No Crystal Stair (6 page)

He took the glass from her, stood back to study her. “Lovely.” That dress is just the right color. You look radiant.” Then he pulled her into his arms. ”Let's dance, pretty lady.”

Heaven, she thought. Randy is here and I'm in his arms. Thank you, God, for tonight.

 

 

Five dances passed before Randy's friend, the handsome officer, approached her. Ann Elizabeth determined to be bright and composed, tried to conceal her too-eager anticipation.

“Well, how is that Air Corps treating you?” she asked.

“Roughly.”

“Don't you like it?”

“Love it.”

“Where are you from?”

“Los Angeles.”

This was going nowhere.

“Now it's your turn,” she said.

“My turn?”

“To start the conversation. Ask me something.”

“I don't need to.”

“Oh? Why not?”

“I know all about you.”

“What do you know?”

“You are a princess.” Now she knew the smile was mocking. “You live in a grand castle surrounded by a high wall.”

“No moat?”

“Oh, definitely a moat.”

“How dreadful! I hope there's a drawbridge so that a prince can ride across on his white charger to rescue me.”

“Dear lady, you are sadly lacking in modern fairy-tale lore.”

“Oh?” She raised an eyebrow.

“The modern price drives a Cadillac.”

“Really?” She traced with one finger the insignia on his shoulder. “I thought he came swooping from the clouds wearing a pair of silver wings.” She felt his arms tighten about her. His look was penetrating, no hint of mockery in his eyes now. She couldn't stop staring into those eyes. She felt strangely exhilarated. Something was beginning.

The elation did not dim the whole week that Randy and his friend were in Atlanta on leave. Lieutenant Robert Metcalf. Robert. Rob. Ann Elizabeth moved through that week in a daze, helping Randy and Sadie, who seemed to be back in Randy's life, entertain Rob. Tennis at the college, sodas at the drugstore, dancing at the Negro country club. And for Ann Elizabeth, all the familiar activities took on an unfamiliar aura. Rob. She'd never known anyone quite like him. He had an adventurous competitive spirit, so evident in the way he played. Hard. At tennis, cards, whatever. She felt herself staining to keep up.

If he was an eager participant, he also had high expectations.

“Hell, Randy. This isn't a golf course. It's a cow pasture,” Rob said as he glanced over the roughly hewn nine-hole course that accommodated members of the Negro country club. “Do we have to play here?”

“We do.” Randy's deep-blue eyes twinkled.

“What about that course we passed as we came into town?” Fabulous fairways. Isn't it public?”

“It is.”

“Well?'

Randy turned, grinning as he put down his golf bag. “Well now, sonny, I know you've lived in our lovely South for only a few months. But mostly you've been caged up at the airfield learning to fly. You don't get around much.' Randy thickened his Southern drawl. ”Let me explain about the language down here. Down here, ‘public' means ‘white.' Now, do I tee off first or do you?”

Rob set his jaw, tightened his grip on the golf club and whacked the ball viciously.

That night Rob was again visibly annoyed when he and Ann Elizabeth went to see a film at the Fox Theater. The Fox was a beautiful building fashioned like an Egyptian palace. A wide stone staircase on the outside of the building led to the colored section. It was ornate, impressive—and steep.

Rob hesitated as he gazed up. “Do we have to climb this?”

“We do.”

He pretended to pant as they climbed. “Only for you,” he said as they reached the top. “Only for you.”

“But it's so lovely up here!” Ann Elizabeth exclaimed, leaning against the waist-high balustrade and gesturing at the sky above.

“Lovely.” Rob echoed. But he was looking at her.

The movie was a romance, and its mood followed them into the night. They walked down the steps holding hands, and on the drive back Ann Elizabeth sat close to Rob, her head on his shoulder. When he halted at a stop sign, his lips touched her hair and his finger brushed against her cheek. She felt warm, safe and loved.

As they drove off, a siren wailed behind them. Rob pulled to the curb and stopped Ann Elizabeth sat up and looked at the police car that had pulled in behind them, its red light flashing. Fear churned in her stomach. She had never been stopped by the police, but Randy had. And others. The episode at the Subers' house flashed through his mind. The police could be quite... quite... Dear God, what had they done?

Two policemen sauntered to the car. One peered in at Rob.

“Why didn't you stop at that stop sign, boy?” The tone was belligerent, ugly.

“I did stop.” Rob sounded puzzled. “Why—”

“Who the hell you talking to, nigger?”

Ann Elizabeth held her breath. Prayed.

“Well, I did stop!” Rob's voice was louder now and firm.

The policeman wrenched open the door, grabbed Rob by the collar. “On your feet, nigger! Don't you know how to talk to a white man?”

“I only said—”Rob protested as he was yanked out of the car. The policeman's fist shot out and connected with Rob's chin. The car rocked slightly as Rob fell against it.

Ann Elizabeth quickly slid over to the driver's seat and leaned out. “Oh, please, sir—”

“Hey, Bud, wait!” It was the other policeman who spoke.

“Wait hell! Didn't you hear that way that nigger was talking to me?”The officer stepped toward Rob, his billy club raised.

“Oh, please, sir.” Ann Elizabeth said, anxiously emphasizing the “sir.” “He didn't mean any disrespect. He's not from down here, sir, and—”

“Oh, we got a Yankee nigger here, huh, girlie?” The policeman's eyes moved insinuatingly over her body. Rob stirred, and the officer turned back to him, his club raised. “Well, maybe we need to teach him a few things.'

The other officer intervened, quickly pulling his partner away. Rob was still leaning against the car. Ann Elizabeth reached out and touched his arm. They waited, hearing scattered words.

“Military... trouble... nigger club... nigger, ain't he?”

Then the first officer came back, rocking on his heels he looked at Rob. “What's your name, boy?”

Ann Elizabeth pressed Rob's arm hard.

“Robert Metcalf... sir.”

The policeman grinned. “Lemme see your license.”

Rob produced it.

“Humph! From that nigger airfield, huh?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Think you'll ever fly one of them planes?”

“We try, sir.”

“Well, just as long as you fly in your own territory, hear?”

“Yes, sir.”

“This here your car?”

No, sir. Her brother's.”

“You all going up to that nigger club?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Uh-huh.” The officer's glance traveled over Ann Elizabeth again. “Gonna do a little smooching, huh?”

Ann Elizabeth tightened her grip on Rob's arm.

“Yes, sir.”

“You know you didn't stop at that sign back there!”

“Sorry, sir. I didn't realize.”

“Well, we're gonna let you off this time. But you better be careful, boy. Watch where you goin'. You ain't in one of them planes now, you know. You can get in a heap of trouble 'round here.”

“Yes, sir.”

Finally the policeman rejoined his partner, and slowly, deliberately, the two walked toward the squad car. Rob didn't move and Ann Elizabeth held her breath. When the police reached their car, the more belligerent officer swiveled around to give them a searching look. Then he climbed inside, executed a U-turn and drove away in the opposite direction.

Rob picked up his hat, got into the car and sat with his head thrown back, breathing deeply. “Son of a bitch!” he muttered. “Goddamn son of—” He broke off. “I'm sorry,” he said with an awkwardness that twisted her heart. She knew the apology was more for his helpless posture than for the profanity.

“Rob, I ...” What could she say? It was like that time at the Subers' with her father. She felt his shame, his humiliation. “Rob, I was so proud of you.”

He sat up and stared at her. “Proud? When I just stood there and let that—”

“That's just it. You restrained yourself.”

“Those guns and billy clubs kind of influenced me.”

“I know. They could have killed you and never looked back. If you'd made one move, one gesture. But you didn't. You backed down.”

“Like a coward.” Rob's voice was bitter.

“Like a sensible man who knows what a redneck bigot with a badge and a billy club can do.” Tears filled her eyes. “Rob, I would have died. I couldn't stand it if anything happened to you.” He was looking at her, his gaze intense. “I know it wasn't easy for you to back down. But I'm glad you did. I'm so proud of you.”

“Ann Elizabeth, you are some kind of lady!” He tried to smile and winced.

She raised one hand and gingerly touched his chin, which was beginning to swell. “We'll have to put some ice on that. Let's get Randy and go home.”

“Oh, Rob!” She kissed him ever so gently on his bruised lip, then pressed her face against the hollow of his throat. His arms wound around her, holding her close for a long long time.

Julia Belle Washington Carter didn't know it then, but she was to have her August wedding, after all.

August 1942

 

“
H
ey,Rob,you done made a mistake, man! You in the wrong place.” Pete Peterson, Rob's best man, had cracked open the door of the pastor's study and was peering out into the chapel.

Rob stared at the back of Pete's head, at the sweat pouring down his neck, glistening on that red hair, so typical of his type, usually called “merino niggers.” Pale skin, pale eyes, red woolly hair.

“What the hell do you mean, wrong place? This is the First Congregational Church, isn't it?”

Pete turned, a glint of mischief in his catlike eyed, and jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “Take a look. Nobody but us white folks here.”

Too nervous to appreciate the joke, Rob obediently took Pete's place at the door and surveyed the elegant chapel with its stained-glass windows. A world away from the converted clapboard house back home that the deacons had fashioned into Shiloh Baptist, the church he had reluctantly attended as a boy. He strained his eyes trying to glimpse the few dark faces among the many fair-skinned wedding guests rapidly filling the church. There. That was Mrs. Smith. She'd given a party for them. And the big-shot Colonel somebody. He turned back to Pete.

“Oh, there's a few of us darkies here. Just us rich and powerful ones.” He made a gesture, classing himself with Dr. Carter
who was pacing the floor a few feet away and glancing at his watch every now and then. Probably wondering, Rob thought, if he'd have time to escort his daughter down the aisle before rushing off to the hospital to see some patient.

The pastor's study was warm and stuffy. Rob took out a handkerchief and mopped his brow. His full-dress uniform did nothing to repel the heat. He looked back into the chapel and saw another dark face, his mother's. Thelma Metcalf, neatly but plainly dressed, seemed strangely out of place amidst this throng of sophisticated Atlantans. She hesitated at the entrance, apparently confused, until Randy stepped quickly to her side and slipped her hand through his arm. He bent to whisper something in her ear that made her smile as he ushered her to a front pew.

Rob, seeing her settled, relaxed. His mother had been uncharacteristically silent all week. She was a bit overwhelmed by these rich Atlanta Negroes. Frugal by nature and necessity, Thelma was suspicious of colored people who lived “too high on the hog,” who drove expensive cars and dressed “fit to kill.” All her life she had contemptuously dismissed such people as “nigger rich.” It was Thelma Metcalf's thrift, after his father died, that had saved the family home and seen Rob through high school and college.

Rob had been more than a little concerned about how his mother would be received by the Carters. They weren't exactly jumping with joy at the prospect of him as a son-in-law. But he'd been pleasantly surprised. Old Mrs. High-and-Mighty had been most cordial to Mama, installing her in the guest room and carefully shepherding her thorough the bridge parties... “No, Mrs. Metcalf doesn't care to play, thank you”... the showers, and Lincoln Country Club dances—the social swirl naturally attendant on the nuptials of Julia Belle Washington Carter's only daughter. And not by word or gesture did she ever
betray to the outside world how deeply disappointed she was by her daughter's choice of husband.

Rob blew his mother an unseen kiss, mopped his brow again and turned back into the study. Damn! He wished this thing was over. Wished he had Ann Elizabeth in Tuskegee away from all this. Alone. Thinking about Ann Elizabeth, he felt his heart skip a beat, stop, then tumble on rapidly. Pulsating, full of excitement, desire . . . apprehension.

Away from all this? To Tuskegee? Away from that ten-room mansion with its large acreage and towering trees to a tiny bedroom in Mrs. Anderson's shabby little house. Life on a lieutenant's salary of one hundred and ten dollars a month. She had no idea, no conception. If she had, would she have listened to her mother?

He knew Mrs. Carter wanted Ann Elizabeth to marry that smooth-talking pale-faced doctor. In fact, she could hardly restrain herself when they'd told her about their engagement.

“Oh, Ann Elizabeth, are you sure?” She had glanced at Rob, the keen aristocratic nose quivering, her blue eyes accusing.

“Yes, I'm sure,” Ann Elizabeth's eyes had been warm and confident. God, how he loved her!

Julia Belle Carter had spoken through dry thin lips. “Ann Elizabeth, honey, you're so young. Don't you want to wait? Perhaps a year... Give yourself more time.”

“We don't have any time. Don't you understand? Rob might be sent overseas any day.”

Damn, if Julia Belle's eyes hadn't brightened at
that
prospect! “My goodness, he'll be back. You're both so young. You've known each other such a short while. You—”

“No, Mother. We don't want to wait.”

“A wedding in August? That's not enough notice? We couldn't possibly manage to—”

“We don't need a wedding.”

“Of course you need a wedding! Goodness, what would people think? My daughter—”

“I don't care what people think.” Ann Elizabeth had laid a hand on her mother's arm. “We're talking about a marriage, not a wedding, Mother. We love each other and we want to be together.” She had stood there in her white tennis shorts looking like a child. Talking like a woman.

Julia Belle's yes had filled with tears. But she had yielded to her daughter's pleading. “Well, Rob will have to talk to your father.”

Rob had approached the sedate Dr. Carter with more trepidation than he'd felt taking off on his first solo flight. Their talk had not gone exactly as he'd expected.

“Tell me about yourself.” Dr. Carter had nodded, leaning back in his chair, the tips of his fingers touching. His body was relaxed, his eyes interested and patient—as if he had all the time in the world.

“Well, sir, you know I'm in the Army Air Corps. I make—”

“No, no. Before that. Where were you born?”

“Los Angeles.”

“Tell me about it.”

“About Los Angeles?”

“Yes, and about you. Your people.”

“Well...” Rob faltered. Damn, what was there to tell? His father had died. His mother worked. His own life—school, football, odd jobs. He found himself talking about his father. Joseph Metcalf had fought in Europe in the First World War. He'd come to California from Alabama because life for an uppity black veteran was not safe in the deep South. Originally he'd wanted to go to Detroit and find work in one of the new automobile factories. But when the riots broke out there in 1919, he took his pregnant wife west, instead. He'd been in Los Angeles only a few weeks when he stopped to help a man fix a
broken-down car. Impressed with Joseph's mechanical abilities, the stranded motorist helped him get a job in the maintenance department of a trucking firm.

“My father could fix anything that moved, Dr. Carter.” Rob spoke with an intensity that betrayed his pride. “He was always paid a little less than the whites on the job. But he didn't seem to care because he knew, and they all knew, that he was the best mechanic in the shop. Actually, for us, it was a handsome living.”

Dr. Carter nodded. “Yes, I imagine so. For a black man in the twenties just before the dawn of the depression.”

“Well, Mama was always careful with money, and they bought a duplex in a neighborhood that was turning colored. Mama still lives there.” He told Dr. Carter that just as he was about to finish high school his father had dropped dead of a heart attack. “Mama took a job as an aide at the county hospital and we managed okay. I did lots of odd jobs—washing dishes, selling papers. I waited tables during the summer and while I was at college.”

“I used to wait tables on the train.”

“You!” Rob could hardly believe this.

“Yes. Anything I could get that allowed me to continue my studies.” The doctor's smile was reminiscent. “Learned the bones of the skeleton between train runs. Had a diagram tacked over my bed in Mrs. Butt's boarding house for dining-car waiters?” He seemed to shake off the memory and asked Rob about school.

“UCLA engineering on a football scholarship. That's where I got my taste for flying. Joined the pilot-training course. Those who finished the course were invited to join the U.S. Army Air Corps and I...” He hesitated, swallowed and hurried on, blotting out the painful memory. “They weren't taking colored, so I finished out my senior year. Then I read about Tuskegee. And here I am.”

“What happens after the war?” Dr. Carter asked.

Rob again hesitated. He had a dream but no answer that he knew would satisfy Dr. Carter. Rob wanted to design airplanes, but he only said, “With my engineering degree and my flying background I should be able to get a good job. Or maybe start my own business.”

The doctor perked up at the latter idea. He told Rob he could count on a steady customer base if he considered setting up shop in Atlanta. “Lots of well-off Negroes here,” he said.

The conversation drifted to Ann Elizabeth, about whom there was no disagreement. Each man basked in the other's love and pride.

“Ann Elizabeth is mighty precious to me. I want you to take good care of her.”

“Yes, sir, I will.”

Dr. Cater gazed at him steadily. “If, for any reason, things don't work out, bring her back to me.”

The suggestion had rankled.
What kind of man does he think I am?
Now, in the study, he turned to look at Dr. Carter and discovered that he'd left. Maybe it was time for the wedding to start. He sure as hell hoped so.

Downstairs in the Sunday-school room, Ann Elizabeth—in shimmering clouds of white organza, tulle and fine lace—stood waiting patiently while her mother arranged and rearranged her veil, calling out instructions to her cousins Edwina and Helen Rose.”

“No, honey. Put that over this way. That's right. Be careful, honey—don't let the train touch the floor.”

Someone handed Ann Elizabeth a sealed envelope with her name scrawled across the front. She recognized the handwriting. Dan. How like him! Always flowers or a note to wish her success.

Dan had been so understanding the night she'd told him about Rob. She had asked him to come over and they'd sat
outside on the glider. The air was warm and heavy with the scent of roses and honeysuckle.

“I wanted to tell you before Mother announces it, Dan. I'm engaged. I'm going to be married.”

“That pilot?”

“Yes, Robert Metcalf.”

Dan was silent. She'd tried to see his face, but it was too dark. She'd wanted to say something, but she didn't know what.
I'm sorry?
But she wasn't sorry. Her heart was singing over and over again. “Oh, Rob, I love you. I love you. I'm so happy. It was hard to subdue the joy, to keep her voice calm. She didn't want to hurt Dan. He was silent for so long that she was startled when he spoke.

“When?”

“August. Well you know... the war. We didn't want to delay too long.”

“I see.”

“I wish ...” Her mind groped for soothing word.

“No, Ann Elizabeth. I wish. I wish things were different.” His hands covered hers. “But I also wish you both happiness. Rob's a lucky guy.”

“Thank you.”

He had left abruptly soon afterward. She had not been alone with him since. She opened the envelope, expecting the usual best wishes.

Not so. As she read she tried to compose her face, mask the surprise, the... she wasn't quite sure
what
she felt.

“My darling Ann Elizabeth. Though I've told you many times. I don't think you really believe how much I love you. How much I will always love you. I do not mean to intrude upon the happiness of this very special day. Indeed it is my fond wish that this happiness will grow with every passing year. I just want you know that, if the time should come, if you ever need me, I will be there. I will never marry. It would be unfair. No
other woman can ever fill the space I have reserved for you. Be happy. All my love, Dan.”

Ann Elizabeth felt tears welling in her eyes. Dear Dan. She did love him. Like a brother. Like Randy. Certainly not like she loved Rob.

The thought of Rob brought a smile to her face. There could be no one else. No one but Rob. Oh, Dan. I hope you'll find someone who loves you as much as I love Rob.

The letter. What on earth would she do with the letter? She certainly couldn't carry it under her bouquet as she walked down the aisle to marry another man. And it wasn't for her mother's curious eyes. She looked around. Her mother was showing Penny, the little flower girl, how to carry the basket of rose petals. The other girls were combing their hair, powdering. Only Edwina stared curiously at her.

“Edwina, stand in front of me.”

“What?”

“Oh for Pete's sake, just stand there.” Balancing herself against the wall, Ann Elizabeth lifted the voluminous folds of her wedding gown, took off one shoe and slipped the note inside.

Later Ann Elizabeth had no thought of Dan as she stood upstairs in the vestibule, listening to Sadie's clear soprano above the tones of the organ.

She smiled. Mother had been so afraid she'd ask Sadie to be a bridesmaid—“She wouldn't fit in, you know.” She needn't have worried. Ann Elizabeth wanted her wedding to have the sweet sound of Sadie's voice, clearly enunciating every word she sang. Like a blessing. Moving her now just as it had whenever Sadie led the spiritual during their homeroom devotional in high school. She was glad Mother had insisted on a church wedding. This church was part of her life. Here she'd been christened, had taken her first communion, had participated in pageants for Christmas and Easter. Here she had sat nearly every
Sunday of her life in the family pew, next to the window bearing her grandfather's name. How many times had she stared at the stained glass image of Jesus on the mount and puzzled over the scripture “Blessed are the pure in heart...”