The Red Rose Box (10 page)

I said to Aunt Olivia, “We got three pair of shoes.”

Aunt Olivia squeezed my small hand in hers and said, “You can have anything you want. All you have to do is ask.”

Ruth told Olivia about the porter and how he brought us what he called sweet treats for sweet gals. “He brought us cream puffs and I ain't never tasted nuthin so good.”

Olivia said quietly, “Ruth, ain't is not a word. I don't want to hear you say ain't ever again.”

Ruth hung her head. “Yes ma'am.”

“Our teacher, Mrs. Redcotton, taught us that and I been remindin her,” I said, “but she don't know no better.”

“Doesn't know any better,” Olivia corrected me.

I looked at Ruth, who was smirking, and said, “Yes ma'am.”

I looked out of the window as we pulled away from the station and right then I wished that I was home, shoeless, sitting on the porch swing, listening to radio music, watching Ruth twirl in the moonlight. Then I said, “I could be a schoolteacher.”

“You certainly could, Leah,” was Olivia's reply.

Ruth added, “I could be a teacher too.”

“You could, Ruth.” Olivia looked out of the taxi window into the streets of the city that was still awake.

Morning came and I looked around the hotel room Ruth and I were sharing. It had a door that led to Aunt Olivia and Uncle Bill's room. Wallpaper with streaks of gold covered the walls and the bed had four posts that nearly touched the ceiling. The sheets were white and crisp, the bedspread, pink and yellow, the floor covered with a burgundy carpet. A bouquet of yellow roses sat on the dresser. I felt like a bird in a nest, soft, warm, and at ease.

Ruth, already dressed, hair combed, red ribbons tied to the ends of her two braids, burst into the room. “Bout time you woke up, lazybones. I been awake. I crawled out of the bed while you were still snorin. I saw Aunt Olivia and Uncle Bill kissin, him tryin to get his hand up under her skirt, her squealin like a baby pig.” Ruth giggled.

Aunt Olivia knocked on the door and we both jumped like windup toys. “You're awake, I see.” She kissed Ruth on her forehead, sat on the bed, kissed me on the cheek, and caressed the top of my head. Her hand rested on my shoulder and her softness filled the room. “Thought the sandman might be tryin to keep you.”

“Mornin.” I sat up in the bed.

Aunt Olivia smiled. “You look very much like your mama when she was your age, Leah... beautiful.”

“What bout me?” Ruth asked.

“Why, I would say you look like me, if anyone were to ask,” Aunt Olivia replied.

Ruth walked over to the mirror and examined her face. “Am I pretty?”

“As a picture, I'd say. Leah, you get washed up and dressed because Mr. Chapel is downstairs having his coffee, waiting on us for breakfast. Hurry along.” She turned and walked out, leaving the door half open, white slip showing.

Ruth and I giggled.

“Told you.” Ruth left the room and closed the door.

Sunlight danced into the room from the open window. A breeze split the sheer white lace curtains down the middle and I played a game trying to catch the spots of sun with my feet. Then I remembered that I was in a hurry. I washed my face and hands, put on a white sundress, white socks, and new white tennis shoes, brushed and braided my hair, and straightened the bed.

Ruth opened the door without knocking and said, “Red on Monday, gonna be hot, white on Monday, gotta eat a frog.”

“Today is Tuesday,” I said.

“So,” she said, “red on Tuesday, still gonna be hot.”

Aunt Olivia was dressed in navy blue and we looked like the American flag as we walked down the steps and made our way to the dining room.

Uncle Bill stood when he saw us. A caramel-colored waiter pulled out a chair for Aunt Olivia and then for us. We sat and he handed us menus. Ruth held the menu in front of her face and peeked at me. Smiles sailed around the table.

There were ten tables in the hotel dining room. The tables were covered with pale blue tablecloths and vases filled with white daisies. Colored men wearing suits and fancy ladies wearing hats sat at the tables, stirring coffee with silver spoons, dabbing the corners of their mouths with white napkins. The waiter came back to the table and we ordered.

I was cutting my pancakes when Uncle Bill picked up the newspaper and began to read.

“Brown versus Board of Education ... Supreme Court has ruled that separate is not equal....” He paused and explained, “That keeping white and colored children separated in school is against the law. The KKK's all riled up. More blood's about to flow.”

“Bill, can't we talk about something pleasant?” Aunt Olivia asked.

Uncle Bill replied, “Olivia, this is history, pure and simple, history,” and kept reading. “The White Citizens Council has vowed to resist school integration by every lawful means.” Uncle Bill put down the paper, took a sip of coffee, and added, “Gonna be some lynchings, you wait and see.”

My mind turned to Micah and Nathan Shine, the truck that had stopped that evening, tall trees with branches. I remembered Micah's words.

Uncle Bill excused himself from the table, saying he had business to attend to in Harlem, telling us with a smile to have a wonderful day. I wiped my mouth and looked after him as he walked away.

“What's Harlem like?” I asked Olivia as I reached for my glass of cold milk.

“Mostly colored. Used to be mixed but white folks got scared, like they do, and started moving out. Landlords rented to more colored, then more, needed someone to rent to. Whites moved out, colored in. That's Harlem,” Aunt Olivia replied.

“Why?” I asked. “Why they gotta be afraid of us? They the ones ridin horses at midnight, wearin hoods, hangin people from trees, spittin at us while we walk down the road like we don't have no souls.”

“Let's talk about something more pleasant, Leah.” Aunt Olivia took a sip of orange juice.

“Yeah, Leah ... more pleasant things than lynchins,” Ruth echoed. She turned to Aunt Olivia and continued, “Leah was bout to drink from the white fountain in Lake Charles last time we was there.” Ruth was talking loudly and a couple seated at a nearby table hung their heads.

Aunt Olivia put her finger to her lips, the way Mama did. We finished breakfast in silence and left the hotel.

The streets of New York City were lined with people and I thought of armies of red ants marching toward their hills. A taxi took us to an elegant avenue where there were shops, all kinds. Hats. Dresses. Shoes. Aunt Olivia bought us matching sailor dresses with sailor hats and red patent leather shoes.

We carried shiny white pocketbooks with nothing in them but a few pennies and bought blue swimming suits with red polka dots. I smiled at my skinny self in the mirror, hoping the suit would still fit when we went to swim in the lake water at home on a hot, sticky day.

I tugged on Olivia's sleeveless dress. “My feet hurt.”

Ruth said, eyes rolling, “Cuz you been wearing new shoes all day.”

Aunt Olivia corrected her again, “Because, Ruth. Be lunchtime soon, Leah.”

I sat down in a chair, loosened the laces, which seemed to help some, looked at the rows of clothes, and wondered why some folks have so much and others don't have anything worth locking up.

I tried to picture Mr. and Mrs. Bill Chapel living in Sulphur, raising pigs, skinning possums, sitting in an outhouse, mouths full of snuff, Olivia with a scarf tied around her head, cleaning Miss Lilly's house, picking cotton alongside Elijah, but the picture wouldn't come clear and I started to believe that some people were born to live one way, some people another. Mama would say that the Holy Spirit was going before Ruth and me, making our paths straight and clear. Sister Goodnight would look at our palms and say that fate was smiling.

Lunchtime found us in Harlem and we sat at a lunch counter, round pink seats side by side. Colored serving colored. Ruth smiled and ordered a hot dog. I ate my first hamburger while Olivia took dainty bites from her tuna fish sandwich on toasted white bread with half a pickle and a carrot stick on the side. We each had vanilla ice cream shakes in tall glasses with whipped cream and a cherry on top. I slipped my shoes off halfway.

The day evaporated slowly like water in cool weather.

The rest of the afternoon we shopped for Olivia, buying what she called lingerie. Silk stockings and garter belts, white lace brassieres and blue nightgowns, see-through red robes, black lace underpants, things my mama would never look at, let alone buy. Ruth and I looked at each other sideways.

We got in another taxi for the short trip to the hotel with our bags, packages, and hatboxes. The driver was as polite as could be and he winked at me like we had some secret. I began to think that New York City was full of winking men.

Ruth poked me with her arm and said, “I wish we was home, down by the creek, waitin on Miss Lutherine to come by so we could throw a rock up after her and scare the dirty drawers off her wide b'hind.” I laughed until my belly ached.

After dinner, I wrote Mama and Daddy a letter, telling them that we were fine, wishing they were here. I let them know that I was going to be a teacher, like Mrs. Redcotton, and that Ruth was probably going to be one too. I told them about the hotel, our sailor dresses and new swimming suits. I addressed it to Mr. and Mrs. Willie Hopper, 56 Creek Road, Sulphur, Louisiana, licked the envelope, sealed it, put a stamp on it, and gave it to the bellhop with the smooth skin, who wore a jade ring on his pinkie finger. He winked twice.

 

 

 

A
red, white, and blue boat cut through the water, leaving small waves as it chugged along toward the Statue of Liberty and Uncle Bill teased us, “Are you sure this boat is not a slave ship, taking us to parts unknown or the lost continent of Atlantis? I sure hope we don't sink because I can't swim. Got feet made of stone.”