The House of Eve (84)
It was Georgia Mae. Her shoulders drooped forward, and her thin top was damp with milk rings.
“What’s wrong?” My voice was husky with sleep.
She collapsed into a heap on her cot. The cry that emerged from her mouth sounded like a wound that would never heal.
“Nooo” came from her lips, and I was startled that Georgia Mae had a voice. This whole time I thought she had been born special.
“Georgia Mae? What happened?”
“They. Took. Him. Away. They took my baby. My David.”
I moved next to her on her cot and rocked her in my arms. Soon, the top of my gown was soaked in her tears. Finally her moans died to a muffle, and we sat in silence for a bit. After a few minutes, Georgia Mae turned her face up to the ceiling. Her eyes were dead, but her lips started moving.
“This my second child by that man.” She dragged out the word “man” with venom. “I work in their nice house, filled with their fancy things. Cleanin’ and chasin’ behind their nasty kids.” Her voice was hoarse but deep. She fell quiet for a while. So quiet that I thought she had retreated into herself again. Georgia Mae touched her hands to her stomach. It had caved in like a baked cake that had fallen just before it rose.
“First child I had by him at thirteen. Only had my monthly visitor two times before he catch me in the shed. That wife, she pretend not to know. Even when my belly grow. After the baby came, someone from the state show up at the house and took my girl away.” Her voice quivered. “I named that one Charlotte.”
Georgia Mae stared at the wall, never looking my way. Her pain weaved itself around me, choking me like it was my own.
“When he caught me again and my belly poked, that wife always pickin’ on me. Say I’m a whore, called me prostitute. Always shoutin’ mean things. Then she told me to get in the car and brought me here.”
“You had an aunt that you hoped would take David?” I asked, recalling the conversation I had overheard.
She shook her head yes. “I scratched out a letter to my aunt when I got here, and she agreed. They all said yes, but they lie. All of them.” She started crying again.
“What happened downstairs?” I asked.
She wiped her face with the edge of her shirt. “David was feedin’. It was late, middle of the night when I heard footsteps. Then three of them burst through the door. Two of those lifer girls held me down while the nurse snatched David right from my tit. He wailed as his milk leaked down my waist. When I tried to get up to follow him, they closed the door and locked me in. I banged and banged but they left with my baby.” Fresh tears flowed down her cheeks and I pulled her tight.
“Ain’t right to birth two babies and not have none.”
After she told me everything, Georgia Mae lost her voice again. The next morning, she was moved from our room, down to the laundry with the rest of the lifers. Loretta and I didn’t see her much, but when we did, she barely made eye contact. And I never heard her voice again.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR STRANGE FRUIT
Eleanor
When the Thanksgiving Day Parade ended, Eleanor let the television run as background noise, while she worked on a 275-piece Whitman jigsaw puzzle that her father had sent her called Off to the Chase. It had a picture of a red-coated Englishman on a horse surrounded by hound dogs out on a hunt. Working a puzzle was a holiday tradition that she had shared with her father until she left for Howard, and as Eleanor’s fingers moved over the pieces, pressing them into place, she felt at peace.
The sun was long gone when Eleanor drew herself a hot lavender bath, and it wasn’t until she sank into the soapy water that her brain started clicking. It was as if the steam from the bath loosened the barrier she had constructed around her mind that blocked Theodore’s engagement party out.
Knowing Rose, Eleanor was sure the engagement party was taking place at the fanciest venue where Negroes were permitted. The table would be set with elaborate sprays of flowers, illuminated with white pillar candles. All the guests would be draped in their finest clothing, trendy hats, gold watches and sparkly jewels.
Theodore Pride, whom Eleanor had only met a handful of times because he lived in New York, would sit at the helm with his lovely bride-to-be smiling up at him, much to Rose Pride’s delight.
Her darling William would be wearing his navy morning suit that had been tailored just right. Greta would be seated across from him. Eleanor could picture it: Greta’s straight hair twirling off her shoulders and a sweetheart neckline boosting her cleavage. Whenever William made one of his jokes she would lean forward and giggle, giving him a peek of what she had to offer. All while her eyes conveyed: I am a much better lay than your wife. Let me show you.
All the families present at the party were rooted in similar histories. They had attended the same universities—Spelman, Morehouse, Hampton and Howard—and run in the same social circles and intermarried for generations.
As Eleanor scooped water over her face, she tried to keep from imagining the worst. William loved her and that was all that mattered. She had a beautiful roof over her head, and they were having a baby. It didn’t matter where it came from, the child would be theirs and they would love it. Nothing at that engagement dinner could change that, not even Greta.
* * *
On Friday, Eleanor ignored the turkey still in the fridge and made herself some Aunt Jemima pancakes. As she poured a dribble of warm syrup over her plate, she was startled by a knock at the back door. It was Bernie, peering through the glass. Eleanor hadn’t put on her stomach paddings, so she turned her back and hurried from the kitchen, hoping he wouldn’t get a glimpse of her flat belly through the sheer curtains. When she returned to let him in, she reminded herself to waddle.