The Swan House (58 page)

His face grew more serious. “No, sweetie. I wouldn't. I can't honestly say that I'm at ease with it. It goes against all my upbringing. But I'm proud of you, and I know you're the generation who's going to bring change to this city. And so I'm trying to be a little more open-minded.”

“Speaking of being open-minded, Daddy, are you still seeing Miss Hunnicutt?”

“Some, yes. Why?”

“Because I know someone who is dying to go out with you, but she would never dare let on.”

“Is that so?” He lifted an eyebrow.

I nodded solemnly.

“And who might that be, Swan?” Daddy got this flicker of a grin on his lips.

“Well, you've got to promise not to say a word to her that I told you, and you have to promise to at least consider it.”

“Swannee. Remember I asked you to leave the matchmaking alone.”

“It's Trixie.”

Daddy's face got this creeping red shadow crawling up it, just like the thermometer outside the kitchen window on a hot day.

“Don't object yet, Daddy! Please.”

“Trixie is one fine lady,” Daddy said softly. “Sure has been an angel to our family. To your mother.”

“To me too, Daddy!”

“Yes, of course. A great friend to us all. But just a friend.”

“She loves you, Daddy.”

“Mary Swan! Has she ever said that?”

“No. No, of course not. But I can tell. I'm not dumb. She loves you.”

He sat with his elbows poised on the desk, intertwining his fingers. “No matchmaking, Mary Swan. Please.” Then he put his arms around me, and he held me in a bear hug that felt real and true, truer than anything had felt in a long time with my father.

Chapter 27

I
t was nearly three weeks after her surgery before I was able to see Ella Mae, and by that time she had just gotten back to her house the day before. I'd never once been there, but I knew that she lived in an area a little south of Grant Park. I decided I could drive the Cadillac to Mt. Carmel, serve lunch, and then find my way to Ella Mae's.

“Do you know where she lives, Carl?”

“Haven't ever been there, but I know round about where it is. I'll draw you a map, Mary Swan. Won't do for you ta get lost in these parts. You sure your daddy doesn't mind?”

“I didn't tell him.”

Carl lifted one eyebrow with a disapproving look.

“I can't wait around forever. He's always making excuses why I shouldn't see her. He went to see her all the time at the hospital, and so did Miss Abigail and probably a lot of other folks.”

“I 'spect she's still awful weak, Mary Swan.”

“I know. But I won't stay long.”

He put his big hands on my skinny shoulders. “You're mighty worried, aren't ya?”

“I miss her, Carl. I miss her so much.” I could feel the knot growing in my throat, so I said quickly, “You are going to play at Mardi Gras, aren't you?”

“I said I'd play, and the boys agreed, and I've already talked to your Mrs. Alexander.”

“You won't be going out of town all of a sudden, will you? I mean, there aren't any more marches planned in Albany, are there?”

“Listen, girl, even if there was, I've already given you my word that we'll be there. Stop your worryin'.”

“I met with the seniors yesterday. Mrs. Alexander too.”

“And? They gonna give you credit for solving that ole Raven Dare?”

“Kind of.”

“Well, good for you, girl. You oughta be right proud, after all you went through to figure it out.”

“I guess I should be, but I don't feel too proud. I feel disappointed, like I left something undone. Like something isn't right. You know what I wanted, Carl? I wanted more than anything to present those paintings at Mardi Gras. I wanted Daddy and Ella Mae to be there to see them. It was going to be this great gift to them. But now I don't have the paintings, and Ella Mae won't even be there. Things just aren't working out the way I want.”

“Maybe not the way you want, but they are working out. Quit your worryin' and go see Ella Mae, and you be careful.”

“I'll see you on Friday night, then. Six-thirty for practice. Don't forget to wear a tie. I have to introduce you as my assistant.”

“That'll raise some eyebrows, I 'spect.” He laughed, shook his head, and sent me on my way. No matter what I knew in my head, every time his hands touched me, I started to shiver.

Hunched over the steering wheel with Carl's hand-drawn map on the passenger's seat, I putted along the streets of the inner city. Past Oakland Cemetery, past Abe's Fill 'er Up, down one street and up another. I had sketched Ella Mae a picture of our house and written on the back in pencil, “We miss you. Hurry home.” I'd even made her a batch of brownies. Ella Mae loved chocolate.

Her house wasn't like the little houses in Cabbagetown or the old Victorian homes around Mt. Carmel. It was red brick, one story, the ranch style of the fifties. Sparse grass grew in the front yard, and there was an old beat-up car that I'd seen Roy driving sometimes parked in the driveway.

Roy was waiting for me at the door. I had called him from the church to tell him I was coming. His eyes looked more bloodshot than ever, but he flashed me a smile. “Mighty fine of you ta come, Mary Swan.” He opened the door and motioned me inside. “Little bit dirty since Ella Mae's been sick, but you don't pay no neva' mind ta that.”

I took in my surroundings briefly. The first room, a real den, not a front room like the one in Carl's house, contained two easy chairs that were covered in brown corduroy and a big brown couch in imitation leather that was cracking. The carpet was thin and worn. The ashtray sitting on a low coffee table was heaped with cigarette butts, and Roy whisked it away. The ironing board was out with clothes piled in a laundry basket and the TV blaring some talk show.

“Have a seat, Mary Swan. Ella Mae's resting right now, but she'll wake up soon.” Roy brought me a glass of Coke and set a thin spiral photo album on the couch. “That there's got some pictures you might want ta see.”

“Come show them to me, Roy.”

He sat down beside me as I opened the album. “This here's our girls, Gina and Loretta. I don't believe ya eva' got to meet Gina,” he said in a whisper. “Lawd done took Gina good while back.”

His pronouncement shocked me profoundly, but I had no idea what to say. Roy flipped through several pages of pictures of his two daughters, blinking his eyes really hard.

“You eva' meet Loretta, Mary Swan?”

“No,” I said, feeling suddenly ashamed.

He furrowed his brow. “I's perty shore you's seen her when you was a little girl.”

But I had no recollection of it. I had never once heard Ella Mae talk about Loretta.

The album was old, turning yellow around the edges of the pages. And the sticky surface had worn off, so that some of the pictures fell out when I turned a page. There were pictures of Loretta as a baby with Ella Mae cuddling her or Roy holding her on his lap. Such pride in their eyes! Then a whole series of pictures from grade school.

“What a beautiful little girl,” I commented, my mind still racing with questions I didn't dare ask about Gina.

“Shore is right about that. Our Loretta's mighty perty.” He flipped to the back of the album. “This heah's when she done gradgeated from high school.” A striking young black woman in a blue robe with a mortarboard on her head smiled out at me.

“She's beautiful,” I mumbled again.

“Done had her a gran'baby for us now. Lemme see if I kin find one of those pictures.” His pride was evident as he got up and went in search of the photo, talking as he went. But all of a sudden I couldn't hear him anymore. I had turned back to the pictures of Loretta as a child, and on the next page, I saw pictures of little white faces interspersed with the pictures of Ella Mae, Roy, Loretta, and what must have been other cousins and friends. Little white faces in an album filled with black faces, most of whom I didn't recognize.
Our
little white faces. Picture after picture of Jimmy and me.

Roy caught me staring at one page and said, “Oh, Ella Mae was awful proud of you and your brotha'. Miz Sheila done give her lotsa photos, and Ella Mae kept them in this here album jus' like you was a part of our family. She always called ya her chil'un, ever since you and yore brotha' was babies.”

He said it like it was the most natural thing in the world, and for some reason it hurt to think about how much Ella Mae loved us.

“It's a privilege to be in your photo album,” I said softly, my face suddenly wet with tears.

Roy saw it and was embarrassed, so he said, “Lemme go see if she's awake yet.”

I was glad he left me to cry. I cried for my ignorance and lack of interest in Ella Mae's life, and I cried for her obvious interest in mine. Mostly I cried for this poor, kind, godly woman whose love and sacrifice came through the pages of a worn photo album.

“She ain't really awake yet,” Roy apologized, coming back into the den, “but you kin stick yore head in if ya want.”

When I walked into her bedroom, I almost gasped. Where was my Ella Mae? Her dark brown skin was splotched. Her head was wrapped in a large white bandage that covered her shaven head and her forehead. A cheap gray wig sat awkwardly on her head. Black circles hung below her eyes. Her ample bosom sagged pitifully under the white cotton hospital gown. Ella Mae had shriveled up and died, it seemed to me. Shriveled up and died. She did not even manage a smile when she saw me, but whispered “Chile” and it came out as a low cough.

I was too horrified to speak. This was why Daddy hadn't wanted me to visit her. The shock of seeing Ella Mae, well-padded Ella Mae, looking like a skeleton of her former self was almost more than I could bear. I forced my legs forward, praying the disgust and fear did not show on my face. I went to her side and clasped my hands around hers and whispered, “I'm so sorry, Ella Mae. I'm so sorry.”

I'm not sure she even heard me. She closed her eyes, and I tiptoed out of the room.

Roy, seeing my obvious distress, assured me, “She'll wake up in a little while. Then there won't be no stopping her talkin'.” His lips parted, and he attempted to give a toothless grin. “Doctor says they got out most of that tumor. Couldn't git it all, though. And it's funny I guess how things work in yore brain. Somethin' done happened ta Ella Mae 'cause she cain't quit talkin' now. Whereas before she didn't hardly say two words tagether, now she jus' talk own and own ta beat th' band.

“But she ain't herse'f, that's for shore.” The smile faded. “Come on and see what she calls her art gallery. You'll like seein' this.” He closed her bedroom door behind him and led me down a narrow hall. Halfway down he stopped and pointed to each wall. “Have yorese'f a look at this, Mary Swan. A regular art gallery, yessiree!”

On either side, the walls were lined with sketches, some in cheap frames and others merely taped to the wall. I glanced in both directions, and my heart jumped. These were Mama's sketches! All of them. Many, many of Mama's sketches! I began examining them closely. I'd never seen any of them.

“Mighty talented yore mama was, Mary Swan,” Roy was standing beside me.

I could not take my eyes from the two long walls. “How did she get all these sketches of Mama's?” I asked.

Roy chuckled, “I reckon I'd better let her explain that to ya.”

“Can I just stay here and look at them?”

“Shore, honey. Do as ya like. Like I said, Ella Mae'll wake up in a little while.” He left me there alone.

My mind was racing. A month ago, I'd discovered a room full of Mama's paintings at Resthaven, and now, in the place I'd least expected it, were walls papered with her work.

Most of the sketches had either been wadded up or torn in two, but it looked as though Ella Mae had lovingly smoothed them out and taped them back together. I could almost feel the tension in Mama as she drew and grew more frustrated with each stroke of the charcoal, could almost hear the paper ripping and being wadded and thrown into the trash can.

I stood in front of each sketch and memorized it. There were several of the boxwood garden at the Swan House. There were sketches of Ella Mae, one of her ironing, another as she fried chicken. She was bent over the stove, but had turned around, I guess to look at Mama, and seemed to be protesting, with her brow all puckered out and a half frown on her face. But her eyes were laughing.

There were two unframed canvases. One had a hole slashed right through the middle. Mama must have stood her easel by the big window in her
atelier
and looked out on the backyard in spring. The main thing in the painting was the big hickory tree with the swing. She'd placed it on the right side of the canvas. The slash was to the left of the tree. Ella Mae had punched the canvas back into place. I reached out to touch it, squinting to decipher what exactly had been slashed. And then I made it out. It was the tiny figure of Mama, standing there by her easel, painting. A strange, far-off self-portrait that had obviously displeased her.

“Roy! Roy Maddux!” Ella Mae's voice came out loud and shrill.

Roy called to me from the den, “She done woke up, Mary Swan. Like I tol' ya. Lemme go see what she needs.”

A moment later, I heard, “Come on in, chile.” That was Ella Mae, calling to me in a weak but certain voice.

I went to her bed and once again clasped her hands. “Ella Mae, you're gonna get better. I've been praying for you every day.”

“Have a seat now, chile.” She motioned to a chair in the corner.

“Drag it on ova' here, honey. That'll be fine.”

I obeyed.

“So how'd ya like my art gallery, chile?”

“I like it a lot. All Mama's stuff.”