The Governor's Sons (27 page)

“Charlene, the only kind of savant I’ve ever heard of is an idiot!” Ash said hotly.
 
“There are no idiots in my family, so whatever’s wrong with our boy is your fault!”

Charlene stood abruptly and left the dining room.
 
“Charlene,” Ash called after her, “I’m sorry.”
 
She didn’t stop, but fled down the red carpeted hall.

By the time he caught up with her, she was in their bedroom crying.
 
Ash closed the door.
 
“Charlene,” he embraced her, “please forgive me.
 
I—I shouldn’t have said that.”

She angrily pulled away. “I’m sorry I’m not her!”

Ash stared at her dumbfounded.
 
“What?”

“That girl you loved so much.
 
The one that died!
 
Maybe she could’ve have given you three beautiful, brilliant, perfect children!
 
You probably
wish
I was her, because lately I can’t seem to say or do anything right.”

“Charlene, that’s not true.
 
I’m just under a lot of pressure.
 
I didn’t mean what I said.
 
And I love you.
 
I don’t wish you were anybody else.
 
I want
you.
”

“Do you ever think about her?”

“Charlene—when did I ever say anything about her?
 
I don’t even remember.”

“It was before we got married.
 
It was the first time you told me--that you loved me.”

Now Ash remembered why he’d said anything at all. It was because of Charlene’s intuition.

“I knew you’d been traumatized by something.
 
I could tell, remember?” Charlene asked.

Ash nodded.
 
Charlene’s intuition was great for politics, but it also meant he couldn’t hide anything from her.

“I’d asked what the trauma was—and at first--you wouldn’t tell me.”

“But you kept asking and wouldn’t stop,” Ash said softly.

“And you finally told me that--two years earlier--you’d been in love—but the girl—passed away.”

“And then I said I hadn’t been in love like that again—until I met you,” Ash said as Charlene smiled.

Ash hadn’t told Charlene everything about Kitty.
 
There was no need to.
 
She didn’t need to know about the summer of 1936 when he’d fallen in love with Kitty Wilkes and made love to her in every conceivable place and in every conceivable way at his parents’ home back in Joy Hope. She didn’t need to know that one night he’d married her under the stars, and that he’d been willing to give up his future political career and move to Europe with her.
 
She didn’t need to know that Kitty was a Negro girl, and that she’d died giving birth to their son, the son he’d been forced to abandon.

“Do you ever think about her?” Charlene asked again, bringing Ash out of the past.

Her large brown eyes, flecked with gold looked deeply into his.
 
With her intuition, Ash felt his wife could almost see into his soul.
 
“Charlene—she died in 1937, nearly thirty years ago.
 
I put her behind me when I met you.”

Ash didn’t dwell on Kitty.
 
He loved Charlene.
 
Even though she was in her late forties, Charlene was just as beautiful as she’d been when he’d first laid eyes on her in the Miss Magnolia pageant.
 
That was back in 1939, and she’d won.
 
Her beauty queen figure was still trim, and her long legs, just as slim and shapely.
 
Thick blond hair, the color of wheat streaked with gold, fell below her shoulders, and she wore it flipped under.

Aside from her looks, Ash had been attracted to her cheerful, outgoing nature.
 
Neither of his daughters had inherited those qualities.
 
JoBeth was introverted, and Leigh Ann, more brash than outgoing, wasn’t particularly known for a pleasant disposition.
 
But Charlene was the perfect political wife, hostess, advisor and partner.
 
Smart and pretty, she could make a political speech if necessary with little or no warning.
 
And it didn’t hurt that she was Tyree Stokes’s daughter.

Though Stokes had come from a poor white trash family and started out as a mill worker, he’d managed to work his way through college and law school.
 
He was a well respected attorney and politician, as well as a man of influence in the state’s political landscape.
 
Now practicing law exclusively, Tyree had held several political positions including State Attorney General and Lieutenant Governor.

“But do you ever think about her?” Charlene asked for the third time.

When Ash read about Harland--he did.

Packets of pictures used to arrive twice a year before Ash married Charlene.
 
But after his wedding, Betty Jean only sent Christmas cards with a family photo and a brief update on Harland, and her two girls.

After Harland had graduated from high school, she’d stopped sending a family photo, but still sent a card, with a little update on the kids.
 
Through those cards, Ash learned that Harland attended Morehouse University and graduated at the top of his class, and then he’d graduated from Harvard Law in the top five.

Now as an attorney and civil rights activist, Harland was constantly in Atlanta’s Negro newspapers, sometimes in the
Atlanta Journal and Constitution
, and once in a while, even on television.
 
Betty Jean would send news clippings directly to Ash’s office, for his eyes only.
 
He’d read each one, eager to soak up any information he could about his son.
 
And he’d saved them all.

So, yes, when he read about Harland, or watched him on T.V., he thought about Kitty.
 
And in the past, before the state was forced to desegregate, he’d thought about her each time he’d made a segregationist statement or a segregationist move.

He’d been a Dixiecrat, in favor of States’ Rights, not what the Federal Government had been trying to ram down the throat of the South.
 
Laws can be forced to change, but a person’s way of thinking can’t.
 
Segregation was better and safer for Negroes, that’s how Ash tried to justify his actions, yet he knew that was a weak argument.
 
But throughout his political career, beginning as Superintendent of Education, and working his way from County to State Senator, and finally Governor, he’d made improvements for blacks.
 
He just hadn’t broken down the racial barriers as Kitty had wanted him to.

Now the barriers were falling and just about obliterated, but it had been a bloody mess all along the way.
 
First there’d been the Civil Rights Act of 1964.
 
Now the Voting Rights Act of ’65 truly guaranteed voting rights for the Negroes.
 
When the fight was over and the South had no choice, Ash had finally asked the citizens of his state to accept the changes and move on for their own good, and for the good of the country.
 
And he’d urged that this be done with dignity and adherence to law and order.

Sometimes Ash wished Kitty could be alive to see that the barriers were being broken.
 
Yet, if she
were
alive, he’d feel ashamed, because he’d done nothing to help push them away.
 
Segregation was the status quo; that’s what the white people of the state had wanted, and that’s who he’d been trying to please.

“Since you haven’t answered my question,” Charlene sighed, “I’ll assume you do.”

“Charlene, I’d be lying if I said no.
 
Every once in a while I might see something that stirs up a memory.
 
I’m only human, but I don’t sit around and dwell on her. I love you. Now—will you forgive me and forget about what I said?”

Charlene nodded. “Yes,” she said softly.

The hard work and ambition of Gavin’s grandfather, Tyree Stokes, was clearly illustrated by his lavish Victorian mansion.
 
The monumental structure was built of limestone and ornamented with Tiffany stained glass. It resembled a castle and sat on a sprawling emerald green lawn surrounded by majestic oak trees.

Gavin parked his red Mustang in the circular drive at the foot of the cement steps.
 
Gramps liked to say he was semi-retired, even though he still went into the office everyday at 9:00.
 
But Grandma might be home, Gavin thought, as he walked up the steps.
 
He could at least say hello to her before going to see Uncle Otis.

After Gavin rang the bell, Leona, his grandparents’ maid, answered the door.
 
“Hello, Mr. Gavin.” She smiled.
 
Her face was round and sweet.
 
With her soft, pudgy body packed into the white uniform, she reminded Gavin of a giant marshmallow.

“Hey, Leona, you doin’ all right?”

“Just fine, sir, and I know you brought your handsome self over here lookin’ for your grandma.”
 
The loose brown skin on her upper arms jiggled as she placed her hands on her hips.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Well, Mr. Gavin, I’m sorry to say, you just missed her.
 
Miss Esmee said something about your other grandma havin’ a party soon.
 
Claimed she didn’t have a thing to wear, so she went shopping.”

“Maybe I’ll catch her before I leave.
 
I was really just on my way to see Uncle Otis.”

“Well, he’s there alright--with the
math teacher
.”
 
Leona laughed. “Seems like she’s there
all
the time, since she’s on summer vacation!
 
But let me shut my mouth.
 
You go on over there.
 
You’ll find ‘em.”

“Alright--appreciate it.” Gavin turned to go.

In the past, Uncle Otis hadn’t had much luck with women.
 
But this math teacher really liked him.
 
And he was crazy about her. Gavin pulled up the Levi’s on his slim hips.
 
He strode from the front lawn toward the rear to the carriage house.
 
Uncle Otis was probably in his mid-fifties, but he’d never been married.
 
He used to say he didn’t have time for women.
 
But Gavin didn’t think he’d really meant that.
 
And he’d been right, because Uncle Otis had plenty of time for the math teacher.

The carriage house was situated a short distance from the mansion.
 
Gramps had given it to Uncle Otis so he wouldn’t have to worry about paying rent.
 
Uncle Otis hadn’t had too much luck holding a job either.
 
The last job he’d had was as a custodian at the elementary school.
  
That’s where he’d met his girlfriend just over a year ago.
 
But the custodial job had only lasted three months.
 
Uncle Otis couldn’t stick to a schedule that made him work five days straight.

The carriage house, built from the same limestone, looked like a miniature version of the mansion.
 
No longer necessary for its original purpose, Tyree had had it remodeled into a residence that could easily fit a family of four.

Gavin knocked at the door, and a few moments later he was greeted by his uncle.

“Hey, boy!”
 
Otis embraced him in a tight bear hug with his strong, hairy arms. Tall and stocky, Otis wore a backward baseball cap to cover his balding head.
 
Aside from a thinning hairline, Otis was hairy everywhere else. A thick pelt welled from under the open collar of his short-sleeved shirt.

“Hey, Uncle Otis.” Gavin smiled.
 
It was just past ten, but Uncle Otis already smelled like cigarettes and Jim Beam.
 
“How’s it goin’?”

“Just fine--A. Gavin.”
 
He patted his nephew on the back.
 
“When are you gonna start puttin’ that A in front of your name, huh, Ashton Gavin?

“Never,” Gavin smirked.
 
“It sounds too stuffy for me.”

“I’m with ya on that.
 
Sounds too much like a lawyer—just like your stuffy old man.” Otis laughed.
 
A thick moustache covered his upper lip, but that didn’t hide his broad smile. “Come on in.” Otis gruffly pulled on Gavin’s arm and dragged him inside.

A loud window unit air conditioner cooled the room.
 
The smell of cigarette smoke tinged with lubricating oil, and a little cinnamon, filled the air.

A stairway to the right led upstairs to two bedrooms.
 
On the first floor, a small kitchen was to the far left.
 
The remaining space could’ve been used as a living room dining area, but Otis used it as a workshop.
 
The entire area was cluttered with half completed and newly begun inventions.

Some looked like large and small robots, while others were ordinary household appliances in the middle of various transformations.
 
Big metal scraps lined the walls, and covering his rectangular dining room table were different sizes of springs, wires, batteries, disemboweled radios, and several hand tools.