Little Sacrifices (12 page)

‘So why’d they turn it into a cemetery? It’s a creepy thing to do to your home.’

‘They didn’t. The family sold it a hundred years ago and it was turned over to cemetery then.’

‘How come they sold it? Did they run out of money?’

‘They must’ve. Otherwise they wouldn’t have sold their family’s history like that.’

‘How do you know so much about the families and the land and all?’

‘It’s local history. Everyone knows it.’

‘You people sure put a lot of stock in history don’t you?’

‘Of course we do. You have to know where you come from.’

‘I hardly know anything at all about my family and I don’t miss it.’

‘You should find out. Who you are, I mean.’

‘Jim. I know who
I
am.’

‘No, you don’t. Not really. Not unless you know where you came from.’

What a peculiar thing to say. ‘What about you? Where’d your family come from?’

‘You know, I’ve told you. Savannah.’

‘From how long ago?’

‘From the beginning.’

‘Then why don’t you have one of the houses on the squares? I thought everyone from the old families had one of those places.’

‘We do. We just don’t live in it.’

‘No kidding?’

‘Why would I lie?’

‘Where is it? Which house?’

‘On Oglethorpe Square. It’s run down, though. Unlivable.’

‘How long’s your Nan been in her house?’

‘Since she was married.’

‘Why didn’t she live in the old house?’

‘Because my great grandparents still lived in it when she got married.’

‘Will your Nan sell it?’

‘No, never!’ His voice cracked.

‘Sorry, I just meant, if she’s not going to live in it...’

‘I’m going to live in it some day.’

‘You are? When?’

‘When my mom comes back. We’ll live in it together. We’ll fix it up just like it used to be.’

‘When’s your mom coming back?’

‘Soon. Come on, we’d better shake a leg. Your dad’ll be waiting for us.’ He walked without looking back.

I had to run to catch up to him. ‘Listen. I’m sorry about canceling this trip on you last time.’

‘You didn’t cancel it. You stood me up.’

‘Well, whatever. I’m sorry about it anyway.’

‘It’s not right, you know, making a promise to someone and then not keeping it. It’s not right.’

‘I know! I said I’m sorry.’ For someone who had as few friends as Jim he was awfully demanding. In the months and years to come I’d realize that he wasn’t interested in having a lot of friends, just in making sure that those he had were true.

‘So where were you?’

‘Jim, I told you, I was ... I was having a soda.’

‘Uh hmm. With who?’

‘Clay Pearse.’

‘I see.’

‘No, you don’t, Jim. You don’t at all. I didn’t plan to break my promise to you. He asked me just that day, after school. I got so excited I said yes. I didn’t do it on purpose. Doesn’t that count for anything?’

‘Our friendship’s not a game where we keep score. Not doing it on purpose doesn’t
count
for anything. It isn’t like that. I forgive you. Just, please, don’t ever break your promise again okay?’

It struck me then how much his approval meant to me. He could say our friendship wasn’t a game all he wanted. The fact remained that I felt as if I’d failed an important test.

‘You know he’s a lousy person right?’ He said eventually.

‘I know he used to tease you, but that was a long time ago, wasn’t it? I think he’s changed since then.’

‘Bullies never change. They may grow up but they never change.’

‘I think you’re wrong.’

‘Just be careful.’

I didn’t blame Jim for cautioning me, but he didn’t know Clay like I hoped to know him. I was love struck, and Mirabelle’s romance only fanned my infatuation. I admit it wasn’t a wholly healthy preoccupation, but the fact that we walked the same streets and both had admirers were enough to convince me that we were kindred souls, separated only by the thin veil of decades. I rocked away the hours in the sunlight on our porch, with her letters spread out on my lap, eager to get to the end of her story to see how it all turned out. Somehow, I thought, it was important for me to know.

Chapter 17

1917 Savannah

After her father’s lecture, Mirabelle turned on the charm. She had a closet full of new dresses that she gave Henry every chance to admire. Despite the war, and the frequent terrible news that some neighbor’s son wouldn’t be coming home, Savannahians managed to keep their spirits up, and had the parties to prove it.

Mirabelle blushed under the alert eyes of the other belles when she and Henry made their way to the evening’s hosts. Let them look, she thought. They’re absolutely green with envy. Try though she might, she just couldn’t see Henry as she knew he really must be; that is, moderately good looking. Love painted him positively gorgeous. He was lithe in his night blue tail coat, stretched even taller by his dapper top hat. He always looked impeccable, but especially so in his white linen waistcoat and gloves. No, she just couldn’t see him as less than perfect.

The house blazed with gaslight and candles. Fans swung lazily from the verandah ceilings, the doors pulled wide to let jasmine–scented breezes play among the guests. Ladies and gentlemen already crowded the ballroom where the band played softly. The young women shone in their sherbet dresses against the demure brocades of their mothers and aunts. Laughter and tinkling glasses relaxed the grip that the war had on everyone.

‘Well, Mirabelle, welcome. And this must be your young man we’ve all heard so much about.’

Henry bowed deeply and introduced himself. Mirabelle flushed with pride.

‘Everyone loves you, Henry,’ she whispered.

‘Everyone?’

‘Um hmm.’

‘Well that sure is good news to hear.’ He guided her on to the dance floor. ‘Say, how about if we take your parents over to Tybee Island tomorrow? Do you think they’d like that?’

She smiled yes, from the end of her tether. Despite barn–sized hints about their future, she remained unable to persuade her heart’s desire to utter the words she so longed to hear. She knew he loved her. Otherwise he wouldn’t keep courting her. And he showed her his affection in a thousand little ways. She wished she could just come out and ask him his intentions, but that flew directly in the face of good manners. So she redoubled her efforts to be irresistible to him.

Chapter 18

My parents were whispering again. They should have known that their amateur attempts to keep things from me only sharpened my resolve to hear them. I watched their fight through the balusters at the top of the stairs.

Duncan paced a hole in the living room carpet, forcing his voice into a crouch as he ranted. ‘...I couldn’t stand by and listen to her any more. The things she was saying! You know, we’ve been lucky here. I was starting to think things weren’t as bad as we thought. But to hear that ignorant woman! It really made me see red.’

Ma’s reasonable voice interceded. ‘Duncan, just please be careful. You can’t expect to get away with badmouthing a tenured professor. Come on, you know that, you’re smarter than that. What did you say to her?’

‘I wasn’t impolite but I made my point.’

‘How
not impolite
?’

‘I told her she should stop a minute and think about the feelings of the men and women she was running down.’

‘What’d she say?’

‘Nothing.’

‘That’s good. What’d she do?’

‘She didn’t do anything, not in front of me anyway. I bet she made tracks to Hawes, though, and let him know how she felt about me.’

‘Duncan, this isn’t the way to change things. Hawes can fire you if he wants to. Then where will we be?’

‘I’d get another job.’

‘Oh for Pete’s sake, where? How long did it take you to find this one? Who else’ll hire you without any references? Think what we went through before. Honestly, I don’t know about you sometimes.’

‘What am I supposed to do, Sarah? Don’t you believe in what we’re doing any more? Is that it? Should I just sit back and tolerate what I see? Is that what you’d like?’

‘No, of course not. You know it isn’t. But you’re not doing anyone any good, not yourself, not us, and not the people you’re standing up for, by picking fights with the faculty. You told me you wanted this job because you’d have the chance to change the students’ minds. That you have to get to them while they’re young to have any chance at all. So don’t worry about the adults. Their ideas are their ideas. They’re not likely to change. Work on the students. That’s what you wanted to do in the first place, wasn’t it?’

‘Sarah, what’s wrong with you? You’re changing.’

‘I’m not changing, Duncan, and you know it. I’m the same as I’ve always been. You’re the one who only sees things in absolutes. All I’m trying to do is help us live here peacefully. That’s all.’

‘We can’t compromise on this, Sarah. We can’t give in, not one inch, or we may as well not do anything at all.’

‘I’m tired, Duncan. Why can’t you see that? We’re not twenty any more. This isn’t Boston and you’re not your brother. There’s May to think about.’

‘For the love of Mike, who do you think I’m thinking about! I don’t want our daughter growing up in a world where people are
murdered
for the color of their skin.’

‘I know that. You’re a good man, a good father. I’m just tired of fighting so hard against everything. I’m not suggesting that we give in, but we have to choose our battles here. For my sake, as well as for theirs. Otherwise we’ll fail before we’ve started. That’s all I’m saying.’

After a long time, Duncan sighed. ‘Okay. You’re right.’

‘We need to be reasonable.’

‘Reasonable.’

‘Okay?’

‘Okay.’

They looked at each other across an expanse much wider than the couple feet of carpet between them.

Their fight worried me. Ma had backed Duncan’s schemes my whole life but there had to be a limit. If she got fed up she might make us leave him. Or she might just leave us. I didn’t think she’d really do that, but who knew? I worked myself into a tizzy over being a child from a broken home. When Fie wanted to know what was wrong I told her everything. She wasn’t the least bit worried. Did they sleep in the same room? Yes. Kiss goodnight? Of course. Speak to each other? What a question.

‘You don’t have anything to worry about, May. Your parents are normal. Better than normal. Be happy you don’t have my parents. They hate each other.’

‘Truly?’ She’d never let on that her home life wasn’t a happy one. She always seemed cheerful, though thinking about it, I’d never been to her house and the one time I met her mom I wasn’t overwhelmed by her warmth. 

‘Truly. They don’t even speak most of the time, except through me.’ I prompted her for details.

‘“Fie, tell your father we’re going to Reverend Wood’s pot luck dinner tomorrow night. And he better not dare have a drink before he goes.” “Fie, you tell your mother she can go scratch. I’ll have a drink with my pals if I want to.” I’m always in the middle.’

To tell the truth I asked more out of curiosity than anything, hoping to be titillated with horror stories. I didn’t have the vaguest idea how to comfort her. ‘Has it always been like that?’

‘Um hmm, for as long as I can remember. Once my mother told me that she married my father because she was scared she’d end up an old maid otherwise.’ My friend’s eyebrows knitted together. ‘I swear, I’m not going to marry anyone unless I’m head over heels in love with him. Like Mirabelle loved Henry. Even if I get really old I’m not going to settle.’ Really old for us was the unimaginable chasm past thirty.

A dark thought niggled my conscience. My parents had married because of me. Maybe they wouldn’t have, if I hadn’t come along. Fie listened without interrupting while I told her about the shotgun wedding that marked my family’s beginning.

She stayed unconvinced that my parents wouldn’t have pledged their troth anyway. ‘You told me that your parents embarrassed you because they kissed and hugged in public right?’ I agreed. ‘Do they still do that?’ They did. ‘So how can you doubt that they love each other?’

I let Fie comfort me. They’d been through an awful lot together. If they didn’t bust up when Duncan was looking for another job and none of our neighbors were talking to us, there wasn’t any reason to think Ma was going to reach the end of her rope now. She must have believed in what Duncan was doing or she wouldn’t be teaching Eliza to read despite my griping. In the wake of our introduction neither of us saw the need for further pleasantries so mainly we left each other alone. She was a smart girl, Ma said, and was coming along quickly. I couldn’t care less if she’d been nominated for the Nobel Prize for literature. I didn’t want her in our house. Savannah had nine institutions of learning for blacks in nineteen forty–seven. Surely one could find it in its heart to accommodate Dora Lee’s daughter and her inconvenient work schedule.

My father must have thought that libidos only worked in the dark. He didn’t object to my weekend dates but drew the line at letting me see Clay at night. We made the most of our afternoons, Clay and I, rambling home through the Southside, stealing kisses in broad daylight. Every so often we went to Duke’s
to dawdle over empty glasses until the clerk told us to leave the stools for paying customers. The weekends were for honest–to–goodness dates.

The Lucas Theater saw a lot of me on Saturdays and I kept my promise to stay out of the balcony, in word if not in deed. Cinemas were the wellspring of teenage romance all over the country and we did our part to uphold the tradition. Clay generally threw himself on me before the opening credits rolled and he got bolder over time. The elasticity of my fortitude didn’t do my credibility any favors, but eventually I decided enough was enough.

His hand was gamely finding the limits of my patience on the front of my blouse. I pulled my face away from him.

‘What is it?’ He whispered.

‘Clay, stop being fresh. I mean it.’