The Black Rose (59 page)

“You’re a long way from lettin’ your hair down at the church picnic, huh, girl?” Sadie murmured to Sarah with a low, warm laugh during Sarah’s lengthy introduction. Sadie, like the other agents, usually called Sarah
Madam
now—and only half in jest—so Sarah felt a rush of affection for her longtime friend to hear her call her
girl
. She squeezed Sadie’s hand tightly. Nowadays Sadie owned a large Walker hair parlor in Pittsburgh and occasionally wrote Sarah about her headaches, but both of them had discovered that their new lives didn’t leave much time for old friends. Sarah missed Sadie terribly, but the only thing that mattered to her at that instant was knowing how far they had come. Together.

“Yes, Lord,” Sarah answered softly, marveling at the church filled with women. Swept away by the sight, Sarah momentarily didn’t realize her name had been called.

“Madam?” Mr. Ransom prompted her, smiling. “I think they’d like to hear you speak.”

When Sarah stood up, applause exploded from the church’s pews.

A few women near the front rose to their feet instantly, led by Lizette, and then the women stood in waves until the entire room was giving her a standing ovation with smiling faces. Their applause grew louder, until it was almost deafening to Sarah. They reminded her of the image she’d seen in her dream so long ago, the field of black roses.
Her
roses. Her children, almost.

Sarah walked slowly to the pulpit, basking in their applause. Her face was shining with a large grin, her eyes moist. There were days when Sarah had forgotten what was at stake in her work, when she’d wondered why she was traveling so much that she barely had time to spend in her own home, but not today. Today she understood exactly what she’d been working toward all along—not just building a life for herself, but helping to build a nation of colored womanhood.

“Good ladies,” Sarah said, her voice quavering with emotion once the applause had died. “There are no words for how proud I am as I stand before all of you. A good friend of mine, Dr. Mary McLeod Bethune, has agreed to begin teaching the Walker method at her school for girls in Daytona, Florida. She and her students have been using Walker products for four years, and she believes beauty culture will be a valuable course of study for those young ladies. Now, Dr. Bethune likes to say that the world better get used to seeing a black rose, and that is exactly what each of you is to me. Anyone who does not respect Negro womanhood has never
seen
Negro womanhood as I am seeing it now.”

The group applauded again, and Sarah could see the pride in Lizette’s eyes.

“We are more than hair culturists, ladies. And sales is much of what we do, but we are more than saleswomen. As women, we have duties to each other and our race. To my mind, it is a sacred duty, and that duty is to use our
power
. This is a time in our nation like no other. America is facing a terrible war overseas. I tremble with pride every time I think of my good friend from Indianapolis, Dr. Joseph H. Ward, who has enlisted in the army to serve his country. Ladies, we
must
remain loyal to our homes, our country, and our flag. This is the greatest country under the sun. But we must not let our love of country, our patriotic loyalty, cause us to abate one whit in our protest against wrong and injustice. We should protest until the American sense of justice is so aroused that such affairs as the East St. Louis riot be forever impossible.”

Sarah’s voice had risen to a near shout, and her words were smothered by applause. She paused, inhaling. “Today we have a new challenge: We must learn the ways of politics. And if we believe lynching and discrimination are wrong, then we must raise all of our voices as one. We must become lobbyists to try to influence those who make our nation’s laws. We must never, ever be afraid to stand up. We cannot leave it to anyone else. If it is to be done, then it is to be done by
us
.”

Again the agents were on their feet and Sarah fell silent. She had nearly lost her voice with the strain she experienced more and more when she spoke, but her heart was booming loudly in her chest, her blood hot and excited in her veins. She was holding tightly to the pulpit as she leaned forward to speak, clinging so tightly that it hurt, almost as if some part of her believed she was in danger of floating away from joy.

Chapter Thirty-four

NOVEMBER 1917

(THREE MONTHS LATER)

“How long have you been in practice, Dr. Kennedy?” Sarah asked her handsome young guest as they wound their way through the 136th Street salon, past pleated velvet curtains and shiny parquet floors. The protégé of Dr. Ward’s was visiting from Chicago, and he had asked to give Sarah a medical examination as part of his promise to Dr. Ward that he would help keep an eye on her while his mentor was in the service. As it turned out, this young man had just enlisted himself and would be leaving soon for his basic training down South. Sarah liked the young physician’s manner so much that she’d insisted on giving him a personal tour of her salon. She also hoped he would have a chance to meet Lelia. Dr. Jack Kennedy was dark and well built, and something about him told Sarah that he was of solid character. He would be such an improvement over the men her daughter kept company with!

“Not very long, to be honest, Madam. I only opened my practice in Chicago this year. But wartime makes no accommodations for the plans of one man.”

“That’s the truth, all right,” Sarah said. American soldiers had yet to suffer any major losses in the war, but she was fearful of what would happen to the enlisted men when they met up with those horrible German gas canisters. People like Dr. Ward and Dr. Kennedy would be very valuable overseas, and they could show their superiors that Negroes could be heroes, too.

Dr. Kennedy glanced around the plushly decorated parlor, which was bustling with activity. The decor was matching pearl gray, from the walls to the cushioned seats for waiting customers, and the room smelled of brewing coffee, since customers were free to sip tea and coffee while they waited. There were at least six women in chairs having their hair treated, all attended by solemn-faced culturists in standard white dresses and aprons who were no doubt nervous to have Sarah standing over them.

And with good reason, Sarah realized as she glanced at the tiled floor. What was the name of this broad-shouldered girl again … ? “What’s your name? Miss Sneed?”

“Miss
Reed
, Madam,” the girl said. Her comb froze in her customer’s head.

“Miss Reed, I’m sure you’ve heard me tell you ladies time and again to sweep up the floor after each customer. Why is there so much hair under this chair? This is our showcase parlor, and this floor looks like a barnyard.”

Miss Reed glanced at the other women, who were all gazing at her dolefully, as if to say,
Why are you making us look bad?
Nervously, the woman put down her comb and wiped her hands on her apron. Sarah thought she might be about to burst into tears. “I’m s-sorry, Madam, I’ll sweep up right away.”

“It doesn’t look like a barnyard to me, Madam Walker,” Dr. Kennedy said as Sarah steered him out of the room. “Far from it.”

“I just don’t have patience for it,” Sarah said. “People come here to feel special, and that’s exactly what I aim to provide. Too many of our people are just accustomed to any old thing. Sometimes we forget to have higher standards.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

At that, Lelia appeared in the doorway in front of them. Although it was still only late afternoon, Lelia was dressed in a black silk dress and a black-and-gold turban with a single feather above her forehead. Lelia grinned. “Mother!” she said, eagerly taking Sarah’s arm and giving her a whiff of flowery toilet water. “There’s someone you
must
meet.”

Sarah was ready to scold Lelia for ignoring Dr. Kennedy’s presence, but she kept quiet when she saw a robust white man standing just behind Lelia in a tuxedo, top hat, and full-length black coat. Seeing Sarah, the man extended one arm with a flair and gave a low bow. “Ah! Madam Walker,” the man said, taking Sarah’s hand to kiss. “This pleasure is all mine, you see.” The middle-aged man’s accent was so thick that Sarah could barely understand his words. Was he Spanish? Italian?

“Mother, you’ll never guess who this is.” Lelia always called Sarah
Mama
in private, but she used the more formal
Mother
in public and in her letters. “Who is the most famous opera singer in the entire world?”

Sarah knew that, of course, because Lottie had tutored her in opera by using the tenor’s recordings, which she played on the gold-leaf Victrola in her drawing room. But before she could give the name, the ruddy-faced man spoke: “
Mi chiamo
Enrico Caruso, Madam—and proud to make your acquaintance!” he boomed. “Everyone is talking of the famous Madam C.J. Walker.”

“Well, I’ll be,” Sarah said, smiling. “How very nice to meet you, sir.”

The man made a dismissive gesture. “Ack! Me, I see every day. There is no joy to see this old face. The joy in this world is to meet beautiful women and make new friends. Especially when they have built a salon as fine as any in Rome.”

Lelia spoke breathlessly. “Mr. Caruso performs at the Metropolitan Opera, and he and his wife have friends in common with me. I’ve invited him for tea, and then we’re all going to have drinks. I was telling him all about the mansion we’re building, Mother. If it fits his schedule, wouldn’t it be wonderful to invite him to give us a private concert once it’s finished?”

Sarah’s eyes shined. She could only imagine Lottie’s face when she heard! She was also glad Mr. Caruso had a wife, because she didn’t like the familiar way Lelia had hooked her arm around the arm of this man who was old enough to be her father. “Well, that’s a fine idea—”

“This villa you are building, what is it called?” Mr. Caruso asked.

“Called … ?” Sarah said, puzzled.

“Yes, yes. You see, a fine villa must have a name, just as a child. Remember this!”

Sarah laughed. “Well, Mr. Caruso, we have a saying in this country—we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.” Suddenly Sarah remembered her manners. “Oh, this is Dr. Jack Kennedy. Dr. Ward is his mentor, Lelia, and he’s on his way to his military training.”

Lelia’s grin widened. Somehow she looked energized despite the pronounced bags under her eyes. “Wonderful! Then you must join us, Dr. Kennedy. I would ask Mother to come, but I know she won’t want to stay out so late.”

“Yes, Dr. Kennedy, you should go,” Sarah urged him.

Dr. Kennedy shook his head, although his eyes lingered on Lelia. “Thank you for the invitation, but I’m not staying long. I have to keep a promise to a friend, and then I have to go.”

“A promise?” Lelia asked, curious.

At that, Dr. Kennedy glanced at Sarah. “Yes. I promised Dr. Ward I would do my best to keep your mother in good health.”

“Good health! That blessed beast we all seek that eludes us,” Mr. Caruso said. “In that case, Doctor, your invitation is taken away.
Ciao!
” His hearty laugh rang throughout the salon.

“You have a busy life, Madam Walker,” Dr. Kennedy said, once Sarah’s examination in her mahogany-furnished bedroom was complete. He spoke over the melodic strains of “Mighty Lak’ a Rose” bursting from the ceiling-high player organ in her main hallway. Dr. Kennedy had checked her heart rate, looked at her throat, and listened to her breathing. He had also asked her a series of questions: Did she suffer from thirst and a frequent need to pass water? Had her stream diminished? Did she have swelling of her hands or feet? Did she often suffer from a lack of appetite or fatigue? Had she noticed strange rashes or a fruity smell to her breath? The answer to most of his questions was yes. He hadn’t commented yet, but he looked very somber as he took notes.

“Well, I guess you saw a piece of my life today,” Sarah said from where she sat on her canopied bed. “There’s always somebody coming through here. I’m home to rest, but …”

At that, the doctor met her eyes. “But you don’t know how to rest, do you?”

“You can tell that about me already? Usually folks need to know me longer.” As she said those words, Sarah thought sadly of C.J. She was still getting letters from him, asking her for either money or employment. She’d prayed he would have gotten his life on better track by now with nothing to do with her, but he seemed to have lost everything of the confident, creative man he’d been when she met him.
My habits are better. My
heart has changed
, he’d written in his last letter.
I am writing these lines with
tears dripping from my eyes.
There was a time she would have gloated over his words, but no more. Now, despite the wall she’d built around her own heart, she felt sorry for this pathetic man she had once loved.

“Dr. Ward told me about your work habits,” Dr. Kennedy went on. “And I don’t want to alarm you, Madam Walker, but I think I should be frank instead of pulling punches. Especially when a situation is serious.”

At the word
serious
, all thoughts of C.J. vanished. “Go on, then,” she said softly.

Dr. Kennedy exhaled slowly, searching for words. “Madam Walker, you probably travel on trains a lot. Imagine you’re a train conductor—and as a doctor, I’m a bridge engineer who’s seen what’s ahead on the tracks. Now, if I somehow managed to reach your train in time and I told you the bridge ahead won’t hold you, and that the whole train was going to fly into a ravine in a short time, what would you do?”

Sarah’s heart pounded with dread. She hadn’t expected a good report, but she hadn’t expected one to begin so gravely, either. “I’d … stop the train,” she said slowly.

Dr. Kennedy nodded. “That’s right. That’s what common sense would tell you to do. But for some reason, when it comes to health, a lot of folks have trouble living by common sense. I hope you won’t take offense… .”

“Go on, Dr. Kennedy. Just say what you need to say.”