No Daughter of the South (16 page)

“I appreciate all the trouble you’ve gone to, but I really don’t think I should come.”

She didn’t say anything for a while. The cars that passed by in front of me appeared first in the distance as headlights. The light rushed closer and closer, bigger and brighter, but I couldn’t see the bodies of the cars until they were right in front of me.

I spoke in a rush, feeling like a small child, trying to explain some mess I had made. “I should’ve told you this when I first spoke with you. I’m not sure it’s safe to visit you, Ma’am. Not safe for you, I mean, not me. I’m not sure I’m safe anywhere right now, so it isn’t me I’m worried about—”

My predicament became more real for me as I spoke, trying to tell it all to a stranger. I shivered, and then realized the doors to my car were unlocked. I locked the one on the driver’s side, and I reached the one on the front passenger side. But I’d have to put the phone down and lean way over the seat back to reach the ones in the rear.

“Just a minute,” I said. “I’ve got to lock the car doors.”

I did it quickly, but as I was sliding back down into the seat, I caught sight of tail lights on the back of a car headed north on the highway. No way of telling if it was the brown car.

“Shit,” I murmured as I picked up the phone again.

“What’s that?” asked Sammy’s mother.

“Nothing,” I said. “Just, I’m sorry to put you to all the trouble for nothing—”

She cut me off. “Now, I want you to listen to me, Laurie.”

“Yes,” I answered, miserable at my complete incompetence.

“This is about Samantha’s father, isn’t it? That’s why you wanted to see me. That’s what you want to talk to me about.”

“I don’t know,” I said, realizing how little I did know. Bumbling around in the dark, screwing things up, unable to keep my priorities straight. “I made some people mad at me. Not anything to do with you, or Mr. Wilson. Some dangerous people.”

I started to say something, but stopped, exquisitely aware of the dangers of car phones. This wasn’t some innate detective sense; I’d read all about the marital problems of Prince Charles and Princess Di.

She didn’t wait for my answer. “I’m telling you that if you’re in trouble, it most likely has to do with Samantha’s father. Just come here, now. Just start up that car and drive. You get into any problems, you call me. When you pull into my driveway, you honk. I’ll hit the automatic garage opener and let you in. You got that?”

“I don’t think—”

“Don’t talk back to me,” she said sternly. “Just do what I say. We can talk when you get here.”

I wasn’t sure it was the right thing to do, but it felt good to turn the ignition and pull out on the highway headed toward that voice. Headed towards someone who sounded a lot like Sammy. It felt like heading home.

Following the directions Sammy’s mother had given me, I found myself deep in the countryside, not far over the border into Alabama. The roads were dark, houses few and far between. I kept looking in my rear view window. I didn’t see the brown car.

I wished that I’d indulged in something even more calming than chocolate doughnuts. Maybe something alcoholic. A tranquilizer, that sounded right. I was in a bad way. Never before in my life had I wished, even fleetingly, to be dull to sensation. I wanted it all, the sharp and the sweet. That’s what I had always loved about life, what I had craved. The ups and downs. The ride.

Turning into a long clay road with just a few houses, all of them set far apart, I finally pulled up in the driveway of a trim little house with its porch light burning. I tapped the horn lightly, then looked back over my shoulder, up and down the street a couple of times until the garage door lifted. A modest blue car was parked in front of the house. I guessed that the women had moved their own car to the street so I could park in the garage.

The interior garage light wasn’t on, and for a moment I was surprised. Sapphire and Etta May had seemed so concerned with the details of my comfort and safety. As I slowly eased my car into the dark, windowed garage, I realized that it was safer that way. Quickly I shut off my lights which illuminated the concrete wall before me so it would be harder for anyone outside to see in.

I turned off the ignition. In the dark, strange shapes loomed around my car, all your usual garage-type stuff, I was sure. But I nearly jumped out of my skin at a sudden, loud, grating noise behind me.

The garage door was closing. Then the overhead light flicked on, and the door into the house opened. Two women in flowered dresses stood at the door, smiling at me. Smiling like Christmas, like a good back rub, like cotton pajamas after a cool bath on a hot summer night. I smiled myself, and opened the car door carefully. I eased out of the door and around the front of the car in the cramped little garage.

The women stepped back to let me in, crying, “Are we glad to see you!” and “Let me hug your neck, child.” They both embraced me warmly, but my height, and their lack thereof, resulted in their faces pressed against my boobs, or, rather, my lack of those.

The sisters looked a lot alike, and they both looked a lot like Sammy. Sweet, full, intelligent faces. Etta Mae and Sapphire did not have that flash of sassy self-awareness, that spark of exuberant sexuality that Sammy carried with her. I wondered if Sammy’s would fade by the time she reached her mother’s age. I wondered if I’d be around to watch it go, and if I could bear to see her with it gone.

They hustled me to a small table set for dinner. They sat me down, and started carrying serving dishes out to the table. Dish after dish of Southern delicacies—so much like my mother’s way of greeting me, but it felt different. Was it because they were still strangers to me? I hadn’t had a chance yet to disappoint their expectations, to hurt them just by being who I was. Or was it something else, something condescending? You, know, a white, middle-class woman demonstrating love with food is pathetic, but a black woman doing the same is a warm earth mother? I don’t know the answer to that, but I know I dove into that food like I’d never had a decent meal in my life.

They chatted and entertained me while I ate. They talked about Etta Mae’s beautiful grandchildren. They got out their album, filled with pictures of Sarah and Annie and Rachel in all stages of development. Framed crayon drawings by Sarah and Annie covered the dining room walls.

I asked if Sapphire had any grandchildren, but was told no, Sapphire had never married. She had taken care of their daddy until the day he died.

They talked about the grand-babies’ talents, and skills, and beauty, all in great detail. They bragged about the achievements of their Sammy. They were thrilled at the coincidence that in a big city like New York, Sammy and I had run into each other. They asked me for details about the girls. How many teeth had Rachel lost? Had Sarah’s front two grown in yet? Wasn’t Annie a terrific violinist? Did she need a music stand—they’d seen a fine one, with hand-carving around the top—and did I think that would make a good birthday present for her?

When I worked my way through the food, they cleared the table, forbidding me to help. Then they brought out the lemon pound cake and coffee. Sapphire took the plates and coffee cups into the living room which was comfortable and tidy. The furniture all matched, early American style. The colors were a brown tweed with gold and brick red with a matching rag rug on the floor, and an eagle insignia on each side of the brass-colored magazine rack.

Sitting on the couch, I started to compliment them on the room, then stopped. I was afraid they might think I was being ironic, referring to the position of Afro-Americans in colonial society. Which was convoluted thinking and far from the point. I took a bite of the cake, complimenting Etta Mae on it instead. Without a trace of irony or fear of misinterpretation.

Sapphire was sitting across from me, perched in an early American armchair. She leaned towards me, holding her plate with both hands, and asked with an intense excitement that made her sweet voice husky, “Tell us more about how our Samantha is doing.”

It was funny, I thought of her as my Sammy, and they thought of her as theirs, but surely we all knew that she came closer to belonging to the girls, to Annie and Sarah and Rachel, and maybe even to her patients. Surely we knew that, in truth, Sammy belonged to herself.

I saw myself in comparison, then, so afraid of being engulfed by others’ expectations that I strenuously avoided all strings and complications. But there was Sammy, with ropes and knots and harnesses of relationships all over her, and still she was free, herself. She was a goddamned Houdini, that Sammy. “Well,” I said, “she’s doing great. I don’t know how she does all she does, but...”

“Does she have a boyfriend? Is there someone special? Oh, how I’d like for her to find some nice man who’d take care of her. Really appreciate her and be a father to her babies.”

I took a hard, quick breath that burned my throat. I put my plate and fork down carefully on the coffee table and sat back into the couch.

Etta Mae looked at me, distress in her face. She was trying to communicate something to me, but I couldn’t tell what. She put down her plate, too, and turned to her sister.

“Now Sapphire,” she began, her voice gentle, “you know that Samantha doesn’t need a man. She’s doing fine by herself.”

Sapphire looked at her blankly, then an expression of comprehension rose in her face. Startled, she looked me full in the face, then, embarrassed, she looked away.

“Laurie is our guest,” Etta Mae continued, evenly. “Now, Laurie, I know that you’ve come for some information, and here we’ve been talking your ear off.”

“I don’t believe it,” announced Sapphire in a loud voice.

Etta Mae, in a voice that combined fire and honey, said to me then, “I do believe that Sapphire and I need to step into the kitchen and take care of a few things. Please excuse us just a moment, Laurie, dear.”

“No,” said Sapphire. “You’re not going to take me off into the kitchen and dress me down like you were Daddy. Uh-uh. No way. It’s not happening.”

In spite of myself, I was rooting for Sapphire. I like that kind of spirit, you know. “Okay,” I said. “You wanna talk turkey, Sapphire, I’ll talk. You know who I am, don’t you, Sapphire? I’m Sammy’s lover.” For a moment, I was startled by how good that felt, how freeing, after the days I’d spent with my parents, hiding the truth. The next moment I was suffused with shame. Sure I could be brave with Sammy’s parents, but I was a low-down, yellow-bellied coward with my own.

Sapphire laughed, a hearty, happy laugh. “Don’t tell me a story like that, Laurie. You think I can’t see that you’re a girl?”

That stopped me for a moment, but I took a breath and went on. “I’m her lover.”

She laughed again, bending over, holding her round stomach. “Samantha is not a lesbian, honey. For one thing, she has three children by three different men. She’s the kind of woman that likes a good-looking man to park his car in her garage, if you see what I mean.”

I was speechless yet again. I looked over at Etta Mae and saw that her complexion was gray and she appeared to be in shock, so I couldn’t expect any help from that direction.

Eventually, I gathered my wits and plunged in again. “Well, both of us are really bisexual.” I didn’t like the way that sounded. Instead of bold and free, it sounded sheepish.

“Why, honey, all that means is that you two are making do until a real man comes along. I understand that, I do. Two fine, smart girls like you two, and good men being few and far between.” Then she lowered her voice, her tone became more confidential. “But Laurie, honey, now you listen to me. When Mr. Right comes along, I know you won’t stand in Samantha’s way for happiness.” Her voice shook a little, then, and I could see tears glinting in the corners of her eyes. “She’s up there in that big city, with three babies to raise, and her own way to make. Etta and me, we worry about her.”

There was a lump in my throat. I could feel her concern for Sammy all the way down to my toes. I wanted all kinds of good stuff for Sammy, too. I wanted to promise Sapphire and Etta Mae that I’d take care of Sammy and the girls. Instead, I waited while Sapphire dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief. “I care about Sammy,” I said stiffly. “And the girls, too.”

“You don’t have to say that, honey,” said Sapphire, with a pained smile. “We know that. We can see that.”

There was a strained silence. I looked around the room. These two women had spent most of their adult years in this house. It had looked so warm, so cozy, when I walked in. Now I didn’t know. Maybe it was a prison to them. Was Sapphire bitter and unhappy that she had never found a man to take care of her? And Etta Mae had found a man, but it certainly hadn’t done her much good, I thought. Then I thought, yes, he did her good. He gave her Sammy, after all.

Etta Mae cleared her throat. “Laurie came here for some information about Samantha’s father. About Elijah.” The way she said his name made me suspect that she hadn’t said it to Sapphire for a good long time. “This must be very important to Samantha, for her to send Laurie down to see about this. I plan to tell everything that she thinks might help her.”

She picked up the coffee pot and poured some more into my cup. The air conditioner hummed. I realized that part of my brain had been straining all along to hear over it, listening for something outside.

We all sighed. Etta Mae looked at me. “So, what do you want to know?”

“Anything. Everything, I guess. What was he like?”

Sapphire snorted. “Worthless,” she said.

Etta Mae gave her a stern look, but Sapphire didn’t seem fazed. “He was a handsome man,” Etta Mae said. “Looking at Samantha, you can tell that, can’t you? Yes, her daddy was a fine figure of a man.”

Sapphire didn’t say anything.

“Smart, too,” Etta Mae continued, speaking slowly. “Sharp as a whip.”

“Too dang smart for his own good, that one was,” said Sapphire, under her breath, but loud enough for us to hear.

Etta Mae ignored her. “Well-spoken. Charming.”

“A paragon of virtues,” mocked Sapphire.

Etta Mae glared at her. “You liked him, too. You thought he was terrific. You told me so every time he came courting. You encouraged me.”

“I didn’t tell you to run off and marry him. Daddy said for you to wait, and I told you to listen.”

They continued to stare at each other across the coffee table.

“So you married Elijah Wilson, then what?” I asked.

Etta Mae began to speak, but she didn’t answer my question. She spoke in a dead voice, as if she was in a trance.

“Daddy wanted me to stay here with him. He said he just wanted me to wait, to make sure.” She opened one arm in Sapphire’s direction, then let it drop. “What he really wanted was for me to wait forever. Like her. Like Sapphire. Forever, in this house, with the two of them. To wait on him, until the day he died, like she did.”

“Well, you showed him, didn’t you?” snapped Sapphire.

“So I ran away with Elijah, and he took me down south to a... a... I can’t even call it a house! It was out in the woods, on Piney Woods Road. Nearest town was Port Mullet, and that was a good drive over bad roads away.

“Good Lord in heaven, I still remember the day when we drove up. That row of shacks, trash everywhere, boards over windows. No yards to speak of, just sand and sand-spurs. Rusting little house trailers, dirty babies all over the place.”

She stopped for a moment, then continued. “I knew Daddy had been right, then. We’d been married less than twenty-four hours, and already I could see I’d made a big mistake. But I had to see it through. There was no going back until I’d seen it through to the bitter end. Oh, I knew right then that it was gonna end bad. I couldn’t see exactly what it was that was going to happen, but I knew what it was going to feel like. That’s right. I knew it when they came to me to tell me Elijah was drowned, and I was a widow. There was nothing for it then. Nothing to do but turn around and come back home to Daddy with my tail between my legs. Beg his forgiveness and beg him to take me in so I’d have a home for my girls.

“And he never let me forget it, either, all the years he lived. He’d been right, and I’d been wrong, and the good Lord had punished me for my stubborn headedness, he’d say. Punished me, but not cured me, he’d say, anytime I dared to disagree with him. About anything. Anytime my opinion wasn’t the same as his. Anytime at all.”

Etta Mae was staring off into space. Sapphire looked angry. I was angry, too. Angry at Etta Mae. Sure, things had been hard on her. Real hard. Harder to a factor of ten than anything I’d ever been through, for sure. But still I thought, she should have kept fighting. She shouldn’t have come back here to live under her father’s thumb. She should have gone somewhere, anywhere, raised her girls on her own. She should have done something. Yeah, I was real good at judging what someone else should have done in circumstances I’d never faced. A white girl with all the advantages, who couldn’t even tell her folks the truth about her own life.