Born at Dawn (8 page)

The ten o'clock nightly news had just begun, and Mildred was already snoring on the couch. Cynthia watched her for a moment then kissed her lightly on the forehead and placed her left arm on her chest. She pulled her pink hood over her head, creeping across the threshold of Mildred's apartment and out the door. Tiny droplets of rain kissed her shoulders on her way to the subway.

Cynthia jumped on the A train headed downtown to the Port Authority. Clutching her duffel bag, she gazed at an ad inviting New Yorkers on a one-day getaway and transposed herself into it. A grin surfaced as she imagined herself a head chef at a gourmet restaurant exhausted from bending over pots tasting sauces, yelling over the hustle and bustle of her busy kitchen, far from the angry shouts and stinging slaps of Marvin.

When she reached the Port Authority she had no real destination in mind. All she wanted was to get on the first bus leaving with an available seat. The slick hair of the girl behind the counter sent the dull light bouncing off her head. The combination of her gum cracking and the clacking of her acrylic nails on her keyboard put Cynthia into a daze.

“Cash or credit? Mizz, you paying cash or credit?”

Cynthia dug into her pocket and pulled out crumpled bills. She straightened them out on the countertop before handing them to the girl behind the counter. She snatched her ticket and ran through the beige and orange terminal to catch the eleven o'clock bus to Richmond, Virginia.

There was a small line at the gate: a young girl clutching a baby wrapped in a yellow blanket, an old man and woman standing arm and arm, and a middle-aged man. None of them seemed to notice Cynthia as she eased into the line. She stood behind the lady with the baby.

Father, please forgive me. I'm not waiting for anyone to tell me how to live my life.
Her legs shook
. Please take care of my babies. I don't know what I'm doing, Lord, but I need to get out of this. I have to get away from here. Just make a way for me and watch over my boys for me until I can come back for them.

Tears rolled down her cheeks in unison with her silent prayer. The guilt of leaving behind her sons was heavy on her shoulders. The confusion in her spirit and her inability to provide for them at this very moment outweighed her guilt and urged to get on that bus. Marvin wasn't in the running for father of the year; however, right now he could offer the boys some stability and provide for them.

The ticket agent opened the door, and the line began to move. The wind was stiff and bone chilling. She hesitated before stepping out the door to head to the bus, the wind in the terminal garage pushing her out. She chucked her bag under the bus and took a seat near the driver.

She closed her eyes as Midtown rolled past her. Sleep seized her, taking her to her sons. They stood in the middle of their bedroom floor clutching each other. Marvin stood in the living room screaming her name. She shook in her chair squeezing the armrest until her palms were sore.

 

 

The smell of grease, the crunch of fried chicken, and the piercing cry of a suckling baby asking for his mother's milk woke her. Through one eye she watched as the bus turned the corner into the parking lot of the Main Street bus station. She stood and stretched, staring at the rising sun pushing back the navy blue blanket that veiled the Richmond sky and exposed its soft periwinkle sun.

She stumbled off the bus, her legs weak from sitting so long. The light breeze caused her to shiver and the hairs on her arms to stand up. She inhaled, the taste of dawn tickling her tongue. She looked over her shoulder at the baby smiling at her, his eyes twinkling in the sunlight. They exchanged smiles. She knew the feeling that his bright expression conveyed—her life awaited her. She scooped her bag from beneath the bus and bounced into the depot.

Every person she passed on the way to the information booth greeted her. She was still a bit too groggy to deliver anything more than a grimace. She acknowledged them with a simple hello and a nod. A young man with jade green eyes sat at the information desk drumming on the counter.

“Good morning, ma'am. What can I do for you?” the young man asked.

“I just arrived, and I'm looking for a place to stay,” Cynthia said humbly.

“Well, there's a Holiday Inn just around the corner.”

“Actually, I was hoping for something a little smaller, a bit more intimate. Like a bed and breakfast.”

“A bed and breakfast? Those can be pretty pricey,” he said, looking Cynthia up and down. “I do know of a quiet boardinghouse that aspires to be a bed and breakfast. Would that work for you?”

Cynthia nodded at him, and squinted at his name tag. “That will do, Jared.”

“It's a real nice place over there in Church Hill. You ought to take a cab there. Just tell him you want to go to Miss Ruthie's place and he'll know where to go. I don't think she's opened her doors just yet, but you're welcome to try.”

“Thank you.”

“No problem, ma'am,” he said, winking at her. He handed her a tourist map of the city.

Cynthia took a seat on an orange plastic bench and studied the map of the city, searching for the residential and shopping areas. She needed to figure out what she was really doing there, buy some clothes, and find a more permanent place to rest her head before the money on her prepaid card ran out. Her prepaid MasterCard was the one secret she'd kept from Marvin. Cynthia didn't know that much about finances; neither did Marvin. After having Con Edison turn their lights off one too many times Cynthia started loading money on to a prepaid card. Her own diligence shocked her when within four years of opening the card she'd managed to put away $6,000.

Returning her attention to the map she laughed out loud when she realized why Jared had winked at her; in the course of their short exchange he'd circled his home on the map and wrote his phone number.

It was 6:45 in the morning and the day awaited her. Cynthia rose, ambled to the bathroom and washed her face. She slapped herself for not purchasing a toothbrush or toothpaste at a rest stop. Her stomach roared. She placed her hand over her belly, attempting to silence it. She rushed out of the bus station and hailed a cab that was idling on the corner. Her stomach shouted at her again, and she jumped in, slamming the door.

“Miss Ruthie's please. The guy in the depot said you'd know where to go.”

“I sure do, ma'am,” the cabdriver said, tipping the brim of a ratty old burgundy and white snapback cap. He rolled down the windows.

The early morning breeze whispered, “Hello,” welcoming her to Richmond.

Cynthia sucked in the air, the scent of the crisp, fresh-cut grass and the morning dew filling her nostrils. “So this is what freedom smells like,” she said, yawning.

The cab zipped past rows of houses and some familiar sights like McDonald's and Taco Bell. American flags hung from porches and were erected in the center of the lawns of Church Hill. The homes were traditional colonial models juxtaposed against cemented sidewalks and a couple of morning joggers.

A hand-painted sign in the middle of the yard of green grass greeted Cynthia, announcing she'd reached her destination: M
ISS
R
UTHIE'S FOR
T
RAVELERS
, R
EGULARS, AND
E
VERYONE IN
B
ETWEEN
. Cynthia swallowed in the home with its long wooden porch and two red doors at each end. From what she could tell, the two-story home probably lodged about five to ten people at a time. The grass was trimmed low and crunched under her feet. The steps creaked as she approached the open door. She rapped lightly on the screen.

An old woman with big tortoise-rimmed frames resting on top of a neat French braid opened the door.

“Welcome, when you're at Ruthie's you're at home,” she said, opening the screen door and beckoning Cynthia to come in. “You're right on time for the early bird breakfast special.”

“Good morning. I'm looking for Miss Ruthie.”

“Excuse me, where are my manners? Good morning. Follow me right this way to the dining room.”

“No, thank you, ma'am. All I'd like to do is see someone about checking into a room.”

The old woman smiled and cuffed her arm around Cynthia's, leading her to the dining room. “You from New York? Must be 'cause you city folk are always in a rush. Now lissen here, girl, we don't conduct business on an empty stomach. You might as well sit down and have some grits and coffee. Shoot, we even got cappuccino, and you know you city folks love some cappuccino. Come on now. You know the mind don't function right when your belly ain't full.”

The old woman's smile and gentle urgings reminded Cynthia of her mother. All she needed to do was add a Bible verse or hum a hymn and Cynthia would really be feeling at home.

“What if—”

“Don't worry yourself, girl,” the old woman cooed “Tomorrow has enough evil in it; let's deal with the here and now. Even if we don't get you into a room, you can still break bread with us on the house. How does that sound?” asked the old woman with her hand resting on gold doorknobs.

Cynthia could hear the clanging of the silverware and the oohs and ahhs of the boarders on the other side of the door. She smelled the fresh-baked biscuits and skillet-fried bacon. Her stomach began to holler at her. Before Cynthia could mouth the word yes, the door slid open, unveiling a delightful smorgasbord of breakfast: cheese grits, flaky biscuits, scrambled eggs, eggs Benedict, tarts draped in jam, and bacon and sausage links huddled together on a silver tray, living in harmony before being devoured. A pitcher of fresh-squeezed orange juice and apple juice sat in the center of everything, and a pot of coffee circulated among the people seated at the table. A man with a strong gray moustache, a young couple with their baby, one woman with a her cheeks full of blush that resembled crushed raspberries, and two gentlemen who were arguing about last night's game of Texas hold 'em that went awry rounded out the early bird breakfast crew.

“Ay, Walter, do me a favor and take this here young lady's bag and put it by the checkout for me, honey,” the old woman said to the man with the gray moustache.

“Give me a minute, Ruthie.”

“Walter!” Miss Ruthie exclaimed.

Walter jumped up, smoothing his moustache. Cynthia looked at Miss Ruthie and laughed.

“I feel so foolish. You're Miss Ruthie. Why didn't you stop me sooner?”

“'Cause you city folks are so persistent, you would have insisted I give you a room straight away,” Miss Ruthie replied. “We would have had an argument and started off on the wrong foot 'cause I don't take no mess in this here house. Besides, it ain't wise to do business on an empty stomach. Ain't no need in feeling foolish. It would be foolish for you to miss this breakfast. Sit down and help yourself. Whatever demon you running from can resume chasing you 'round about noon.”

Cynthia took the empty seat next to the gentlemen arguing about poker. She hoped her wounds weren't as visible to other guests as they had been to Miss Ruthie. Cynthia loaded up on bacon, eggs, and the homemade biscuits.

After breakfast Miss Ruthie checked Cynthia in and escorted her to her room on the second floor.

“It's pretty small,” Miss Ruthie stated as she opened the door to the room.

The sunlight cast a shadow on the wooden floor, the breeze ushering the carnation-colored curtains into the room.

“But it will do. Miss Ruthie, do you know where I should go if I'm looking for a more permanent place to live?” Cynthia inquired.

“You thinking about moving down here?”

Cynthia sat on the foot of the bed and wound the loose thread from the cover around her fingertip. “Yes.”

“Do you have any children?” Both of their eyes fastened on the gold band and diamond ring on her left hand. “Well, do you? I can see that you're married. You got any kids?”

“I'm going to get them when I get everything settled,” Cynthia said lowering her head to hide her shame.

“We have a phone downstairs if you want to call them. I'll ask around, see if anyone knows where you can find an apartment. Actually, there's a young fellow at the bus depot.”

“Jared?”

“You city girls sure are fast.” Miss Ruthie laughed.

Blushing, Cynthia replied to Miss Ruthie's insinuation, “I met him this morning.”

“Yes, he knows his way around Richmond quite well and could probably help you out. He's into real estate. He's planning on becoming some kinda tycoon. Why don't you take a nap, and I'll call the bus depot for you? You want him to come by tomorrow?”

She sucked the inside of her cheek as she thought of her boys swallowing spit, hungry, afraid, and alone because she'd left them. A pool of tears filled her eyes. “I'd rather not waste any time.”

Ruthie planted her wrinkled hand on Cynthia's drooping shoulder. “I don't know what you're running from, I don't know who you're running to, but I do know that He,” she said, pointing to the ceiling, “wouldn't give you more than you can bear.”

“Miss Ruthie, at this point, I'm not even sure if He cares. Would you just phone the bus depot for me? Please excuse me. I need to rest.”

Cynthia glared at Miss Ruthie's back as she walked out. Y
ou don't know me. You don't know what I can bear.

Though it was only seven a.m., the precinct was full of commotion. Some hookers were handcuffed to a bench. One of them called out to Marvin. “Aye, daddy, why don't you get me outta here and I'll take care of you,” she said, licking her lips. She had on pink lipstick that made her lips look like fluffy cotton candy. She crossed and uncrossed her legs several times, inviting Marvin to sample her wares. Marvin tried to fight the temptation, but she was smack in the middle of his line of vision. She wasn't half bad for a hooker, he thought, staring at her fishnet stockings and plastic platform pumps. He missed the feel of a woman, the scent of a woman. He missed his woman.

“Hey, buddy, can I help you?” the desk sergeant shouted at Marvin over the raucous voices of a young couple shouting obscenities at the officers bringing them in.

“Good morning. I'm here to see Detective Laurel.”

“Concerning what?”

“My wife has been missing for five days now, and I'd like to know if anyone is actually looking for her. I've got two little boys, and I have no idea what I'm supposed to do for them. Neither of them will speak to me. I forgot to make them lunch to take to school this morning, and—”

Before Marvin completely broke down, the desk sergeant cut him off. “Sir, let me page Detective Laurel. You can have a seat on that bench right there.” The sergeant pointed to a bench that formed a triangle around a column in the middle of the floor. The only empty space was directly across from where the hookers sat. The one in the fishnet stockings blew kisses to Marvin while he waited. As he stared at her puckered lips, all he could see was Cynthia's face.

“Good morning, Mr. Barclay,” Detective Laurel said a few minutes later, smiling at Marvin.

“Are you smiling at me because you have some information on my wife or because you're happy to see me?”

“No, I'm surprised to see you. What can I do for you, Mr. Barclay?”

Marvin stood and looked Detective Laurel square in the eye. “You can find my wife instead of walking around smiling like you're a contestant in a beauty pageant. She's been gone for five days now, and I haven't heard anything on the news about her, I don't see any flyers attached to the streetlights, I didn't read anything in the newspaper this morning.” Marvin stepped closer to Detective Laurel. “What's going on?”

“Mr. Barclay, I'm going to have to ask you to calm down.” Detective Laurel held his hand up to Marvin's chest. “I may be wearing a suit, but I'm still an officer of the law.” Marvin took two steps back. “Your wife's case has been closed.”

“Closed? Is this because she's black? If she was some blond chick from Long Island the feds would be looking for her. Can you guys actually close the case after five days? I can't believe this. I'm going to call channel eleven back,” he said, digging in his back pocket for his cell phone.

“As we speak, your wife should be on her way home, if she's not there already.”

“You found her?” Marvin asked standing on the tips of his toes. He had to restrain himself from jumping up and down.

“I spoke to her mother last night, and she assured me Mrs. Barclay would be returning home,” Detective Laurel said.

“Her mother? She's been staying at her mother's all of this time?”

“Mr. Barclay, I cannot disclose any information we discovered during the course of the investigation. What I can tell you is that she is safe and on her way home.”

Marvin balled his hands into fists and clenched his teeth. “Wait 'til I get a hold of her. Thank you, Detective,” he said abruptly and headed toward the exit.

“Mr. Barclay.” Detective Laurel grabbed Marvin by the arm. “I recommend you keep your cool and welcome her home with open arms.”

Marvin waved his hands in the air, brushing off Detective Laurel's last statement. He was as mad as the devil. He stormed out of the police station, bumping into people on the street as he rushed to the corner. He knocked over a woman pushing a toddler in a lime green umbrella stroller as he hustled to Eighth Avenue to flag down a cab. It took five minutes for a cab to stop for Marvin.

“One-sixteenth and Eighth,” Marvin ordered. He threw his seven dollars through the partition to indicate he was not in the talking mood. He stared out the window and drummed his fingers on the leather seat while the cab zoomed through Harlem. Everything looked like a blur to Marvin. A soft breeze snuck in the cab. The leaves on the trees shook, but the only thing Marvin could see clearly were his hands wrapped around Cynthia's tender neck. His thumb pressed against her jugular as her eyes bulged out of her head while she clawed at his hands trying to pry them from her neck.

He was just two blocks away from Mildred's when a traffic jam arose. Con Edison trucks were blocking one lane of traffic. Marvin sprang from the back seat of the cab, leaving the door open behind him. He leaped up the stairs two at a time and leaned on Mildred's door, pounding on it.

“Open the door, Mildred. I know she's in there. Open the door.”

“I'm Going Up Yonder” blared from the stereo, drowning out his continuous pounding.

He kicked the door. “Open the door!” He kicked again. “Open the door!”

One of Mildred's neighbors cracked her door open. Her diaper-clad toddler slipped through the crack. His bare feet slapped the linoleum floor. She ran after him cooing, “Come back here, li'l man. Come back here.”

“You better watch that baby instead of me,” Marvin instructed the young mother when he noticed her staring at him. Then he returned to kicking on Mildred's door.

Mildred unlocked the door but kept the chain on. Through the crack she peeked out. Drops of sweat the size of grains of rice ran down both sides of Marvin's face and lined his forehead. His mouth hung agape as he panted to catch his breath.

“Marvin, you must have lost your mind, banging on my door like that. Are you trying to get me put out?”

“Mildred, the two of y'all better stop playing with me. Where's Cynthia?”

“She's not here.”

Marvin leaned on the door to put some pressure on Mildred to confess. “You're lying. I spoke to the detective, and I know she's been staying here. Cynthia! Cynthia!” Marvin stood on his tippy toes, bobbing his head, making every effort he could to peer into the apartment over Mildred's head.

“Marvin, she's not here. She left yesterday,” Mildred insisted in a panic.

Marvin smiled at Mildred then laughed. He took a few steps back and charged into Mildred's door. It shook in her hand and the chain tightened.

“Marvin.” He stepped back preparing to charge her door again. “What are you doing?” Marvin dropped his right shoulder low, tucked his hand in and rammed his body into the door for a second time. “Stop this in the name of Jesus.”

“Stop! I'm not going to stop until your door falls off the hinges, then I'm going to drag her out by the hair. If she wants to come and stay with you that's fine, but she's going to come and get these kids and take care of her responsibilities,” he hollered.

“You will stop in the name of Jesus. I already told you she's gone. She left last night.”

“You're lying.”

Another one of Mildred's neighbors opened his door. “Sister Mildred, are you all right in there?” he called out, twisting his neck to get a glimpse of her through the crack in her door.

“I'm fine, Richard. Don't worry about me,” Mildred said calmly.

“Are you sure? Do you want me to call the police?”

“Beat it, church boy. Mind your business. This is a family matter,” Marvin interrupted.

Backing up, Marvin prepared his body once more for another collision bucking up like a ram prepared to battle an enemy. Mildred rapidly took the chain off. Marvin came barreling through and crashed right into her dinette set, shattering the glass table top and knocking over her chairs.

Marvin looked up at Mildred as he leaned on one of the legs of the table. He pushed himself up to a standing position.

“You lucky I didn't call the cops on you.” Mildred wagged her finger at Marvin. “Cynthia left yesterday.”

“Cynthia. Cynthia.” Marvin shouted her name looking around in disbelief.

“Marvin, quit with all that racket. She's not here!”

“Yeah, right,” he said, walking past her to the living room. “When I came here on Tuesday she wasn't here, and now you're telling me she was here but she left yesterday. What does the Good Book say about telling lies? If she wants to extend her vacation, she can. It can be forever. I'm ready for a divorce. Divorce!” he shouted again, turning toward the bedroom.

Mildred jumped in front of him and put her hand up. “You're not rifling through this place again. I already told you she's not here.”

“Well, she certainly didn't come home yesterday, and I'm not leaving until she comes out.” Marvin walked to the dinette set, snatched one of Mildred's black chairs, and collapsed into it. Mildred walked to her room and came out with her purse and cell phone. Marvin was seated with his legs cocked open, with his left hand cradling his right hand which was balled into a fist. The broken glass crunched under his feet as his leg shook.

“Get up, Marvin. Come on. Let's go.”

“Are you finally going to get my wife?” Marvin asked breathing in and out deeply. This whole situation was pushing him beyond his limits. He needed to destroy something or drink something.

“No. We're going to the police station,” Mildred charged. “She's really missing. She told me she was ready to leave and when I woke up this morning she was gone. She must've left here last night.”

Marvin shrank back in the chair and then stood up.

“Come on,” she said, grabbing her faux fur coat from the closet near the door.

Marvin walked down the steps slowly with Mildred and ran off when they reached the street.

 

 

The choir was rehearsing when Marvin stormed through the doors of Mount Carmel Community Church. With each step, the floor shook. “I need to see the pastor.” His voice couldn't penetrate the soloist's rendition of “His Eye Is On the Sparrow” or the drone of the organ. He shouted until he reached the pulpit and tapped the choir director on his shoulder. “Is the pastor in?”

“Yes, he is. Is there something I could help you with, sir?” the choir director asked.

“Yeah, you can help me by letting me see the pastor,” Marvin demanded, his bloodshot eyes bulging out of his head.

“He's in his office.” The choir director nodded toward a flight of steps to the right of the pulpit. “Brother, umm?”

“I'm not your brotha.” Marvin brushed past him, heading to the steps.

The choir director ran after him, grabbing Marvin by the sleeve. “You can't go down there.”

Marvin responded with wild swings. Pastor David emerged from the staircase in the midst of the organist struggling to pull Marvin off the choir director. “Brother Johnson, Brother Terry that will be enough. Our battle is not with flesh and blood, is it?”

Marvin stopped swinging at the sound of Pastor David's voice. His whole body heaved as he stood over the choir director.

“Let this be a lesson learned to all of you. Give no place to the devil. How could one man walk in here and stop an entire rehearsal?” Pastor David asked holding up one finger.

“But, Pastor, I was trying to protect you,” cried the choir director.

“My Heavenly Father will protect me. I have on my helmet of salvation, my loins are girt with the truth that is the gospel of Jesus Christ, the breastplate of righteousness, my feet shod with the preparation of the gospel of peace, and I have my shield of faith to quench the fiery darts of the wicked.”

“But, Pastor—” Brother Terry cried, coming to his feet.

“And where is your sword?” Pastor David asked, patting the Bible he held tucked under his arm. “How could you even think about going into a battle without the Word of God? When the devil tempted Jesus, every word Jesus used to answer him came from the Word of God. Let this be a lesson to all of you.”

Pastor David turned to face the choir and continued his impromptu sermon. “You can't beat the devil if you're using your own weaponry. Everything we do must be done the Lord's way or we will fail.

“My office is downstairs,” he said to Marvin. Pastor David turned and headed to the staircase that led to his office. Marvin followed close on his heels.

As soon as Marvin began walking, a woman in the choir cried out, “Bless him, Lord. Bless him, Lord.”

They walked down the steps in silence, ducking their heads as they crossed the threshold that led directly from the staircase straight into Pastor David's office. Marvin inspected the room. Nothing in there looked like the old Lawrence David he knew. Bible scriptures written in calligraphy hung on the wall, photos from the pastor's anniversary dinner decorated the bookshelves. Two plush beige chairs were in front of the desk. Marvin dragged his fingers across the oak desk and rubbed the placard that read P
ASTOR
L
AWRENCE
D
AVID
.

“If you're the real deal, why you ain't got a door?” Marvin wondered aloud.

“Jesus is the door, and I have entered in. There was nothing that stood in front of Jesus and his disciples. He did not have a door, stanchions, or barricades to keep people away. He was and still is accessible to anyone. If I am His minister leading people to Him then there shouldn't be anything standing in their way. Have a seat,” Pastor David said.