Catfish Alley (18 page)

"We have the first African-American
school...." Granted, that's a little bit of a lie, but I'm still convinced
I can work around Del Tanner somehow. "The home of the first black doctor
in Clarksville, Dr. Albert Jackson. And a very important African-American hotel
called the Queen City Hotel." I end my report by telling them that I will
follow up next month with a more extensive list and finalized plans. I'm now
holding my breath, hoping no one asks questions. Louisa is nodding, looking impressed.
Of course, Elsie is staring at me with those beady green eyes.

"Roxanne, darling," she says, "is the
Queen City that rundown old building over on Fifteenth?"

I'm squirming now. "Yes, it is a little rundown,
but there's a plan in the African-American community to do some
restoration." Another lie.
God is going to strike me down with
lightning.
"I thought I might approach this Rita
Baldwin you mentioned earlier." I'm proud of myself for having this
brainstorm. "Maybe she can convince her husband to get behind this
project."

"Oh," Elsie says. "Well, I hope so,
because my maid says she won't even drive through that area, it's gotten so bad
with gangs and all, and she's black, of course." Elsie immediately starts
talking in whispers with the women seated next to her.

I decide not to respond to this last comment, and since
no one has any other items for discussion, the meeting draws mercifully to a
close. As the ladies drift toward the door I stay at the table and press
Louisa's arm.

"Have you got that diary for me?" I ask.

"Yes," she says. "It's in here."
She gets up and walks over to the sideboard and opens a drawer. "Maybe you
can read it better than I can, you being a Southerner." I'm wondering what
that has to do with reading handwriting. "I can't make head or tail of it.
I was hoping it might have some information about the house ... you know, for
the restoration and all."

I feel a tremor of hope now. Maybe she's trying to tell
me I'm going to get the job. I notice that Elsie is staring our way, probably
wanting to stick her nose in what we're doing.

I quickly tuck the diary into my purse. "I'll read
it over and be in touch," I say, turning my back toward Elsie. I say my
good-byes and make my way toward the door. Little does Louisa Humboldt know
that I'm not nearly as interested in the details of the Riverview mansion as I
am in the black man called Zero.

I can hardly hold my eyes open, but I am determined to
read at least a little bit of Ellen Davenport's diary tonight, so I take the
worn leather-bound book and crawl into bed with it. I'm still exhausted from
that meeting today, and I realize that I'm looking forward to my next
get-together with Grace Clark more than anything I have to do related to the
pilgrimage or the committee people. What a strange turn of events this has
been.

I snuggle into my pillows, taking the ones from
Dudley's side of the bed, too. After all, he's not here to use them. For a
moment I'm sad not to have his long, lanky frame sprawled out beside me. If
nothing else, his presence always gave me a sense of security. I try to push
the thoughts away and pick up the diary. I feel something tonight that I
haven't felt before, and I can't identify it. I sit here, the diary open on my
lap, my sleepiness fading into wakefulness. Longing, that's what it is. I'm
longing for something ... or someone? I examine the possibilities and realize
it's not Dudley. I think about sex with him. That was fine until I found out
about the graduate student; then I lost all my confidence. No, it's not sexual
... It's more about having a relationship with another person who really knows
me, not for the role I fulfill — like wife, or mother, or chairperson. Once
again, I push the nagging thoughts away. I need to try and decipher a little of
this diary before I sleep.

The pages are yellowed and swollen as if it was dropped
in water at some point. The handwriting is loopy and girlish. I try to imagine
Ellen Davenport as a young girl.

The older Ellen Davenport, whom I visited years ago,
was a lonely old spinster who was eating herself into oblivion.
Dear God, please don't let me turn
out like that!
Maybe I should call Dudley.
Stop that!
I turn to the first page....

Ellen
Elizabeth Davenport

Clarksville, Mississippi 1931
August 7, 9 p.m.

Mama gave me this journal for my
sixteenth birthday. She said I should use it for writing poetry, but
I
've had it for two years now and
never written one word of poetry, so I decided to write about what's happening
to me right here, right now, in Clarksville, Mississippi. I can't tell anybody
my secret and
I
feel like
I
'll
explode if
I
don't
write it down.

Andy Benton wants to marry me! We
met yesterday, like we do every week, at the sawmill. Until I started secretly meeting
Andy, it was always so boring to have to go down there each Thursday and bring
Daddy lunch. He could care less about seeing us, but Mama insists. She says she
wants Daddy to feel supported. Sounds like hooey to me. I think she just wants
to check up on him.

Anyway, if I hadn't gone down there
with Mama, I never would have met Andy in the first place. I noticed him
because that awful Ray Tanner was yelling at him about something. I had stepped
out onto the porch of the office to get some air and Ray didn't see me. Andy
looked at me over Ray's shoulder and smiled. Then Ray just yelled at him more
for smiling.

So every week, while Mama and Daddy
are talking after lunch, I say I want to get some air, and I go out on the
shaded side of the porch. Then Andy comes up next to the building real close,
so no one can see him, and talks to me for a few minutes.

And now, after meeting for only a
few weeks, Andy has practically begged me to marry him! I can't believe it!
He's just so adorable with his freckles and blond hair. I think we'll make
beautiful babies together. Maybe I'll let our children read this so that
they'll know how exciting it was when their daddy and I ran away together. Andy
says he only works at the mill because there's no other place to find work now.
Still, I know Daddy would never approve of me marrying him. He and Mama have
this idea that I will marry some distant cousin on my mother's side. They think
I'm not pretty enough or smart enough to catch a boy on my own, but I'll show
them.

I have to be careful now. Andy is my
secret and I don't want anyone to take him away from me! Andy thinks I'm
pretty. He even said so. We're going to run away and get married and he'll find
work down in New Orleans. He'll make lots of money and someday we'll come back
and Papa will see that he should have been nicer to Andy.

As much as I love Andy, I don't want
to be stupid. I told him I have to see a ring first to be sure he's serious. If
he can come up with the money to buy me a ring, then I'll know he really wants
to marry me. So, I'm waiting, waiting, waiting.

August 13, 8 p.m.

Still no ring yet. Today at the
sawmill he said he's working on it. He tried again to get me to run away with
him without an engagement ring, but I said no. I wish I could tell Mama how I'm
holding out for this. She would be proud of me. I think Sarah Jane knows
something is different. She's been watching me real close. I never could keep
secrets from her very well. She's been with our family so long she's
practically like a sister to me. But if I tell her, what if she tells Mama? I
might just have to take that risk, because I might need her help. I just don't
know what to do!

August 14, 8:30
p.m.

I told Sarah Jane today! I think she
was happy for me just a little bit, I could tell. But she told me I'd better be
careful. She's worried about me, but I told her I'll be just fine. I'm
completely in love with Andy and we're going to be so happy together. She says
I don't know what I'm getting into, that I'm used to having nice things and plenty
to eat. But I told her that I'm stronger than she thinks. I am a little worried
about cooking, though. Sometimes I hang around the kitchen and watch Josephine
cooking our meals, but I've never really done it myself. It doesn't look too
hard. It's just so hot in there, I'm not sure I could stand the heat. Maybe
Andy and I could afford to hire just one person. Maybe Sarah Jane would leave
and come work for us! I'll ask her about it tomorrow!

August 20, 9:30
p.m.

It's really going to happen! Andy
told me today that he's saved enough money to buy the ring and pay the justice
of the peace. I told Sarah Jane, but she didn't look happy for me at all today.
As a matter of fact, she's been downright sullen lately. She doesn't talk much
and goes off by herself whenever she's not cleaning or serving at the table. I
don't understand it. I know she works for us, but I thought we were friends,
too. She won't talk to me about whatever's wrong. But I can't let her stand in
the way of my happiness. Andy says he'll bring the ring Saturday night between
midnight and one in the morning. That means I'll just have to stay awake,
because if I fall asleep I might miss him! And then, our plan is to meet early
Monday morning behind the feed store. He's going to borrow his brother's car.
We'll drive over to Yalobusha County to Itta Bena and get married and then
we'll board the bus headed for Louisiana and our new life together! I better
stop writing and get packed.

August 23, 1:30
a.m.

The strangest thing happened
tonight. Andy didn't deliver the ring himself and I still don't know why. He
had Zero Clark deliver it. Of course, I've known Zero since I was a little
girl. He's friends with Sarah Jane. She makes eyes at him every time he makes
vegetable deliveries to Josephine from the Calhoun farm. And until

Daddy bought a car, he always took
care of our horses when we visited the Calhouns. But I sure didn't expect to
see Zero under my balcony at half past midnight! It liked to scared me to
death!

The ring is pretty enough. It's a
very small silver band, but it's a start. At least I know Andy's serious now.
The note inside the box only says, "I'll explain later. Meet me behind the
feed store at five o'clock Monday morning." I only have to get through the
rest of today and then I'll be with Andy forever!

Roxanne

Rita Baldwin and I just ordered our food and I can't
help but notice how Mary Ellen Sanders keeps glancing in our direction from
behind the counter. I find myself remembering those Sunday nights as a little
girl when Daddy let me stay up late and watch
Candid Camera
with him. He loved the absurdity of it all — seeing people make fools of
themselves. Even then, I cringed at the horror of being caught on camera
looking so foolish. Today, trying not to stare at Rita Baldwin's impeccable
skin and nails or the suit she's wearing that fits her full body so well, I
feel like at any moment a cameraman will step up and say, "Roxanne Reeves,
smile! You're on
Candid Camera!"
Then Allen Funt
will step out and explain how they wanted to capture the awkwardness of a white
woman like me having lunch with a black woman.
How
would we look? Like two businesswomen having a working lunch? Like friends?
Probably not, since I'm not sure what that looks like. I'm asking myself for
the hundredth time why I invited Rita to lunch. Is this my little vendetta
against Elsie Spencer? Am I just asking to
not
be reelected as pilgrimage director next year? Maybe, in the end, what it boils
down to is curiosity. Rita is about my age, well-dressed, articulate. I wonder
if she can tell that I'm sizing her up. As we return our menus to the waitress,
I'm about to take control of the conversation in my usual manner when Rita
beats me to it.

"I'm glad we got a chance to have lunch. The
reason I wanted to talk to you personally is to get your sense of what it will
be like for a black woman to participate in the Pilgrimage Tour in Clarksville.
So far, I'm not sensing a lot of openness about the idea from the women I've
met."

I'm so caught off guard by her directness that I'm
pretty sure my mouth stays open for several seconds before anything comes out.
This was not at all what I expected. Who is this woman? How do I answer her,
knowing that I'm supposed to be discouraging her, even making up some reason to
keep her out of the pilgrimage? All because
it
might be awkward for Elsie Spencer or Dottie Lollar? I stumble for words.
"I ... well ... I'm sure it would be fine ... well, maybe not fine, but
... um ... challenging ... different...." I'm so mad at myself right now.
I'm coming off as incompetent and addled. Why didn't I figure out what to say
ahead of time?