The Black Rose (34 page)

“If you had yourself a partner makin’ somethin’ you got excited about, I suppose that would be your dream come true, huh?” Sarah said, thinking aloud.

“Oh, yes, ma’am. I’ve thought about it many times, and I’ve tried it, too. But it takes more than the right product to make a partner, Mrs. McWilliams, believe me. Much more.”

When the buggy finally pulled in front of Sarah’s sleeping street, she was amazed to realize that the sky was turning gray and pink at the edges, already betraying the oncoming daylight. She and Mr. Walker had stayed out nearly all night! She felt tired, but she also wished it weren’t time for the evening to end. There was so much more to say.

And Mr. Walker had told her he was leaving for Denver on the Tuesday train. What if she truly never saw him again? Her fanciful thoughts about moving to Denver to be close to her nieces and sister-in-law seemed like a very far-fetched notion as she gazed at the comfortable house she had lived in all these years, and at the street where she was known and well liked. She’d never lived in any one place so long, and she liked the security of having a home. But she also felt swamped by a sudden sadness that nearly panicked her.

“Well, Mrs. McWilliams, you’ll be ready to start buyin’ some advertising soon if you remember those things I told you,” he said. “Even the things you didn’t like.”

“Oh, I’ll remember.”

The buggy was stopped, but neither of them moved. Sarah’s heart was thundering in her breast. She thought of the beautiful high-yellow woman at the church picnic, and the octoroon in the red dress at the supper club. Were those women truly what Charles Walker wanted? Had he ever stayed up all night long talking to either of them?

Of course not, she realized. He’d probably done that with no one but her.

“C.J… . ?” she began, and his eyes brightened at the sound of his nickname. Then, letting her mind and doubts shut down, Sarah leaned over and pressed her lips to his. He was surprised, and his lips felt firm and guarded against hers at first, but then he yielded. He suddenly pulled her closer to him, tasting her with his broad tongue, and she met his with hers. A fire seemed to roar between them, and Sarah kissed him as she’d kissed no man since Moses. She held his head with her hands, pressing her fingers into his hair as their mouths played. Her body craved the warmth of his, and she didn’t even take offense when his hand brushed across her bodice. Her breasts sang beneath the promise of his touch.

Then, quickly, C.J. drew back. He was breathing hard, nearly panting, and his eyes were slitted. “I …” His mouth froze for an instant, and he paused before finishing. “… I think this is where we say good night, Mrs. McWilliams.”

Sarah’s heart tripped and sank. No, she was not what he wanted, she realized. His true intention had really been to take her to supper to talk about business, just as she’d told Lelia, and that was all. That thought woke up a disappointment in Sarah so keen that a bad taste flooded her mouth. She was embarrassed, but she wasn’t sorry for the kiss. He might not know what to make of her boldness, but it was better to share one kiss with a dashing man like Mr. C.J. Walker than to go through life always wishing she’d dared, she thought.

Still, in the instant she’d kissed him, she’d felt
so
sure… .

“I will think on what you said, Mr. Walker,” she said, matching his more formal address as she allowed C.J. to assist her from the buggy. “Matter of fact, I have kin in Denver. I’m thinkin’ that might make a good new home for me and my hair cure.”

C.J.’s face went slack with surprise. Satisfied with his silent reaction, Sarah turned and began to walk toward her front door at a languid pace. She didn’t turn around to wave back at him even when she reached her porch and let herself safely inside her door.

Sarah knew C.J. Walker was watching her the entire way.

Madam

Love builds… .

—
MARY MCLEOD BETHUNE

Only the black woman can say, “When and where I enter, … then and there the whole race enters with me.”

—
ANNA JULIA COOPER

FEBRUARY 1919

VILLA LEWARO

IRVINGTON-ON-THE-HUDSON, NEW YORK

The Long woman was in her library, Sarah was told.

Sure enough, Sarah found Lillie Long beneath a lamp in one of the
gold-trimmed, upholstered Italian-style library chairs, engrossed in one of the
crisp new volumes, six hundred in all, that lined the library walls. Snow flurried
outside of the large window behind her guest, but the house was warm. Sarah
had contacted Anna Burney Long because she needed an affidavit proving her
birthplace so she could get a passport for her planned trip to France with Lelia this
summer; and it had been Sarah’s idea to have her daughter bring it to her in person.
I have a brand-new home
, Sarah had said in her invitation.
Let her visit awhile.

Miss Long looked up, startled. “Madam Walker!” she said, closing the
book. “They told me you would be resting today.” She began to rise to her feet.

“No, please don’t stand,” Sarah said. “I’ll sit beside you. I’m so glad you
could come.”

Miss Long’s cheeks were flushed bright red. Sarah had not seen her in nearly
three years, since her visit to Delta, but if anything Miss Long looked more vital,
and her hair was pinned attractively. Sarah could see traces of Missus Anna in
her daughter’s eyes. She seemed like a smart girl, and it was a shame she had
never married, Sarah thought.
I guess marriage just ain’t for everyone these days
, she thought. Lelia had been too long without a husband, too.

Miss Long’s eyes sparkled. “Madam … in Delta, you told me and Mama
you had a
town house
. Why, when your driver met me at the train station and
drove me up that long driveway … I expect I could have fainted dead away.
Those columns, and the marble! This house is … a palace. I feel like I need a
camera or I couldn’t even describe it to Mama.”

“Yes,” Sarah said, smiling. “I gave the town house in Harlem to my daughter. I live here now. Real country life, ain’t it? It’s too bad it’s winter and you
can’t see the garden and swimming pool. You would have liked a swim.”

“Oh, but I love to read, so I like the library fine. And that music room done
up in gold! I tell you, Madam Walker, I don’t think I’ve ever seen a gold-leaf
grand piano in my entire life, and I think I never will again.”

Sarah nodded, examining her library. Here her tutoring had truly paid off,
because Sarah had selected many of the books herself, not only for their literary
value, but for their preciousness. The fine leather bindings on her bookshelves
housed the works of Twain, Longfellow, Hawthorne, Cooper, Lady Jackson,
Dickens, Balzac, and, of course, Shakespeare. She’d also collected complete
works she would like to read when she had more time: Rousseau, Casanova, Rabelais, and Plato, among others. And her beautiful opera books! Her expen
sive opera volume collection, with an introduction by Verdi himself, had cost
$15,000; the fine books had morocco bindings and hand-painted plates. Then
there were her Bible volumes. The Bible Lou had given Sarah in Vicksburg had a
permanent home on her bedroom table upstairs, but the library had been furnished with fourteen Bible volumes specially bound in covers that were half wood
and half pigskin, with pages she’d been told would never perish.

These books would outlive her, she mused, before pushing the thought away.

The villa wasn’t perfect, not at all; somehow the architect had neglected to
put any drawers in the kitchen, and the garage that housed her four automobiles
was leaky. But all in all, she was proud of Villa Lewaro, and she knew her parents would be proud of it, too.

This home belonged to all of them now.

“I don’t know what I’d do with myself if I woke up every day in a house like
this,” Miss Long said in a dreamy voice. “One thing, I suppose I’d never leave! I
might never leave this one room, in fact. I think I’d make a bed and sleep in
here.”

Sarah chuckled. “Guess you could at that.”

“I’ve been thinking about what you did, starting a business, and I can’t think
of one other woman in the whole world who’s done what you’ve done. Not just
colored women, mind you—white women, either. The papers say you’re worth a
million dollars! All the well-to-do white women I’ve heard of inherited their
money or got it through marriage. How do you account for it, Madam Walker?”

“Oh, I had help, child,” Sarah said. “Like my brother Alex used to say, if
you see a turtle a-sittin’ on top of a fence post, you know he didn’t get up there
by himself. Believe me … I had help.”

Chapter Nineteen

JULY 1905

DENVER, COLORADO

Until the day Sarah boarded a train at Union Station in St. Louis and traveled nine hundred and thirty miles to a train station of the same name in the mountainside city of Denver, Colorado, she hardly believed she was really going to leave. Neither did anyone else she knew, Lelia most of all.
You’re going to give up everything in your life to chase after some man?
Lelia had asked, as if their roles as mother and daughter were reversed.

Lelia was right about one thing: it would be foolish to leave St. Louis because of C.J. Walker, and she knew it. His only communication with her since he’d left had been a maddeningly polite answer to her letter thanking him for his advice. In his note, he hadn’t asked whether she was moving to Denver, and she guessed he might not care if she did. But while the other reasons to go were few, they were compelling:
Poro. Family. Make
a change
. Of all those reasons, the one that gave her the most resolve was the last.

Even before C.J. Walker said a word to her about leaving St. Louis, Sarah had begun to wonder herself if it wasn’t time to move on. She’d lived in the city as a washerwoman for so long, it was hard for anyone to imagine her as anything else. Now she was nearly thirty-eight years old, and maybe moving to Denver
would
give her and her business a boost. It was impossible to explain to Sadie, Rosetta, and even Lelia, but Sarah finally decided to leave.

“Oh, Mama, please don’t make me go, too,” Lelia had begged when she realized Sarah had made her decision. “Hazel’s family has room enough for me to move in, and I’ll find work. I don’t have to go start my whole life over again in a place I don’t know.”

Fine,
Sarah had told her, although she was hurt because she longed for her daughter’s support. So far, in all these years, Lelia had been the only one who listened to Sarah’s ideas with barely a blink, encouraging her at every step. Now she’d lost that, too. At least for now.

By the time Sarah had paid her expenses and train fare, she was alarmed that she had only a paltry $1.50 left in her handbag. And, just as before, she owned very little of real value to her: the Bible from Lou, her framed photograph of her father, Lelia’s high-school diploma, her letters, and the precious steel comb. But that was all she needed, she figured. Everything she knew about making her hair formula was safely tucked in her memory and a few scribbled notes, and that was the easiest of all to take with her wherever she went.

The day before she left St. Louis, C.J.’s polite response to her second letter finally arrived, answering her questions about potential employment. She’d told him she would prefer cooking jobs to washing—if she never saw another washtub in her life, it would be too soon to suit her—so he sent her a newspaper page with ads for people searching for cooks. He’d circled one ad in particular, from a man named E.L. Scholtz, scribbling in the margin that Mr. Scholtz was one of the leading businessmen in Denver, and C.J. would put in a good word for her.
He has a pharmacy
, C.J. had written, which made Sarah’s spirits rise. A pharmacy! Who better to work for than someone who was familiar with chemicals?

Sarah took that as a sign from God that she had done the right thing. C.J. still hadn’t mentioned that he would be happy to see her, but at least he was being helpful. Maybe that was all he’d been brought into her life to do, she thought. She vowed not to raise her hopes about how much she would be seeing of C.J. Walker.

Union Station in St. Louis was a monstrous stone structure modeled after a French château, humming with activity. Walking through the belly of the station in search of her train with a suitcase that felt more impossibly heavy with each step, Sarah spotted a porter in a white coat curled in a corner with his eyes focused on a book in his lap. He looked so studious that the sight of him transfixed her.
Here’s someone like me,
she thought.

The porter looked like he was Lelia’s age, with a handsome face and rich brown-red skin. Sarah walked to the boy, who looked up, startled, when her shadow blocked the light he’d been reading by. He slammed his book shut. “M-my shift doesn’t start for an hour, ma’am—” he began, but Sarah’s wide smile told him she hadn’t come over to scold him for laziness.

She asked him what he was reading, and he said it was a book for college. He had the summer off, but he said he was a student at Walden University in Nashville. “I’m working to save money for schooling. I’m going to be a lawyer, ma’am.” He gave her a sheepish smile.