The House of Eve (102)
We are excited to have you and look forward to welcoming you on campus in the fall of 1951.
Sincerely yours,
Geraldine Clair Davis
Admissions Director
A lump formed in my throat. Mrs. Shapiro had made good on her promise. In a few months, I would go off to college. In that moment, I yearned for the type of excitement that would make me jump and shout, but the news that everything I had sacrificed for had come to fruition didn’t feel like I had imagined it would.
I flopped on the sofa and stared at the thick linen stationery until the words started running together, begging my body to feel something.
When Aunt Marie got home and I showed her the letter, she did all the praise dancing for me.
“Sweetness! You did it. You gonna be the first one in our family to go to college. I’m so proud of you.” She took my arms and swung me around the room, eyes shining with pride.
“You know Nene gonna want to have a seafood dinner to celebrate you.”
“I hope Fatty has figured out how to fry fish like Nene by now,” I said, attempting lightness. I wanted Aunt Marie’s glee to infect me.
“This will change your life. You won’t have to struggle like the rest of us, out here trying to make a dollar out of fifteen cents. You are going to make us all proud.”
Aunt Marie went to the record player and dropped the needle and while she swayed to the sounds of Dinah Washington, I knew that the only way I could do this was to take Mother Margaret’s suggestion.
The only way forward was to forget.
EPILOGUE Thirteen years later, July 1964
Eleanor
Eleanor sat in the den, sipping a cup of coffee that had grown tepid. She considered the new arrowroot-color wallpaper. It was a recent change to their decor. All the magazines were raving about the color, but Eleanor was not sure that she actually liked it. Rose said it made the right statement, so Eleanor had let it be.
William’s undergraduate and medical degrees from Howard University hung above the mantel. Eleanor’s eye fell on the spot next to it that held her own college degree and her most recent Archival Award of Excellence certificate, and the sight of both tickled her with pride. The television was on low as a breaking news banner crossed the bottom of the screen. Eleanor leaned in.
It was the fifth day of the race riots in Harlem. An off-duty white police officer had shot and killed James Powell, a fifteen-year-old unarmed Black teen. The city was in an uproar and the riots had spread to the surrounding boroughs. Eleanor made a note to phone her sister-in-law after dinner to check on Theodore and their three kids. Perhaps she should ask if they’d like to escape the city for a bit and come for a visit.
“I look ridiculous,” Willa shouted as she marched in from the kitchen, bringing her signature scent of lavender with her.
She wore a yellow sundress that Eleanor had purchased from Woodies while out shopping with Nadine. It had looked loose and flowy on the mannequin, but the dress hugged Willa too tight.
“Goodness me, I must have picked up the wrong size.” Eleanor crossed the room and lifted the label in the back of Willa’s dress. It was the correct size, or at least the size Willa wore three weeks ago. Her body seemed to be developing right before her eyes. At thirteen, she had more curves than most grown women.
Willa turned toward her, red-faced. “Why am I like this?” Her lovely ringlets bounced against her shoulders.
“Like what?” Eleanor feigned innocence.
Willa pointed to her busty breasts and slapped her wide hips. “You have those itty-bitties, and I get stuck with these sandbags. How is that possible?”
Eleanor blinked. “Body shapes run back a few generations. Just like your green eyes, sweetpea.”
“I’m such an oddball.”
“You are beautiful.”
“I want to look like you. Tall, slender, brown, not like this.” She pouted as her eyes filled with tears.
“Willa, calm down.” Eleanor reached for her, but Willa stormed out of the room and stomped up the stairs.
“I’m not going to lunch with you and Daddy,” she called, and then slammed her door shut.
Eleanor should have run after her and insisted that she accompany her, but she didn’t have the strength to wrestle her into a dress that fit and drag her out of the house. William would be disappointed, though.
Eleanor sighed and decided to at least try. When she got upstairs, she realized that Willa had gone into the spare bedroom and was hiding in her prayer closet, again.
“Sweetheart, come out of there.”
“No!”
“Let’s find another dress for you to wear. Daddy will be distraught if you don’t come to lunch.”
“Tell him I’m sick.”
“Wilhelmina Rose Lorraine Pride, come out of that closet right now!”
The door opened slowly, but Willa remained seated.
“Darling, are you coming or not? Your father doesn’t like it when we are late.”
“I’m not going.”
“What do you want me to tell him?”
“I said, I’m sick.”
“Very well. Mind yourself, I’ll be back soon.”
Eleanor walked away from the bedroom and down the steps. She picked up her linen purse and glided out the door to the car.