Mirror, The (30 page)

"Yep. Just one. He didn't turn out so well."

Katie squeezed Mike's hand to show support but didn't say a word. She just walked in silence with a person she was beginning to understand and appreciate as never before. A few minutes later, when they turned off of Pacific Street and headed north on Montlake Boulevard, she broke the silence with a question that suddenly seemed important.

"Patsy told me a lot of things about your grandfather, but strangely enough she never told me his name," Katie said. "What was his name?"

"It was Michael," Mike said. "That's another thing we had in common: a name."

Katie felt her stomach twist when she heard the words. She loved that Mike had been named for such an important man, but she found the coincidence unsettling. She knew now that she had to ask one more question, even if it meant getting an answer she didn't want to hear.

"Patsy didn't tell me your grandmother's name either. She said only that she was a wonderful woman who had died giving birth to your father."

Katie paused for effect.

"What was her name?"

"Grandpa called her Kat," Mike said. "So did most people. Grandma apparently went by that name her whole life."

"Oh."

"Kat wasn't her real name though."

"It wasn't?" Katie asked.

"No. Her parents named her something else. I know that because she wrote her christened name in the family Bible."

Katie took a breath. She knew what was coming.

"What did she write in the Bible?"

Mike stopped and stared at Katie until she met his eyes.

"She wrote Katherine," he said. "My grandma's real name was Katherine."

CHAPTER 51: GINNY

Saturday, July 11, 1964

As Ginny marched with James, Katie, and Mike down Second Avenue in downtown Seattle, she was struck by the absence of violence and the near absence of noise.

The marchers conducted themselves admirably. Unlike many of the protesters Ginny had seen in twenty-first-century newscasts, the participants did not light up garbage cans or overturn cars in support of their sports teams. Nor did they break windows or pick fights or taunt police to protest perceived economic or political injustices.

They instead walked silently in suits and ties and dresses for nearly two miles and let their presence do the talking. Representing the spectrum of age, gender, and race, they were serious individuals with a serious cause who had learned from Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. and others that the way to change minds was to change perceptions with quiet, steely resolve.

Ginny was struck as well by the reception from the hundreds of spectators who lined the street. Though a few hurled epithets or held ugly signs, the vast majority nodded or clapped or watched in respectful silence. Most in Seattle seemed to understand that times were changing and that they needed to change with them. If discrimination did not affect them directly, it affected someone they knew.

In less than thirty minutes, Ginny's preconceived notion of a sixties protest had been turned on its head. She smiled over that bit of personal growth as her group approached the intersection of Second Avenue and Pine Street.

"Are you doing OK, James?"

"I'm feeling less like a rabble-rouser than when we started, if that's what you mean."

Ginny laughed and grabbed his hand.

"You just stick with me. I'll protect your reputation."

James smiled, looked at Ginny, and shook his head.

"You're bound and determined to make me a new man, aren't you?"

"No. I'm bound and determined to bring out the real you."

Ginny tightened her hold on his hand.

"I know you care about this stuff, James. Just because you're not comfortable expressing yourself in public doesn't mean you don't care. I know you do."

James nodded.

"Yeah. I guess I do. You're something, Ginny Smith. You know that?"

"Yes. I know."

James chuckled.

Ginny smiled and then looked at another protester, who marched in a meandering line about ten feet away. The protester – a petite blonde in a light blue dress – nibbled on the ear of one Mike Hayes.

"My sister's something too. Aren't you, Katie?"

Ginny pulled on her own earlobe.

Katie loosened her grip on Mike for a moment and shot her twin a playful glance.

"You just mind your own business, Ginny, and let me protest my way," Katie said.

Ginny laughed and returned her attention to James, who continued to keep to himself. She was not at all surprised by his reserve. She knew he was still adjusting to the role of political activist. She also knew that he was wrestling with new feelings – feelings for her, feelings she had done nothing to discourage.

Ginny sighed as she thought of Katie's comment during their heart-to-heart on June 28:
Oh, Gin. Isn't your life complicated enough?
She was right, of course. Even if Katie herself was incapable of practicing what she preached, she was still right. The last thing Ginny needed right now was another complication in her life. Yet every time she looked at James Green, she wanted to spend more time with him. He was becoming a habit she didn't want to break.

So, for that matter, was Steve Carrington. If every minute with James was like a walk in the park, then every minute with Steve was like a stroll on a beach. He had not lost any luster in two weeks and certainly none since the Fourth of July, when he had taken her out in a large rowboat on Lake Washington and treated her to wine, cheese, and fireworks under the stars.

The problem, as always, was the running clock. Ginny knew the fun and games were drawing to a close. If, as she suspected, the 1964 Cedar River Country Fair offered excursions to the twenty-first century, she would leave behind a lover, a good friend, and experiences that she would never be able to prove but which no one would ever be able to take away.

She pondered the matter for several more minutes but decided to think of other things when the marchers turned onto Yesler Way and headed toward a park near the county courthouse and city hall. Though the questions about James and Steve would come up again in the next two months, they could surely wait another day.

As the four courtesy clerks – part of a throng of eight hundred – approached the park, Ginny thought instead of the pleasant march. She waved to a group of onlookers at Yesler and Third and then at an elderly black gentleman who smiled and tipped his hat. Ginny was glad she had decided to do this instead of go to the beach. She was making a difference.

When Ginny reached the lawn, she lifted James' hand high, yelled something silly, and turned to face a small stage and a podium that had been set up for the march's scheduled speakers. Standing on the stage and returning her attention were two event organizers, a policeman, and a man she had seen on her visit to the
Seattle Sun
. He was a man with a large smile and an even larger equipment bag. He was a man with a camera.

CHAPTER 52: GINNY

Kirkland, Washington
–
Sunday, July 12, 1964

Ginny couldn't complain about the view from the restaurant patio. The vistas of Yarrow Bay and the northern half of Lake Washington were positively delightful. The people at her table for five were another matter.

"That is quite a picture of you in the
Sun
today," Richard Carrington said as he placed a cloth napkin in his lap. "I didn't realize you were politically active, Ginny."

Ginny knew that the photo on the front page of the Sunday edition – the one showing her raising James' hand to the sky – would be a contentious topic at dinner. It had been a contentious topic all morning, or at least the part of the morning that followed the late service at Lakeside Christian Church.

For nearly an hour Ginny had discussed the photo with church members over coffee and rolls. Many were supportive of her participation in the march. Some were not. A few seemed more interested to know how such a "spirited girl" had come to know and befriend one of the most connected families in the area.

Richard and Joyce had kept their opinions to themselves at the church. Proper families, it seemed, did not discuss delicate matters in the presence of the Lord – or at least fellow parishioners who stared, gossiped, and asked a lot of questions.

"I'm not politically active. I'm socially conscious."

"I meant no offense, Ginny. I admire a person with conviction. In fact, I am personally very supportive of efforts to improve the plight of the Negro in this state."

"I wish you'd use a different term, sir. I don't like that one."

"What? 'Negro'?" Richard asked.

"Yes."

"What term do you prefer?"

"I like African American," Ginny said. "You should use that instead."

"I suppose I could, but is it really necessary? I've never been a fan of all these modifiers, whether Irish, Italian, or even German. I find them kind of silly, actually. It seems to me that we are either all Americans or not Americans at all."

"I don't find them silly. But what do I know? I'm just a girl."

Ginny looked across the table and saw that her comment didn't sit well with Her Royal Snootiness. Connie Carrington glared at Ginny like she had just called her a dingbat.

"Now, now. There's no need to get defensive," Richard said. "We just have a difference of opinion. That's all. If you prefer that I use the term 'African American,' I'll use that instead."

"Thank you, sir."

Richard took a sip of water.

"I am a little curious, though, as to what prompted you to participate in the march," he said. "You're new to Seattle, you're clearly not 'African American,' and your housing situation, from what Steven tells me, is more than sufficient. Why jump into something like this?"

"I jumped into it, as you put it, because I don't see discrimination as a problem that affects just one group. It affects all of us. I want to do my part in putting an end to it."

"I see. Do you believe marching through the streets is the best way to achieve that goal?"

"I do," Ginny said.

"Really?" Joyce asked.

"Yes. Really."

"Do you also believe that joining hands with that boy in a defiant way will win over hearts and minds to your position?"

Beam me up, Scotty.

"Yes. I do."

"By the way, who is that young man holding your hand?" Joyce asked. "Do you know him?"

"His name is James Green and, yes, I know him. He's a courtesy clerk at Greer's Grocery, near the university campus. I work with him three days a week."

"I see. Do you always hold hands with coworkers?"

"Just the ones I'm fond of," Ginny said.

Ginny glanced at Steve and saw that her snappy rejoinder had drawn blood. Part of her didn't care though. She wanted Mr. Wonderful to come to her defense and was both disappointed and irritated that he had been content to listen but not speak.

She returned to Mrs. Carrington and saw that her comments had done little more than feed her contempt. Ginny could have said that James was a self-made millionaire and a Rhodes scholar, and it wouldn't have made a difference. Joyce had already considered the merits of marching and handholding with certain people and had clearly come down against them.

"Ladies, ladies. There's no reason to spoil a fine lunch over this," Richard said. "I think the point to remember here, Ginny, is that there's a right way and a wrong way to help these folks. I can't think of a single person who supports discrimination in housing or jobs or anything else. Seattle's a pretty fair town, and Washington's a pretty fair state."

Ginny was more than tired of this conversation, but she saw an opening she couldn't pass up. When Richard took another sip of water, she pushed the discourse in a different direction.

"I generally agree, Mr. Carrington. One of the things that impressed me most about the march was how fair-minded and well-behaved people were – in the street and on the sidewalks. I really believe people are ready for change in this country."

"I do too, young lady," Richard said. "I'm just not sure they're ready for photos like the one in today's paper."

Ginny took a moment to pummel Joyce and Connie with her eyes – simply because they deserved it – and then returned to Richard, who seemed oblivious to his offensiveness. If she did nothing else during this dinner, she would defend actions that were defensible in
any
era.

"So what you're saying is that it's OK to help black people by giving them jobs, access to affordable housing, and rights that the rest of us take for granted, but it's not OK to appear with them in photos published in a metropolitan newspaper. Is that right?"

"That's not what I said, Ginny. Nor is that what I believe. There are many ways to achieve the same goals. I believe we want the same things. I really do. I just think it's wise to exercise discretion in situations like this."

Ginny couldn't blame Richard for trying to win her over. He obviously didn't want to upset a woman who meant a lot to his son. That didn't, however, make his words any less noxious.

Ginny pulled her napkin from her lap and placed it on her plate. She gave Joyce and Connie another death stare, gazed disappointingly at Steve, and turned to face Richard.

"I'm not feeling well all of a sudden, sir. Thank you for the appetizers," she said. "I'm going for a walk. Excuse me."

Ginny got up from her chair, blew past several tables, and pushed open the patio gate. She then walked along the side of the restaurant to the parking lot in front. When she finally reached the street, she turned north and began walking north to no place in particular. She found that walking to no place in particular was one of the best ways to rid a mind of anger.

A minute later she reached the first intersection, stopped, and waited for the light to change. She didn't know if or when she would return to the restaurant. She knew only that she had enough cash in her purse to cover cab fare back to the duplex.

Ginny stepped forward when the light turned green but didn't advance three feet before she felt a hand on her shoulder. She turned around and saw Steve.