No Crystal Stair (27 page)

Bless you, Miss Agnew.
Lillith was the other colored girl in first grade, and the teacher was probably trying to prove a point.

“Nonsense,” Miss Agnew said the next day. “It's because the fairy queen has to sing a solo and Lillith has the best voice.”

But Lillith wasn't fairy queen, after all. For some reason the roles were switched. Karin became fairy queen and Lillith was one of the brown-eyed Susans.

Troy said, “I
told
you so.”

“Maybe you were wrong, Mommy,” Maggie said. “Or maybe there are no colored fairy queens.:”

“Oh, yes, there are,” Ann Elizabeth said firmly. “Just as many as white fairy queens. This is just playacting, and sometimes people get cast in roles for the wrong reason.”

“Like parent intervention,” she told Rob. “And it bugs me that Maggie has to face it.”

“Par for the course,” he answered. “And it's not always color or parents. People get shoved around for lots of reasons, and Maggie has to learn to deal with it.”

“I know.”

“Anyway, it's not Maggie this time, it's Lillith.”

“I know,” Ann Elizabeth said again, and wondered that she worried as much for Lillith as for Maggie.

Gradually they felt integrated in the Lansberg community. Rob helped build the booths for the street fair, and Ann Elizabeth directed the play for the PTA spring luncheon. They still visited colored friends across town, but not as often. It wasn't Sacramento, but Ann Elizabeth was beginning to enjoy Hampton.

 

 

June 1959

 

Until that Tuesday bridge at Jennie Lou's.

As usual it was a lovely affair. Jennie Lou loved to entertain. Ann Elizabeth smiled, remembering Rob's comment, ‘She's trying to be another Julia Belle. Mrs. Dr. Allen Slater, doing
her duty as grande dame of Hampton's black elite.” And doing a pretty good job of it, in Ann Elizabeth's opinion. She surveyed the elegant setup in what Jennie Lou called the sunroom of her spacious home. After a delicious luncheon, linen tablecloths were whisked away and three tables of fashionably attired women settled down for a round of bridge.

Pleasantly complacent, Ann Elizabeth chewed on mints and nuts, and tried to concentrate on the bidding through the wide range of table talk—politics, people, gossip. Mary Jean Adams, at the next table, called over to ask how Maggie was getting on at Lansberg Elementary.

“Just great,” Ann Elizabeth said. “I'm beginning to feel a little foolish about all the fuss I made.”

There were murmurs of understanding. Definitely something to make a fuss about, some of the women agreed. “Look what happened to Rob,” Mary Jean said. “How's he doing?”

“He's fine now,” she answered. “That was the worst part. But —” she sighed “—I guess all's well that ends well.”

“Right,”Jennie Lou said. “I think even all those nasty rumors have finally been squelched.”

Something about the way she said it, something about the sudden quiet, something about the way Cecilia hurriedly broke in with, “Let's see. Whose bid? Ann Elizabeth, did you pass?”

“Yes. I passed.” She called over to Jennie Lou, “What rumors?”

“Oh, you know. Same thing they always say—black man, white woman. That the real reason those men attacked Rob was because he—”

“—was trying to integrate the school,” Cecilia interrupted hastily. “Everybody knows that.”

“Of course, but...” Jennie Lou hesitated. “I suppose it was his leaving Marcia's house at that time of night.”

“You mean they're saying that Rob and Marcia Wheeling ... ? That's disgusting!” Mary Jean Adams—open, naive and a little slow—was oblivious to the distracted throat clearing and who-bid-what attempts to shush her. “Why they drag that sex bugababoo into every attempt at integration is beyond me!”

Jennie Lou persevered. “I suppose it was because Rob was out there so often.”

“As we all were,” Cecilia said. “Rob was so anxious to protect Maggie, to make the right moves, and you know Marcia's experienced in these maneuvers. It's only natural that he'd consult with her.”

“Of course,” Jennie Lou said. “And now that he's not there nearly as often, like I said, the rumors died down. I'm thankful for that.”

So why are you digging it up? To inform me?
Ann Elizabeth wanted to slap her. “I'm glad, too,” she said, and managed to keep her voice steady. “Marcia's a staunch friend and has been a tower of strength to
both
of us during this whole ordeal. There are few enough whites like her. It's a shame to slander her with lies.” But the rumors were true. She knew it.
Rob
...
how could you?
“Now, let's see, I'm dummy, huh?” Ann Elizabeth laid out her cards. “Hope you can make it,” she said to her partner. “I overbid. But we may as well chance it.” Nothing mattered, anyway. Nothing but the thoughts thrumming through her head. Rob. How many times had he said it? “Gotta run out to Marcia's.” Or not said it.
Leaving Marcia's house at that time of night.
The hospital . . . Marcia had been crying, and she'd thought... God, she'd been a fool. A blind stupid fool! Never before had she thought that Rob... She felt bereft and a little sick.

“Good going, partner! I knew you could make it. If you hadn't played that heart...”

 

 

Rob parked the car in the driveway and got out to inspect his lawn. Rick Travis, two doors down, had told him what to put on that spot. By golly, it was working! Green sprigs were showing through. That ugly cross would soon be obliterated. Ugly cross? One of his mother's favorite hymns was “That Old Rugged Cross.” Ironic, he thought, how good symbols could be twisted into something evil.

The front door slammed and Maggie ran out and leaped into his arms. “Hi, Daddy!”

After a hug and a kiss, he put her down and smiled at the girl beside her. “Hello, Lisa.”

“Hi. We're going to play at my house.”

“So late?” He looked at his watch.

“Just till dinnertime,” Maggie said quickly. “Mommy said so. On account of she's got a headache,” she added as they sped away.

Headache? Ann Elizabeth never had a headache. He went inside, letting the screen door slap shut behind him. “Honey?”

No answer and no sounds from the kitchen. He went to their bedroom, loosening his tie, shedding his coat. She was lying on the bed, still in the green silk dress she'd worn to bridge. That was unlike her, too.

He threw his coat aside, sat on the edge of the bed. “What's wrong, sweetheart? Don't you feel well?”

“I'm okay,” she said, not looking at him, staring at the ceiling. He moved toward her and she shifted away, stood up. “Didn't know it was so late. Better fix dinner.”

“No. If you're not feeling well, I'll ...” But she'd already disappeared. Still in the silk dress, in stocking feet. Something was wrong. He pulled off his tie, rolled up his sleeves and followed.

She was yanking things from the fridge, throwing them on the counter. Chops, frozen beans, lettuce, tomatoes. She stopped, as if confused, uncertain what to do next.

“Ann Elizabeth, what's wrong?” He took her by the shoulders, turned her toward him—and was shocked by the hurt in her eyes.

She pushed him away.

“You know what's wrong. Everybody knows but me!”

“What are you talking about?”

“I'm talking about Marcia Wheeling.”

“Marcia?” His blood ran cold. “What... what about... ?”

“About you and Marcia.” She gazed steadily up at him, her eyes boring into his, reading the truth. “So. It is true.” Her pain squeezed at his heart.

“Ann Elizabeth, I ... It's not... wasn't like you think.”

“How was it Rob? You tell me.”

“It was...” Comfort. Two ships passing in a stormy sea. Needing each other. “Ann Elizabeth, you've got to understand. It was when you shut me out. It was nothing. Just—”

“Oh, I do understand.” Her voice was sharp with sarcasm. “She was helping you with Maggie. And you... what were you, Rob? Her black stud?”

“Jesus, Ann Elizabeth!”

“Or is it true what they say? That all of you are just itching to get your hands on a white woman?”

“That's ridiculous. Let me explain.” He moved toward her.

“Don't touch me.” She picked up the salad bowl, held it like a weapon.

He watched her anxiously. “Sweetheart, listen—”

“I'm not your sweetheart. I'm nothing to you. Nothing!” She hurled the bowl to the floor, smashing it into bits.

“Ann Elizabeth, don't!” He remembered another night. A cup crashing against a fireplace.

“Don't what? Don't tell it like it is?” She reached into the cabinet and a plate shattered into pieces. Then a glass.

“Honey, don't!”

“Don't what? Don't break up our pretty things?” He stepped aside, just missing a flying cup. “Don't break up our pretty things? You've broken up our marriage, our lives, our—”

“Mommy, I'm back. I—What's the matter?”Maggie stood in the doorway, eyes wide.

Ann Elizabeth brought her hand to her mouth, turned and ran from the room. He heard their bedroom door shut.

“Daddy, what's the matter with Mommy?”

“Mommy's not feeling too well.”

“Oh, should I—”

“Wait, honey, stay away from that glass. Let Daddy do it. You bring the dustpan.” He stooped to pick up the larger pieces. It had started this way with Marcia, flinging that cup against the wall and calling her husband a bastard. Jesus! Now he was the bastard.

“Why did Mommy throw all those dishes? Was she mad?”

“Yes” and hurt. But he hadn't meant to hurt her.

“What was she mad about?”

“A misunderstanding, honey. Don't. Let Daddy pick it up. You might cut yourself.”

“There's a piece right there, Daddy.”

He picked up the larger pieces, ran the vacuum.

“Daddy, I'm hungry. Aren't we gonna have dinner?”

He fixed Maggie a peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwich, prepared her bath.

“Want me to read to you, Daddy?”

“Not tonight, honey.” He gave her a kiss and switched off the light. Ann Elizabeth was already asleep, or pretending sleep, in Maggie's bed. She knew they couldn't talk in front of their daughter.

Tomorrow, when he got home from work, he would make her understand.

When he returned to their room and saw the bottle of sleeping pills on the bathroom counter, he panicked. Ann Elizabeth never took sleeping pills, but she'd been in such a state... The pills had been prescribed for him when he left the hospital. No one had touched them in all these months. He realized the bottle was almost full and sighed with relief. Still, he flushed the rest down the toilet.

He didn't sleep well. How could he explain it to Ann Elizabeth? He wished he could stay home the next day. He couldn't—there was an important meeting; he had to be there.

He was up early the next morning and stopped by Maggie's room. They both appeared to be sleeping. He touched Ann Elizabeth's shoulder.

“I have to go, honey. I'll come home early. Please... we need to talk.”

She said nothing.

When he returned home she and Maggie were gone. There was a note on the kitchen table. The car was at the airport, it said, the key at the airline counter.

“
I
was so lonely for Bobby,” she told her mother. “Talking to him on the phone once a week wasn't enough. And I'm anxious to see one of his baseball games before school closes.” She turned to her son. ”Oh Bobby, honey, you've grown so tall. Are you still pitching? When's the next game? You haven't been neglecting your schoolwork, I hope.”

“Fat chance!” Bobby grimaced. “Grandma's worse than you. Even threatened to take me off the team, and we're in first place and I'm top pitcher.” He launched into an enthusiastic play-byplay description that caught at her heart.
Doing what he wanted to do and having fun at it.
Like Randy.

“Maggie's out of school already? ”Julia Belle asked as soon as Bobby left for practice.

“Just one more week. She won't be missing anything. I picked up her report card before we left. All A's.” She glanced at her daughter, who was absorbed in a television show. “She's really bright. Miss Agnew, her teacher, says she wishes all her kids were as quick as Maggie. She's already reading second-grade books.”

“How's Rob?”

“Fine. Just fine. Really busy right now. Something's wrong with some planes the Air Force purchased. A whole pile of them. Wouldn't you think they'd check them out beforehand? Anyway, the whole trouble has landed in Rob's lap and he ... he's real busy.” She noted her mother's scrutiny, and her voice
trailed off. She was talking too fast. She drew a deep breath. “Dad's looking well.” He had picked her up at the airport, but had been too full of Bobby's doings to ask her any questions, thank goodness. He'd dropped them off and gone on his way. “I take it he's back to his old busy self.”

“Yes, working too hard again as usual.” Julia Belle sighed. “I hoped he'd lighten his load since he's closed the hospital. Closed it as soon as the Hughes Spalding Pavilion opened and he could take his patients there. Isn't it wonderful, Ann Elizabeth? A teaching hospital for black doctors and Dan's been appointed the head of obstetrics. Dan also has an office at Emory, you know.”

“That's what he wanted and worked for.” She thought of the long talks with Dan and Sadie about the lack of training facilities for black doctors. She thought of Bobby and Children's Hospital. “Is it well equipped?”

“It is! The very latest in everything. They say Spalding insisted on that. There are some good white folks in this land, Ann Elizabeth.”

“Yes.” She thought of Marcia. She tried to swallow the lump in her throat.

“You must see the hospital. Sadie's working there, too, a supervisor. Dan says she's an excellent nurse. Did you have dinner on the plane?”

Ann Elizabeth said she had and, to her relief, their conversation stayed on Atlanta and there were no questions about her sudden arrival.

Maggie was given the guest room and Ann Elizabeth was ushered into her old room. “Had it done over. How do you like it?”

“Very much,” she said. “I like the beige and brown tones with just a splash of orange. And you changed the bed.”

“For Rob,” Julia Belle said, laughing. “That frilly canopy didn't seem to suit him.”

Ann Elizabeth's heart lurched. Rob. Would they ever share a bed again? She was glad Maggie was in the small guest room. She was grateful for the privacy. Alone in the new bed, she could let the tears flow unchecked, could pour out the hurt and the anger. She'd taken refuge in flight, but her torment had only grown worse. A broken record repeating... Jennie Lou's cruel remarks. Cecilia's kindly meant protest. The truth in Rob's eyes. Rob. The image of him holding Marcia in his arms burned in her brain. And her heart felt like hot coals that couldn't be smothered, no matter how hard she tried.

Downstairs with the family, she was cheerful. Sometimes too silent or too talkative, but never expressing her inner turmoil. The children were no problem. Bobby, already ensconced in the Carter household, had his school, his friends, his baseball, even a part-time job in his grandfather's office. Maggie spent most of her time with Helen Rose's family. Helen Rose now had three lively children and a big house in a new section called Collier Circle. Negroes were moving farther out, covering more territory. Their houses were bigger, the furnishings plusher, the acreage surrounding them more expansive. Millie had married an insurance executive and their home included a guest house with a wide deck overlooking a mammoth swimming pool. The deck was the setting for the bridge party Millie hosted for Ann Elizabeth. There were a series of such parties, and as Ann Elizabeth was entertained in one beautiful home after another, she remembered Rob's calling her “girl from the golden ghetto.” It seemed the ghetto had grown larger and more golden. Yet there was a certain sameness about it. Same social cliques, same parties over and over again.

Ann Elizabeth loved parties, loved renewing old acquaintances. So why was she feeling stifled? Bored, even. Would she feel that way if she'd remained a part of it? If she'd married Dan? Dan and Sadie were busy at their new posts and she saw very little of them. She was glad about that. It was hard to put
up a front with such close friends. However, she did tour the hospital and was impressed. She was especially proud of Dan, so efficient, self-assured and at ease in his position. As for not marrying him... no, she had no regrets.

All jealousy, all regret, was centered on Rob. She was miserable. It was harder and harder to remain cool, detached and noncommittal when he phoned. Her longing for him battled with the hurt and humiliation she felt at his betrayal. Because betrayal it was, of the most fundamental kind.

“We should all go to the Morehouse graduation ceremonies,” Dr. Carter said. “Martin Luther King,Jr., is the keynote speaker. He's an alumnus, you know.

 

 

“Will we be able to get in?” Ann Elizabeth asked. After the spectacularly successful Montgomery bus boycott, the man who'd led it drew a crowd wherever he went.

“You forget. Your mother has connections.”

Julia Belle's connections got seats for all of them, including the children. When the president of the college introduced Dr. King, Ann Elizabeth's only hope was that he not speak too long. It was hot in the auditorium. Even in her sleeveless chiffon, she felt sticky and uncomfortable, and Maggie was already fidgeting by her side. She fanned herself with her program and prepared to hear the Montgomery story all over again.

Nothing she had heard or read prepared her for Martin Luther King, Jr. The nondescript brown-skinned man who spoke with the erudition of a Rhodes scholar and the delivery of a Baptist preacher reached far beyond Montgomery and carried his audience with him. Under the passion and power of his words, no longer was she just Ann Elizabeth Carter. She was one of twenty million Negroes caught in the trap of racial discrimination. King spoke of a tactic that would free the American Negro from this trap—nonviolent direction action. “It's hard to
fight a man,” Dr. King declared, “when he was clothed in right and the only weapons he carries are courage and honor.”

“Nonviolent direct action,” Julia Belle repeated later that afternoon as the family sat under the magnolia tree sipping iced tea and musing about the speech. “Why didn't we ever think of that before?”

“Because it wasn't the time,” Dr. Carter said.

“Guess we never really had a strategy,” Ann Elizabeth suggested.

“Oh, we had plenty,” her father said. “There was Marcus Garvey who advised us to leave the country, and Booker T. Washington, who—”

“He's was an Uncle Tom.” Bobby spoke with all the wisdom and vehemence of his nearly sixteen years.

Dr. Carter regarded him with interest. “What do you know about Booker T Washington?”

“I've been reading about him. He started all this segregation,”

“Wait a minute, son.” Dr. Carter held up a hand. “It was the white man who started segregation, and don't let anybody tell you different. Old Booker T just tried to deal with it.”

“By Uncle Tomming! I'm never going to do that.!”

“No, I don't think you'll have to,” his grandfather said.

“What do you mean?” Bobby's face fell, as if he regretted he was to be denied this challenge.

“I mean there's a lot of difference between a man with nothing in his pocket, standing on the land of the man who used to own him, and a man with money in his pocket, living in a house that belongs to his father.”

“Huh?”

“In order to survive, that former slave had to make a deal with the man who'd owned him. There's a lot of dealing, a lot of Uncle Toms between that slave and you. Between him and Martin Luther King, too. You don't think Dr. King just popped out of thin air, do you? How do you think he got his
education? Morehouse, Crozier, Boston University. How did he get to India and how did he get the chance to study Mahatma Ghandi's tactics?”

Bobby considered. “Well, I guess his daddy...”

“Right. His bread, butter and books all started with his father. Martin Luther King, Sr., is a minister, supported by his congregation. Many of those parishioners ride on segregated buses and earn their meager wages by working at menial tasks for white folks. The have to Uncle Tom every single day. They live decent uncomplaining Christian lives and take their pennies to their segregated churches on Sundays.”

Bobby looked a little puzzled. “Granddaddy, don't you like Dr. King?”

“Oh, my child, of course I do. All I'm saying is that it took a lot of so-called Uncle Toms to produce him.” The ice in his glass rattled as the old man shook it. “Ah, yes. In my opinion, Martin Luther King, Jr., might very well be the greatest man this century has produced. I think it was Toynbee who said the American Negro would make a living fire from the ashes of the white man's Christianity.”

Ann Elizabeth looked at her father. “Did he really say that?”

“Something to that effect—and I think King has handed us the torch.” His eyes twinkled as he glanced at his wife. “I bet you thought such a fire would come quietly and sedately from you highfalutin' Congregationalists. Not from a roaring Baptist.”

“Oh, hush up!”Julia Belle laughed and slapped him playfully on the knee.

Ann Elizabeth sighed. “He did all right in Montgomery. But ... does he propose to tackle the whole South?”

“I think so. And I think this is the time.”

“Well, I'm with him in spirit. But I'm chicken.”Ann Elizabeth sighed. “I'm not taking any direct action, violent or otherwise.” “You already have,” her father said. “What do you think you did when you walked Maggie to that school?” He stood up.
“Come on, Bobby. Time to make hospital rounds. Want us to drop by Helen Rose's and pick up Maggie?”

“Oh yes, please,” she said, and watched them depart, thinking about what he'd said. “Guess I never thought of what I did in those terms,” she said to her mother.

“Didn't you?”

“No. Actually I didn't even want Maggie to go to that school. Then, that night, when Rob was hurt . . . by those men, I was so mad. ”Mad because he'd been beaten over the school issue when all the while... Her eyes clouded with tears and she blinked rapidly. “So that's why I did it. For Rob.”

“Well, well.” He mother drew a deep breath. “It's about time.”

“To integrate, you mean?”

“I mean it's time you mentioned Rob's name without being prompted.”

“Oh.” Ann Elizabeth stood up and began to gather the glasses.

“Sit down, Ann Elizabeth.”

“I thought I should take these things in.”

“Sit down.”

Ann Elizabeth sank back on to the glider, averting her face.

“What's wrong, honey?”

“It's... Oh, Mother, I don't want to talk about it.”

“I think you need to talk. What's wrong?”

“Rob. He ... he ... doesn't love me anymore.”

“Oh? Did he say that?”

“No.”

“Does he neglect you? Abuse you?”

Ann Elizabeth shook her head.

“Another woman?”

“Oh, Mother... Now the tears began to flow. ”I was such a fool. All I was thinking about was Maggie not going to that stupid Lansberg school. And Rob... all the time he ... I had
no idea...” the truth tumbled out, along with the tears. Ann Elizabeth felt relief at finally telling the story. Here at last she would find understanding and comfort.

“I'll say you were a fool,”Julia Belle said.

Ann Elizabeth nodded. “Yes. Because everybody, all our friends, knew, and I didn't have any idea.”

“No. because when you did know, you ran away. Sent the fox right back to the henhouse.”

“What?”

“This Marcia person gave him sympathy and sex when you moved into the next bedroom. What do you think she's giving him now that you're five hundred miles away?”

Ann Elizabeth stared at her mother. “I ... I hadn't thought about that.”

“Well, think about it.”

“Oh, she's so deceitful!” Ann Elizabeth said in a sudden burst of fury. “All that talk about getting our children into good schools when she had her mind on something else entirely. Tossing that blond hair and flashing those green eyes. Talking about integration when what she wanted was—”

“Now wait a minute, Ann Elizabeth. Just wait a minute. Let's not buy the white man's line that integration leads straight to the bedroom.”

“Well, it does—at least in this case.”

“My dear, we've always been in each other's beds. Where do you think I came from?”Julia Belle laughed. “You know, there's a rumor in this country that anybody named Washington, no matter their color, is colored and they all descended from you-know-who. Jefferson is another name under question.”

Ann Elizabeth sighed. “Oh, I know we're all mixed up. And it doesn't matter what color she is. It's really Rob, Mother. I never thought he'd... he'd be unfaithful.”