Looking For Trouble (29 page)

John kissed Elizabeth slowly and tenderly. “C'mon, I'm going to take you to your surprise.”

Chapter 41

“W
here are we going?” Elizabeth asked John, filled with curiosity.

“You'll know when we get there.”

“Can you give me a hint about where or what it is, pretty please?” Elizabeth cooed, batting her long, dark lashes as she smiled.

“Your feminine wiles aren't going to work this time.” John laughed. “Besides, you'll see where we're headed soon enough.”

True to John's words, five minutes and two right turns later, Elizabeth knew exactly where they were going. A feeling of excitement and nervousness spread through her body as John slowly eased his car around a steep curve. Once they turned off the main road, they were greeted by majestic trees and splendid greenery, which set itself apart from the rest of the town.

Elizabeth took in a deep breath. “We're going to your parents' house, aren't we?”

“That's right.”

Although she had never been to the famed Small property, she'd always heard about its grandeur, especially from her brother. Maxx had practically lived under the Small family's roof during his senior year of high school. Elizabeth remembered Maxx's stories about how huge John's house was, how nicely it was decorated, and how they even had a mosaic-tiled pool in their backyard. But she hadn't just taken Maxx's word for how well the family lived, she'd heard the same thing from people in town. They'd boasted about the beautifully manicured lawn, imported Italian bricks, and sweeping windows, which all made it look like something straight out of a magazine.

The Smalls' home was one of the nicest houses in all of Nedine, black- or white-owned, and that hadn't sat well with the white establishment in their segregated town. But over time, Isaiah's wealth and reputation had grown so powerful that no one bothered him—and for good reason. The rumors that swirled around the Small property had always intrigued Elizabeth; and to this day, she didn't know what was really fact or fiction.

 

Legend had it that the KKK had tried to burn down the Smalls' grand estate shortly after Isaiah had erected the custom-built home. It was a known fact that the Klan in the town where the Smalls once lived had burned them out of their home when Isaiah had attempted to build a new one. But, obviously, he hadn't learned his lesson. Not only was he building a home large enough to house three families, he had the nerve to hire dozens of black men in town to work the two large tobacco farms he'd purchased, paying them a wage that was higher than most white people earned at the local factory. His audacity outraged the white community; they were determined to put him in his place and make an example of him.

However, the scheme they'd plotted was foiled, and the tale surrounding what had actually happened was a mystery that had become town folklore to this day.

It had been rumored that KKK members in Nedine and in two surrounding towns planned to burn the palatial house down to the ground, once final construction was complete. Late one Sunday evening, nearly forty white men gathered on the Small property carrying guns, torches, large rocks, Molotov cocktails, and an eight-foot cross. Some were drunk, some were sober, and all were ready to destroy the home they felt no Negro should ever own.

The angry mob was about to send a large rock sailing through the first-floor window, when a bone-chilling wind sliced through the hot night, leaving them motionless. In the blink of an eye, the temperature dropped so low that the men could see their breath clouding the air like giant plumes of smoke. It was unclear as to what happened next; but within a matter of minutes, every man who had assembled in Isaiah Small's front yard had retreated to his truck, heading for the hills.

The next day, the men never spoke a word beyond the murky details of what had happened after the sudden chill had gripped them. It was all a mystery, but one thing was certain—whatever they'd experienced in front of Isaiah Small's house had put a bone-numbing fear in each of their hearts, leaving none of them able to speak of it. And stranger still, it was said that within a few days of the event, some had moved their families to other towns, and one man even left the state altogether.

Over the more than three decades since that fateful night, rumors and speculation had shifted about what had actually happened. But there was one nugget of truth that was indisputable—no one messed with Isaiah Small, his family, or any of his business dealings.

 

Elizabeth had always wanted to see the Small property for herself, but she'd never had the opportunity. The Smalls lived on the opposite side of town from where she had grown up. Given the fact that she didn't have her own transportation, and that her mother held a strong dislike for the family, she might as well have been a virtual world away. Maxx had told her that the rumors and tall tales were ridiculous, and that the Smalls were just regular, down-to-earth folks who happened to live in the lap of luxury.

“So I'm finally going to visit the famed Small property. Are all those old wives' tales true?”

John sighed, and then chuckled. “You've heard some wild things, I'm sure.”

“You know how people in this town talk and gossip. They say your Grandma Allene put a spell on the Klan and ran them away from your house.”

“People love to make up outlandish tales. Gives them something to talk about.”

Elizabeth nodded in agreement. “So . . . I get to meet your folks, huh?” She tried to control the nervousness seeping into her voice, but her jittery hands gave her away.

“You've met my parents before, haven't you?”

“Yes, I see them in passing every now and then out in town. But, well . . . this is different.”

John glanced over at her. “You nervous?”

“A little.”

“Why?”

“What if they don't like me?”

“You mean the way your folks—excuse me, mainly your mother—doesn't like me?”

Elizabeth's heart sank a little. She felt awful just thinking about the bitter truth that she and John had discussed at length earlier that afternoon. She was embarrassed by her mother's backward, prejudiced views, and disappointed in the fact that her father had the spine of a jellyfish, basically cosigning Grace's outrageous behavior.

“I'm sorry, John,” Elizabeth said. “I've always prayed that my mother and the rest of my family would change their ways. It's hard for me to stomach their attitudes. But no matter what they think or how they feel, they can't stop me from being with you.”

John reached over and put his hand on top of her trembling fingers. “What you said in Maxx's room, it made me feel like the luckiest man in the world.” John cleared his throat. “When I said I want to be with you, I meant it from the bottom of my heart. This is a soul connection.”

She smiled and squeezed John's hand. “That means nothing, not even our families, can stand in our way.”

“My folks are going to love you. Trust me.”

When they turned onto the long road leading to John's parents' house, her eyes grew wide when she saw what looked like a small mansion in the distance. As they drew closer, she read the official-looking, large white placard that announced,
THE SMALL PROPERTY,
written in elegant calligraphy. She'd expected a nice home, but nothing as opulent as what sat just a hundred feet away.

Elizabeth had grown up in a modest three-bedroom, two-bathroom home; its most extravagant feature was the Frigidaire her mother had upgraded to five years ago after finally getting rid of their old-fashioned icebox.

But nice homes weren't entirely foreign to her, either. She'd had a glimpse of how the well-to-do lived when she'd visited the home of her privileged Spelman roommate, who hailed from one of Atlanta's most affluent black neighborhoods.

But none of those houses came close to the jaw-dropping abode in front of her. She turned and looked at John. Her mouth was open in silence; her voice was unable to register a sound.

John stared back at her as if to say,
This is no big deal.

“John,” she finally said, “your home is absolutely beautiful, and it's
huge
!”

John smiled. “This is my parents' home, not mine. My pad in Manhattan is a matchbox.”

Elizabeth swallowed hard, suddenly feeling smaller than her five-two frame. She couldn't help but think that some of her mother's dislike for the Smalls was rooted in jealousy, as much as it was in pure ignorance. Grace thought that people who looked like
them
shouldn't live in houses that looked like this—especially since she, with her nearly white skin, didn't.

John parked in the middle of the large, circular driveway in front of the house and turned off the engine. “You okay?”

“Honestly, I'm nervous. I don't come from a fancy family like yours,” Elizabeth said, looking out her window at the huge wraparound porch framing the house. She brought her hand to her mouth and sighed. “You know how backward my folks are. I just hope and pray that your parents don't think I'm anything like my people.”

John gently rubbed his fingers over Elizabeth's still-trembling hands. “First of all, my parents are two of the most down-to-earth people you'll ever meet. They're wealthy, but they've never forgotten where they came from. And second, your parents are who they are, and you're who you are.”

“Are you sure they won't flip their wigs when they see who you've brought home to meet them?”

“Of course, they won't.”

“How can you be so sure?”

John grinned, showing his straight, pearly white teeth. “I called my mother this morning and told her I'd be bringing you by for Sunday dinner.”

“Oh boy.”

John brought Elizabeth's hand to his mouth for a gentle kiss. When his soft lips met her flesh, all her jitters slowly melted away. She smiled and waited for him to walk around to her side of the car and open her door. “I love you, John,” she whispered as she braced herself for a meeting with her future.

Chapter 42

H
enrietta was in the kitchen, putting the finishing touches on the meal she was preparing, while Isaiah and Allene relaxed a few feet away in the family room. They were watching one of their favorite Westerns on the television and talking back to the screen. Henrietta smiled to herself as she listened to the sound of their laughter. This was part of what had become their Sunday routine over the years.

The day would start with Henrietta and Isaiah rising early, saying their prayers, and then reading Scripture together from their Bibles. After that, Henrietta would cook a small breakfast—nothing fancy—scrambled eggs, freshly made buttermilk biscuits, homemade strawberry jam, a colorful fruit salad, and gourmet coffee prepared from her French press. Once they finished their meal, they would shower, dress, and drive over to Allene's house in time to pick her up for the 11:00
A.M.
service at Rising Star
A.M.
E. Zion Church. Following an uplifting sermon from Reverend Raymond Daniels, they would head back home for a delicious family meal filled with good conversation. A few hours later, once they'd all taken a light after-dinner nap, Henrietta and Isaiah would round out their day by taking Allene home with a supply of hearty leftovers.

Henrietta stirred the slotted spoon in the simmering pot of the freshly snapped string beans she'd picked from her garden the day before. She smiled, thankful for her family and the little things that made her life full—like picking fresh vegetables from her own garden, cooking a good meal for her family, listening to her husband and mother-in-law enjoy each other's company, and having her son home, safe and sound, were the treasures that she knew were priceless.

As Henrietta thought about her many blessings, she said a quick prayer for her son's best friend, Maxx Sanders. “Jesus, please heal him and keep him safe,” she whispered aloud. She shook her head and thought about the young man's circumstances. She could still hear John's voice in her ear from his phone call last night.

 

She and Isaiah had been asleep when their phone rang well after midnight, pulling them from their slumber. As soon as John came on the line, her stomach tensed in knots, anticipating bad news. She hadn't wanted to think that John was in danger because Mama Allene had told Isaiah he'd be all right. But even with that knowledge, her motherly instincts led her to ask, “What's wrong, son? Has something happened to you?”

“No, Mama, I'm fine,” John assured her. “But Maxx is in the hospital.”

John had been calm in his recount of the details surrounding Maxx's shooting, but Henrietta heard the hidden fear beneath the strong layers of her son's voice.

She'd been worried that something like this would eventually happen. Maxx's womanizing had finally caught up to him, putting his life on the line. How many times had she told him to settle down, date one girl at a time, and lay off all the partying? Henrietta loved Maxx like he was her own son, and she'd worried, mothered, and fussed over him, just as she did with John.

She still remembered the long-ago afternoon when John had come home from school with a busted lip, disheveled clothes, and a note pinned to his bloodied shirt, and that had cemented Maxx into their lives.

“Maxx helped me, Mama,” John had said proudly. “And we beat those boys a lot worse than they beat us.”

Henrietta shook her head as she dabbed one of the cuts on John's cheek with a peroxide-soaked cotton ball. “I read that in the note. But no matter what those other boys said or did, you shouldn't have gotten into a fight with them. You should've called for your teacher.”

“But she won't on the playground.”

Henrietta cut her eyes and raised her brow.

“Excuse me.” John corrected himself, “She
wasn't
on the playground.”

A small part of Henrietta ached because she knew this was one of the reasons why her son had been attacked. Adults weren't the only ones who could be jealous and cruel.

“Mama, they said I talk like white folks and I think I'm better than them 'cause I'm rich and we live in a big house. Are we rich, Mama?”

“Don't listen to what those boys or anyone else says about the way you speak or how we live. Sometimes people say things just to hurt you, and this is one of those times. You're a good boy, John. You just keep minding your manners and do what your father and I tell you, and you'll be just fine, okay?”

John nodded. “Maxx said I'm a good friend, and he's my best friend!” He smiled through his busted lip. “That's why he helped me fight those boys, Mama. He said he wasn't gonna let me take a beating by myself because I didn't do anything wrong.”

From that moment forward, Henrietta had unofficially adopted Maxx as her own.

 

Henrietta rubbed her hands across the front of her apron and sighed, thinking about Maxx lying in a hospital bed. She would have rushed over to Nedine Memorial right after receiving John's call, had it not been for the fact that she knew that her presence there would only cause further harm. There were too many dynamics in play, and she didn't want to make an already tense situation worse.

“Please keep me updated,” she'd told John.

Henrietta could only imagine the scene that could have played out, had she shown up at the hospital. Grace Sanders had made it clear over the years that she didn't like John, which hurt Henrietta ten times more than the fact that the woman cared even less for her and Isaiah . . . especially for her.

There wasn't an ounce of love lost between her and Grace Sanders. Henrietta looked out her kitchen window, thinking back on the past. She sighed as she turned the small black knob, lowering the flame under the pot of rice boiling on the stove's front burner. She was cooking up a storm, trying to take her mind off the dark cloud that always seemed to rage within Grace Sanders's soul.

Henrietta shook her head, thinking about how Grace had grown more bitter and spiteful as the years had passed. She thought about the cruel words she'd heard Grace speak about her shortly after she and Isaiah had moved to Nedine.

“She's as tall as a man and as black as my shoe,” Grace said to another woman while standing in the small grocery store that all of Nedine's black residents frequented.

“She's pretty enough, though,” the woman said.

“Not nearly as pretty as me, or even you,” Grace brazenly said without shame. “It's not right that someone like her is going to be living in a house like that.”

“I hear her husband is rich, too,” the woman said. “And I also heard she's got a college degree from some fancy school in Atlanta, Georgia.”

“It makes my blood run cold.”

Henrietta refused to listen to another word. She came from the back where she was standing and walked right by Grace and her friend. Her back was straight, her head was held high, and her smile was radiant. “Excuse me ladies,” she said as she breezed by. “Have a good day . . . oh, and by the way, the name of the college I graduated from is Spelman.”

The woman who'd made the statement looked embarrassed and remorseful, but Grace was so mad she looked as though she could explode. From that day forward Henrietta and Grace had little dealings.

Henrietta was drawn from her thoughts of the past when she heard her son's deep voice bounce off the walls.

“I'm home!” John called out.

“Come on back,” Isaiah yelled from the family room.

Henrietta wiped her hands on the dish towel near the sink and took a deep breath.

When John had called earlier that morning with an update on Maxx's condition, he'd told her that he wanted to bring Lizzy Sanders over for Sunday dinner. At first, she thought it was simply a kind gesture to comfort his best friend's sister during a difficult time. But when he'd called her “Elizabeth,” and said her name in a tone that carried a ring of the familiar, Henrietta's womanly instincts told her there was more to the invitation than offering a comfort meal to a guest.

She hadn't seen much of Lizzy Sanders since the young woman had left to attend Spelman College four years ago. Henrietta had been delighted that there would be another black woman in Nedine besides herself who could claim attendance at the prestigious all-girls college, or at any college, for that matter. And she'd been even more delighted when Lizzy graduated a few months ago, making her one of only a handful of black women in town who had earned a four-year college degree.

In many ways, Lizzy Sanders reminded Henrietta of herself. She was smart, resourceful, and had dreams beyond her small town. The two were also the first women in their families to attend college. Through scholarships and grants, Lizzy had been able to fund her education on her own, not having to rely on anyone but herself. Henrietta had done the same, but she'd also gotten some extra help along the way.

Every time she thought about the fine education she'd been blessed to receive, she thanked God for Isaiah. He'd sent her money every month like clockwork to help with her school expenses. He'd worked in the fields so she wouldn't have to work in anyone's kitchen but her own.

Henrietta stood at the edge of the kitchen and listened to the conversation going on just a few feet away. John and Elizabeth were in the family room talking with Isaiah and Allene. She could hear the happiness in her son's voice and the the delicate laugh, which belonged to Lizzy.

Henrietta let out a small, whispered request: “Lord, please let me
really
like this girl, because I have a feeling that my son already does.” Then she gathered herself and walked out to greet them.

“Hey, Mama!” John smiled when he saw Henrietta enter the room. He walked over and gave her a kiss on her cheek; then he stepped to the side. “You remember Elizabeth, don't you?”

Elizabeth smiled and held out her hand. “Hi, Mrs. Small. Thank you so much for having me over for dinner.”

Henrietta shook Elizabeth's hand and understood why she wasn't Lizzy anymore. The young girl whom she remembered by that name had been replaced by a stunning beauty, who commanded attention. She was still petite and soft-spoken, but she'd blossomed from having a stick figure into a curvy silhouette. The adolescent hairdo she'd once sported had been supplanted by long, wavy hair, which flowed down her back, and her teenage awkwardness had taken a backseat to the quiet confidence she now possessed. Henrietta liked her already.

“We're glad to have you, and we're overjoyed to hear that Maxx is going to be all right,” Henrietta said.

“Thank you so much.” Elizabeth smiled in response. “We just left the hospital. Maxx is still in a lot of pain, but he's doing so much better. Hopefully, they will be able to release him in a few days.”

“Praise the Lord,” Allene said, raising her hands in the air.

Henrietta nodded in agreement with her mother-in-law. “Yes, that's certainly good news.”

“It really is,” John said. “Things could have turned out much differently.”

“I heard they arrested that gal that done it,” Isaiah chimed in. “It's a real pity, I tell ya. I'm just glad she didn't hurt nobody else.”

Henrietta sighed; then she looked over to John and Elizabeth. “Well, make yourselves comfortable. Dinner will be ready shortly.”

Elizabeth inhaled deeply. “Mmm, it smells wonderful, Mrs. Small.”

“My mama can burn,” John said with a big grin.

“Thank you, son. And on that note, I better get back in the kitchen before we start smelling smoke.”

Elizabeth stepped forward. “Can I help you with anything, Mrs. Small?”

“Thank you, dear, but I can manage. Like I said, you just make yourself comfortable.”

“I feel comfortable in the kitchen.”

Henrietta looked at Elizabeth with surprise. “You like to cook?”

“Yes, ma'am. And I'm sure I can learn a thing or two from you. I'd love to help, if you don't mind?”

Henrietta knew that most college-educated girls didn't want anything to do with kitchen work. Despite her best efforts and constant coaxing, her own daughter, Phyllis, despised cooking and barely knew how to turn on a stove.

Thank you, Lord, I really do like this girl,
Henrietta thought. She smiled and turned on her heels. “Follow me. The kitchen is this way.”