The Black Rose (63 page)

Our little token will be completely lost among finer surroundings and more appropriate remembrances. However, you will please accept same as an expression of our love and affection.

Frank and your sister-in-law, Mrs. Prosser, will leave tomorrow morning and will arrive in New York Monday. Will wire you as to the exact time.

Again wishing you a Merry Christmas in which my whole family joins me, I am

Respectfully,

F.B. Ransom

January 11, 1919

Dear Madam:

Frank is telling wonders about New York, saying that you took him to halls, moving picture shows, theaters, etc., and he is telling of some of the great things he saw in these halls and places, all of which I take are figments of his rather vivid imagination. He said he slept with you and that every morning you and he would wake up and talk. I asked him what you talked about and he said, “We talked business.”

I note what you say about Mr. Trotter’s National Equal Rights League, and the only thing I am concerned with is the danger of your becoming identified with some person or persons whose acts will hurt your future in this country. You are traveling in the right direction, and I do not want to see anything occur to hamper or lessen your influence in this country.

Respectfully,

F.B. Ransom

V
ILLA
L
EWARO

I
RVINGTON-ON
-H
UDSON

February 4, 1919

Dear Mr. Ransom:

Your arguments have been passionate indeed against my participation in the
Paris peace conference meetings planned by Mr. Trotter. I agree it is best to try
to change a system from within, but I thought Mrs. Ida Wells-Barnett and
myself would have represented our race well in the talks overseas. My great fear
is that the world will finally forge its peace treaties, but Negroes will be left out
entirely.

But do not think your pleas have fallen on deaf ears! I do understand I must
be concerned for my business and future too, so I will separate myself from
those radical elements you feel would be harmful to me and the company.

All this talk of Paris has made me very excited at the prospect of traveling
abroad, however, and Lelia shares my excitement. She is making plans to take
Mae on a sales trip to South America, but we have already decided that we
would like to spend some time in Paris together afterward—perhaps even up to
a year! I am pursuing plans to secure a passport. I’m pleased to say that the
Long family has been very helpful in establishing my birthplace, as you know I
have no proper birth records owing to my family’s condition when I was born.

Thank you again for your very thoughtful advice.

Sincerely,

Madam

P.S. There are so many heroes among us! Dr. Ward is back visiting me
with Zella. I think my schedule still alarms him, though he is glad to see me
calmly tending my garden. I have become a real “farmerette.” Roses abound!
He is now Major Ward, you know—and he commanded a base hospital in
Paris! And Dr. Kennedy has written to Lelia that he is very likely to receive a
Croix de Guerre for his bravery overseas. Negroes certainly represented our
race well in this unfortunate war.

The Madam C.J. Walker Mfg. Company

640 N
ORTH
W
EST
S
TREET

I
NDIANAPOLIS
, I
NDIANA

F.B. Ransom

Atty. & Mgr.

March 20, 1919

Dear Madam:

I do look forward to seeing you! I am in receipt of your note mentioning that you will leave Irvington on or about the 26th of the month. I was reasonably sure that this would be the time of your leaving, as I heard you were going to speak in Wilmington. And while Dr. Ward advises against speaking dates, I am sure that it will not hurt you to make this meeting and then come on to Indianapolis.

I am glad to know that you are resting.

Respectfully,

F.B. Ransom

The Madam C.J. Walker Mfg. Company

640 N
ORTH
W
EST
S
TREET

I
NDIANAPOLIS
, I
NDIANA

F.B. Ransom

Atty. & Mgr.

March 22, 1919

Dear Madam:

Enclosed are samples of the new literature. I am aware that you requested me when in New York to go ahead with these things, relieving you as much as possible of any such business details, but I have gotten in the habit of consulting you, so you will pardon me at this time. In all seriousness, however, I consult you in this respect as I do not wish to make such change, necessitating a slight additional cost, without first securing your approval.

Lottie stated that you are suffering from a severe cold. I hope this will find you feeling much better, as I want you to be in your best health during your travels.

Respectfully,

F.B. Ransom

P.S. Nettie and the boys are on their heads to see you! We hope you will be able to stay with us a few days before you move on to St. Louis to help launch the new products line. After that, please take Dr. Ward’s advice and stay at home to rest.

Chapter Thirty-eight

ST. LOUIS

EASTER SUNDAY

1919

It’s a cold. Just a very bad cold,
Sarah repeated to herself as she sat in the empty back office of St. Paul AME church holding a cold, damp cloth to her feverish head. A fan gently stirred the papers stacked on the pastor’s rolltop desk, and she could hear the distant voices of choir members rehearsing in one of the wings. She’d asked to sit alone for a few minutes, hoping she would feel better before services started. Her skin was burning, but she could hear her teeth chattering. Oh, she hated to be sick! She’d hoped to shake this cold weeks ago, but it had refused to leave her. She’d felt all right in Indianapolis, but she’d felt steadily worse since her arrival in St. Louis.
Oh, I should have just gone on back to New York like Lottie said.

Her hosts, Jessie and C.K. Robinson, had suggested she stay in bed at their home that day, offering to miss the Easter service themselves to nurse her, but Sarah had been sure she could bear to at least sit through the service. She wouldn’t address the congregation, she knew—she’d save her strength for her speech at the Coliseum in a few days—but she’d wanted to at least make an appearance. There were so many old friends at the church, so many people who had known her as Sarah McWilliams. She might not have the chance to come back soon… .

Sarah coughed, and she was dismayed to feel her entire chest constrict painfully.

It’s a cold, Sarah. Just a cold.

The voice in her head continued to coo its assurances, but Sarah believed that voice less and less. She’d never had a cold that made her feel like her body was hardening to rock, as if it would take more strength than she’d ever had just to stand up and make her way back into the sanctuary where the Robinsons were waiting for her. Lottie or Jessie would come back here looking after her soon, she knew, and she wanted to put on a good face. If she sat perfectly still during services, she might be all right. And even if she wasn’t all right, she’d
look
as though she were. Then she’d go right to bed just as they had suggested in the first place. Maybe she would have to cancel her Coliseum speaking engagement. She’d been looking forward to it, but enough was enough.
This is what you get for being
stubborn,
she thought
. You shouldn’t be here at all.

Sarah heard uneven footsteps approaching the pastor’s doorway, so she forced herself to sit up straight. She removed the damp cloth from her forehead, holding it in her lap. She didn’t know how her face looked, but she hoped she’d managed something at least resembling a smile.

When the shadow in the doorway finally took its human shape, Sarah held her breath and forgot her ailments: It was a man, but it wasn’t the pastor or Mr. Robinson. An old man who looked familiar and yet unfamiliar stood there with a walking stick and a slightly rumpled brown suit. He kept glancing down from her eyes, clearly nervous. But wait …

It
wasn’t
an old man, Sarah realized. The man’s hair and mustache were graying and his posture was poor, making his bones look frail, but this man was hardly any older than she was. Then she allowed herself to recognize what she’d known from the moment she’d seen him.

This man was C.J. Walker.

“I, uh …” C.J. cleared his throat, wiping the side of his mouth with a white kerchief he’d crumpled in one hand. “I know I shouldn’t have come back here … but I saw ’em bring you back, and … well, I …” Sarah noticed that C.J.’s hand was trembling on his walking stick. He was putting most of his weight on it, and it was a struggle for him. The sight of the shaking hand transfixed her. How could this be … ?

“I know you’re sore, Sa— Madam. And not in a million years did I ever think I’d be standing in front of you like this. But I couldn’t help myself. When I was passing outside and saw you walk inside this church, it brought a whole lot to mind. A whole lot.”

Ordinarily, Sarah thought, she’d probably have leaped to her feet and screamed every epithet she could think of at C.J., or else wrested that walking stick away to knock him in the head. Or would she have leaped to her feet to hug him … ? She honestly didn’t know. But it didn’t matter now, because any leaping was out of the question. She wondered if she could really speak a word to him, even if she wanted to. She was using all of her concentration to listen to him, and she had to ask herself in all honesty if he might be only a hallucination. The way she was feeling, a hallucination wouldn’t surprise her at all.

But no. She never would have imagined him like this. His skin, which she’d always remembered as so fine and smooth, looked thin and dry, nearly leathery. Had his drinking altered him so horribly? Or was it the rheumatism he’d always complained about in his letters? It was hard for her to imagine there was a time when he’d been neatly dressed and handsome. He didn’t look quite like a hobo, but his clothes hadn’t been given the same care and attention C.J. used to be so proud of, and his shoes were scuffed.

Finally Sarah felt an emotion; it was neither anger nor love, just pity.

And C.J. must have recognized it in her eyes the way she’d always been able to recognize it in the eyes of others. He tried to straighten his shoulders some, but the effort didn’t help much.

“I know,” he said, nodding slowly. “I must be a real sight to you. I told my sister she better never say a word to you ’bout it. If you asked, I told her she should just say, ‘He’s gettin’ by.’ But she say you don’t hardly ask, and I’ve been glad about that. After you told Mr. Ransom I could start selling the Walker goods again, I figured that’s about all I could hope for. But I guess I ain’t completely lost my selfish streak, Madam. I didn’t know how bad I needed to say some words to you until I saw you today.”

He blinked fast, fighting tears. It was a long fight; apparently C.J. was determined not to cry in front of her. When he’d finally composed himself, he took in a deep breath and went on: “Thank you for givin’ me this chance, Madam. I won’t forget it to my dying day. This will sound strange to you from the likes of me, but you’ll have to forgive me if my tongue gets tied up. I’ve had a long time to think on this, what I’ve done. Pride and envy’s the only reasons I can think of to explain it, but even that ain’t enough. I didn’t pay no mind to folks sayin’ ‘The devil made me do it’ until that ol’ devil got into me, and now I think maybe he does more mischief than we know about. That’s not an
excuse
, now—it’s just my way of explaining. But I tell you what, that still don’t go far to explaining why a man would give up everything any sane man in the world could want. See, Madam, I think I done sold my soul when I met up with that woman. That’s why you see me this way now. I ain’t never been the same after what I did, and I expect I never will.”

He paused, his breathing heavier. He leaned on the doorjamb for support, taking some of his weight off the walking stick. “Now, you notice I ain’t never asked you to forgive me in those letters I wrote. I don’t see as I have a right to ask that. Besides, I know you too well: I remember you tellin’ me a story once about a friend who did you wrong—I think her name was Etta—and how you closed up your heart and never saw her again. That’s why I knew better. You’re one of those folks who can’t open her heart once it’s been shut. But I am sorry, Madam. Sorry don’t even begin to sum it up. If I have one thing to feel good about, it’s knowing that I never gave her your hair formula, just like I said in the paper. Oh, she wanted it, all right, but I never would say. That’s the gospel truth, or lightning can strike me where I stand.”