Glory over Everything: Beyond The Kitchen House(44)

“Oh, Jamie!” she greeted me with reddened eyes. “You are home! I didn’t know if I should send for you! I don’t know what to do!”

“Greetings! Greetings!” Malcolm shouted in Robert’s clipped accent, then flew across to sit on my shoulder. He clung there as I pulled up a chair next to Mrs. Burton.

“I am home now. All is well.” I took her hand as she began to weep. “Tell me,” I said, “what is the trouble?”

“I promised Delia . . .”

“Promised her what? There is nothing you can’t tell me.”

“It involves you. You wouldn’t believe . . .”

“You know Delia has resented me ever since I came here as a young boy.”

“But she said that you mean to harm her?”

Malcolm nipped my ear, and for the first time I smacked at his beak. He squawked in surprise and flew off to perch at the window. I loosened my damp collar and leaned back in the chair. “Harm her? And why would I do that?”

“She said that she had read a letter of yours. Of course I asked her immediately if you had given her permission to do so, but she did not reply and went on to say that she fears you will make her leave.”

“And this supposed letter,” I said, “did she mention the contents?”

“Oh, the accusation she made was so vicious that I am reluctant to repeat it. She accused you of—Oh, it is too ugly. Really, Jamie, I’d prefer not to say.”

“Please tell me,” I said.

“But I promised.”

“I must know the slander so I might address it,” I said, gripping the arms of the chair while fighting to stay calm.

“Oh, dear boy, let us forget it!” she said, seeing my growing fury. “It is really too ridiculous to repeat something so outrageous!”

“Please let us get this over with,” I demanded.

“She said that you are a Negro,” she blurted out.

I leaned over to brush some supposed dirt from my pant leg, needing the time to steady my breath. After I straightened again, I gave a short laugh. “She is off her head,” I said. I held out my hands, then turned them over to expose my palms. “Which part of me, exactly, does she suggest is Negro?”

“I know how foolish this must sound to you, but she held to it so strongly that it was most upsetting.”

“Surely you couldn’t have entertained . . .” I said, moving to the edge of my seat.

“James! Of course not! I could never believe such a thing! Please! Do not take offense. I don’t believe any of it! You? A Negro? It isn’t possible!”

Anger suddenly took over. Was her love for me so limited that my tainted blood would destroy it? Dreading the answer, I could not contain the question. “And if I were? If it were true? What would it mean to you if I said I was a Negro?”

An unmistakable look of revulsion crossed her face as she shook her head. “But it isn’t possible!” she said.

“So you would no longer care for me?” I asked, rising from my chair. My worst fear was true.

“James! Jamie, dear,” she said. “Please sit!”

But she had given herself away, and I could not stop. “What upsets me is that you will not answer me! To think that you would not care for me if . . .” I couldn’t breathe! That her love was conditioned on my race struck me so profoundly that I could not take in air.

She called out to me as I fled the room and left for the outdoors. My thoughts circled, and I noted nothing as I walked for hours that warm mid-May afternoon. What should I do? Should I tell her the truth? But what was the truth? Would I call myself a Negro? Surely there was not enough Negro blood in me that I should be cast as one of them. Nor was I one of them! How many times had Grandmother pointed out what a lesser race they were—so eager to be taken care of, so willing to be subservient. How many times had I heard of their nonexistent morals; they thought nothing of bedding each other and producing offspring they abandoned. And they were a thieving people—as evidenced by Delia taking my letter. How could I be one of them? Nothing in me fit the description. I carried none of their traits! I was not one of them!

Yet I could not forget that look of disgust on Mrs. Burton’s face. Twice I ran to an alley to empty my stomach when it heaved at the remembrance. Why could she not love me as I was, Negro or no? I had loved her as I loved my own dear grandmother.

How wrenching it was to think of leaving this safe and beloved home, but by nightfall I had come to the sickening conclusion that I had no other choice.

I was exhausted when I returned to the house and there went straight to my rooms. I had just pulled out my leather bag, but before I had a chance to begin packing, Robert came with a note that bore Mrs. Burton’s seal. After Robert left, I opened the note.

Delia has been asked to leave this house. I beg your forgiveness for questioning you about her slanderous accusations. The subject is forgotten. You have my word that I will never doubt you again.

I sat with the note long into the night, unable to make a decision.

In the early morning Robert came to tell me that Delia had been put out of the house and Mrs. Burton was waiting to see me. I went then, terrified of the task at hand.

I found her seated in a chair beside her bed, still dressed in her nightclothes. She looked so frail and shaken, so frightened and alone, yet I knew what I had to do. At the very least, she deserved to hear the truth.