by Emery, Lynn
“So it finally comes out. Formed an opinion based on what I’ve told you so far, huh? Maybe Sam was right; you’ve just been looking for some ammunition to use against Batton Chemical.” Paul left the table.
“What? Are you saying—” Savannah bolted from her chair to follow him.
“Yeah, you got real cozy with me right after you found out about my work on the Batton project. All the questions about my work, about the report.” Paul paced in front of the couch.
“Who do you think you are anyway? Get serious. You’re an unknown black engineer with a tiny business going nowhere until by some miracle you get this huge contract from a corporation that does international business.”
“We got this job by being the best and lowest bidder!” Paul sputtered.
“Right. It was a set up from the beginning. You went through the motions with that report so you could earn your three pieces of silver. It’s so transparent you might as well have printed the thing on glass. Where’s my coat?” Savannah whirled around and stomped down the hall to the bedroom. “I’m getting the hell out of here.”
“There’s the door, use it.” Paul shouted.
“Don’t worry, baby, I will. But get this, it won’t work so get your money and run. We’ll shut Big River, count on it.” Savannah slammed the door so hard as she left, that the whole trailer shook.
Paul’s fist clenched and unclenched in frustrated anger. How dare she call him a sell out? Couldn’t she see how critical it was being on the inside of an industry poised to do as much good as harm for the community?
*****
The week of Thanksgiving was beautiful. The weather sunny yet with a crispness in the air. Beautiful red and yellow leaves hung from the trees and covered front yards. Savannah hardly noticed. Despite all of Tante Marie’s attempts to get her into the holiday spirit, Savannah moved around as if in a haze. The week since her confrontation with Paul had been bleak. Even the slightest task seemed to drain her. Though she hated herself for it, she held her breath at the ring of the phone or the tinkling of the shop bell over the door. But he never called, he never came. This was what she had dreaded, why she had never given herself completely to any man. This agony of loving. In silent misery, she followed the same routine every day.
“Cher, did you order those little crawfish lapel pins? I’m gone put some in these gift baskets Mr. Rodrigue ordered for his clients.” Tante Marie was helping out due to the rush.
“Yeah, and that paint I use for the animals.” Antoine yelled from the back.
“By the way, we almost out of Spanish moss. Did you send T-Leon to get some more?” Tante Marie’s hands move quickly to complete another basket.
“Yes, I think I ordered—, oh no! I forgot to call. I’ll call now.” Savannah pulled the phone towards her.
“Use the office line, girl. We gettin’ orders on that one. Now we gone hafta pay express shippin’ charges to get that stuff here.” Antoine muttered this last.
“I’m sorry, okay. Can’t I make one mistake without getting jumped on? It’s not like there aren’t a million things to do around here.” Savannah snatched up the papers with the order information and stomped out.
“What’s wrong with that girl? She been either mopin’ around with her face hanging down or snappin’ folks heads off.” Antoine scratched his head.
“You ain’t noticed Paul ain’t been callin’ or been ‘round here lately? They had a big fight an’ now they ain’t speakin’.” Tante Marie shook her head at her brother-in-law’s lack of knowledge.
“Lord, I can’t keep up with them kissin’ one minute, fussin’ the next. They’ll be lovey-dovey next thing you know.” Antoine chuckled.
“I don’t know. This was ‘bout him goin’ over to Trosclair’s house. Got offered a job. Savannah says he is lettin’ himself get bought off to help them open more plants and get permits. You know that was a touchy thing with them anyhow. Been more than two weeks now, they still ain’t talkin’.”
“Went to Trosclair’s house, eh? Does sound bad. But still, I can’t hardly see him doing somethin’ wrong like that. He just don’t seem to be that kind.” Antoine said.
“Stop talking behind my back. Yeah, he’s a real stand up guy.” Savannah marched back into the shop.
“Well, what you think the man gone do? They ask him to evaluate if the site is safe, not if it oughta be in a black neighborhood.”
“Poppy, I can’t believe you are defending him.”
“Look here, he told me what he was gonna have in that report long before it come out. He didn’t have to do that. And he put in some recommendations he didn’t have to neither.”
“Are you serious?” Savannah looked up sharply.
“If I’m lyin’, I’m flyin’. That boy coulda got himself in some kinda trouble, yeah. Trosclair got a long memory, he could see to it Paul don’t get no more business. But he told me he wanted me to know what to expect.”
“Oh.” Savannah sat staring out of the window.She cringed remembering the harsh accusations she had flung at him. Savannah felt ashamed at her behavior now that she knew how earnestly Paul had tried to help the people of Easy Town. She reached for the phone after several minutes.
“He visitin’ his mama and daddy for Thanksgiving. But he gonna be back Sunday.” Antoine grinned at her.
“And how do you know I was about to call him?” Savannah blushed.
“‘Cause, you been itchin’ to call him even before you knowed you was wrong.” Antoine gave her a peck on her forehead before going back to his combination storeroom and workshop.
“Cher, don’t be so quick to jump on the poor man. I been married, well never mind how many time, but I know men. And I tell you, he’s a good-hearted person.” Tante Marie gave her a pat and went back to packing gift baskets.
*****
For Paul, returning home seemed so strange now. He saw everything about his family in a whole new context. He longed to talk to his father, but he knew that was out of the question. The day he announced his big contract with Batton Chemical at the traditional family Sunday dinner, everyone was excited. His oldest sister, Adele, grilled him for details as only she could. In typical big brother fashion, Robert slapped him on the back and began giving him unwanted advice on how to handle himself with the big boys. And his father sat beaming with pride. Always a quiet man, the family gauged his frame of mind by noticing his body language. Charles said little but nodded his approval as he watched his large, boisterous brood. Then with lightening speed, his mood became dour.
“Don’t worry, Robert. When I meet with Claude Trosclair I’ll remember to stand up straight.” Paul laughed but the sound died quickly at the sight of his father’s face.
Gradually everyone realized the subject was no longer one that pleased Charles. They endured several edgy moments of silence before Robert eased the strain with a funny story from his job. For the next two weeks, Paul tried to think of what made his father displeased. Finally, he went to his mother.
“He won’t say anything to me, Mama. Just keeps brushing it off.” Paul and his mother sat on the front porch of his parents’ home.
“You know how he is. Sometimes he got things on his mind.” Reba was being evasive, something uncharacteristic of her.
“Mama, come on. His mood changed too quickly. Papa was feeling fine, then something happened that Sunday. I want to know what’s going on. And I’m not going to let this drop until I do.” Paul folded his arms to wait making it clear he would not leave until he got a satisfactory answer.
Paul could not simply dismiss his father’s change of attitude. They had only in past few years eased their strained relationship. Being the youngest and most rebellious son, Paul had always wanted to go his own way. Clashing with his father became inevitable. Since his graduation from college, Paul had matured and Charles had mellowed. Slowly they made an uneasy peace as Paul began to accept his father’s wisdom in some things. Charles, in turn, began to accept that Paul was not the impetuous,
irresponsible young man who he had feared.
“I know, son.” Reba sighed and patted his leg. “Last thing I wanna see is you and your Papa havin’ bad feelins’ again.”
“This is a big break for me. But for some reason, Papa disapproves. There’s no pleasing him. No matter how I try.” Paul turned to her, his face etched with sadness and frustration.
“It ain’t you, baby. It’s…” Reba groped for a way to explain.
“Of course it’s me. It’s always me.” Paul shook his head.
“Now that ain’t true.” Reba’s expression changed from one of uncertainty to one of decision. “Guess you got to know sometime.“She got up and went into the house. Several minutes past before she emerged carrying a bundle of small notebooks tied with a faded blue ribbon. “Take these with you. Read ‘em, but don’t tell nobody else yet. Your Papa would be very angry with me if he knew. But I’d rather you find out the truth than have this come between y’all.” Reba pressed the notebooks into his hands.
When he was alone, Paul began reading his grandmother’s diaries. Monmon Marguerite had faithfully recorded her thoughts even until the last months when she was too ill to write. The simple straightforward manner in which the young Marguerite talked about her family and acquaintances, her wry sense of humor about human nature was a delight to him. More than once the narrative brought her so world alive to him, he became so engrossed, he felt caught in a time warp. It was as though Marguerite was near, watching his expressions, eager to tell him even more than what the words on the pages. He marveled at the difference between this lively creature and the subdued, even melancholy grandmother he knew. From the date on the first book, it appeared that she began keeping her diaries when she was fourteen. It was in the sixth volume that Marguerite began to speak of her growing affection for a young gentleman, as she called him. Paul read with amusement the flowery language, some of it in the form of mediocre poetry, singing the praises of this most wonderful man. It was after thirty pages or so that Marguerite wrote of the agony she felt that they could never expect to court like other lovers.
“I truly love Claude. It is painful that I must hide my feelings, as he must hide his. So sweet to be near him, to know that he is just on the other side of the hall as I dust the parlor or sweep the gallery. There are times I let myself imagine that this is our home, that we are man and wife. But always there is a cruel reminder of who I am, a nobody colored girl who is paid to clean up after others. Guarding my expressions, I find more and more that I must turn my face away from others rather than have my true heart known.”
Then a later entry, “The taste of his lips still lingers, there is warmth where they touched mine, a warmth that covers me completely. It is worth the heartache to be with him.”
As he read, Paul had a growing sense of where this affair was heading. Despite feeling like an invader prying into an intimate part of her life, he could not tear himself away.“May God forgive us. We were lost in each other. No one and nothing else mattered. We became one, forgetting everything.“Inevitably, there were the frightened entries of a girl “in trouble”.
“Papa will not look at me, he is so ashamed. He shouted that I had disgraced our family, that I am no better than the whores on the streets of New Orleans. His words stung much more than the sharp slap across my face. Monmon says I must go away to live with Tante Clovis in Grosse Tete. With all this, I long for Claude, yet I know he can never come to me.“The hardships, taunts, and sacrifices she endured were on the pages, described without a hint of self-pity. She spoke of being resigned to it all, just payment for the sin of lust. She later wrote of her realization that she was a passing fancy for Claude, that she been no different than other girls in her position who deluded themselves that they had inspired true love in the young master. Finally, she put her son above all else.“All fanciful dreams must be discarded. This little one needs a strong monmon who can take care of him, no stars in her eyes. I must make a way for us, no time, no use for silly whims. This life is hard for me, but I must shield him from this trouble I have brought him into. No matter what maman and papa or Tante Clo say, he will stay with me. No one will take ma petite bebe.”
Weeks passed before he had the courage to approach his father. He had prepared himself for a strong reaction, but the force of it rocked him all the same. Charles had made it all too clear that this was not to be revealed to anyone. Not only did he not want to know more, insisted the diaries be burned. Luckily, Paul’s mother had been able to reason with him on this last, but only because Paul turned the diaries over to them for safe keeping.
Now a year later, this secret hung heavy between them. For a long time, his father became distant in his presence, unable to meet his eyes. Gradually, with his mother as a bridge, they moved toward each other until Paul felt the gap was almost closed. This Thanksgiving was like so many before, noisy and cheerful. Everyone gathered at his parents’ simple wood frame home. His sisters and female cousins kept up constant chatter over the clamor of their offspring. His two brothers and brothers-in-law talked about hunting, fishing, and football. They also took pleasure in teasing him about his enviable bachelor state. He endured it all with good-nature, delivering a few jabs back at them. But he was more distracted this time. Seeing his father alone, he joined him the large den that had been added when they were teenagers.
“You doing okay, Papa?”
“Fine. Just takin’ a break from all that racket. Char pacan, them little ones can keep up enough noise to rattle the walls.” He chuckled.
“Yeah, sure can.” Paul fidgeted for several minutes, watching the television screen without really seeing it.
“You been doin’ good I hear. Got youself a new girl, so your mama say.” Charles rocked gently in the recliner that was his favorite chair.
“Yes sir, she’s something special. I met her in Beau Chene. Where I’m working on that Big River contract.“The smile faded from his father’s face as he continued.
“That plant Mr. Trosclair opened has stirred up some bad feelings. But he really is trying to make it safe. I met with him several times, he seems reasonable.”
“Paul, you know how I feel about this. And I ain’t askin’ you to hurt your business neither. Go on with your contract. As for him, what he is or ain’t don’t mean nothin’ to me.”
“But he’s your—”
“I didn’t have but one papa, his name was Henry.” Charles snapped back, his voice hoarse with emotion.
“But aren’t you curious? I mean, when I read Monmon Marguerite’s journal I felt as though I had never really known her. The girl who wrote those words was so passionate, and funny. What I remember is her being real quiet and solemn when I was a little boy. And I couldn’t help but wonder what changed her and what the Trosclairs were like.”
“Hardship changed her. Having a baby and no husband was a shameful thing for a Catholic girl in those days.”
Paul stared at his father until Charles began to fidget. Not for the first time since he arrived, he noted the strange mixture of features. Charles had the stocky build of the Ricards, resembling his grandmother’s father, whose picture was on the wall near the stairway. But he had the nose and mouth of Claude Trosclair. His hair, thick but cut close to his head, was curly. There the resemblance ended as he had the mannerisms of Henry Honorè. The way he held his head, or sat back with his arms folded when he was thinking deeply about something, all reminded Paul of Pawpaw Honorè. Charles was fiercely loyal to the memory of the man he consider to be his one, his only true father.
“Isn’t there anything you want know about them? About him?”
“Look, it don’t matter to me. I got my family. What the Trosclairs do, what they like is nothin’ to me. They live in their world, we live in ours. When you try to bring them together, somebody gets hurt. Let it stay buried, Paul.” Charles got up abruptly and went into the living room to join the rest of the family.
Paul sighed. Maybe he was right, what did it matter after almos
t fifty years? They could never be family in the true sense of the word. His curiosity was not enough of a reason to hurt his father or cause his family the kind of notoriety such information could bring. Better to let secrets stay secret.
“Everything all right, sweetie?” Paul’s mother took his hand as she sat next to him. “Why you not in here with us? Your brother is tellin’ some of them silly jokes. Got us cryin’ from laughin’ so.”
“Yeah, Robert always could tell jokes.”
“One thing, he ain’t even brought the first smile to his papa’s face.” Reba looked at her son, waiting for an answer.
“It’s all right, Mama. Really.”
“Your papa wants this kept between us three. You know how he felt ‘bout his mama. Took years for her to live it down, Charles heard the whispers when he was a little boy. It was only ‘cause folks had so much respect, some a fear, of Mr. Henry the talk was never more than that. Please let it go. And be careful, the Trosclairs might turn nasty if you bring this up.”
“Don’t worry, Mama. I just wanted to learn a little more about them, to understand what it was like for Monmon back then. The Trosclairs have nothing I want. No one knows and I’ll be sure it stays that way.”
*****
Paul rushed into the house, frantic to get to the ringing phone. Throwing his bag down he snatched up the receiver just in time to hear the dial tone.
“Damn!”
He held the phone for several minutes, first dialing, and then pressing the button to hang up. The sharp ring while he still held the button caused him to jump.
“Hello.” He spoke softly into to mouth piece. He thought of Savannah’s full lips curving into a smile.
“Hello to you too, big boy.” Sam laughed. “Save your bedroom voice, man. It’s a little too deep for my taste.”
“Very funny. Is there a reason for this call, and if so, can we get to it?” Paul spoke sharply.
“Hey, I’m calling to say hope you had a nice Thanksgiving and this is what I get.”
