The House of Eve (77)
Bernie climbed down the ladder slowly.
“How do you know it?” She rested her back against the doorframe. Dust was everywhere and the room smelled of wood shavings.
“I am from Grenada.”
“I should have guessed,” she said, though she only knew a few West Indian students at Howard. “How long have you been in the States?”
“Nearly eight years. Come here at seventeen.”
“How do you like it?”
“Depends on the day.” He climbed back up the ladder, dangling a sheer light fixture that was shaped like a white cloud.
“Well, I’ll be downstairs in the den. Let me know if you need anything.” She backed out of the room.
As the days passed, Eleanor was surprised by how easy conversations flowed between her and Bernie. They had discussed his culture and music at every passing, and by his second week at the house, she felt comfortable bringing a Big Drum record up to the nursery.
“Would you like to hear something I’ve found?” she asked, clutching the record to her chest.”
“If it’s not too much trouble.”
Eleanor stepped into the room. Bernie stopped hammering the shelves in place on the wall. In just the few days he’d been working she could see the baby’s room starting to take shape.
Eleanor put the record on the player and then remembered that it was more proper for her to take the only seat in the room.
“What do you think?”
“Sound like Carriacouan, funeral music. Something we play when honoring the dead,” he said, his accent growing thicker. Bernie went on to explain the instruments that she heard and what part each played. They were so deep in analyzing the music that when she heard William call her name from downstairs she jumped.
“Excuse me.” She stood abruptly. “My husband is home.” She picked up the record, tucked it in her bedroom and then met William in the hall at the top of the stairs.
“Hello, my darling wife,” William said, pulling her into his arms.
“It’s so good to see you.” Eleanor snuggled against him. Their time had been so limited lately. William was only home for a few hours at a time, often coming in the middle of the night to shower, change, catnap, and when she woke in the morning he was already gone. Eleanor hadn’t realized how badly she had ached for him until she put her nose into his neck and smelled his skin.
“How come you didn’t let me know you were coming home early? I would have made supper.”
“Baby, tonight’s the Dr. Drew memorial fundraiser.”
It was one of the events Rose had put on her appearance calendar. “Goodness, I guess I’ve mixed up the days,” Eleanor said, over the hammering that started pounding from the nursery.
“Ah, the nursery. I haven’t had a chance to peek my head in there. Best if I go in and introduce myself.”
Eleanor followed William down the hall and into the bedroom. William extended his soft hand and shook Bernie’s calloused one.
“Nice to meet you,” William said, smiling. “Looks like you’ve got your work cut out for you in here.”
“You’ve got a house with good bones, sir. No trouble at all.” Eleanor had always thought of William as tall, but she couldn’t help but notice how much taller Bernie was.
* * *
Eleanor threaded her arm through William’s as they walked through the theater to the ballroom. She was giddy to be out of the house, even if it was for one of Rose Pride’s events. At least she was breathing the fresh air and, most importantly, holding on to her husband’s arm. Everything in her life seemed brighter when he was by her side. She had missed him.
“You look lovely,” he breathed into her ear. “I can’t wait to get you back home.”
She giggled. “Don’t start none.”
“Consider this my reservation for later,” he said, and let his hand fall down her waist, and Eleanor melted against him as they sailed across the parquet floors.
They had been instructed by Rose to arrive five minutes after the program was set to start, so that they could get to their seats without anyone stopping them. Already seated at the many round tables were the who’s who of Washington, D.C., and Eleanor watched as William waved to several of his colleagues. She saw a few women who had attended Howard with her, but just smiled as she held on to William and they made their way to the table. The stuffing around her middle felt secure, and the loose dress she wore created a tent that concealed her shape, but it was her face that worried her. She knew she lacked the pudge that came with pregnancy, so she had added extra blush to her cheeks to give herself that pregnancy glow. William led her to their table, across from his parents and two other couples that Eleanor recognized as friends of theirs. The master of ceremonies had gotten choked up talking about Dr. Drew and took a few seconds to clear his throat, then dabbed at his eyes with a white handkerchief before continuing.
“?‘So much of our energy is spent in overcoming the constricting environment in which we live that little energy is left for creating new ideas or things. Whenever, however, one breaks out of this rather high-walled prison of the “Negro problem” by virtue of some worthwhile contribution, not only is he himself allowed more freedom, but part of the wall crumbles. And so it should be the aim of every student in science to knock down at least one or two bricks of that wall by virtue of his own accomplishment.’ These are the wise words of our brother, Dr. Charles Drew, just three years before his untimely death.”