The End of the Line (30 page)

Mr.
Thomas closed his eyes with a pained look. “Don’t even say that.”

“Maybe
we’ll end up going our separate ways, or we might end up married with your
grandchildren.”

Her
father swallowed hard.

“If
it does happen, if by some chance Peter and I did get married and did have a
baby, he or she is going to love you regardless of the color of your skin. And
I know in my heart that you would not push my little baby away. I have to
believe that, Dad, because I can’t bear to think of you rejecting her.”

“You
are the end of the line,” he said in an emotional rush. “The end of a line that
goes back forever. How can you even talk about discontinuing it?”

Latesha
looked at him with the uncompromising dignity of an African princess. “He’s the
end of his line, too, Dad. His mother is as keen as you are for keeping the
bloodlines pure. White, black, we have to keep it all separate, don’t we, or
else our heritage will be sullied.”

“It
will always be that way. He’s different, Tesha.”

“Why,
because he’s white? Huh? Being a man makes him much more different from me than
the shade of his skin. What could be more different than men and women? But
they have loved from the beginning and will continue to love until the end.”
She shook her head. “I would be the proudest woman in the world to have Peter
Elsworth as my partner. Sure, we are the end of our lines, but that doesn’t
mean what you or Mrs. Elsworth think it does.”

“What
are you talking about?” Mr. Thomas asked irritably.

“Maybe
God put us here for a purpose, Dad. Maybe Peter and I represent the end of the
line between people. Maybe it’s time to erase the lines that separate us and to
see each other as human beings, not shades of color. The skin is merely your
wrapping. I’m concerned with what’s inside, the heart, the mind, the soul. I
think it’s time we stop seeing the line, Dad, because if we don’t, then every
person who’s lost his life for freedom, or who has suffered an indignity
because of their skin, every one of them is victimized over and over again.”

Mr.
Thomas leaned back in his chair and groaned. “I want that door back,” he said
forcefully. “They stole it and I want it back! I won’t change my mind about
it.”

“That’s
your right.”

“Yes,
it is my right.”

“I’ll
tell Peter.”

“You
do that,” he said. “And I want you to do something else. I want to understand
that nothing you can do or say will ever make me accept my daughter being with
a white man. There’s nothing, Latesha. It will never happen. If you choose him,
you reject me. That’s all there is to it, and I will not change my mind.” He
wheeled toward his room. “Perhaps I am a racist, but sometimes there’s a good
reason for things. I will not hate on him because he’s white, but I will never
accept him with my daughter. Never.”

Chapter Twelve

Latesha
left early the next morning without seeing her father and at noon she
approached the picnic area. Peter was already there. He had his back to her and
was laying out sandwiches, drinks and grapes. She walked around him and bent
over to catch his attention. “Is this seat taken?” she asked, pretending not to
know him.

“It’s
reserved,” he said with a joyous smile.

Latesha
laughed at him and sat down across the table. “I have some good news.”

“Oh?”

“Mary
called. Apparently all the tickets for the play have been sold. Turns out Jack
Pearson bought the last of them and we’re going to have a contingent from The
Old English Club.”

“Splendid!”
Peter said. “Nothing like a full house.”

“Yes,”
Latesha replied, though she was obviously nervous. “Did you talk to your
mother?”

“Yes,
I did.”

Latesha
glanced furtively at him and opened her lunch. “What about?”

“She
asked me to eat lunch with her today. But I told her I had a previous
engagement, at which point she grilled me on when, where and with whom.”

“Did
you tell her it was me?”

“I’ve
got nothing to hide, least of all my relationship with you.”

“Dad
wants the door back,” she blurted out.

“All
right. I’ll tell Charles and Georgina.”

Latesha
winced. “I’m sorry.”

“There’s
nothing to be sorry about.”

Latesha
raised her head and suddenly looked surprised. Peter looked behind him and saw
his mother coming toward them in a steady, brisk trot. She looked furious.

“Storm
coming,” Latesha said.

“I’ll
talk to her,” Peter assured, turning around on the seat to face her. “Hello, Mom,”
he said when she came to within a few paces.

“May
I talk to this woman alone, please?” Mrs. Elsworth said firmly, her inflamed
eyes locked on Latesha.

“Talk
to me,” Peter returned, his voice as firm as his mother’s.

“I
want to talk to
her
!” Mrs. Elsworth
exclaimed.

Latesha
suddenly raised her head and looked at Mrs. Elsworth. “I’ll talk to you.”

“Alone!”
Mrs. Elsworth demanded.

Latesha
took out her change purse. “Peter,” she said, taking out some coins, “I wanted
a bottle of orange juice with my lunch but forgot it. Could you do me a favor
and go get me one out of the lobby machine?”

“Are
you sure?”

She
handed him the money. “Yes.”

He
shook his head. “Don’t worry about the money.”

“No,”
she insisted, pushing the money at him. “I can buy my own drink.”

Peter
accepted the coins, smirked at his mother, then left.

“Have
a seat, Mrs. Elsworth,” Latesha offered, pointing at the spot Peter had just
vacated.

Mrs.
Elsworth sat down. “I’ll make this short and sweet,” she said. “You’re a
beautiful girl, but I’m sure you know that.” She paused with a thoughtful look.
“Beauty makes men lose their minds.” Mrs. Elsworth scowled. “It’s obvious my
son has fallen in love with you.”

“We
enjoy each other’s friendship.”

“My
son has the world in front of him.” She looked uncompromisingly into Latesha’s
eyes. “I want my son marrying a society girl, someone from his own culture.”

“Oh,
what culture is that?”

Mrs.
Elsworth rubbed her hands in irritation. “Peter is a world apart from you. You
might as well be from different planets.”

Latesha
said nothing and showed no emotion.

“What
do you think of that, Miss Thomas?” Mrs. Elsworth challenged. “Will you leave
my son alone and give him a chance to make something of himself?”

“We
have a river that runs behind our house,” Latesha said in a soft voice, “and
there is a really deep and wide pool in it.”

“What?”
Mrs. Elsworth said incredulously.

“Right
now the water is still warm. I was wondering if you’d like to go swimming with
me?”

Mrs.
Elsworth looked dumbfounded. “Didn’t you hear what I said?”

“It’s
very private,” Latesha replied. “We’ll have it to ourselves.” Latesha took out
a piece of paper, wrote her phone number on it, then passed it to Mrs.
Elsworth. “Feel free to call anytime.”

“There’s
no future in your relationship with my son,” she assured Latesha, not taking
the number. “No future at all. If you do like each other, it’s a passing fancy,
maybe a bit of forbidden fruit, but you have nothing in common.”

Latesha
looked at her without saying a word and ate her lunch as if alone.

“Listen,
young lady,” Mrs. Elsworth continued, exasperated. “That boy is my only son.
He’s my pride and joy. I want what’s best for him, and for you, too. I’m older
than you, more experienced in these things.”

Latesha
did not show the slightest sign of responding.

“Miss
Thomas, please don’t be difficult. Peter gave me trouble during the birth and
he has been a constant worry ever since. Do you know how many times I watched
his tennis tournaments and cooked under the hot sun? Do you know how many
football games and practices I drove him to?”

“He
played football?” Latesha asked, putting down her apple.

“Yes,”
Mrs. Elsworth snapped, aggravated with her lack of progress.

“Really?”
she asked, surprised. “What position?”

“Quarterback,”
Mrs. Elsworth said. “He led his team to the provincial championship in high
school.”

“Hmm,”
Latesha mumbled, shocked by the revelation. “Does he still play?”

“No,”
she said with aggravation. “He broke his left shoulder in the first year of
university football, then broke it again when he tried to come back too early.
The specialist told him to forget about contact sports. He went back to tennis
after that.” She paused and got back on track. “I’ve given everything to that
boy. Now it’s time for recompense, but if he won’t listen to me, maybe you
will. I don’t want you to see him anymore.”

“He’s
a well-rounded man, isn’t he?” Latesha said, noticing Peter hurrying toward
them with a bottle of orange juice.

“My
son is good at everything,” she said proudly. Mrs. Elsworth looked over her
shoulder and smiled when Peter reached them. “That was quick, darling.”

“Your
mother was just telling me about your football background,” Latesha noted,
looking humorously at Peter. “I had no idea. No one in Beechwood does.”

“I’m
a little rusty,” Peter said with a twinkle in his eye, “but it all comes back
soon enough. Just like riding a bike.” He looked at his mother. “Did you have a
chance to talk while I was gone, Mom?”

“Yes,”
she said. “Your friend and I had a good talk. I think we’ve come to an
understanding.”

“Yes,”
Latesha confirmed. “Your mother might come for a swim with me in the river
behind our house. Just the two of us.”

Mrs.
Elsworth knitted her brows. “I have to go now.” She kissed her son on the
cheek. “Good bye, Peter.” Her expression became very sharp and harsh when she
looked at Latesha. “Good bye, Miss Thomas.”

“Hope
to hear from you soon,” Latesha returned. “Oh, don’t forget my number,” she
added, handing the slip of paper to Mrs. Elsworth.

Mrs.
Elsworth, feigning politeness, accepted the paper and put it into her purse,
then briskly walked away in the direction she had come, occasionally looking
back with a scowl.

“What
was that all about?” Peter asked.

“Girl
talk,” Latesha dismissed. “So, tell me more about your football background.”

He
explained his football history in detail. “But, like I said, I haven’t played
in a long while. I’m going to ask your father to throw the ball around with
me.”

“I
think there’s about as much chance of him playing catch with you as there is of
your mother going swimming with me.”

Peter
laughed. “You’re probably right.” He looked at his watch. “Sorry,” he said,
shrugging. “I don’t have much time. I have to go soon.”

“Okay.”

“Can
we meet tonight?” Peter asked hopefully.

She
immediately perked up. “Six o’clock?”

“Pencil
me in,” he answered cheerfully, pleased to know he would soon be seeing her
again. “I’ll drive straight from work.”

“Meet
me at the old station,” she said. “We can sit on the riverbank.”

Peter
spontaneously kissed Latesha on the lips. The kiss took her by surprise, especially
as there were a dozen people in the area, several of whom saw the kiss. But
none of them seemed the least interested. She liked that.

For
the rest of the day, Latesha concentrated on school work and memorizing lines.
After dinner, just before six, she told her father she was going for a walk. He
seemed pensive and merely mumbled something as she left.

Peter
was already parked in the dirt road near the old station. He saw Latesha
approaching and quickly got out of the truck and exchanged waves. They strolled
along a path for ten minutes and then stopped under a tree. Latesha leaned her
back against it and looked up at him. He kissed her and lightly rubbed the back
of his hand across her smooth, soft cheek.

“I
feel guilty,” she said with a smirk. “It’s like I’m doing this behind my
father’s back.”

“Do
you think it would always be that way, or could it ever just be normal?”

“Normal?”
she asked. “I don’t know if we’d ever be just normal.” She shrugged and lowered
her eyes. “It would have been a lot simpler if we never met.”

“I
wouldn’t have liked that.”

“No,”
Latesha replied. “I’m very glad we met. It’s just complicated, that’s all.”

“I
know,” he said reservedly. Suddenly he brightened. “The day after tomorrow we
put on the play. Are you ready?”

“I
know my lines,” she said, “but we’ve never practiced together.” She paused. “I
want to do it for the first time that night, come what may. I want it to be new
and fresh. Just like we’re them saying the words for the first time.”

“Should
be interesting.”

“Will
your mother come?”

“No,”
Peter said instantly. “What about your father?”

Latesha
shook her head and pursed her lips. “I think I better go home now,” she said
with a sigh. “I don’t want him suspecting I met you. Everything is such an
ordeal with him.”

Peter
kissed her again, this time as if it was a perfectly natural act. She kissed
him back and put her hand on his chest, right over his beating heart. He held
her closer, her bosom pressing against him. When they drew back, Latesha sighed
and looked up at him. Behind them was a harvest moon rising in the east, and a
big-eyed owl watching them from high in a tree.

She
kissed him again and then left, walking up the road and looking back as he
pulled out onto the Beechwood Road. She waved and smiled, and he waved and
smiled. Then she was alone again, in her all-black village, left to ponder
questions that seemed to have no answers.

When
she got home, her father never suspected a thing. Latesha did her chores, then
went to bed and practiced her lines until midnight. In the morning she felt so
tired that she decided to stay home from school. She would take the time to
work on her lines some more and go to the community center with Mary and wait
for the inspector. Mr. Thomas was already up and had gotten his own breakfast.
He was listening to the radio and lifting dumbbells to the beat of a song.
Suddenly he straightened up and gawked out the window.

“Who
the hell is that?” he asked with a strange look.

Latesha
hurried up to him and looked over his shoulder out the same window and saw a
big white van in their driveway. An older woman and a younger one got out,
followed by fifteen girls in ballet outfits. The girls, all white, seemed to range
in age from about three to seventeen.. Each of them wore slippers and ribbons
or barrettes in their hair. Mr. Thomas crooked his head, trying to understand
what he was seeing. Latesha had the same confused look. Before they had time to
speculate any further, there was a knock on the door. Latesha glanced at her
father, made a strange face, and then opened it. Mr. Thomas wheeled himself
into the living room so he would be facing the people as they entered.

“Hello,”
Latesha stammered to the unexpected visitors.

“Hello,”
said the older woman, a huge photo album in her hand. “My name is Georgina
Rutherford and I am representing The Old English Club.”

“Yes,”
Latesha said, glancing furtively at her father. She opened the door wider.
“Please, come in.”

Georgina
and her assistant, along with all the girls, walked into the Thomas home. “You
must be Latesha,” Georgina said with a warm smile.

“Yes,”
she answered, smiling back.

“It’s
very nice to meet you.”

“It’s
nice to meet you, too.”

Georgina
turned her gaze to Mr. Thomas. “You must be Benjamin Thomas.”

“Yes,”
Mr. Thomas said. “Is this about the door?”

“Yes,
it is,” Georgina said with a heavy look. “The door is precisely why we are
here.” She slipped off her shoes and walked up to him with the photo album.
“Can I show you something?”

Mr.
Thomas glanced at Latesha and then straightened up in his chair. “I suppose
so,” he said.

“I
have been informed that you wish to remove the door from our dance studio,” she
continued with great emotion, her voice cracking several times. “There is no
doubt that you have the right to this door, but it has hung in the ballet
school for longer than I’ve been alive. During those years, hundreds of little
girls have had their photographs taken beside it.” She opened the photo album
and showed him photos dating back over a century. “When that door is gone, it
will be the end of a tradition.”

Mr.
Thomas stared at the door and realized he was looking at his own history. A
sweet little girl, no more than three, walked forward on her own. “Thank you
for letting us use your door, Mr. Thomas,” she said in her tiny, tender voice.
There was a big blue ribbon in her hair and she looked like a fairy. She passed
Mr. Thomas a yellow envelope and placed her dainty white hand on his wrist. “It
was very nice of you to let us use it.”