Looking For Trouble (5 page)

“Everybody just thought I was a poor field hand, just like them. Back in those days, it was unheard of for a black man in those parts to own anything more than the shirt on his back, so no one gave me a second thought, and that's the way I wanted it.”

“But why?” Madeline interrupted.

“I'd seen firsthand how folks acted when they found out you had a lil somethin'. It didn't matter if you was black or white. Green money could stir up red envy, and it could make people plot to stop you dead in your tracks. It's funny how a dollar changes things.”

“Well, contrary to what most people think, I believe that money is the root to all good,” Madeline said. “It changes things for the better.”

John was incredulous; he was at a complete loss for words, as were his parents, whose faces drew a blank stare. They were not sure what to make of the woman their son had brought home.

“How did you do it?” Madeline asked, unfazed by the ire she'd drawn. “I mean, how did you buy land, hire people, and acquire more property without anyone finding out that you owned it all?”

Isaiah regained his composure and leaned forward in his chair. “Mr. Charles Williamson, God rest his soul, was the man I used to work for. He was one of the most honest and fair men, black or white, I've ever known. He left me my first piece of land. He had a cousin who was an attorney, and he told him to look out for me. Attorney Collins was his name. He was a good man, too, just like Mr. Williamson, and he helped me arrange my business affairs so that everything was in my name, without really bein' in my name.”

“Hmmm,” Madeline pondered. “And how did you manage that?”

Isaiah smiled, resting his large hands on the table. “Let's just say things got taken care of, right and proper. Attorney Collins did all the paperwork, legal and clear. That man helped me more than I can say.”

Madeline looked at Isaiah, a mixture of doubt and disbelief covering her face. “So, a generous white landowner and a kindhearted white attorney helped a poor young black man to become wealthy? If that's the case, it's an amazing story.”

“I know it's hard to believe,” Isaiah responded, “especially in the South. But that's how it happened.”

Henrietta nodded her head in agreement. “Yes, it's a pretty amazing story. But it wasn't a bed of roses, either. We went through some things.”

“That's right,” Isaiah continued. His easy smile became a serious line. “That's why Henny and me moved here to Nedine, right after our oldest son, Billy, was born. People started askin' questions, and the white folks got suspicious when I started buildin' a house. Since we had a baby on the way, I wanted to make sure my family was livin' in a proper place.

“Well, folks started wonderin' how a poor sharecropper like me could afford to build a house on my own. Now, mind you, it was a small two-bedroom home. Nothin' fancy at all, but it was new, just the same. People started diggin' around, askin' questions, and tryin' to figure out where I got the money from. Long story short—the Klan burned down the house that I was buildin' and the lil shack we was livin' in, too.”

Henrietta shook her head from side to side. “It was the most awful night of my life. I was seven months pregnant at the time. We were lying in bed when we heard loud voices outside. Then they started screaming and yelling. The next thing we knew, something crashed through our bedroom window and, within seconds, flames were everywhere. We barely got out alive.”

Isaiah sat back in his chair. “Yep, they run us outta town. But after all was said and done, that night was a blessin' in disguise 'cause it taught me a valuable lesson.”

“Which was?” Madeline asked.

“That I would never live in the shadows again. A man ain't a real man unless he can provide for his family and protect what's his. I knew we couldn't stay because it was too dangerous. We had to leave, but I was determined to start over and stand tall wherever we landed. I was through hidin' and pretendin'.

“At the time, I already owned parcels of land all over the county, so I decided to look farther west, across the state. I did some investigatin' and decided to come here to Nedine.”

Madeline frowned, wrinkling her nose. “You had money and real estate, so why on earth would you choose
Nedine,
of all places?”

John cut his eyes at his girlfriend again. He felt bad that as his father was sharing his life's story with her, the only words she could find to say were condescending ones. Even though he was accustomed to Madeline's brusque manner, her tone hit him in an entirely different way when it was directed toward the people whom he loved. He looked at his mother and could see by the expression on her face that she'd had her fill of Madeline.

Henrietta wiped the corners of her mouth with her crisp linen napkin before she spoke. “I know that Nedine might not seem like much of a town in comparison to New York City, but it offered us what we needed when we needed it. That's the way God works.”

“That's right,” Isaiah agreed. “God blessed me to meet some good people here that I could trust, and Henny and me started over. Been here ever since.”

Madeline nodded. “It sounds like you've been a very lucky man, Mr. Small.”

“I don't think luck's had anything to do wit' it, young lady,” Isaiah said. “It's like my ninety-year-old mama always says, ‘Good and evil is all around. You just gotta know which one is which and make the right choices.' ”

Madeline's back stiffened as though someone had placed a board behind her.

After Isaiah's statement, the conversation limped painfully into moments of dull chatter, interspersed with quiet pauses. John remained mostly silent throughout the rest of the meal. At one point, he felt both of his parents' eyes on Madeline, and he knew exactly what they were thinking, because he was beginning to think the same thing, too:
What in the hell kind of woman was he dating?

Chapter 7

A
llene sat in front of her large console television, engrossed in
The Guiding Light.
It was her favorite show and she'd been a loyal fan since she'd heard the first radio broadcast in 1937. The soap opera had been the only reason why, against all practicality, she'd decided to let her son buy her a television set. She'd wanted to see her favorite characters visually come to life when the show took to the TV airwaves.

“These folks is somethin' else,” Allene mused, shaking her head at the fictitious villains. After the soap opera ended, she rose from her comfortable, worn La-Z-Boy recliner and adjusted the knob to turn off the television.

“Guess I'll fix me a lil somethin' to eat,” she spoke out loud as she walked toward her small kitchen in the back. “Think I still got some of that tasty chicken-n-dumplin's Henrietta left in the icebox when she came by the other day.”

She was about to open the refrigerator, but something made her freeze dead in her tracks. Her wrinkled fingers released their grip from the steel handle as a tingling sensation spread through her body, causing her to tremble just slightly. It was reminiscent of the foreboding chill that had crept up her arms earlier that morning when she'd been sitting on her front porch, looking out at the peaceful sky, waiting for trouble to make itself known.

Allene nodded her head with absolute knowing. Yes, the trouble cloaked in the form of a beautiful young woman already had begun to rear its ugly head.

Allene had run into all sorts of devious, malicious, coldhearted people who wreaked havoc wherever they went, so she was used to dealing with difficult folks. But this was a little different, because now the danger was directed at John, her precious grandson, whom she loved more than life itself.

She knew instinctively that John's girlfriend was bad news; she was the kind of woman who was seasoned in battle and played for keeps. She was polished and carefully crafted in her delivery. Yet, when you pulled back her layers and took a good look, she was as rough as any back-alley gangster when it came to getting what she wanted. She was the kind of deceptive woman who could wedge her way into the hearts of men who didn't know any better, luring them with sweet talk and good sex. She knew that John was a very smart man, but she also knew he was just
that
—a man, and a man who loved women. His reputation with women was the one thing that always had worried her about his judgment.

“She's over at the house, eatin' at the table right now. Lord help him,” Allene said out loud to herself as she thought about John. She shook her head, knowing that even though her son and daughter-in-law had quickly realized John's girlfriend was trouble, they didn't fully understand what kind of woman their baby boy had become embroiled with.

Allene stood stock-still and said a quick prayer, bowing her head toward her feet. She wished she were twenty years younger so she could set out on foot and walk the five miles down the road to Isaiah and Henrietta's big, fancy house. But she knew her ninety-year-old limbs would only carry her to the end of the road in front of her house before betraying her. “Lord, help me guide my grandson away from that woman before it's too late,” she whispered.

Allene suddenly felt another sensation spread through her body, but this one was different from the ominous chill she'd experienced only a few moments ago. A warm comfort flowed through her. At that moment, she knew something else was happening. “She hears me,” Allene said with a smile. “Baby girl can hear me, and I think she can see me, too.”

She had to take a moment to gather herself, amazed that she'd been able to reach across time, space, and what seemed impossible. She'd made the actual connection, and now she knew the real work would begin. The fact that Alexandria had not only heard her, but had looked into her eyes meant the girl's ability was much more powerful than Allene had thought.

She was glad she was making progress, and that she'd be able to help guide Alexandria through the difficulties that were getting ready to surface in her life. When Allene thought about difficult situations, her mind took her back to the present, straight to the web that John was tangled in and didn't even know it.

She took a deep breath as she opened the refrigerator and looked inside. Slowly, she reached for the plastic container filled with the delicious food Henrietta had made. “Might as well eat,” she said, knowing what she had to do next. “Can't fight the devil on an empty stomach.”

Chapter 8

T
he smooth vocals of Gladys Knight & the Pips floated from the car's radio as John and Madeline drove back to their hotel room on the other side of town. Madeline was talking so fast her lips were a virtual blur, but John barely heard a word coming from her mouth. He was lost too deep in his own thoughts to listen to her, or to the soulful music serenading them.

All he could think about was how disappointed and baffled he was by Madeline's behavior.

He'd been confident when he woke up this morning that something great was going to happen today. After having made love to Madeline and watching the beautiful sunrise, he'd been riding on a cloud. Her expert skills had satisfied him yet again, which was a feeling matched only by the excitement of knowing that his plans to open his own bank were finally coming to fruition.

John's day had started off great, filled with high hopes. But after the disastrous lunch at his parents' house, he was left feeling anything but great or hopeful. And worse still, he was dismayed by the fact that Madeline had acted so rude, and without even the slightest show of remorse about the nasty attitude she'd displayed. He didn't understand how he could have misjudged her character, which was now in question.

There were very few times that John had miscalculated a situation or a person. However, as he replayed the afternoon's events in his mind, he knew without a doubt that he had completely missed the mark about parts of Madeline's disposition that he'd obviously overlooked.

John sighed as he thought about the irony of life. His father had talked about how the horrific KKK incident that he and Henrietta had survived had really been a blessing in disguise. And now, as he tossed things around in his mind, John thought the same thing about Madeline.
Maybe bringing her home to meet my folks was for the best. A blessing in disguise,
he reasoned.

Two painfully uncomfortable hours at his parents' kitchen table had opened his eyes to little things he'd glossed over for the last twelve months. He didn't like the way Madeline had turned up her nose at his mother's food. He was appalled by the way she had reacted to his father's attempt to tell her about their family history. And he didn't like the way she had complained constantly about one thing or another from the time they had arrived in town yesterday.

Although the modest Holiday Inn where they were staying was considered the best hotel in Nedine, it wasn't good enough for Princess Madeline. “This is a two-star hotel at best, with outside corridors at that,” she'd grumbled, disappointed because it wasn't a five-star property, with a full-service restaurant and cocktail lounge. She was disappointed that there weren't any jazz clubs they could go to for a late-night cocktail and music. She had gone on and on about the fact that there were no “real” stores where she could shop—all this, and they'd only been in town less than twenty-four hours.

“She's a real looker, but . . . uh . . . you sure you know what you're gettin' yourself into, man?” Maxx had asked when he met Madeline several months ago. John wondered how his best friend and his parents had been able to spot right away what he could not.

He momentarily took his eyes off the road as he came to a stoplight. He glanced over at Madeline, briefly scanning her under the microscope of new awareness. On the surface, she was the perfect picture of what he'd always wanted in a woman. She was intelligent, sophisticated, and spoke well. Her ambition complemented his own, and he liked that she knew how to handle business matters. And again, her bedroom skills had capped the bow on her package. But now, none of that seemed to matter.

“The light's green,” Madeline said, snapping John out of his thoughts. “You better be glad we're in Podunk, USA.” She laughed. “If we were back home, horns would be honking at us right now.”

John chose to ignore her acerbic remark as he gave the gas pedal a tap, sending them on their way. He didn't want to talk about how frustrated he was because he knew things would erupt into an argument, which was the last thing he wanted at the moment.

One more day,
John repeated in his mind. That was how much time they had left in Nedine. Tomorrow afternoon they would drive to the airport, return the rental car, and then catch their flight back to New York. After that, he planned to have a serious talk with Madeline about their future.

 

“I thought we were going to visit your grandmother?” Madeline said when she saw the large Holiday Inn marquee in front of them.

John pulled into the hotel parking lot and turned off the engine. “Did you say something?”

“John, you've been acting like you're in a daze since we left your parents' house. Are you all right?”

“I'm fine.” He sighed, not able to force a pretend smile. “What were you saying?”

“I was asking about your grandmother. I thought we were going to visit her after we had lunch with your parents, right?”

“We'll visit her tomorrow afternoon on our way out of town. Right now, I think I need to rest before Maxx's party tonight.”

Madeline looked disappointed and a bit upset at the news, but John brushed it off. He didn't have the patience to deal with her mood.

After they settled into their room, John removed his clothes in an attempt to make himself comfortable. Wearing only his boxers and T-shirt, he slowly walked away from the bed he and Madeline had made love in just hours ago. He claimed a seat in the chair next to the window.

“I thought you said you were tired and needed to rest,” Madeline said. “Why are you sitting in that uncomfortable chair instead of lying in bed, beside me?”

John wanted to tell her that at the moment, the roughly upholstered chair offered more comfort. Instead, he said, “I'm fine right where I am.”

Madeline leaned back on her elbows, crossing her long legs at the ankle as she lay across the bed. She stared into John's eyes. “You're in a bad mood, aren't you?”

“No,” John responded in a quiet tone. “I just have a lot on my mind.”

“Like what?”

He resisted the urge to tell her that he was still shocked and a little hot under the collar about how rude and out of order she'd been. But as unpredictable as she had been acting, he didn't know what she might be capable of saying or doing next. He also didn't want the remainder of their time together to be unpleasant, so he decided to use his head. “It's a discussion for another time,” he said honestly, and as gently as he could muster.

“Is it about you and me?”

“Madeline, please . . . let's save it for another time, okay?”

“Fine.” She sighed. “Well, anyway, I enjoyed our visit with your parents. They really liked me, don't you think?”

John leaned back in his chair and rubbed his smooth chin, trying to maintain his always-cool composure. “What makes you say that?”

“You saw the way they talked to me, like I was a member of the family.”

John shrugged his shoulders. “My parents are very hospitable people. It's almost like a Southern rule to be.”

“That may be true,” Madeline said, “but I can tell it was more than that. You just don't want to admit that they liked me, because you feel guilty about not letting them know I was coming home with you.”

John was baffled. He didn't know if she was delusional or if she was trying to start an argument. Either way, he couldn't hold his tongue any longer. “Madeline, they were trying to be nice. They even tolerated your rude behavior about my mother's cooking and your disrespectful reaction when you found out that my father came from a family of sharecroppers instead of investment bankers. Then the way you suspiciously asked him about his business affairs . . . how could you think either one of them would like you after all that?”

Madeline rolled her eyes. “Give me a break, John.” She sat up and crossed her arms at her chest. “Your mother understood my dietary concerns and she was fine with it. And as for your father, he didn't seem to mind at all that I was simply curious about his extraordinary rise from such wretched beginnings.”

Madeline rolled her eyes again. “How else would you describe life for someone who had to drop out of school in fifth grade, only to go to work in the dirty fields all day? That's a pretty awful beginning, if you ask me.”

“Are you purposely trying to piss me off?”

Madeline looked at him as if he was crazy. “What in the world are you talking about?”

“You know what I'm talking about. You're saying things just to push my buttons.”

“You have some major problems.”

John's eyes widened. “Oh, really? . . . I'm the one with problems?”

Madeline scooted to the edge of the bed. “I didn't stutter, did I?”

“No, I guess you didn't.” John took a deep breath, calming himself. “I'm about to say some things to you that a gentleman ought not say in the company of a woman, so I think I'll just take a quick drive to cool off before things get out of hand.”

Madeline watched with a blank stare as John rose from his chair. He slid his dark khakis up the length of his muscular legs; then he pulled his white button-down over his broad shoulders. He walked over to the faux mahogany dresser and snatched up his keys.

“I can't believe you, John Small! You're actually going to leave me here in this second-rate hotel all by myself?” Madeline said with surprise.

John was halfway out the door when he said, “I didn't stutter, did I?”

 

Isaiah and Henrietta Small sat in their reclining chairs. He was watching the Saturday-afternoon Western on their new RCA television; she was knitting an afghan she had been working on for the last week.

“I can't for the life of me understand why John is dating that girl,” Henrietta said for what was probably the hundredth time. “Apparently, they've been together for a year, so I guess that means something, especially since he brought her home to meet us. But, Lord in Heaven, I hope he's not thinking about marrying her.”

“He's just havin' a lil fun, Henny. Don't you worry. Our boy's got more sense than that.”

“I sure hope so. Sometimes a pretty face can blind a man.”

Isaiah grunted. “Yeah, but John's not your average man. He knows what he's doin'.”

Isaiah and Henrietta were equally protective of John. They always had envisioned big plans for their son and they didn't want him derailed by getting involved with the wrong people or marrying the wrong woman.

Even though their oldest son, Billy, should have been heir apparent to the sizeable wealth that Isaiah had amassed over the years, it was their youngest child, John, whom they had singled out to take over the farms, vast acres of land scattered across the state, numerous rental properties, and a small fortune in private investments, which Isaiah had worked so hard to acquire.

Billy was completely irresponsible. Unlike John, who had always been honest and dependable, Billy was shifty and careless, barely staying out of trouble with the law. And since Isaiah and Henrietta's only daughter, Phyllis, had married a doctor after graduating from college and moved to North Carolina to start her own family, all their hopes and dreams rested on John.

Isaiah's chest puffed with pride every time he thought about the success that his son had already achieved, and he was excited about the bright future that lay ahead for John. He'd always wanted his son to earn his money wearing a suit and tie; and to his satisfaction, John was doing just that, and even had a staff reporting to him.

Isaiah admired the fact that even though John had grown up in the privilege he'd provided, and stood to inherit a great amount of his wealth, his son didn't rest on his laurels. He wanted to create a legacy in his own right. John was going to be the first black man in their town to achieve a goal that no one dared think possible: opening Nedine, South Carolina's first black-owned bank.

It was a plan that Isaiah and John had been orchestrating carefully over the last five years. Now that John was on the cusp of securing all the pieces into place—having gone through the rigors of reporting his financials to state auditors, federal regulators, banking boards, and commissions, and making sure he had several million dollars in cash reserves—he was ready to do business. After a lifetime of hard work, sacrifice, and planning, Isaiah was determined to do whatever it took to help make his son's dream a reality.

Henrietta pursed her lips. “As thin as that girl is, she needs a good helping of fatback and corn bread instead of a tiny salad,” she said, with a shake of her head, skillfully working her knitting needles.

“Don't worry 'bout John.” Isaiah chuckled. “That girl's fixin' to get a real quick exit. You can bet your last copper penny on that.”

“I did my best to be hospitable, but as God is my witness, if she had stayed a minute longer . . .,” Henrietta declared, letting her words trail off into frustration.

“Henny, don't let that gal get you all stirred up. She don't mean nothin' in the grand scheme of things. I told you, John's gonna handle that situation. Trust me. He ain't no fool, and I think after what he saw this afternoon, he knows what he got.”

“All right, Isaiah. I'll trust in your word. In all these years, you've never said anything that wasn't so.”

“And I'm not gonna start now.”

The truth was that Isaiah didn't care much for Madeline, either. He'd had a bad feeling about her on first sight, but his Southern manners led him to treat her cordially during her brief and unexpected visit. He'd only engaged her in polite conversation to see how she would react to his story of having come up from poverty. And just as he'd suspected, she was shallow and pretentious. He'd also seen calculating greed resting deep in Madeline's eyes as she looked around the house, surveying their belongings, trying to assess a dollar amount to go along with their wealth.