

  Sweet snickered. “Your train is running on the wrong track.”

  Annie came in with a coffee tray. David asked about Gem’s absence.

  “Strange that she hasn’t responded to word of Lilian’s death. I heard that they became close.”

  Sweet was quiet for a moment, then he laid his book aside.

  “As far as I know, they did become close. Lilian told me she was receiving regular news from Gem.”

  “Letters?”

  “Postcards.”

  “I’d like to see them, if you don’t mind.”

  Sweet hesitated. Did he burn them, too? David wondered.

  “Of course you may see them,” Sweet said with glacial politeness. “But I’m not sure where they are. I’m not even sure she kept them.”

  Annie spoke up. “I b’lieve she did. Miss Lilian used to always read them at the desk in the library. She had a special drawer she liked to put them in. I can fetch them if you like.”

  Sweet smiled thinly. “That’s all right. I’m sure I can find them.”

  David accompanied Sweet to the library. Sweet went to the desk, pulled out one shallow side drawer. “Ah, here they are.” He removed a small stack of postcards held together by a pink ribbon, handed them to David, then walked a little distance away. David sorted through the cards, then slapped the little packet against his palm. He ran a speculative eye over Sweet.

  “Gem didn’t write these cards. She has a lovely script. She’s very vain about it. Whoever wrote these cards is barely literate.”

  “Lilian said these cards came from Gem. If Gem didn’t write them, I don’t know who did.”

  David looked down at the packet of cards. “When did they start coming?”

  “About a month after Gem left. Look, David, Lilian had many secrets. Now she’s gone and she took them with her. And I, for one, am glad to let them be.”

  “Are you?”

  “I said I am.”

  “Well, I’m not.”

  A tic leapt near Sweet’s right eye.

  “Speaking of secrets,” David said, “I’ve come across Lilian’s diary.”

  “Her diary?” Sweet repeated tonelessly.

  “It adds a whole new perspective to things.”

  “How interesting. Perhaps you’ll let me look at it.”

  “Put it like this: When the time is right, I’ll be sure to tell you what I’ve gotten from it.”

  David went upstairs to his room and gathered several handkerchiefs. Then he went to Lilian’s room and headed for her private bathroom. There were shelves and a small medicine chest. The shelves carried only bath soaps and beauty ointments. He turned to the wooden medicine chest and opened it. Nothing. It was bare.

  He’s cleaned it out, thought David. There was something in there he didn’t want anyone to see.

  A hand touched his shoulder and he jumped. Then he saw that it was just Annie.

  “Good grief,” he said. “What’re you doing here?”

  “‘Scuse me, Mr. David. Didn’t mean to scare you.” She nodded toward the medicine chest. “He emptied everything outta there soon as the police left, the day she died.”

  David sighed. She put a hand on his wrist. He looked up and she crooked a finger, as if to say, Follow me.

  Fifteen minutes later, he had thrown on his coat and set out for Seventh Avenue. His long muscular legs covered the distance quickly. Soon, he was standing before the Renaissance Pharmacy on the corner of 138th and Seventh. He shoved open the swinging glass doors and headed for the prescription counter. He had to wait until the pharmacist finished with a couple of elderly customers. Then he told the druggist what he wanted. The pharmacist did not comment. He simply extended his hand. David turned over a small bottle. He was told to come back on Thursday. The information he had requested would be waiting for him.

  As David headed home, he thought about the other discovery he’d made that day, the one in his father’s office.

  18. Lyrics of a Blackbird

  Lilian had started writing when she was ten. She’d kept a diary even then. The contents of her journal she’d kept secret, of course. But her poetry and short stories she’d shared. Sometimes with Rachel; mostly with David. While Gem and Rachel and Trudy Maxwell from up the street and Sally Mabel Stevens from down the street were all outside playing hopscotch, Lilian was indoors, busy with her “scribbling,” as Augustus called it. He wasn’t too thrilled about Lilian’s fascination with the written word, but he tolerated it. Lila defended it. She was very proud of her daughter and encouraged her, but Lilian didn’t particularly like to show her mother her writings. It was David she sought out. It was his opinion that made a difference.

  “What d’you think?” she’d ask.

  “You’ve got talent,” he told her one day when he was twenty and she fifteen. He’d just finished reading a story she
’d given him entitled, “The Man with One Green Eye.” It was about a colored man who had one brown eye and one green one. He couldn’t see out of both eyes at the same time, so he had to walk around with a patch on one eye all the time. He’d switch back and forth between eyes every day, “to give each eye an equal chance to see the world its way.”

  David could see the pride in her eyes, but she kept her expression serious. “That’s very nice of you to say I have talent. But I know that. I need constructive criticism, David.” She held up a small warning finger. “Constructive.”

  And so he tried, as best he could, to give her some. “But I’m not like a teacher. I don’t know the rules.”

  “You’re better than a teacher. You’re my brother.”

  He laughed and said, “Okay, your brother says this story’s good enough for you to try to get it published.”

  Her eyes did shine then and her mouth sagged open. “You mean it?”

  “Wouldn’t have said it if I didn’t.”

  “But, David, what magazine’s gonna publish something from a colored girl?”

  “Don’t have to be a magazine. We’ll try a newspaper. How about the New York Age?”

  “They print short stories?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t know. If they don’t, they’ll change their mind when they see yours.” He smiled. “There’s always a first time.”

  She threw her arms around his neck and hugged him. “I’ve got the best brother in the whole wide world.”

  The newspaper did indeed publish “The Man with One Green Eye” and over the years it printed a couple of Lilian’s poems, too, each of them after they’d undergone David’s constructive criticism. And so he took personal pride in her literary accomplishments.