Again (19 page)

In a fairer world, he would have been able to bring her home as his bride, welcomed by both his father and mother, still alive. And he would have found a purpose and happiness to his existence other than this meaningless pursuit of the next drink or next poker game. At twenty-eight, he was in danger of having wasted his whole youth. Rachel had finally brought clarity to his life with the realization that all the wealth and accumulation in the world was nothing without love. His mother had understood that in the end.

Until this moment, he hadn’t thought on the unfairness of Negroes being deemed second-class citizens—not even that, really—in this world. That had never been a concern of his. They had been no more than apparitions in his life. Not for a million years would he have ever thought to actually have a real conversation with one, be able to joke or laugh, or give his heart to one. But he had. And the world would not, could not acknowledge his love.

Love. Yes, he still did love her. And always would.

Anger surged. How could she say their love was over? It couldn’t be so easy for her to walk away, to pretend that nothing had happened between them. No, it couldn’t be over. He wouldn’t let it be.

He would find her, make her see reason.

Convince her that they had to be together somehow.

He
would
convince her, or die trying.

“T
yne!”

Even before Tyne turned around, she recognized the voice and that accent. It had been nearly four months since she saw Lem that last day at the
Clarion
. He seemed taller, but maybe that was a trick of distance, which he was closing at a rapid rate, his long strides encompassing two or three squares of sidewalk with each step. She stood waiting in front of the cathedral-inspired Tribune Tower. Its clock tower reached toward a sky marred with slate-colored clouds, the kind that hoarded water like a miser before pouring forth like a reborn philanthropist. Despite the overcast day and threat of downpour, people were milling about, even at five-thirty. As he neared, Lem made them all look like Lilliputians.

He reached her and she held out a hand ready to shake. Instead, he pulled her into a tight hug that took her by surprise. He had never been this expressive back at the
Clarion
, but she found herself enthusiastically returning the embrace.

“Lem, it’s been months. How’re you doing?” She smiled up at the grin beaming down at her. The hug loosened, but his hand remained on one shoulder.

“Can’t complain. Well, yeah I can but I won’t. You know, I was just thinking of you the other day, wondering what you were up to. Heard you were working at some magazine now.”

“Yeah, it’s a new one coming out in a few weeks. It’s called
Elan
and best of all, I get to do actual reporting.” She squealed like a schoolgirl. “My story’s going to be on the cover.”

His smile widened. “Congratulations. I always knew you’d make your mark somewhere. When I think of all the time we wasted at that place…”

“Hey, at least no one can say we didn’t pay our dues. Where’re you headed?”

“To the train, which”—he looked at his watch—“I’m missing right now. But never mind. Where’re you on your way to?”

“I was going to do some shopping.”

“Got time for a cup of coffee? Starbucks?” The look he gave her was little-boy-hopeful, and she found that she didn’t want to say no, even though it would throw her off schedule because most of the Michigan Avenue shops closed by six, not to mention the torrent of rain that would probably greet them after they finished; one of the items she had planned to buy was an umbrella. Even with these valid reasons to turn him down, she nodded. His smile widened as he took her arm, then escorted her across a bridge congested with frazzled pedestrians rushing to trains and buses.

They reached Starbucks and found that despite the impending downpour, or because of it, nearly all the tables were taken. Breaking her daily habit of decaf latte, Tyne ordered a mochaccino, deciding on a splurge since she couldn’t shop. Lem ordered a decaf espresso. They located a table along the wall that was half hidden by the counter and shifted onto the gray vinyl chairs.

As Lem began describing his months at the
Sun-Times
, Tyne examined his face. The lines around the eyes were new. So was the monotone that made his words flat, lifeless. The earlier smile was gone, replaced by an uncharacteristic somberness that he had never displayed at the
Clarion
. He finished, took a sip, then said, “So, how’s it going with the magazine? Sounds great from what you told me.”

“Uhn, uhn. You don’t get away with that sad look and expect me to just segue into how good my job is. What’s wrong, Lem? Don’t you like your job?”

“Damn, Tyne. Got that reporter’s instinct already,” he laughed, but the sound rang hollow.

“No, I just got eyes and ears. Your mouth is saying one thing, but your tone and face are saying something else.”

He stretched his long length of leg and edged a foot alongside hers, black leather nearly touching her taupe suede. Then he took a deep breath and said, “You’re right. I don’t know what’s wrong. I just don’t get any joy out of what I do, anymore. At least back at the
Clarion
, I had more responsibilities to keep me distracted. What’s that American saying? ‘Out of the pan into the hot grease’?”

Tyne smiled. “That’s ‘out of the frying pan, into the fire.’ Lem, I can’t believe you’re going to just settle for mediocrity when you know you can do better. What about working with computers? You know your way around them more than a lot of people do. You just have to figure out what you want to do and take steps to get there. Then maybe luck will meet you half way. Look at me. I thought I’d be at the
Clarion
or some other small paper for the rest of my career. Then this came along.”

Some of the sadness seemed to evaporate around him, letting his features relax back into a semblance of his old self. His shoulders straightened a little. Maybe he felt obligated by the passion in her voice, or maybe she had actually pierced through his despondency.

“How did you find this job anyway?” he asked.

Tyne’s mind skirted over things she didn’t want to think about. She was suddenly uncomfortable about her luck, how she had come about it. “Actually, a friend of a friend of my sister told me about it, and I grabbed at the chance. I know, sheer luck. But I also knew that I could take the opportunity and make it work for me. It seems to be for now. Who knows what’s going to happen in the future? But for right now, I’m happy…with my career.”

He cocked his head to the side, suddenly more alert. “I heard a pause there. So you’re happy with your career? What about everything else?”

She shrugged. “Well, my sister got married a few months ago. I told you about the wedding plans. Anyway, she and her husband are still in newlywed heaven. As for the rest of my family, they’re all doing well. And as for me, I’m healthy, paying off my bills on time—thank God—and things seem to be working out. Overall, I can say that I’m content.” She nodded distractedly, her eyes on her cup. She realized that her voice had petered out at the end, as though uncertain or unconvinced at her own words.

Lem leaned back, took a sip of coffee. “There’s a saying back in my homeland, ‘Happiness can grow from a little contentment.’ So it’s good you’re content…right?”

She looked at him, biting back a surge of resentment that really wasn’t directed at him. More at herself. “Yeah, I’m fine. Why, don’t I seem fine?”

“Well, yes and no. I may not have the reporter’s nose, but like you said, I can see and hear. Now it’s your face that’s contradicting your words.”

Tyne sat quiet for a moment, pulled back to that night. The initial hurt of David’s calling out another name no longer flared inside. It had ebbed away with each succeeding day. This wasn’t something unique. It had happened to countless women before her. Besides, he owed her nothing. Still, for those intimate hours, she had felt completely joined with him, and she’d thought he’d felt the same. The same level of desire if not love, because it wasn’t love between them. But there was definitely this pull, this need to be close to him. But it was over now.

Tyne didn’t want to talk about herself anymore. “Have you heard from Gail or the others? I wonder how they’re doing?”

He half smiled. She was on the defensive and they both knew it. But he answered, “Gail called me a few times, then showed up at my door one evening a few weeks back. She brought over this big serving of baby back ribs and collard greens.”

“Oh, oh…” Tyne said, suddenly remembering that Lem was a Muslim. They paused, then both broke into simultaneous laughter. Tyne knew she shouldn’t be laughing at the woman, but couldn’t help feeling a somewhat guilty satisfaction that Gail had finally had a sort of comeuppance.

Lem stopped laughing, but a smile hung at his lips. “Of course, I had to explain to her why I couldn’t partake of her offering. She looked absolutely devastated. She had totally forgotten the small fact about my being a Muslim. But I thanked her anyway. And then…”

Tyne leaned forward. “Nooo! You and she didn’t…” she started, then caught herself. “No, no I’m sorry, that’s none of my business.”

His smile widened. “Actually no. But not from her not trying. It became somewhat uncomfortable after a while, so she finally left. Anyway, during our conversation, she told me that she had found work as an assistant in a law firm on the north side. Seems she worked in a law office before. As for the others, I haven’t heard anything.”

“Well, good for her.” Despite her laughter, she was glad that Gail had found something to keep a roof over her head and her son’s.

Lem’s face became more thoughtful. “Tyne, I think you know that I would never…well, at least not with Gail. She’s just not my type. Maybe some men like that kind of aggressiveness, but I never did. I like women who are confident in themselves without flaunting it. That’s why I always admired you.”

Tyne felt her fingers tighten around the cup handle. She had seen this look before—sheepish, uncertain, hopeful, asking her to look behind the words spoken, find the tacit message. Lem was a sweet guy, nice, handsome even. So why was she automatically saying no? She had always thought him overconfident, the same thing he had just accused Gail of being. But the months seemed to have changed him. She heard the humility in his voice, saw it in the way he didn’t attempt to hold her eyes, but rather moved them over his cup, the table, then up to the couple who had just entered the shop.

“Why, thank you, Lem. A woman likes to be admired.” She prayed he would leave it at that.

But then he settled his eyes on her, and there was no mistaking the look. “Can I be forward and ask if you’re seeing someone?”

If she said “yes,” would she be lying? But she had to be honest with herself. She
wasn’t
seeing anyone. She was free to do whatever she pleased.

“I’m not looking for anything right now, Lem,” she stated firmly, although friendly enough not to wound. “There was someone…I mean…I don’t know.” She hadn’t meant to admit even that much.

“OK.” His whole body seem to back away with the one word. “Then I’ll leave that alone. But like you said, you have to grab at an opportunity. I let too many pass by when we were working together. I guess it was just the pleasure of seeing you again that made me try. I hope I didn’t make a fool of myself.”

She reached out to touch his hand on the table. “No, Lem, you didn’t. I’m just not at a place where I would be comfortable dating, and I don’t want to lead you on.”

He shook his head. “I would never think that about you. Thank you for at least being honest.”

After that, they maintained a stream of safe subjects, from his photography hobby to her favorite singer, Dianne Reeves. Then their cups were drained, and outside the first sounds of rain drummed against the windows and sidewalks. Tyne looked out.

“Oh, well. Looks like we’re in for a wet commute.” She turned back to him. “But it’s been good seeing you again. Let’s keep in touch.” She reached in her purse and pulled out a business card that had been delivered to her office just last week. Embossed in gold lettering, it was above the pale of every other card she had ever had. For no other reason, she felt a surge of pride, feeling now that she was heading in the right direction.

Lem seemed impressed as he looked at the card, then placed it carefully in the side pocket of his suit jacket. Almost on signal, they stood in unison. He reached over and lightly kissed her left cheek. He never wore aftershave, but somehow there was always a smell of herbs about him, the kind newly pulled from the earth. No one had marketed this smell yet, but they should.

As they walked out, dark spots appeared on their shirts as droplets hit with rhythmic consistency. She would be soaked way before she could catch a bus to where she’d parked her car. Lem gave one last nod, then merged into the moving body of people in stages of rain gear.

Tyne stood outside the shop a for a few seconds as she tracked his diminishing figure, entirely surrendering to the rain. Finally, she ducked her head and began her headlong trek to the bus stop, knowing that trying to shop for an umbrella right now would be futile. Anyway, she kind of liked the feel of the rain on her skin.

Strange, how someone could make a rainy day seem brighter.

T
yne peered down, saw a woman’s body floating in the murky river miles below. The skirt of her dress temporarily ballooned as water filled its interior, then slowly settled around the contours of her legs. Small waves lapped at the corpse, welcoming it into a foamy embrace. The moonlight barely underscored shapes and shadows, still Tyne could see the man standing near the edge of the pier as he stared down at the body. His head was bare, his hair dark. His hands were stained with something darker. A glint of light caught her eye; something metal lay at his feet.

From the distance, she heard him speaking. There was no one else around…no one living, at least, and she wondered whether he was addressing himself or the lady in the water. She could not hear the exact words, but the tenor of his voice spoke sadness, great sadness. He edged closer to the river, until the tips of his shoes peeked over the pier’s border. He rocked forward as though trying to gain a momentum to throw himself off the pier, but then leaned back again, his body still.

He bent, picked up the piece of metal. Its tip caught and curved the moonlight, shafted it up at her as the unknown man held it in his hand, held it to the sky. She saw that it was a knife, not a utensil but a weapon. There was the same dark stain along its perimeter, muting its luster. She realized now that the dark stain must be blood. Was it the woman’s…the one in the river?

As though he could see her, or maybe attempting to address God himself, the man turned his face skyward. His visage was dark, like the rift in the sky just before thunder tears through it. All of the anger mankind had ever known was stamped there in his features, and he looked not so much a man as a demon dressed in human clothing.

Still, she recognized him, the one who had invaded her dreams, the one who had brought pleasure and terror to her. And in the second of recognition, she saw the features morph into those of someone more familiar, someone whose face was etched already in her psyche, her soul even. And the anger was even more lethal as he stared at her with such hatred that it seemed he would pull her from the sky, tear her body in two.

He shook his fist that held the knife and it was as though the knife split through her even with the distance between them. He shouted, and it was not the sound of a human, but that of a wounded animal, the roar of an injured creature seeking to hurt those within its reach.

Then the knife reached through the miles, found her throat, slit it in one motion. The hot blaze of pain caused her to scream…yet no sound would come, her voice choked with gushing blood.

Darkness and fear surrounded her. And with her dying breath she wondered: Why had David killed her?

Tyne woke with a start, trembling, trying to push the remnant of the dream from her mind. But it refused to meld into the nothingness where dreams go upon waking. Instead, it crystallized into horrible images that seared her brain, the last scene more soul-shaking: David slitting her throat, his eyes cruelly piercing her soul even as the blade pierced her flesh.

She told herself it was just a dream, but even as she settled her head on her pillow, pulled the comforter around her trying to quell the tremors that shook her body, closed her eyes, David’s angry face was there to meet her.

She could not sleep for the rest of the night.

New York—October 1879

The sun was at its peak on an unusually warm Saturday afternoon, casting brilliant rays on the streets below. Whatever snows were predicted had held off, and the warmth gave the illusion of a cheerful summer day. Yet a dark dread had taken hold and wouldn’t let go. Rachel’s heart pounded frantically, her breath caught in her throat at intervals. Her stomach quivered. He was somewhere near. She could feel him. Walking amid the crowd of bodies along Broadway, she turned left, right, nearly stumbling as she did so. The sea of top hats and parasols made it hard to distinguish one body in the mass, yet she knew he was here, watching her. As he had done before.

Only last week, she had been coming out of a shop that catered to Negro patrons on Sixth, when she felt the insistent tug on her arm. Before she could escape, he had maneuvered her into a nearby entrance, away from the stream of bodies, away from prying eyes. He had stood there, his expression that of a madman’s, his voice trembling as he told her that he must—no,
needed
—to see her again. Couldn’t go on without her.

Her fear had merged with desire, feeding one another, confusing her. For a second, seeing the pain in his eyes, she had been tempted to say “yes” if only to stop that pain. Instead, pulling on a quickly dwindling resource of strength, she had told him to let go of her arm and stop making a spectacle. She threatened to hail an officer, knowing full well that the police might not intervene on her behalf. Despite her protests, her blood had warmed at his nearness. His breath caressed her cheek, stirring emotions, not all of them unpleasant. She had inhaled sharply as his lips touched skin, then trailed along her jawbone toward her lips, making her remember other sweeter occasions. Making her throb in places she did not want to remember. Then thankfully he pulled back, giving her respite, but even that small touch had left her quivering. She heard the desperation in his voice when he spoke.

“Can’t you see what your absence is doing to me? I’ll go crazy if you don’t come away with me now! Rachel, we can leave the States, go to Italy, France! We can live in Paris just as I said before. I can…I can get work there…somewhere. I’ll do anything! I’ll load boats, haul boxes! All we’d need is just a small apartment, maybe near the Seine. You’d like that. We wouldn’t need much…just each other. We could be happy together. Why can’t you see that?”

She silently shook her head, her mind torn. Always, it seemed her heart and flesh were ready to betray her. All she had to do was reach up, place her lips on his, welcome his embrace. Instead, she jerked her arm away and fled into the crowd, praying he wouldn’t follow. He hadn’t.

Now at the corner of Eighteenth Street, the feeling pursued her like a phantom. Sometimes she wondered if she would ever be free of him—or if she could at least free her heart. She had several errands to run, not the least of which was to purchase a few reams of paper at Macy’s. Classes had reconvened in September and, as always, the school had limited supplies to parcel out among the students. Whenever they ran short, she felt it her duty to put forth the money to make up the lack. Once she had the reams in hand, she could take one of the new elevated trains running along Sixth Avenue and make her way home.

With her focus on what she needed to do, other thoughts tried to push their way past her defenses. Part of her even now remembered the route to the apartment where they had met weeks ago, although it seemed a lifetime. It would be so easy to ride the blocks to 26th Street, and navigate all of the perils of the Tenderloin just to be in his arms again. To feel alive again.

But she could not. Somewhere she must find the strength not to go back. Again.

Maybe if she left the city for a bit…. Maybe, she could even visit Sarah and see little Angela, her precious goddaughter. As she walked, the thought became more than a mere prick, and began to grow and take hold as she crossed the street with the throng of afternoon shoppers and businessmen. That’s what she would do. She needed to talk with Sarah face to face. Maybe the physical proximity to her friend would give her the strength she needed to get through nights when her body called out to him. Sarah, her friend, her touchstone, who had not judged her when she first confessed her sins in her letters, would know how to overcome this insanity. And with distance, maybe she could finally exorcise him from her soul.

The thought revived her a bit, and she walked toward the eleven buildings that housed Macy’s on their ground levels. The red star on the entrance banner beckoned a flurry of shoppers to try wares, including clothes, jewelry, toiletries, plants, toys, dolls, and other miscellany. Just a few years ago, the Strauss brothers had opened their china store, and folks now flocked to admire the extensive display of tableware and glassware. Whenever she had the time, she would stop to look at the offerings, mentally adding to the list of items she could purchase with her next paycheck. Lawrence liked the best, especially when they had friends over for the occasional small dinner. She spotted a handsome plate and bowl set with gold-plated roses lining the edges. Gold-plated cutlery finished the ensemble. Maybe next time she would get the set. But today she had no time for dawdling. She was eager to quit the shopping district as soon as possible and recover to the safety of her home.

She had just neared the stationery area when she felt an overwhelming desire to turn. And there he stood near the entrance of the store, his top hat askew, his coat unbuttoned, desperately looking around…searching for her. She quickly turned her back, hastened her steps toward a large display sign, indicating a ten percent sale on writing implements. Behind the large placard, strategically placed next to a Greek revival column, she stood, almost sure she would lose her lunch. She could not take this any longer.

She had to impress upon him that she would never change her mind. She had to make him see reason because neither of them could go on like this. She just needed time to talk with him, to make him understand all they had to lose. A letter was not enough to make him see this. He needed to hear her say it as many times as it would take for the message finally to get through to him. Still, she would have to give Lawrence a plausible reason for her tardiness. He was becoming suspicious of late. And she had told him her shopping outing would be no more than an hour.

She debated facing Lawrence’s mounting suspicions, weighing them against Joseph’s increasing obsession. And realized she was left with only one choice.

With a nervous breath, she stepped from behind the sign. At that moment, he looked up and saw her.

He did not exactly run, but his pace quickened, probably due to his fear that she would escape him again. But she held to her place, resisting the need to flee. Soon, he was standing in front of her, his face hard with barely contained fury. She felt faint.

“Come with me,” he demanded without even the ceremony of a hello. They were past that now. Once lovers, now combatants. He took her arm, turned her around, maneuvering her to the door. Heads swiveled, expressions of disapproval following them in their wake. A white man and Negro woman were a sight under any circumstance. Probably they thought she was being escorted out because of larceny or some other perceived crime.

She had to move quickly to keep step with him. Then finally they were outside.

“My carriage is around the corner.”

“Where are we going then?” Although she already knew. And the thought made her knees nearly give way.

“To the apartment.”

She tried to pull her arm away, but he only tightened his grip. “Joseph, I will not compromise myself again. I’ll only
talk
with you, nothing more. There are things that need to be said. And you will hear me, finally.” She was glad that her voice did not shake because inside she was trembling.

His eyes wavered for a second. “All right, Rachel, we will talk. But you will hear me, also.”

She detected the smell of whisky about him as well as something else. Her apprehension grew with the thought that liquor might induce other feelings in him. But she swallowed her caution, determining that the risk was worth it. This would end. It had to.

When they reached the brougham, she stepped in and Joseph got in beside her, his hand still clutching her arm.

And with a slight nod from the driver, they took off.