Harlem Redux (37 page)

Later that day, he went to Annie in the laundry room and told her: “I just thought you should know. I plan to ask Miss Rachel to marry me.”

Annie was folding towels. She was quiet at first, getting used to the idea, he supposed. Then she looked at him. “Do you love her?”

He was quiet for a moment. “I care for her.”

She took a deep breath and went back to folding. “So, it’s really ‘cause of the baby?”

“Sort of.” He folded his arms across his chest. “And because I need someone. I can’t stay in Harlem—don’t ask me why—and when I leave, I’m going to take her with me.” He touched her elbow. “Don’t you like her? I thought you’d be ... well, happy, to hear that I’m going to do right by her.”

“Two wrongs don’t make a right,” she said and went back to folding a bath towel, taking extra care to match the corners. “I’d like to see you marry somebody you love. I know that girl’s been crazy about you since she first laid eyes on you. She so fulla love for you, she cain’t see straight. And right now, it prob’ly won’t much
matter to her that your feelings ain’t the same. I mean—you ain’t lied to her or nothing, has you, saying something you don’t mean?”

“No, I’ve been honest.”

“Well, I guess she don’t know it yet—or she don’t care—but she’ll find out. It can be awful hard on a woman living with a man that don’t love her. All them feelings going out and nothing coming in ... it’s kinda like starving.”

He thought again of Lila and Augustus, of Lilian and Sweet. “I’ll take good care of her. It doesn’t have to turn out badly. Maybe the love’ll come later.”

“Maybe ... But maybe, it won’t.” She looked at him. “You really think it’s gonna come with you?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well, you best be thinking long and hard about it, Mr. David, ‘cause when you say them words ‘I do,’ you cain’t never take them back.”

She picked up another towel and spread it out flat on the countertop. “And what you gonna do about the house?”

He licked his lips. “I wanted to talk to you about that. Annie, like I said, I can’t stay here—but I’m going to make sure Mr. Jameson’s out of the house.”

“He ain’t going nowhere if he finds out you ain’t gonna stay here.”

“He’ll leave. One way or another, he’ll go. What I want to talk to you about is what happens after he’s gone.”

She blinked, her eyes wide with sudden understanding. “Don’t tell me you gonna sell this place—”

“No ... No, I’m not. But I am going to have to rent it out.”

Panic flashed across her face. “Oh my God, you gonna put me out?”

“No, of course not.”

Stunned and hurt, she put a hand to her mouth. A little sound escaped. She blinked and turned away. He put an arm around her shoulder.

“Don’t worry, please. No matter what, you’re going to be able to stay here.”

She just shook her head, soundlessly.

“I am
not
going to put you out,” he repeated. “And I’m not going to let anyone else do it either.”

She put a trembling hand on the counter to steady herself. “Oh, Mr. David, you don’t understand. You just don’t understand.” She turned her wrinkled face toward him. Tears shimmered in her eyes. “This house,” she
 
whispered. “This house—I done spent more’n halfa my life taking care of you and your fam’ly. I don’t wanna work for nobody else. I
won’t
work for nobody else.”

“Annie, calm down.”

“You just don’t understand.”

“I do understand—”

“No, you don’t. You don’t understand nothing—not nothing.”

She turned away. He let his hands drop and sighed.

The problem was, he did understand. He understood oh, so well.

25. The Proposal

The sun hung low in the sky with a dull, metallic gleam. The air was cool and damp and looked like it would stay that way forever. It was that time of year when it’s hard to believe there ever was or ever
will be another summer.

David began his day with another visit to Lilian’s grave. He stood there for a long, long time. A tidal wave of grief and despair surged inside him. He tried to contain his pain, his hands clasped tightly before him, but as the emotional pressure in his chest swelled and expanded, he felt as though he might explode. Closing his eyes, he let the pain wash over him. He rolled with it, like a man tossed and tumbled by the sea. His chest constricted; he couldn’t breathe. And like a man adrift, he wondered if he would ever reach shore again. Finally, the pain subsided. Numbness set in. He sank down on his haunches by the grave.

“I’ll never stop fighting for you, never,” he whispered, “but I have other responsibilities, too. What we did to Rachel—it wasn’t right. She deserved better. I wish we could change the past. But we can’t. And now there’s no turning back. You must understand. There is no turning back.”

There was no answer, just a still and mournful silence.

Rachel had the day off. David picked her up late that afternoon. They walked through the park path along Riverside Drive. Couples strolling along hugged one another against the cold. Others took turns pushing prams. A few children rode battered bicycles while their friends ran alongside. David thought of Isabella. She would have been three years old, able to run, climb, get into mischief, and keep up a constant chatter. Then he caught himself. He was yearning for a child he would never hold. Putting one hand on the small of Rachel’s back, he guided her to the edge of the path. It was a quiet spot, from which they could clearly see across the Hudson River.

The water was a filthy blue-gray. And the skyline beyond it was less than significant. Yet the scene had its own melancholy beauty. David’s gaze dwelled on the water. The Hudson had always fascinated him. Its swift current had stirred his young man’s heart with thoughts of travel. It had beguiled him with hints of life beyond the horizon, of days filled with adventure, danger, and delight. There were fortunes to be made and worlds to be conquered if only one had the guts to step beyond the shore. The river, the river: It promised the freedom to wander, but never once mentioned the loneliness of exile.

“Rachel, you’ve told me it’s time to look toward the future. You’re right.”

He felt her tense.

“You’re leaving?” she asked.

“Yes... but—”

“Don’t worry. I won’t try to keep you.”

He took her hands in his and brought them to his lips. Her fingers were cold. Exhaling puffs of warm air on them, he massaged them gently.

“I want to buy you some gloves. The warmest I can find.”

“That’s very kind, but you don’t need to.”

She withdrew her hands from his and put them into her pocket. Her sudden coolness dismayed him. He tried to remember all the sweet words he’d rehearsed, but could recall none of them. So he went straight to the heart of the matter. He reached into his coat pocket and brought out a small jeweler’s box covered in blue velvet. He opened it to reveal a ring, a tear-shaped diamond on a slender gold band. Her eyes widened at the sight of it.

“I’m asking you to be my wife. I promise, here and now, to honor and respect you, as long as we both shall live.” He took a deep breath and his voice broke. “Marry me, Rachel. Believe in me. Trust me, again. And the loving won’t have to hurt for it to be real.”

She swallowed hard. Tears welled in her eyes as she looked at the ring. “It’s beautiful... but I can’t accept it.”

His heart thudded. “Why not?”

“You’re only proposing out of guilt.”

“I should’ve asked you long ago.”

“You’re only asking now because of Isabella.”

“Isabella was simply the kick I needed.”

Silent and skeptical, she turned her face away. He cupped her chin and made her look at him.

“Rachel, I know life’s been hard on you, but it’s been hard on me, too.”

“Hard on
you?
’ You’re a McKay. You have a name, money.”

“But I don’t have you. And that makes all the difference. Now how about it? You gonna make an honest man of me?”

For a moment, she didn’t answer. Tears slid down her face. Pride and desire, those old foes, battled it out behind her eyes. Then she smiled and nodded jerkily.

It was all he needed.
 

She gasped as he slipped the ring onto the fourth finger of her left hand. He grabbed her up and kissed her face, her eyes, her lips, and the tip of her nose. He picked her up and swung her around. His heart had never felt lighter, his soul freer. He had finally done something right. He would be able to leave all the madness of Harlem and Philadelphia behind him.

“We’ll go somewhere, start fresh.”

“You mean not live on Strivers’ Row?”

“No. Once Sweet’s out of the house, I’ll rent it. We’ll find a new place. Start over.”

For the first time in years, he felt hope. He was so engaged with his vision of their future that it took him a while to notice that her smile had faltered.

“What’s the matter?”

Rachel hesitated. Her gaze went out over the Hudson, to the world beyond the river’s shore. “I was thinking about what leaving Harlem might mean. I don’t know if I can do that.”

His smile died. “You can’t mean that.”

“But I do.”

“Don’t you ever want to experience life outside of this place?”

She was quiet. “I did. Once. I never want to step foot outside Harlem again.”

“It’ll be different this time. You’ll be with me.”

“No, it’s not what you’re thinking. I don’t know if I can explain it. I need this place, somehow. Seeing the people in the neighborhood going about their daily lives. I don’t know—I feel strong here.”

He had never expected her to refuse to leave Harlem. There were black communities elsewhere that had something to offer. Yes, he could understand that like thousands of Harlemites, she might be indifferent to white New York. She might admire items on display in its downtown shops, applaud shows at its theaters, browse through books in its libraries, and every now and then sip coffee at one of its restaurants. She might even peruse its newspapers and cluck her tongue over “the doings of white folks.” But then she would promptly use the newsprint to wrap potato cuttings in. Never once would she consider herself a part of the silver metropolis. Hundreds of wealthy whites might stream toward black Harlem to visit its cabarets, but essentially white New York had nothing to do with her, or she with it, and she liked it that way.

David could understand all that. But it surprised him that she had absolutely no curiosity about life outside New York. Did she actually intend to live her life within the strict confines of Central Park to the south, Fifth Avenue to the east, St. Nicholas Park to the west, and 145th Street to the north?

It was as though she’d heard his thoughts.

“This is my portion, David, and I’m satisfied with it.” She faced him, her eyes darkly somber. “We have a home here, a place to build on. The house on Strivers’ Row might have bad memories now, but we can fill it with love. Think, David. We have friends here, a community. And we’re so lucky we do. We’re living in the heart of the world’s most exciting Negro community. So no, I’m not gonna leave it. And if you thought about it, really thought about it, you’d see that neither should you.”