A Long Time Gone (23 page)

Adelaide Walker Bodine

INDIAN
MOUND,
MISSISSIPPI
MAY
1924

S
arah Beth lurched back and forth over the road, our scarf-covered hair trying desperately to escape and fly in the breeze. The earth was fuzzy with new cotton plants, making all the fields resemble the heads of balding men with swirls of thin hair on top. Uncle Joe was in a good mood, saying the
Farmers' Almanac
was predicting good weather for cotton growing and a bountiful harvest. Willie just stomped around the house, muttering about wasted financial opportunities that had once again been sunk into the soil of our farm.

Willie told me in private that the best part of going to college was missing the planting, and the best part about being home was getting a job at the bank, thanks to Mr. Heathman. Sarah Beth swore up and down that she had nothing to do with it, insisting that Willie and her father had their own association. I couldn't imagine what that would be—our families even went to separate churches, and her father and my uncle were barely acquaintances—but every morning Willie dressed in a sharp suit with a vest, tie, and pressed pocket square, then drove to the bank, where he'd work all day. “Pushing papers,” as Uncle Joe would say with a frown.

And just about every night, he would pick up Sarah Beth and they would go dancing. John and I would go sometimes, too, but only to places John said weren't too low-end. Everywhere we went, the juice-joint owners knew John by name, and never asked him for money for our drinks. Which, John said, meant he couldn't be arrested, since he wasn't buying alcohol. He'd wink when he said this, and Willie would slug back another shot like they were celebrating something.

A few times, Willie would have to leave early—which got Sarah Beth real steamed—or he claimed a former commitment, and then after I'd gone to bed I would hear him sneak into the house in the early hours of the morning. The back stairs would creak, and I'd know it was him because I could smell the lingering scent of wood smoke as it crept under my door like an unwelcome visitor.

I'd asked him about it once, and he'd told me that he and other like-minded citizens would have private political meetings to discuss upholding justice in a world where justice didn't seem to have a place anymore. He'd kissed me on the forehead and told me he was making our community safer for Sarah Beth and me. And then he'd told me not to breathe a word about it to anybody, especially not to Aunt Louise or Uncle Joe. They were happy in their little world of cotton and church, and they just didn't understand the bigger complexities of life.

When I asked him if I could tell John, since he was going to be my husband and I didn't feel it right that I should keep any secrets from him, Willie had laughed, and then asked me who I thought was supplying the booze for his political meetings. I smiled as if I understood, but his words had sent a cold chill through me. Obviously John didn't feel the same as I did about secrets between husband and wife. I'd promised myself to ask John about his other business activities before our wedding, and I knew I was running out of time. I knew he loved me, and nothing I could say to him would make him love me less. But still I hesitated, afraid that by my rocking the boat, all of the unlikable things about me would lie exposed for him to see and force him to go find another girl worthy of his love.

Sarah Beth honked her horn at a mule-drawn milk wagon, making the poor animal start and run off the road, the dairy farmer waving his fist at her as she sped by, stirring up waves of dirt. She'd wrecked her other car, and her father had bought her a car with a removable top—
what Sarah Beth referred to as a breezer—which she adored, but which I thought just made it more difficult to keep my hair nice. And I always ended up with new freckles every time I rode with her. Her new car didn't have a rumble seat, so Mathilda sat in the back looking petrified. She'd been given a list of things to be picked up at the grocer's and the butcher's, all to be put on the Heathmans' account. To keep Mathilda honest, Mrs. Heathman wrote everything down on a note to be handed to the respective shopkeepers.

We were on our way to town to look at wedding gowns at Hamlin's, and Mrs. Heathman had made an appointment for me with Mrs. Hamlin herself, the epitome of good taste and fashion, according to Sarah Beth's mother. Aunt Louise had wanted me to wear my mother's gown, but Mrs. Heathman—who seemed almost more excited about the wedding than I did—had said it wouldn't do. So we'd compromised, and I'd be wearing my mother's veil. Aunt Louise had been happy, saying it would be like having my mother there with me.

Sarah Beth screeched to a stop, and as I got out I noticed that she was crooked and too far from the curb, the rear end sticking clear out into Main Street. Mathilda exited the backseat, narrowly being missed by a chauffeur-driven Cadillac barreling down the road.

“Sarah Beth!” I shouted. “I think you need to move your car—you're going to get hit.”

She laughed. “Don't be silly. It's bright red—they can't help but see it. And there's plenty of room for them to go around.” Her eyes flickered down my dress. “It's snowing down south.”

I looked at her in confusion, but she just closed her eyes and shook her head. She began walking down the sidewalk toward Hamlin's. “Hurry, Adelaide, or we'll be late.”

“Your slip be showing, Miss Adelaide,” Mathilda said quietly.

I thanked her and was trying to surreptitiously pull my skirt down while standing in the middle of the sidewalk when I noticed that the car that had sped past us had stopped, and was backing down Main Street regardless of whatever other traffic happened to be on the road. I heard Mathilda suck in her breath and then I did the same as I recognized the man behind the rolled-down window in the backseat.

“Miss Bodine, Miss Heathman. What a pleasure to see you both again.”

The chauffeur jumped out of the car and opened the back door to allow the man to step out onto the curb.

I stood without saying anything, unsure how to greet him. He took off his fedora and gave me a genuine smile that confused me. “Angelo Berlini,” he said. “We met at the jewelry store.”

“Yes,” I said, my voice clipped, remembering how John had told me that Mr. Berlini wasn't the kind of man I needed to know. I glanced across the street, knowing before I did so that Peacock's was too far down the block for John to be able to look out the window and see us. “I remember you.”

“Mr. Berlini. What a pleasure to see you back in Indian Mound.” Sarah Beth stepped forward, holding her gloved hand out to the man, who in turn kissed it, then held it in his own hand for longer than Aunt Louise would think was proper. “The pleasure is all mine. I haven't seen you since your parents' New Year's Eve party, and may I say that you're even lovelier now?”

Color flared in her cheeks, making me want to remind her that she was practically engaged to my cousin. “You certainly know how to flatter a girl.” She turned to me. “I didn't realize you knew each other.”

The man's smile returned. “Actually, it was only briefly. She had just lost something.” He clasped his hands in front of him like a choirboy. “And how fortunate that I ran into you this afternoon to let you know that I found what you lost. It's at my hotel right now as we speak.”

Sarah Beth narrowed her eyes at me. “That's funny. You never mentioned losing anything to me.”

Before I could say anything, Mr. Berlini interjected, “That's because it's a surprise for you, Miss Heathman.” Turning to me, he said, “Do you have a few moments now? I'm staying at the Main Street Hotel on the square. I promise I won't take too much of your time.”

I could feel Sarah Beth's curiosity and wrath almost pulsate in the air between us. “I'm afraid we're already late for an appointment for Adelaide. She's shopping for her wedding gown. Perhaps another time . . .”

Mr. Berlini looked genuinely disappointed. “That's a shame, because I'm leaving very early in the morning and I've appointments for the rest of the day. I'm afraid this is the only opportunity I have, and I don't know when I'll be back.”

“Sure,” I said, surprising myself. I'd been lying to Sarah Beth about
her coat for months, constantly forgetting to return it, and then saying it had been sent away to be professionally cleaned. I'd begun to wonder how I was going to find the money to buy a new one. I turned to my friend. “Please tell Mrs. Hamlin that I'll be there in no more than twenty minutes, all right?”

“But, Adelaide, it's not proper. I should go, too.”

I knew she cared about propriety as much as she cared that there was a law against drinking. “But that will spoil your surprise. If it makes you feel better, I'll take Mathilda.”

I looked at the young girl and her eyes were wide with alarm. But she nodded her head, and I knew she was remembering the night of the party and us racing across the moonlit lawn. The chauffeur opened the doors on the other side of the car. “You get in the front,” Mr. Berlini said, indicating Mathilda. “I'll sit in the back with Miss Bodine.”

“What about me?” Sarah Beth said, a whine in her throat.

Mr. Berlini took his hand in hers. “You are getting a personal invitation to come to my restaurant in New Orleans. You can bring your parents, or your friends.” He paused. “Or you can come alone. Either way, I promise you will have a grand time.” He slid a small white card into her hand, then kissed her knuckles again. “I hope to see you soon.”

Sarah Beth's nostrils flared, her lips parting slightly and reminding me of the actress Mary Pickford right before she got kissed by the hero. I slid into the car, pushing aside my misgivings. I wanted the stupid coat back in Sarah Beth's closet and out of my conscience. Besides, as Mr. Berlini had said, it would only take a few moments, and I had Mathilda to chaperone.

Mathilda sat in the front seat, glancing back at me when Mr. Berlini got into the car. We drove around the block once and stopped in front of his hotel. Leaning forward, he said to the chauffeur, “I want you and the maid to get out here. Miss Bodine and I are going for a little drive.”

“I don't understand . . .” I said, reaching for the door handle.

“Stop,” he said, his voice low. “I have a matter of much urgency that I need to discuss with you in private. It involves your fiancé.”

“About John?” I asked, letting go of the door handle.

“Yes. I promise you that I will not take up too much of your time, and I will have you at your appointment in twenty minutes, just as you told Miss Heathman—with her fur coat. You have my word.”

He exited the car and held my door open. “Come on and sit up front with me.”

I glanced at Mathilda, then slid into the recently vacated front seat. “You go run your errands. I'll be fine.”

The car lurched to a start and I wondered if it was because Mr. Berlini was eager to get away or because he was unused to driving his own car. We'd driven a good bit before he spoke to me.

“Congratulations on your upcoming wedding, Adelaide. May I call you Adelaide? You may call me Angelo.”

“Sure,” I said. I wanted to ask him what business he had with John, but I didn't want to appear naive. Sarah Beth told me it was my biggest flaw and that I needed to try to be more sophisticated.

He pulled off the road and I realized with a start that we were on the road leading to the Ellis plantation. He stopped the engine on the drive in front of the ruins of the old house and I found myself listening to the sound of my own breathing and the pulsing of the cicadas in the trees.

He didn't look at me at first, but stared out the windshield, his lips moving as if he were chewing on an invisible cigar. “Your fiancé is a lucky man.”

I wasn't sure if he wanted me to respond, so I didn't say anything.

Mr. Berlini turned to me, and my palms began to sweat. It wasn't that he was so handsome, or even so intimidating. It was his aura of power and confidence that rolled off of him like sweat, and I wasn't entirely sure that it was a bad thing. He continued. “I admire him. Very ambitious. Smart, too. He wants to set himself up as a respectable man, with a nice home and his own business, so he can be a worthy husband.”

I nodded, wishing I understood why he was telling me all this.

He returned to staring out the windshield and moving his lips. “There's something you should know about me, that might help you to help your husband. I came from Italy with twelve cents in my pocket and a loaf of bread, and when I'd earned enough money I sent for my mother and sister. I worked delivering groceries all day and working in a button factory at night to keep us off the streets of New Orleans. We lived in a slum, but things were still better than where we came from, because at least here we had the opportunity to make something of ourselves.” He glanced briefly across the seat to me. “Your fiancé understands this well, I believe.” His teeth worked his lower lip for a
moment as he returned to staring out the windshield. “And then one day there's a fire in our tenement and we lose everything—including all the money I'd been saving. My beautiful little sister and my own mother started selling themselves on the streets just to eat. I got a job on a lumber barge, and when I came back I found out that they were both dead from whatever sickness takes those with nothing left to fight.”

He turned to me. “My sister was sweet and kind and beautiful. You remind me of her, just like John reminds me of me, with all of his ambition and plans. That's why I'm trying to help you.” His dark eyes studied me intently. “I'm having a hard time reaching him lately, so I need you to pass on a message from me. I'm hoping he's better at listening to you than he has been at listening to me.” Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a packet of Wrigley's chewing gum and offered me a stick. I shook my head and he shrugged before unwrapping a stick for himself and shoving it into his mouth.