Friendship Cake (9 page)

Beatrice fidgeted in her seat, pulled at her chin, and picked up her papers. “No, Jessie, I just wondered is all.”

“Your wondering, Bea, is sure an awful lot like nosiness to me.” Margaret was tired of the nonsense.

Beatrice rolled her eyes. “Well, you've got to know that people will talk.”

“What will people talk about, Mrs. Newgarden, I mean, Beatrice?” Charlotte was curious to hear an explanation.

Beatrice looked around for someone else to answer, but Louise was busy filling in the pages of her notebook about Roxie, and Margaret and Jessie were staring at Beatrice, looking for an answer to the question.

“Oh, come on, there's no need to act naive, any of you. You all know what I'm talking about. Lana's white and Wallace is, well, Wallace is…,” she stammered.

“An A student,” Margaret answered. “And a fine young man and Jessie's grandson. So I suggest that you tell any of your gossiping friends who feel the need to ‘talk,' that two young people have the right to be friends and it's none of their concern to comment or even notice. And, furthermore, a young black man can be at a white person's house without doing manual labor in the backyard.”

Jessie smiled and looked over at Beatrice, who was so stunned at Margaret's challenge that she kicked over her coffee cup. Charlotte stood to help her clean up her mess, and even Louise stopped writing to see what would happen next.

Roxie rolled over and began to talk. “No black people are allowed in the boardinghouse. It's Mrs. Bonner's only rule, but we
can sneak her in the back when the old lady's gone to sleep.” She yawned.

“Yeah, Rox, we can do that.” Louise was at her side.

“We can do that,” Roxie repeated.

“I'm sorry, Jessie. I had no right.” Beatrice was flushed.

“It's okay, Bea. I knew the stuff that was being said. Years may roll by, but some things just never change.” Jessie glanced towards the window.

There was an awkward pause.

Margaret walked over to Louise. “Lou, I need to talk to you about staying with Roxie tomorrow morning. Cleo's coming over to the house to check the chimney for bats. It's the only time he could come this week, and I have to be there to let him in. What time is your doctor's appointment?”

Louise closed her notebook. “It's at ten. But it's no big deal; I can reschedule.”

“No, don't do that, Louise. Let me stay.” It was Beatrice, and the offer surprised everyone.

Margaret and Louise looked at her, then at each other.

“You never let me stay. I can take care of Roxie for a couple of hours. What time do you need me?”

Louise stammered, trying to find the words to answer Beatrice. “Um, nine. I really don't have to go, though. I can get another time. It's just for my physical; I had scheduled it a long time ago, before, um, before Roxie came.”

“Then you should keep it. It took me four months to get in to see Dr. Johnson. I waited for an hour, spent ten minutes with him, and paid a hundred and fifty dollars. Something's dreadfully
wrong with our medical system. But, anyway, you need to keep that appointment, and I'll be back in the morning at eight thirty so you can go over any instructions. It will be fine.”

Louise tried to respond, but before she could think of anything to say, Beatrice had put her cup on the table, cleaned up around her seat, picked her belongings, said good-bye to everyone, and headed out the door.

“What just happened?” Louise asked.

“Beatrice is paying for her sins,” Jessie replied as she gathered her things. “She's actually trying to be your friend. It will be good for both of you to let her stay. Don't you think, Margaret?”

Margaret raised her eyebrows and nodded.

“Well, I better go. Thank you for the goodies, Lou.” Jessie walked into the kitchen and back into the den.

“Margaret, Reverend, have a good evening. We'll see you Sunday.” She went over and spoke a few words to Roxie, then left.

“Well, Cookbook Committee meetings certainly aren't boring,” Charlotte said. “Ms. Fisher—”

Louise interrupted her. “It's Louise, dear.”

“Louise, you're doing a great job caring for your friend. If you need anything from the church, just let me know. Good night, you two.”

“Here, I'll walk out with you.” Margaret kissed Louise on the cheek. “I'll talk to you tomorrow.”

Louise shut and locked the door behind them, picked up the other cups and plates, and placed them in the sink. She turned out the kitchen light and hurried back into the den. She opened up the diary and began to write: “The Cookbook Committee met
tonight. Roxie knew who I was, talked about the night in Fayetteville, remembered her daughter. I think there may be some improvement in her condition.” She dated the entry, changed into her pajamas, and came back to sit next to Roxie as she slept.

Louise rocked in the chair next to the bed with a blanket pulled up around her shoulders, fighting sleep. Despite her attempts to convince herself that she was staying for Roxie's sake, she was really hoping for just one more word.

M
argaret was surprised when she got home and found Lana Sawyer, Dorothy West's granddaughter, on the porch, sitting on the steps. She parked the car in the garage and walked around front.

“It's getting late, Lana. Don't you have school tomorrow?”

“Yes, ma'am, but I can go later because my first class is study hour. I need to talk to someone. I need to talk to you.”

“Does your mom know where you are? Do you need to call home?” Margaret was unlocking the front door.

“No. I don't have to be home until eleven. They're used to me being out late.” Lana walked in the house.

Margaret closed the door and led the girl into the kitchen. “Want a soda or something? I have juice and cola and cocoa, if you'd like something hot.”

“Yeah, cocoa sounds good.” She sat down at the table. She was holding her stomach.

Margaret noticed and knew. Lana had to be more than four or five months along. How could no one have noticed? she wondered to herself. She heated up the milk while they talked about school and the teachers. Then Margaret mixed the cocoa with sugar and put it in two mugs.

“I'm pregnant.” Lana said this as she stirred her hot drink.

“Yes.” This was Margaret's only reply. She pulled out a chair and sat down next to the young girl.

“It's Wallace Jenkins's. We've been seeing each other for almost a year.” She took a deep breath, blew across the hot chocolate, and put the mug to her lips.

“Who knows?” Margaret took a sip herself.

“Wallace, of course. He's trying to figure out what to do. My best friend, Tina, and I'm pretty sure her mom knows. And I told the guidance counselor, Ms. Oakley. I haven't had the nerve to tell my family yet. My mom and grandmother are going to have a cardiac.”

“How far along are you? Have you been to the clinic?” Margaret knew that a lot of girls went across town when this sort of thing happened.

“No. I guess I didn't really believe it for a while. But I haven't had a period in almost four months. I've been real sick too. Mama just thinks it's a virus.”

“Yep, it's a virus all right.” Margaret smiled.

“What do you think, Mrs. Peele? What should I do?”

Margaret didn't say anything for a few minutes. She was studying the girl. It seemed that already the pregnancy had aged her, not just physically but emotionally, maybe even spiritually. Lana was changed from the young girl she had been in Margaret's Bible classes. Already the weight of motherhood was filling up her heart, changing her vision of the world.

Margaret could see it. Lana had been empty in one moment and filled up in the next. She faced a future unlike one she had ever anticipated, and Margaret was sizing her up to see if she had what it took.

Lana caught Margaret's eye. “What you looking for, Ms. Peele?”

“Courage, I guess.” She peered more deeply.

“And? Do you see any?” Lana seemed nervous about the answer.

Without a pause Margaret replied loud and strong, as if the
very response made a difference. “Oh yes, child, I see lots of courage.” She reached up and brushed her hand across Lana's cheek. “Your being here, that took courage. Your letting Wallace be a part, that's brave too.” She cupped her hands around Lana's. “You're going to be a great mother; I can tell these things, you know.”

Lana's eyes filled with tears, and for a brief moment she was a child again. Margaret leaned over and held her.

“Now, the first thing we need to do is get you to a doctor. Do you want me to take you, or do you want me to go with you to tell your mother tonight?”

Lana wiped her face on the napkin under her mug. “I think I need to tell her before I go to the doctor, but I want Wallace with me.” She stopped and smiled. “He loves me, you know. But his mother”—she blew a puff of air—“and his grandmother, God, they have such plans for him. They're always talking about him being the first Jenkins to go to an Ivy League school, the first Jenkins to be a doctor or lawyer. Believe me, father is not the role they had planned for him.” She teared up and looked away.

“Young Wallace can still be anything he wants to be, as can you, my dear. And Janice and Jessie, they're good women. They'll come around.” She patted Lana on the hand. “What are your feelings for Wallace? Do you love him, Lana?”

Lana turned back to look at Margaret. “I think so. I mean, I haven't really dated a lot of guys.” She took a sip. The cocoa had cooled down. “I'm not sure. We've been friends for as long as I can remember. He knows everything about me. He's funny and smart, and he's the best person I've ever known. You know what I mean, he just always does the right thing. I love that about him.”

She stopped and pulled the mug of cocoa closer to her.

“I think I love him, but Mama, she just can't accept that he's black. So I don't know. I feel like I have to choose between my family and him. I've always felt like that, even when we were just friends.”

Margaret nodded. “Well, that baby didn't get to choose, so we're just going to have to find a way that you don't either. And if your family forces you to make a decision like that, then you'll choose love, however that looks, whoever that's with. You'll choose love because that's more important than anything, especially for a baby.”

Lana put down the mug and rubbed her stomach as if to make the words sink in. Her eyes were filled with tears.

“Now,” Margaret said, looking at the wall clock. “We better go over and pick up Wallace and get to your mother's house before she goes to bed.”

Lana wiped her eyes again, brushed back her hair, pulled her chair away from the table, and stood up. “I think I'll call Wallace first, you know, let him know I'm going to do this.”

“Sounds like a good idea to me. The phone's by the fridge, there on the wall.” Margaret got up from her chair and took the mugs to the sink. She tried not to listen to the girl's conversation, but it was hard to avoid eavesdropping.

“I'm at Ms. Peele's. No”—she looked towards Margaret at the sink—“she's cool. We're going to tell Mom. I want you to go with me.” There was a pause. “About fifteen minutes. Okay, we'll meet you there.” She turned away from Margaret and faced the wall. “Me too.” And she hung up the phone.

“He'll meet us at my house. I think he's going to tell his
grandmother before he goes. I'm sure relieved that I don't have to be there for that one.” Lana walked over to the sink and stuck her hands under the faucet. She dried them on the towel Margaret handed her. “I'm really glad you're going with me. My mom respects you. She won't lose it too bad if you're there.”

“Yes, I guess she'll remember that I was her Sunday School teacher too. I have a few stories about your mother when she was your age.” Margaret folded the towel and set it on the kitchen counter. “If things start to get a little out of hand, I'll pull one or two out of my memory bank and shake things up a little.”

Lana nodded her head and smiled.

“So, you ready to go?” Margaret picked up her keys and opened the back door.

The young woman looked around the kitchen as if she would be different the next time she came into the room. Then she nodded. “Okay, here goes nothing!” She walked out the door as Margaret turned out the light and followed her.