Echoes of a Distant Summer (52 page)

Braxton was a man of good standing in both his social and financial affairs, yet he felt that life had passed him by. He had successes in both his medical and his publishing practices, but those achievements did not sustain him. He was a man unfulfilled, because he had lived more than half his life with a broken heart. Braxton had once been a romantic man. Affairs of the heart had been serious business to him and he had given them his full attention. In his youth, he had dreamed that someday a woman would cross his path, a woman to whom he would give himself heart and soul. Such was the irony of fate that he got his wish. He fell in love with an older woman. Tragically, this woman was unable to return his love. She was married to someone else. She was King Tremain’s wife; and because of that single fact, she had lived just beyond Braxton’s reach for more than forty years. Nor could he forget that King had humiliated him in the late forties at a USO social for colored
soldiers. Braxton had mistakenly not given full credence to the rumors about King’s reputation and had allowed his infatuation with Serena to carry him away. He had presented her with a large bouquet of flowers from the stage and King had subsequently confronted him. When he attempted to laugh off King’s anger, King had set upon him and slapped him around until he begged for mercy. When none of the witnesses would step forward and testify, Braxton knew that he would have to seek revenge clandestinely. He lived with the furtive looks and whispers from that one incident for years afterward.

Now, at seventy, his body chronicled each passing day with new aches and pains, and decreasing strength. He felt that his youth had been squandered on makeshift love affairs that pleased neither him nor the women he was with. And the final waste was his marriage. His wife was a good woman, but it was a drab relationship; there was no passion, only infrequent spasms of animal energy. And all this transpired in full sight of the woman he truly loved. He felt it in his bones; this was the love of which poets wrote. Each year without her was another turn on the torturous rack, until it seemed that he was stretched beyond the edge of sanity.

He wasn’t threading the tightrope among the DuMonts, DiMarco, and Tree just for the money. He wanted revenge. No amount of money could make up for what he had suffered. He was organizing this effort to tear down the empire that his enemy had built and then to wipe his seed from the earth.

S
erena walked out of the air-conditioned Hilton and was assaulted with the thick, moist, morning air of the Crescent City. She had forgotten the humidity of New Orleans that swathed itself around the body like a warm towel. It was too late to take her expensive black wool coat back to the room, plus it was part of her ensemble of black hat, dress, and shoes. She had judiciously chosen her clothing before her flight. It would take an emergency before she would break up a set
wardrobe. She clearly wanted to present an image of wealth and class. The doorman whistled and a cab pulled up in front of the entrance. She pressed two dollars into his hand and was assisted into the cab. She gave the name of the cemetery to the driver and sank back in the seat to study the strange, new New Orleans that had risen up in the form of skyscrapers and overpasses since she had left over sixty years ago.

As the cab drove past unfamiliar buildings, Serena thought about her sister Della. She had no idea what she would say to her, or even how she would begin their conversation. She knew she wouldn’t mention that Della had erred in blaming her for all the miscarriages, at least not immediately. The very existence of Della’s daughters proved that Sister Bornais was fallible. And if the old medicine woman had made one error, maybe the rest of the things that had happened could be chalked up to coincidence too. Why couldn’t the old woman be wrong about everything? It was a conversation that Serena had conducted many times in her mind but to no real resolution. All she could do was hold up Della’s daughters as proof that the curse was not all-encompassing. She stared out the window and saw signs indicating that they were passing the western edge of Lake Pontchartrain toward what used to be Nellums’ Crossing. Serena knew the Crossing wasn’t there anymore. She had checked a map in the hotel. A housing development and minimall covered the area abutting Pine Knoll. The undeveloped rolling hills and lowlands were gone; buildings and houses had popped up everywhere she looked. Except for a few meadows and creek beds, there was construction everywhere. She shook her head. The place where she had grown up had been paved over. A new, slick neon landscape lay on top of the world she had known.

Della was the last person alive with whom Serena had experienced that other New Orleans, who remembered when horses and mules were the regular means of transportation owned by colored people, when outhouses were in common use, when no one colored outside of town had electricity, when only rich people had store-bought clothes. How would Della react when she first saw her? What would be her first words? It really didn’t matter; it was Serena’s intent to be generous and gracious. She would show what big-city class meant. Perhaps she would invite the family to the hotel for dinner one night for something
très cher
. She was going to turn their heads. Her nieces would be impressed with their newfound aunt. Perhaps she would invite them out
to her home in San Francisco. Young ladies under her wing that she could mold and sculpt as she had been unable to do with her own children. King had always gotten in the way of her plans. Yes, she planned to be generous, to let bygones be bygones. It was a new day.

The cab pulled into a driveway which ran through a rusted iron fence. The old wrought-iron gate lay unhinged against one of the stone pillars which flanked the entrance. The cab bumped along a worn and rutted road as it chugged over a rise and pulled into a rough parking lot jam-packed with cars. Serena was surprised to see so many cars. For some reason, she thought the funeral would be small and intimate. The presence of all the vehicles made her think that Amos must have belonged to a very big church. Why else would so many people attend? She paid off the driver and made her way down a path that led to the Baddeaux family plot.

She passed through a stand of trees and saw a great crowd of people listening to a small jazz band that was playing on a raised platform. There were around two hundred people in attendance, many of whom were quite young, in their early twenties. A person with a white armband approached her and asked if she was a member of the family. She nodded and was led through the crowd to two rows of folding chairs which were facing the dais. They approached the chairs from the rear and she was seated in the second row next to a woman she did not know.

She studied the backs of the heads of the people in the first row, trying to identify Della, but the hats and veils worn by the women obstructed her view. Serena sat back and waited for the music to end. From her vantage point she could see that the members of the band were also quite young, which was surprising. She would’ve thought the musicians would have been older, perhaps even Amos’s contemporaries. The music ended with a crescendo and received a rousing ovation from the attendees. A reverend climbed onto the platform and introduced the musicians. From his words Serena deduced that the band members had all been Amos’s students, as had been many of the people in attendance. The reverend asked if any desired to say a few words and a line formed at the foot of the platform. A succession of faces, young and old, spoke touchingly of their relations with Amos. Apparently, Amos had risen to prominence as a teacher in a local music school and had touched many during his tenure. The mourners were there to acknowledge not only their respect but their gratitude.

It was not what Serena expected. She rather presumed that Amos had returned home a crippled and beaten man, that he had drowned himself in self-pity and resentment, and had led a reclusive life of inactivity. It was quite a shock to her to find that was not the case. A young man in dreadlocks addressed the crowd with an impassioned oration about Amos’s impact on his life and when he finished, people rose to their feet and applauded. Serena shook her head in disbelief. She had never thought much of Amos other than in the context of him being her little brother. His unexpected prominence sort of threw her planned approach off track. She had projected that she would make a dramatic entrance to a sparsely attended service and she would make up with Della in front of an audience. She would be the grand lady over ne’er-do-well relatives.

The reverend called upon members of the family to speak. Serena was pleased to see two light-skinned women in their late thirties rise to the podium and say positive words about their uncle. Serena thought she could see the Baddeaux genes in their eyes and lips. They certainly had the family’s light skin. Then Della was assisted up on the platform. Serena recognized her despite time’s ravages. Her hair was gray, her face was lined with the passing years, and her body moved stiffly, but her eyes still had that sparkle that Serena remembered. Della spoke without notes about her brother’s achievements. She mentioned his disability and how that had not stopped him from being a giving person. She revealed that she had been a teacher as well and had shared the heartbreak with him when he was unable to reach a particular student, or stimulate members of his class with his own love of music. Her voice was occasionally raspy as she was sometimes close to tears, but Della controlled her emotions and continued speaking. All the while she spoke, Serena studied her. Della’s being a teacher explained why her clothes had a used and worn look. Obviously, she had not enjoyed financial success in her profession. Some of Serena’s projections had been accurate.

She was not sure when Della’s eyes fixed upon her, but Della fell silent midsentence for a few moments while she stared at Serena. Many of the people in attendance twisted to see what she was looking at before Della regained her composure, thanked all the attendees, and abruptly left the platform. The service ended with the lowering of the coffin into the earth as the band played “St. James Infirmary.” Serena waited in her seat, expecting Della to come to her, but Della was occupied,
surrounded by well-wishers. Serena stood and began to make her way slowly through the crowd toward her sister. Through a break in the mass of bodies, Serena thought she made eye contact with Della. She smiled and waved, but Della turned away and began moving toward the exit. Serena hastened to intercept her.

When she was within five feet of Della, Serena called out, “Della! Della Baddeaux, wait for your sister!” One of Della’s daughters, a light-skinned woman who had spoken from the podium about her uncle Amos, was at Della’s elbow. She saw Serena and smiled. Serena hurried over to stand in front of Della. She pulled back her veil and opened her arms to hug her sister, but was rebuffed.

Della looked at her malevolently and declared, “How dare you! How
dare
you!”

Serena, in surprise, explained, “Della, it’s me, honey! Serena! Serena, your sister!”

There was no warmth in either her expression or words as Della snarled, “I know who you are! How could I forget you? You’ve marked my life! You’ve stolen from me treasures that cannot be counted! How could I forget you?”

Serena was completely taken aback. This reception was one that had not even entered her mind. “What—what are you talking about?” she sputtered.

Della growled, “You have the gall to ask me that question? How dare you! I had hoped you were dead, yet you have the gall to come here and defile Amos’s service with your presence. You have no business here. You’re not part of this family. You are dead to us. Get out! Get out now!”

Serena shook her head uncomprehendingly. “Della, I’ve come a long way! I’ve come to patch things up between us! How could you say these words to me? You don’t mean this! I’m your sister!”

Della shrieked, “I’ve never meant anything more! You’re not wanted here! Amos hated you as I hate you! He wouldn’t want you here! And I don’t want you here! Get out!”

People were beginning to stare as one of Della’s daughters said, “Mama, you’re getting upset. Try and calm down. Aunt Serena is here as a member of our family.”

“You don’t know what a snake she is, baby,” Della declared loudly. “This woman has robbed this whole family of a future and she did it
knowingly. She did it
knowingly!
She’s no relative of mine. I don’t even want to see her face!”

Serena’s lips had begun to tremble. She could not believe what was happening. She stretched out a quivering hand. “Please, Della, don’t do this! Please, I’m your sister! We’re family!”

“How dare you claim me as family!” Della screamed as tears ran down her face. “You killed Tini! You crippled Amos! You’ve robbed me of the fruit of my womb! You killed my babies!
You killed my babies!”
Della swayed and her daughters took firmer grips on her arms.

Serena struggled for understanding. She pleaded, “How can you say that? You have daughters!”

With a final surge of strength, Della pulled free of the hands that held her and spit right in Serena’s face then screamed, “I hate you! I
hate
you! You killed my babies!” Della collapsed in sobs and needed to be supported. She was led away by caring friends.

Serena was left standing alone with spittle on her face. She took a deep breath, gathered herself, then calmly took a tissue out of her purse. While she wiped away the last vestiges of Della’s insult, she felt the numbing weight of unfriendly stares as people walked past her to their parked cars. She had made no arrangements for a ride back into town, nor was it a priority in her thinking. Her principal focus was to make it to the exit without collapsing or breaking down in tears. Della’s words were ringing in her ears. She took another deep breath and followed the crowd on wooden legs up the path to the exit. Although she was walking among many people, she was alone. She felt the banishment conferred by the silent stares, eyes that furtively followed her movements as if she had been guilty of exposing some private part or urinating in public. She could not think of a time in which she had endured greater humiliation in full view of so many strangers.