A Long Time Gone (27 page)

Adelaide Walker Bodine

INDIAN
MOUND,
MISSISSIPPI
AUGUST
1924

I
pressed my hand on top of my hat as I sat next to John in his truck, the windows open wide as we raced down the road, to create a cooling breeze against our clammy skin. My dress and the churned-up dust from the road clung to me, my heart racing from the speed and from how I kept bumping into John as he hugged the curves of the road.

I clung to the dash as he made a sharp turn to the right and headed down a long drive before parking. My exhilaration vanished when I saw I was once again at the Ellis plantation. “Why are we here, John?”

“I thought we'd go for a swim. Cool off a little.”

“But I didn't bring my swimming costume.”

He smiled, a bright light in his eyes. “I promise I won't look.”

I slapped his arm, but my good mood had deserted me. “I don't like it here,” I said. “Those people behind that shack—they might still be here.”

“They aren't,” John said with conviction. “They had to move—temporarily. I know that because I helped them. And they aren't bad people, Adelaide. They're Mathilda's kin on her daddy's side; did you know that?”

I looked at him in surprise, shaking my head. “But that woman, Velma. She's white.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Yes, that's right. She's also Mathilda's aunt. Leon is her common-law husband. They can't get married because it's against the law.”

I stewed on that for a while. I'd heard the terms “white trash” and “high yellow” whispered often enough, when people thought I was out of hearing range, to know that the races mixed, but I'd been sheltered enough to have never knowingly come in contact with someone of both races. At least as far as I knew. “No, I didn't know. Nobody ever told me.”

“Because there's no need. But you know Mathilda and Bertha, so I figured you'd be more at ease if you knew these were their people.”

“Thank you,” I said. He leaned toward me to kiss me, but I put my hands on his chest. I mostly didn't like it here because it reminded me of my discussion with Mr. Berlini, but I couldn't tell John that. I'd told him that I'd run into Mr. Berlini downtown when I was shopping with Sarah Beth, and that he seemed upset that John wanted to end their business relationship. I'd never seen John so angry, so I'd left out the fact that he'd driven me out to the Ellis plantation and touched my cheek and made me feel sorry for him with the sad story of his mother and sister. It had left me so confused about what was right and wrong that I still hadn't found a way to tell John everything or ask questions I needed to. I wasn't even sure that I could, but I also knew that to have a good marriage, we needed to be honest with each other.

“What's wrong?” he asked, searching my eyes.

“I was just thinking about Mr. Berlini. About what he said. About how he wanted you to reconsider leaving the business.” I lowered my gaze to hide my embarrassment. “I don't even know what business it is! I know I've been sheltered and protected, but I've learned a lot of things from Sarah Beth that my aunt and uncle probably wish I hadn't.” I looked him in the eyes, no longer able to avoid the subject. I had turned seventeen in May and I figured it was time I grew up. “Are you a bootlegger, John?”

A rainbow of emotions crossed his face, and it was impossible to tell whether he wanted to laugh or be angry. But he didn't answer right away, as if he were still deciding what or how much he should tell me.

I placed my hand on my watch that had been my mother's, my love for John finally helping me to understand her a little more. It was as if the years had built a bridge on which I could now stand and look at my life from a perspective that was farther away, but with much more clarity.

“My mother was a stranger in my father's life. I see that now, the more that I'm with you. And I don't want our lives together to be like that. My father protected my mother from anything that was unpleasant, kept her like a bird in a cage. It isolated her, I think. Made her believe that she didn't need to know about the world—his world and everybody else's. When he died, it was like her life had become like quicksand, ready to swallow her up. That's not how I want our marriage to be.”

He held both of my hands in his and took a deep breath. “I guess you could call me a bootlegger—in a way. I started out just as a courier for Mr. Peacock's juice joint behind Mr. Pritchard's drugstore. I'd go pick up the liquor from various moonshiners and negotiate prices. I was good at it, because I was honest, and they knew that I would give them fair market price. My deal with Mr. Peacock was that I could keep a percentage of the profits.

“But then we got a visit from Mr. Berlini. He's got some powerful friends, some say even a Chicago connection. And he said he and his group of business associates were going to take over the supply down here in the delta. We could either give him a big cut of our business, or we could stop doing it completely.”

Sweat was running down his face, so I reached over and took off his boater, then smoothed his hair under my fingers. “But you were making too much money to want to stop.”

He nodded. “Pretty much. Mr. Peacock decided he was okay with the cut, but that meant that I'd be taking in much less money, even though I'd be doing the same thing. So I approached Mr. Berlini directly and worked out a deal.”

“Doing what?” I asked, tilting my chin up so I would appear stronger and smarter than I felt.

“I don't hurt people, Adelaide. I want you to know that. I'm what Mr. Berlini calls his account manager. I'm the contact for all the speakeasies in this part of the delta. I've grown up with most of them, so they know me and trust me. I let them know that this is Mr. Berlini's
territory and that they need to be buying their liquor from me, and if anybody else disagrees with them then I let Mr. Berlini know. I work with the local moonshiners and I also set up the trucks to pick up train shipments from Canada. I make everything run smoothly. And because Mr. Peacock is one of my accounts, he looks the other way when I need to leave the store to take care of business.”

He averted his eyes for a moment, his gaze following a squirrel dashing up the side of one of the old oaks. “I knew I was breaking the law. But it seemed to me the Volstead Act had become a big farce, with those who didn't want to drink conceding to the new law and the people who wanted to drink finding ways to go around it. People were making a lot of money, and I figured this was my chance to secure my future. I've been dirt poor, and I don't ever want to go back.” He touched my cheek gently and gave me a soft smile. “But then I met you, and I felt that I was somehow tarnishing you with what I was doing, and I wanted to stop.”

I saw the pain and uncertainty in his eyes, and I thought of Aunt Louise and Uncle Joe after a bad harvest, about how she didn't condemn or condone any actions that may have led to the failure, but just let him know that she was there by his side. I could see now that she was the stronger of the two, willing to be the backbone for both of them when her husband faltered.

I cleared my throat. “Mr. Berlini didn't seem so unreasonable when I spoke with him. Maybe I can talk with him. . . .”

“No. I don't want you speaking with him anymore.” He shook his head. “Just promise me that you'll let me handle it. I'm the one who got us involved in all this, and I have to be the one to get us out.”

“I'm here now, John. You don't have to do this on your own. I also respect your dreams. I'll understand if you need to stay in the business for a little longer. But I don't think Mr. Berlini is as bad as you think. He knows what it's like to love somebody and to make sacrifices for them. And he said he wanted to be invited to our wedding. I think we should. Maybe when he sees us together and so in love, he'll understand why you're ready to start a new life and let you go. Or at least convince his boss to let you go.”

A look I'd never seen before passed behind his eyes. In a stiff voice, he said, “Well, if he said he wanted an invitation, I guess we'll have to
send him one.” He took my head in his hands and moved me forward, pressing a kiss on my forehead. “It will be all right. With you by my side, there isn't anything I can't do.”

I nodded, wishing I hadn't heard the uncertainty in his voice. And then I remembered something about the day Mr. Berlini returned Sarah Beth's fur coat. “Is Mr. Berlini married?”

“No, he's not. Why would you ask such a question?”

“I'll need to know how to address his invitation. And because he seemed a little sweet on Sarah Beth and I thought she might have been interested.”

John's lips thinned for a moment. “If you have any sway over Sarah Beth, tell her to stay clear. He has a certain reputation with the ladies. He's a real cake eater.”

“A what?”

“A ladies' man.” His eyes darkened, but before I could press him further, he jumped out of his seat, then ran around the front of the truck. After opening my door he lifted me out and swung me around twice, then set me back down on my feet. Before I knew what was happening, he went down on one knee and took my left hand in his.

“I know you've got your wedding dress already, but we haven't really made our engagement official yet. Miss Adelaide Walker Bodine, would you do me the honor of being my wife?”

He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a diamond ring. The small stone winked at me in the sunlight, and I spread my fingers out so he could slide it on my third finger. “This ring has been burning a hole in my pocket, and I've decided I can't wait another year to get married. So please, Adelaide, end my misery right now and say yes and let's get married as soon as your aunt Louise can pull it all together.”

“Yes,” I shouted. Then, “Yes,” even louder as he stood and swung me around again and then kissed me so that my knees buckled and he had to lift me up in his arms.

“You ready to go swimming?” he asked, his lips brushing mine.

“I already told you, I didn't bring my swimming costume.”

“That's all right. Because neither did I.”

He started running with me in his arms, then stopped to let me slide down before tugging on my arm and pulling me toward the water. I
threw my head back, laughing, my joy nearly erasing the seeds of doubt that all would work out the way John planned.

SEPTEMBER
5, 1924

The sun shone on my wedding day, and I took that as a good omen. We were married in the abandoned Methodist church. My aunt had been horrified when I suggested it, but once I pointed out that it was where my mother and father had been married she relented, and even led the efforts to clean up the churchyard and polish the pews and floors inside.

It had been John who'd asked me about my parents' wedding and who'd suggested we marry in the same church. Theirs had been a love match, like ours, he said, and it would be a good way to honor them while we said our vows.

The stained-glass windows were still intact, their rainbow of colors glittering on the altar and pews like a blessing. It was a small gathering of family and neighbors, easily fitting into the church. And Mr. Berlini was there, too, sitting alone in one of the rear pews, his custom-made suit and expensive shoes standing out among the farmers and shopkeepers, and making even Mr. and Mrs. Heathman look like country people.

I noticed how he kept looking at Sarah Beth and how she pretended not to notice but gave herself away by the bright pink of her cheeks that wasn't from cosmetics. And I saw how Willie noticed it, too, and kept reaching for his coat pocket, where I knew he kept a flask.

After the ceremony as I stood in the receiving line on the steps of the church, I saw Sarah Beth walk into the deserted cemetery. It reminded me of that time we'd snuck out here for an adventure and found all those graves of Heathman babies. She'd never told me if she'd asked her mama about why her name wasn't in the family Bible, and I'd given up asking about it. It was so long ago, anyway, when our adventures were fueled by childish imagination. Something I liked to think we'd grown out of along with pinafores and ribbons in our hair.

Angelo Berlini was one of the first guests in line. He shook John's hand, and my new husband thanked him for coming. I wondered if I was the only one who could hear the lack of warmth in John's voice.
Angelo leaned toward me and took both of my hands in his large, warm ones, then kissed me on both cheeks.

“You are a radiant bride, Mrs. Richmond. I don't believe I have ever been to a wedding of a couple so in love. If it could be bottled, I'd put you in all of my advertisements.”

I smiled, charmed by his eccentric, foreign ways. And I couldn't help but remember his story about his family and all he'd lost, and all he'd fought to regain. “Thank you, Mr. . . . Angelo. It means a lot to both of us that you came today.”