The House of Eve (52)

“Thank you,” she replied, but she wasn’t sure if fat cheeks were a compliment. Mrs. Porter didn’t know that Eleanor was expecting, but it didn’t seem like the right time to inform her.

“I was just telling my new intern, who isn’t worth a darn, that I need your help with a few things. We just received a fascinating collection of musical compositions by Justin Elie of Haiti and Amadeo Roldán of Cuba.” Her eyes shone like two copper coins as she threw her hands in the air.

“That’s wonderful.” Eleanor hadn’t heard of either of the musicians, but Mrs. Porter’s enthusiasm was infectious.

“Pages and pages of their work, personal essays and Amadeo’s wife’s diary. And there’s more, you have to see this.” Without waiting for Eleanor’s response, Mrs. Porter took off at such a speed Eleanor had to be careful as she climbed the stairs following her. They walked up to the third floor, and then passed the restrooms into an office next to Mrs. Porter’s. As soon as they walked into the room, the film of dust on the piles and stacks of boxes made Eleanor sneeze three times in succession.

“Helen Channing Pollock, daughter of the great playwright Channing Pollock, has given us her father’s entire library. It is filled with his manuscripts of plays, magazine articles, lecture notes, theater memorabilia. The works.”

“Pollock? Where’s he from?”

“His mother was English and his father a Jew, so this collection will be housed in the Browsing Room. Not to be circulated, but it will be used for reference and research.”

“This sounds far from the African diaspora.”

“It is, but when wealthy white people feel strongly about contributing to the education of the Negro, as a partial atonement for the torment of the Atlantic slave trade, who am I to turn them down?” She winked. “The donation was also accompanied by a hefty financial contribution that we will use to continue the work for our collection.”

The Moorland-Spingarn Collection always needed money. Mrs. Porter was known for calling up publishers and asking for donations. She had amassed friends all over the globe who were constantly on the lookout to acquire material on her behalf and send it to be archived.

“When you started working here in your sophomore year, you said you wanted to learn to be an archivist. I’m offering you a chance.”

“But I’m married now,” Eleanor blurted. She could hear Rose in her ear.

“Married but not dumb, darling. Look, I have evolved this library from a one-room study to a large-scale foundation, and I need your young eyes and brilliant brain to continue the work.”

Eleanor looked over at the collection and felt her heartbeat quicken. She had missed the smell of vintage books, the feel of rare papers in her hands and long-forgotten music at her ear. Being back at the library would give her a bit more purpose while William was in residency.

“I’ll pay you as a contractor. You could do twenty hours a week.”

“Mrs. Porter, I’m expecting.”

“A baby? Really?” She squeezed Eleanor’s hands.

“Yes. Not many people know.”

“Congratulations, that’s wonderful. Well, then we’ll consider part-part time, perhaps fifteen hours a week? I’ll make sure you have a comfortable chair.”

Eleanor wanted it, but Rose had insisted that she stay home and wait for the baby. It had been such a struggle just to convince her that Eleanor should finish her schooling. On the other hand, Eleanor’s own mother had always told her that it was important for women to have a separate stash set aside in case of a rainy day. Wasn’t that how she got to Howard in the first place? With the money her mother had tucked aside.

Mrs. Porter leaned in. “Let me give you a piece of advice. The way to a healthy marriage is to hold on to those pieces that make you you. I know how you feel about the library. Put that passion of yours to good use.”

“I’d love to” slipped from Eleanor’s mouth before she could talk herself out of it.

“Perfect. Let’s stop by my office and work out a schedule for you. Welcome back.” Mrs. Porter clapped her on the back. “I’ve added a few new classifications to our system that I can’t wait to catch you up on. Dewey decimal system be damned.”

In bed later that night, Eleanor told William about the position at the library. At first he resisted, saying he would provide enough so she wouldn’t need to work, but after much coaxing and kissing, he began to listen. Eleanor made it clear: she needed this. Then she felt the baby move inside her and William pressed his hand to feel, too. He was so smitten that the conversation was over. Eleanor had gotten her way.





CHAPTER NINETEEN DEAD MEAT



Ruby




I had managed to pull my knit top over my head but had not fastened my brassiere when a paper-thin woman, dressed in a navy shift and white beret, entered the storage room. She looked around our make-do love nest with disbelief. Shimmy moved in front of me, as if he could block me from her sight line.

“Simon Shapiro”—the woman’s whole body trembled—“have you lost your natural-born mind?”

“Ma.”

“Don’t ‘Ma’ me!” Spit flew from her red lips. “How could you betray our trust like this by gallivanting around with this, this whore?” She peered at me with so much rage that her words seemed to hit me like a blow to the chest. I tried to shrink from her vision by covering myself with my arms, but then she reached for the light switch, flooding the room with a spotlight on our secret. The smell of us that I had always loved suddenly made me sick to my stomach.