Celeste's Harlem Renaissance (29 page)

“Does she like anybody?” Evalina asked. After complimenting each other on how fine we looked, we hit Hargett Street. “Have you found someone to watch her so you can go with us to the fair tomorrow?” she asked.

“No. This might be the closest I get to the fair,” I replied. “Tarnation!”

I was finally out and free at last, for a little while. Hargett was full of cars and Colored people moving about. Chanting “tarnation,” we switched our hips up the street, and got looks from menfolks! There were plenty of places to stay in Durham — called the “Old Black Wall Street” because it had so many Colored businesses — so many folks stayed over there, too. Mr. Toodlums was so tied up with guests I had a hard time getting his attention. “She hasn’t checked in yet,” he finally said.

“But she said she’d be here by this afternoon,” I told him, trying to keep the disappointment from my voice. “She —”

“Oh, she’s in town. Mr. Shepperson picked her and the other show folks up at the train station. He took them out to the fair so they could rehearse. You girls wait on the divan in the corner so you don’t be in the way.”

After waiting for over an hour, I had to leave. I was so let down tears burned in my eyes. Now when could I see her? Would she come to the house? Angel Mae, Evalina, and Swan left with me. I knew they were sore at me that they had worn their good silk hose in the dust for nothing. But for once everybody stayed quiet, even Evalina. We said good-bye at our usual corner.

Mr. Smithfield was in the porch swing, smoking and fanning himself with his newspaper, when I returned. “Your Raleigh aunt’s fine,” he said. “I swear, I’m sorry I gave her that bell! She about near played a song on that thing, ringing it so many times this afternoon. Where’s your beautiful New York aunt?”

“At the fair practicing. Did Aunt Society recognize you? She did? Well, that’s good.” I hesitated. Mr. Smithfield was a man of the world. Maybe he’d have an opinion that Mrs. Smithfield and Mrs. Bracy couldn’t give. “Mr. Smithfield, Aunti Val wants me to go back to New York with her,” I said softly.

Mr. Smithfield drew in a long puff of his cigar, studying me. “Oh, no,” he said, blowing out a stream of smoke. “You don’t want to do that. Society nearly talked my ear off about how she prayed you wouldn’t go off from her again.” He stood up. “I got to head on. Maybe I’ll see Valentina tomorrow. Cece, don’t leave this ole lady,” he said once more. “I swear she’d have another stroke if you did. She called you her baby.”

“Her baby?” I thanked him, and then I peeked in the kitchen, where she still sat, iron-faced. Her baby? “I’m back,” I said, though she could see that. “Can I get you anything?”

“No. She here?”

“Yes, ma’am, at the fair.”

Aunt Society lowered her head and fingered the frill on her apron dress. I helped her to go sit on the back porch so she could watch the sun go down. She liked that. Just in case Aunti Val stopped by that night, I fixed some more sweet tea and set our prettiest glasses out on the sideboard in the parlor. We had half a pecan pie from Mrs. Smithfield, and I’d fried chicken yesterday. It wasn’t much but it was the best I could offer.

Just then somebody knocked on the front door.
She here?
I rushed to the porch. It was Miss Josie, Evalina’s mother. “Evalina told me you didn’t think you could go to the fair with the girls tomorrow,” she began. “If your aunt doesn’t mind, I’ll sit with her tomorrow. You just tell me what I need to do. Neighbors got to look out for one another, when they can.”

“Would you? Oh, I love you! Aunt Society, Miss Josie’s here.” I led her through the house to the back porch, wondering if my aunt would remember her. Miss Josie’d been one of Momma’s good friends. She hadn’t stepped foot into our house, though, since Aunt Society had moved in, when they’d started battling over the bird poop.

Aunt Society looked up at Miss Josie curiously. “It’s Evalina’s momma,” I told her. “She wants to sit with you tomorrow so I can go with Mrs. Bracy and them. Ain’t that something? I can give you your medicines before I go, and have everything fixed for you.”

Aunt Society raised her good hand up to her mouth. “Mercy me, really? I haven’t seen you in years.”

Miss Josie sat down and they exchanged pleasantries. I brought her out some sweet tea, but she declined the chicken and pie. We talked over plans for tomorrow. She’d be over by nine thirty. Mrs. Bracy’s bus would be at her house by ten. After she left, Aunt Society smiled bigger than she had in days. “I’ll be glad — glad to see her. Don’t nobody come to see me no more.”

“Well, I’m really happy that you remember her,” I said, relieved.

“Yes,” she said. She kept staring at me. Then she asked, “Now, who was she, again?”

Tears sprang into my eyes as I tried to make her remember who Evalina’s momma was. How could somebody remember things one minute and forget them the next? I even mentioned the duck poop. “Oh, yes,” she said. “I see them ducks. They’re pretty.”

I burst out laughing through my tears. “You like them?”

She nodded. “Course, I don’t go out in the backyard no more.” She stood up and I walked her back to her room. She’d been unsteady on her feet lately. I glanced at the framed needlework picture of the fishermen on the wall. On impulse I took it down and wiped off a thick layer of dust. Attached to the frame’s felt back was a yellowed piece of paper with Poppa’s handwriting: “Presented to my baby Celeste Lassiter Massey on her first birthday.”

My mouth fell open. Below it was Aunt Society’s quivery signature. “You did this?” I held it out to her, and pointed out her signature.

“I made both of ’em, for you,” she said. “Matched set. They won first place premium at our fair. See, that’s my name. I wrote it.”

“This is beautiful work. And you remember doing them for me. But what,” I asked carefully, “does ‘my baby’ mean?” Was I about to get another BIG surprise? Oh, heavenly Father, please, no!

“Elizabeth wrote those words,” she said slowly. “I teased your Momma, calling you
my
baby. Fat brown toes. Big hazel eyes. I planted that bush for you. You played that bush song for me when I was so sick, and it made me feel better.”

I listened, amazed at her sudden clear memory. And then I recalled that she had told me before how my violin playing had made her feel better. I gently rubbed my aunt’s weaker hand.

We sat there studying her embroidery. Suddenly she looked up at me, and stared. She lifted her good hand to her mouth. “I’m sorry, I forgot your name.”

I looked into her eyes, filling with tears. So did mine. “I’m Celeste, Cece, your — your baby.” Tears rolled down my face. “And you’re Aunt Society, remember?”

“Are you going to leave me?” she whispered. “I just don’t know what I’d do if you left me all by myself.”

“No, ma’am, I’m not gonna leave you,” I told her. “I’m gonna stay right here with you, right here in Raleigh.”

She touched my chin with her good hand. “You promise?”

“I promise.” I kissed her wrinkly cheek. “Well, I mean I got to go to the grocery store and things like that,” I said carefully. “And out with my friends.”

“Well, of course,” she murmured, and closed her eyes.

With trembling hands I replaced the needlework on her wall, then I went to my room. I lay down on my bed, and had a long, sad cry. That was that for going back to Harlem with Aunti Val. But I think I already knew that when I read her invitation. In a bit I got up, and swept floors, dusted, cooked, and straightened for Miss Josie tomorrow. I fell into bed around midnight. Aunti Val didn’t show up.

The next morning I showed Miss Josie where everything was. I’d already written instructions for Aunt Society’s medicines and food. Miss Josie was as loudmouthed as Evalina was, but Aunt Society didn’t seem to remember that part about her as Miss Josie talked with me.

“Aunt Society, do you know who this is?” I asked. “Sometimes she gets a bit forgetful,” I told Miss Josie.

“Course I do. That’s Josie with the ducks,” she replied. We laughed. I told Aunt Society that I would be right back, and not to worry about anything. She said all right.

When I climbed onto Mrs. Bracy’s rickety bus at Evalina’s, the other kids cheered. “Why’re they doing that?” I whispered to Angel Mae.

“ ’Cause you’re finally on the bus and we can go,” said Evalina, who’d heard me.

“Quiet, children, quiet.” Mrs. Bracy stood at the front of the bus. “You all know that Celeste hasn’t been able to attend school due to sickness in her family. Cece, your letter touched me so that I read it to Mrs. Edmund and Miss Addie and some other members of our women’s group at church. They all cried. They’re going to come take care of your aunt every day so that you can go to school. I think they’re also going to talk with your aunt’s church and woo them into helping again. The power of your words, Cece, and the power of the good Lord all work together for good.”

Everybody applauded. “Oh, my, God is good! Is that why Mrs. Smithfield brought over that lady to our house on Labor Day?” was all that I could think to say.

Mrs. Bracy bent over and whispered, “She was sizing up your aunt. She’d heard the horror stories.”

“Can we go now?” Leon shouted from the back of the bus. Mrs. Bracy nodded to her husband, who was driving, and we pulled off for downtown and the parade. While Evalina, Angel Mae, and Swan jabbered around me, I was trying to get my brain reorganized. St. Paul had just freed me up to go to school — and to New York! But I’d promised Aunt Society I’d stay home with her. I had to keep that promise, didn’t I? Or did I? Would she remember my promise?

We swarmed off the bus and jostled for the good spots along the parade route. Shaw University’s band started out first, followed by Mr. O’Kelly, our fair’s association president, and the other dignitaries in fancy cars. I recognized Mr. Lightner, the businessman, and Miss S. L. Delany, our fair’s Superintendent of Art and Literary Work. She’d read some of my poems last year, and liked them. One of her brothers was a doctor, and a sister was in dental school in New York. Her father was Bishop Delany at Saint Augustine’s. I’d forgot about her. Maybe her family could help me when the time came. The uniformed parade and fair marshals on horseback reminded me of Mr. Garvey’s African Legion and his auxiliaries, except that I knew these folks. I stood straighter and waved proudly.

“Look, look, in the red cloche hat and green feather boa!” I shouted, pointing. “See, sitting in that Pierce-Arrow. It’s my Aunti Val! Aunti Val!” I kept screaming until she finally turned my way and, standing up in the car, blew me a kiss!

“She’s so pretty!” Evalina yelled. We jumped around and hollered until Mrs. Bracy hushed us. After my aunt rolled by, I wasn’t much interested in the rest of the parade. Afterward, we returned to the bus and rattled away to the fairgrounds.

“No wonder you loved living in New York,” said Swan. “She looks so glamorous! I bet being with her was like living with a queen.”

“It was that, all right,” I said, smiling so she wouldn’t question my answer. “You think your entry will win, Angel Mae?”

“Probably not,” she replied. “I had to replace the lids on my jars three times before Momma said they were on right.”

“Our fair shows off what we Colored have accomplished each year from all over the state in farm, field, home, and health,” said Mrs. Bracy, who’d been listening. “It has to have the highest standards. They can’t give first, second, and third place premiums for just anything.”

“Yeah, but those rules are still calamitous,” Angel Mae whispered.

We drove under a gigantic
WELCOME TO THE GREAT NEGRO STATE FAIR
banner into the fairgrounds, already packed with people. We piled out of the bus into steamy, smelly air. “Pig poop!” Angel Mae pinched her nose so she wouldn’t have to smell the stink.

The boys and Evalina wanted to see the pigs, cows, chickens, and lambs, and watch the motorcycle and horse races first. We other girls wanted to see the home economic demonstrations in the women’s building. We all planned to hit the midway, scream on the rides, and eat cotton candy. Mrs. Bracy, however, said we had to listen to Governor Cameron Morrison first. Then we were to see how our kids did with their entries and view exhibits from Saint Augustine’s School, A&T College, and the State Negro Deaf and Dumb School. After that we’d be free to do as we pleased. We stood out in the steamy, funky, hot autumn air while Governor Morrison flapped his lips about how fortunate we Colored were to pick tobacco and cotton in his fine agricultural state of North Carolina. Our Colored leaders Frederick Douglass and Booker T. Washington had come to our fair and spoken in past years. I’d rather have heard somebody like them — but they were dead — or Mr. James Weldon Johnson. Had he gotten my letter yet?

As we walked around, I kept looking for Big Willie. I had told him in my last letter about opening day and that I planned to be there. With so many people, though, it’d be almost impossible for us to see each other. Still, I kept up my hopes.

A few older girls and boys won premiums from Raleigh, but none of my friends did. Best peck of oats! Best collection of vegetable seeds saved from a home garden! Best bale of hay! Best home-cured country ham! Best beef cattle, best dairy cattle, best hog! Best pig, for boys’ and girls’ Pig Club, which was what Evalina had wanted to enter. Best cake, pie, cookie, butter, cheese, jelly, and jam! Best fancy needlework and millinery, where Aunt Society had won first place so long ago! I wondered if she was behaving for Miss Josie. Bless her heart, I hoped she wasn’t worrying over whether I’d come back to her. If she even remembered. I’d be back, the Lord willing. That thought didn’t dismay me, either. I just wanted to see what Aunti Val was going to say.

At last Mrs. Bracy let us split up. Angel Mae, Swan, Evalina, and I and some other girls shot off to find Aunti Val’s show. We looked and looked through the fair program and finally found a listing for
Stride Along Show with Val Chavis.
“Wonder why they changed the name?” I said. I’d have to ask her. We found the performance area, actually a large room, and settled in. The stage was tiny compared to the Sixty-third Street Theater.

When Aunti Val strutted out in a silky short red and black dress, green feather boa, and slinky see-through pumps, men whistled and ladies gasped. So did we! She looked like a hoochiecoochie woman! This was much different from the Oriental and other outfits she wore for
Shuffle Along
in New York. Instead of a full orchestra she had a drummer, a pianist, a trumpeter, and a bass player. After introducing herself and the musicians, she pranced back and forth, belting out her songs. She was truly the star!