Maggie yelled for Ross to have a seat as she ran to the living room to turn off the loud music, kicking the long skirt of her sleeveless denim dress behind her. On her return to the kitchen, she joined Ross at the table, saying a quick prayer over their lunch: her own special bacon, lettuce, and tomato sandwiches.
Maggie’s smile brightened Ross’s spirits, and he soon forgot his worries of being evicted. He could not resist admitting, “I’m so happy that we are all friends. You’re the best people in the world to me.”
Although from the beginning Maggie had stuck by Ross in his efforts to walk again, anxiously waiting for the day when he would feel that way, she pretended to scold him. “Honey, don’t dare mislead an old lady with such sweet talk.”
In a dramatic act, Ross cupped his hands across his heart. “But I cannot hide my feelings any longer—I’m in love with you!”
The little woman chuckled, wiping her eyes with her hands. And then she said, “You’ll make a fine father one day, Ross. Ever thought of havin’ a family, startin’ over again?”
At first, Ross became silent. Maggie did not normally try to edge him into such conversation. But when he considered all that he had lost in the past, he couldn’t resist shaking his head. “That would be impossible,” he said.
“Nothin’s impossible. If you want somethin’ bad enough, you can have it. What kind of work you like?” Maggie watched her friend take a big bite out of his sandwich, obviously trying to avoid her question. Wearing a pale blue dress shirt and navy slacks, he looked far better than the beaten-up, bleeding stranger whom she had met a little over two months ago.
Ross rose slowly and limped to the window over the washing machine. He stared through the open curtains at rain pouring down from the leaden gray sky onto the gloomy housing project, a perfect moment for an expressionist painter to capture on canvas. How could he just disappear out of Tracie and Maggie’s lives—after all they had done for him—without telling them who he really was?
Ross turned back to Maggie. “Did you know that I was once a well-known literary agent?” Smiling at the little woman’s confused expression, he explained, “Literary agents sell books for writers. I got my start fresh out of college from a man named Frank Burke, who became not only my mentor but also a second father to me. He offered me the irresistible opportunity of sharing his grand West Hartford home and gave me a great starting position as an editor at his agency.”
Ross tilted his head to the side. Although he was still staring at Maggie, his mind was in a completely different world of the past. “My job at the agency was completely satisfying. I got to work on the stories of famous writers, and I even gave advice to those writers who had good ideas but did not know how to turn them into publishable stories. In only four years, I went from editor to agent, thanks to Frank, who had closely monitored my work and decided to challenge me at something far more demanding.”
“Good agents are loyal friends to their writers, but they are also lions to innocent prey.” Ross heard the voice of Frank in a past private meeting in Frank’s office.
Caught off guard by this remark, Ross frowned, “What prey?”
“The publishers,” Frank responded with a chuckle. “The guys with all the money.”
But just as instantaneously, Ross’s memory shifted to another time in his past, when he had suffered endless rejection in attempting to establish himself as a literary agent. He was rushing into the office of the agency’s senior editor, Sandy Brown, and handed her a manuscript. “A young woman dropped by this morning and left this,” Ross told the senior editor. Pulling on his tan trench coat, he nervously glanced at his watch. “I’m in a rush... I have a lunch date with an editor in New York in two hours. Could you please take a look at this manuscript and get back to me as soon as possible?”
“For you, anything, darling,” Sandy said. She admired Ross’s drive to stick with his job as an agent, despite how painfully long it was taking to get it going.
Ross returned to the office late in the evening, still feeling depressed as a result of what had happened earlier that afternoon. The New York editor who was supposed to meet him for lunch had never arrived at the restaurant. Ross had spent the rest of the day feeling frustrated and sad, driving aimlessly around West Hartford, questioning his decision to pursue a career as an agent.
When Ross finally walked into his small office, Frank was waiting for him. A bottle of champagne and two long-stemmed glasses were sitting on his desk. “What are we celebrating?” Ross asked, looking confused.
His boss grinned, patting a manuscript on Ross’s desk. “The writer who dropped this by this morning is your big break into the business. While you were away, Sandy came to me with nothing but good things to say about the story. It’s going to sell well for sure.”
With surprisingly little effort, Ross sold the mystery novel, Until the Sunrise, to a major publisher and negotiated a remarkable six-figure advance for the new author, Angela Terry. The published book became a smash success, followed soon by a lucrative movie deal. Ross was on his way.
After Angela Terry’s big hit, other writers—established as well as new—began sending Ross various stories and book proposals, many of which went on to become top market sellers. When Frank offered him a partnership in the business, Ross ecstatically accepted, and Frank Burke’s Creative Writers and Associates became Burke and Crass Literary Agency practically overnight.
Maggie sat chewing and listening attentively to Ross’s story. Every now and then, she would nod to show her understanding, although it was not completely clear to her the day-to-day responsibilities that he had had as a literary agent. But he confirmed as much as she had always guessed: Ross had the perfect speech, mannerisms, and fashionable clothes of a person who had once had a professional life.
Ross continued to speak. “An agent’s job is a whole different ballgame from editing stories. As an agent, I read stories that were suggested to me by the agency’s editors and judged whether or not they were marketable to publishers. Anyone can sit down at a typewriter and turn out a 500-page manuscript of black-inked words, but I never sent trash out to publishers. I only tended to those manuscripts that had worth and could earn the highest royalties possible. With my keen sense of predicting what was hot and what was not, I became one of the best agents in the business, if I may say so myself.”
He paused, staring painfully at Maggie, almost unable to continue his story. “So you see, I made lots of money and had a bright future. But my hatred for blacks caused me to lose all of that.”
Maggie gasped, and Ross jumped when she suddenly lost all control, screaming, “Ross Crass, you the Devil in disguise! So what you goin’ do now? Kill Tracie’s dream of becomin’ a writer too, just ’cause he black?”
Ross frowned, his heartbeat quick and loud, like the hard rain hitting the window. But the angry woman’s words were meaningless to him, and he returned to his seat. “Why would I ever want to hurt Tracie?” he asked.
Snatching several napkins from their rusty chrome holder in the center of the table, Maggie blew her nose. She wiped fresh tears from her eyes with her trembling hands and shrugged. And then she told Ross about her strange dream shortly after his arrival into their lives:
Ross and Tracie were in a spacious office.
Gripping a large knife, Tracie yelled, “I’m a good writer, but I need an agent. And you goin’ represent me!”
When Ross saw that Tracie was black, he yelled back, “What in hell gives you the right to enter my office? Nigger, I’m going to blow your head off!”
There was a vicious fight between Ross and Tracie, and Ross ended up getting shot.
Now Maggie stopped talking, as she remembered jumping up in bed from the nightmare, asking God why Ross would want to harm her beloved grandson.
Ross thought about the episode from his past that was very similar to Maggie’s dream. “Did you mention your dream to Tracie?”
“Didn’t want to scare him. Besides, it’s ju
st a dream.”
Ross shook his head, reaching across the table and gently stroking the back of Maggie’s hand. “There was this black writer named Clarence Jackson who Frank had signed as one of our clients just before he passed away. I had never known Frank’s plans for representing the writer, although we normally discussed every new talent discovery and every new project. I called up Clarence to break the news to him that Frank had died and that I would reevaluate his manuscript and decide whether or not it was salable, by my standards. But after hearing his voice over the telephone, I realized that the writer was black. Just by the way he spoke, the words he used. I was thoroughly disgusted. Instead of my original plans, I outright told Clarence that I could not represent him because of his zero publishing history.”
Maggie’s eyes widened in startled disapproval. “Ross, that poor writer. How he take the bad news?”
“I don’t think he knew my decision was based on prejudice, but he definitely did not take well to what I had to say. I guess he had been extremely desperate to get published, because later that night, while putting in some extra hours at the office, I received an unexpected visit from him. He was wearing a mask to disguise himself and was carrying a knife. Maggie, I don’t think I have ever been so horrified in all my life. I had all kinds of crazy thoughts. Perhaps the intruder had come to rob and kill me. But it soon became evident that there was a more personal reason for the visit. The man dressed in all black stated that he was there to make sure I represented Clarence Jackson. He tried to make it sound as if he had sought me out on behalf of the writer, but I linked his voice to the one I had spoken to on the telephone earlier. I knew who it was. I knew it was Clarence Jackson.”
“This all sounds just like my dream!”
Ross nodded. He knew it too. Perhaps God had revealed a part of his sordid past through Maggie’s dream to give him the courage to confront Tracie and her. He doubted that he would have ever been brave enough to make the move himself, not with people as caring and generous as they were to him.
Ross raised his cane and said, “As you can see, the visit from Clarence did not turn out favorably. Once I realized who he was, a black man who had the audacity to break into my office, I became enraged to the point of murder. I had once bought a gun just in case an intruder might get into the office while I was working alone late at night. I immediately reached for my gun, but Clarence advanced on me from behind just as I grabbed hold of it. We started struggling, trying to overpower each other and gain control of the gun. Needless to say, I’m the one who got shot in the back. Thanks to the cleaning crew who soon arrived and spotted me bleeding to death on the floor, an ambulance came and rushed me to the hospital. But it was already too late. The damage had been done. The bullet had left me paralyzed from my waist down.”
Maggie listened intently as Ross further explained, “But the worst was yet to come. While I was recovering in the hospital, Clarence filed a lawsuit against me. He claimed that I had broken the agency’s contract with him because of his race. I could not believe it. This guy was acting as if he had never broken into my office and threatened my life, as if I could not put him behind bars for committing that very crime. I decided to fight back. My attorney, Arthur Davidson, one of the best in his field, was confident that we could have the case thrown out of court and have Clarence put in jail, all at once. He said, “There is no way Clarence Jackson can prove his bogus case. Everyone knows that contracts between agents and writers are broken all the time.”
Now Ross stared down into his lap. “Sometimes your own past can be used against you. That is especially true for people who are well known. Whoever was Clarence’s attorney had researched my background thoroughly. She discovered an old write-up in The Hartford Courant on my parents, who were the leaders of an organization of white supremacists. His attorney made sure that news was well publicized. Of course such smut shocked my associates at the agency, and they gradually and politely started leaving the firm. Even Arthur was blown away. He advised me to settle out of court and forget about pressing charges against the writer. With one unfortunate discovery about my past, almost everything I had was handed over to the man who had crippled me. And I couldn’t recover financially, not while I was in the hospital trying to get well. The medical expenses took what money was left, so I had Arthur close the agency. I had truly lost everything.”
“Ross, they say prejudice is somethin’ learned. You just spoke ’bout your parents led a group of other racist folks. Is that what made you start hatin’ blacks?”
At first Ross looked surprised, but then he nodded. It was difficult feeling anything less than love for his parents, although he knew they had been wrong to practice hate and teach it to him. “Yes, my parents made that decision for me.”
Maggie said, “Where they now?”
Ross’s throat suddenly felt dry, and he sipped his glass of punch. Then, in a low voice, he answered, “Dead.”
“I see,” Maggie sighed. She decided not to press him any further. No matter what awful life teachings he had received, his parents were obviously two people he loved very much. But at least now she understood why the white man Tracie and she had rescued from the dangerous gang had been so resentful. They were part of the black race that had taken everything meaningful from him.
Ross smiled. “Don’t give me that look of pity, Maggie. I’ve lost a lot, but now I have invaluable friendships with Tracie and you.”
Maggie quietly excused herself from the kitchen. When she returned to her seat, she reached across the table and handed Ross an envelope.
“What’s this?” he asked.
“Open it,” Maggie said softly.
Ross opened the envelope and gasped, as he stared inside at a check whose written amount was not only generous but also the exact amount of his overdue rent. He listened as Maggie briefly explained how she had spotted Clyde Barren attaching an eviction notice to Ross’s door. She insisted that Ross take her money, that God would want them to help him.
Tears welled in Ross’s eyes as he stood and rushed over to his little friend, giving her the tightest hug he had ever given anyone. “Why are you so kind to me?”
Maggie began to rise to clear the table, as if ignoring Ross’s question, but he grabbed her hand.
“Why?” Ross demanded.
Sudden booms of thunder and bright flashes of heavenly light invaded the kitchen, and Ross and Maggie jumped with fear.
Maggie lowered back to her seat and said, “In a small town in Florida, I got pregnant out of wedlock when I was only thirteen. Thought I could keep it hidden from my folks. But when I got sick at the dinner table in my third month of bein’ with child, Ma and Pa sent for the doctor, who told them my secret. My Pa, a man of God and the head deacon at church, was very strict. He forced me to leave our little farmhouse the next mornin’, even with a bad rainstorm and Ma’s fussin’ and carryin’ on at him.”
Maggie’s eyes were soon swollen and filled with spilling tears when Ross interrupted her. “You don’t have to continue...”
“Yeah, I do.” Maggie returned a sad smile. “You gave me a bit ’bout you, now I’ll give some of mine back.
“That night, I went to all the neighbors for help. But we lived in a small town and no one wanted to get into a family argument. No one, that is, ’cept for Deacon Jessie and Missionary Ruby Calloway, who was both the only whites in town and the only folks who couldn’t have children. They was good friends of my family. They owned a farm ’bout five miles up the hill from ours. The Calloway home was the last place I went for help, and Deacon Jessie and Missionary Ruby took me in out the rain fast. They said I could stay with them ’til Sunday and we would speak to Pa at church when he had controlled his temper and realized the mistake he’d made kickin’ me out the house.”
Maggie shook her head, as if in great misery. “The followin’ Sunday, we went to church okay, but the members wouldn’t even let us in, sayin’ God had no place in His house for Jezebels or folks who befriend
ed them. We hit much of the same rejection wherever we went in town, so Deacon Jessie and Missionary Ruby thought we ought to move to a nice neighborhood far away in the city of Jacksonville the next year. Like a miracle from God, them white folks raised me and my baby like we was their very own. I’ll always remember how they helped me. And now I can help you—that’s how life works.”
The smallest beam of sunlight pierced through the heavy gray sky and entered the window, almost blinding Ross, as he suddenly thought about Maggie’s dream and how there had never been any mention of Tracie’s pursuing a writing career. Was that why God had connected him with the family—for what he could give them in return for all their kindness?
Holding up the envelope, a new excitement filling him completely, Ross said, “I will help Tracie establish his writing career. I know I can do it!”
When Maggie finally stood to clean the kitchen, she surprised Ross with a serious look. “Don’t do nothin’ ’cause you feel you owe us. Our help was freely given—God steps in when we all need Him most. But if you feel it in your heart to help Tracie, or anybody else, always remember to trust in God and let Him direct your every move.”
With a look of confidence, Ross promised, “I will always remember that.”
PART TWO
Autumn
4
As Tracie drove his old yellow Horizon up Blue Hills Avenue, he fought to keep his attention on the rush hour traffic while also thinking about the events of that morning. Only fifteen minutes earlier, he had dropped by Ross’s apartment. He found his friend sitting in the kitchen reading the want ads in The Hartford Courant. It was what Tracie found Ross doing every morning when he stopped by on his way to work.
“Anything interestin’ in there today?” Tracie asked.
“I have interviewed almost every day since I got the eviction notice two weeks ago. No one hires me, but the same jobs stay posted in the paper. Now what does that tell you?” Ross seethed, clutching the newspaper in both hands.
A CHANGE OF HEART: Book 1 of the Hartford Series Page 7
