The Secrets of Silk (9 page)

Silk nodded. “I found out the hard way.”

“So, you're a teacher, are you? I heard you're going to be teaching at a private school.”

“Yes ma'am. I am. This will be my first year teaching school.”

“Where's the school located? It must be well hidden because I've never heard of any Christian School for colored children in Chester,” Sister Beverly continued. The other women who were gathered around the dining room table murmured in agreement.

Silk's eyes darted back and forth as she thought up a lie. “It hasn't opened yet. The trustees are still looking for a building.”

Sister Beverly raised a brow. “Who are the trustees? I know all the Christian folks in this area.”

“Well, they're actually white missionaries who were traveling through Louisiana, recruiting teachers for Christian schools they're opening in different parts of the country. I already had a teaching position lined up in Louisiana, but I loved the idea of doing the Lord's work, and so I took a chance and traveled all the way here. Unfortunately, I don't know how to get in touch with those missionaries because all the information was in my suitcase.” Silk shook her head pitifully. “I'll be heading south with Clara when she leaves after the funeral.” Silk wiped away imaginary tears.

Clara put a comforting arm around Silk's shoulder. “Silk's beau
is training to become a doctor, and I'm sure he'll be pleased to have her back in Louisiana. They're fixing to get married around Christmastime.”

“Oh, you're going to be a doctor's wife?” Sister Beverly smiled in approval.

“Yes, ma'am. It's not official, but I'm guessing he's going to pop the question and give me a ring by Christmas.”

“Tell the ladies about your hope chest,” Clara said excitedly.

“Oh, it's nothing.” Silk lowered her eyes, pretending to be modest.

“Don't be shy; tell them about all those fancy items you got stored in the chest for when you set up housekeeping,” Clara prompted.

“Well, I have a set of silverware, silver candlesticks, bone china, lots of crystal, including a crystal butter dish, a ceramic serving bowl, several sets of beautiful bed linen, embroidered hand towels…oh, and I have all sorts of knickknacks and many other household items. My hope chest is filled to the brim.”

“When is that boyfriend of yours going to officially become a doctor?” Sister Beverly inquired.

“He's in his last year of medical school, and after that, he has to complete a year of being an intern,” Silk said, repeating what she'd overheard one of Big Mama's white clients say while speaking about her son, the future doctor.

“Hmm. Seems like colored doctors always end up marrying high-yella girls,” Sister Beverly commented. Clara shot Sister Beverly a disapproving look.

Sensing hostility in Sister Beverly's voice, Silk said in a timid voice, “I'm gonna go check on the children.”

“That wasn't very nice of you to say,” Clara chastised Sister Beverly as Silk left the dining room. “She can't help her color no more than you or I can help ours.”

“I stated a fact,” Sister Beverly said, holding her ground. “Do
any of you know of any colored doctors married to a brown-skinned gal? Those light-bright women tend to snatch up all the prominent colored men—doctors and preachers and such.”

The flock of women muttered in agreement.

Clara joined Silk in the living room. “Don't pay Sister Beverly any mind. She can be rude at times, but that's just her way; you'll get used to her.”

“It's okay; I know she didn't mean any harm.”

“You're so forgiving; you're practically a saint, Silk. I'm mighty pleased to have a friend like you.”

“The feeling is mutual; now introduce me to your niece and nephews.”

“The boys seem to be doing fine, jumping around and roughhousing all over the place. But my niece, Dallas, she's been keeping to herself and not talking much. It's hard to know what's going on inside her head.”

Silk glanced at the well-groomed little girl who was sitting on the shiny tile floor, playing jacks by herself. Gathered around the TV set, two scrawny boys with bright eyes were wiggling around, emitting squeals of excitement as they watched
The Lone Ranger.

Getting an opportunity to watch a TV program was a rarity for Silk and she wanted to join the boys on the sofa and watch the action-packed show.

“Dallas, Myron, and Bruce,” Clara said, calling the children to attention. “I want you to meet a good friend of mine from down South. Her name is Miss Silk and your daddy said it's all right if she stays here at the house with us for a while.”

The boys, Bruce and Myron, gazed at Silk briefly, and then returned their attention to the TV. Accustomed to being admired by the male species in general—coloreds, whites, and even scrawny
little boys—Silk didn't appreciate the quick and dismissive manner in which the boys had evaluated her. She took an immediate disliking toward them, but didn't let it show.

Reflected in the girl's eyes, Silk saw the admiration that the boys hadn't shown. In a soft voice, Dallas said, “Hi,” and then returned to her solo game of jacks.

The little girl was obviously grieving for her dead mother; Silk could see the sorrow in the child's eyes. She joined Dallas on the floor. “You're pretty good at jacks.”

“I'm in my foursies,” Dallas said in a somber tone as she shook the metal objects in her hand and then tossed them onto the floor.

“Can I play with you?”

“Ladies don't play jacks,” Dallas said, gazing at Silk quizzically.

“I do. It's always been one of my favorite games. But down South we don't get to play with shiny jacks like these.”

“What do you play with?” Dallas inquired.

“Bottle caps, pebbles, and stones,” Silk admitted, accidentally letting it slip out that she was from humble beginnings. She caught herself and said, “I mean, the poor little kids I taught when I was a student teacher had to play with stones. They'd love to have a store-bought set like you have.”

“They play jacks with stones?” Dallas wrinkled her nose.

“Some children aren't as privileged as you are,” Clara piped in.

“If you let me play, you won't have to start over. You can stay in your foursies, and I'll try to catch up with you.”

“Okay,” Dallas said, returning her attention to the game. She threw the ball up and scooped four jacks into her palm, and then caught the ball in the same hand. When she tried to scoop up the next set of four jacks that weren't spaced close together, she dropped the ball.

“It's my turn,” Silk said gleefully. She picked up all ten jacks, rattling them around in her hand. Giving the jacks a wide toss, she began tossing the ball upward and picking up the jacks one at a time. She quickly caught up to Dallas, but instead of surpassing her, Silk deliberately dropped the ball, giving Dallas another chance.

“You're down; it's my turn again,” Dallas said, excitement shining on her face as she scooped the jacks off the floor.

Seeing that Silk was coaxing Dallas out of her shell, Clara gave Silk a wink and made her way back to the dining room, rejoining the church folks.

Silk clapped her hands gleefully as Dallas progressed in the game. “You're a lot better than I thought you'd be. I'm going to have to get some practice in if I expect to beat you.”

Silk's complimentary words brought a bright smile to the little girl's face.

The sound of tires crunching over gravel was heard. “Daddy's home,” the boys exclaimed. “Let's ask him to help us put together our new model airplanes.” Bruce and Myron raced across the room and pushed open the screen door, welcoming their father home.

The church women as well as Clara began moving from the dining room to the living room, their faces etched with sympathy. A few of them, Silk noticed, were primping their hair and smoothing out the wrinkles in their clothes. Apparently, some of the women had a little more on their minds than to simply console the grieving widower.

Showing respect, Silk rose from the floor, telling Dallas, “We'll finish the game later.” Dallas stood next to Silk and Silk put an arm around the child's shoulder. Dallas rested her head against
Silk's side, a sign that she was warming up to the newcomer.

A man who was the color of blackstrap molasses walked through the door. He was medium height and weight, wearing a short-sleeved shirt that exposed muscular arms. He had a quiet dignity about him—a manly man who possessed full sensual lips and a thick head of kinky hair. His grim expression didn't disguise his good looks. In fact, the scowl that came from grieving the sudden loss of his wife made him even more attractive to Silk. He reminded her of the photographs she'd seen in movie magazines of actor Sidney Poitier.

Silk hadn't expected to be instantly attracted to Richard Dixon, but she was. And that attraction was accompanied by a flash of jealousy. If she were in Louisiana, she would have pulled out her knife and warned those church bitches to take their asses back into the dining room if they knew what was good for them. But here up North, she had to let go of her old ways and behave like a prim and proper schoolteacher.

“Daddy! Deacon Whiteside gave us new model airplanes, but we need you to help us put them together,” Myron said in a rush of excitement.

“Boys! This is not the time to bombard your daddy with foolishness. He's under a lot of pressure,” Sister Beverly said, shooing the boys away.

Buddy muttered that he'd take a look at the planes later, and rustled the boys' hair before they returned to their perch in front of the TV.

“Come on in the dining room and rest yourself, Buddy,” Sister Beverly said. “The ladies will fix you a plate of fried chicken and a nice glass of lemonade to cool you off,” she said, steering Buddy out of the living room.

Buddy stopped walking as his eyes landed on his daughter. “How's my little bunny rabbit?” he said to Dallas. Silk could tell he had a soft spot for his little girl, and she was glad that she was winning the child over.

“I'm fine, Daddy,” Dallas responded. “How come you didn't bring the twin babies home?”

“They're too small right now. They have a lot of growing to do before they can come home.” His gaze shifted to Silk. “You must be Clara's friend.”

“Yes, my name's Silk Moreaux.”

“I'm Richard Dixon but everyone calls me Buddy. I heard about your mishap in Philly, and I want you to know you're welcome to stay here.”

“She's catching a bus back down South when Clara leaves,” Sister Beverly interjected.

“We don't have a lot of room, but we'll make do,” Buddy said. His voice was deep and rich. The sound of it made Silk feel tingly all over.

“Thank you for your hospitality, and I'm terribly sorry about your loss,” Silk said.

“Miss Silk talks country like Aunt Clara,” Bruce blurted. He and his brother broke into titters of laughter and Silk wanted to slap them. But instead she smiled at the boys.

“Clara and I are country girls. What you hear is called a Southern accent,” Silk explained.

“Your daddy used to have a Southern accent, too,” Clara reminded her nephew.

“Uh-uh, our daddy never talked country, did you, Daddy?” Myron asked.

“I was a country bumpkin when I arrived here in Chester, but I lost my accent after a while,” Buddy explained to his son.

“That's enough about country-talking,” Sister Beverly said. “Come on, Buddy; let's get you something to eat. You've been gone for hours, and you must be starving.” She motioned for Buddy to follow her to the dining room.

More than anything, Silk wanted to kick Clara, her baby, and all the church folk out of the house so that she could have some privacy with Buddy. Before he was whisked away by Sister Beverly, she could have sworn that he'd given her a special look. A look that told her he'd rather spend time with her than be stuck in the dining room with a bunch of ol' biddies.

T
he boys shared the bedroom with their father, Clara and her baby stayed in the boys' room, while Silk bunked with Dallas. Silk wondered if she'd get a wink of sleep tonight while sharing a tiny little twin bed with the youngster.

Dallas' bedroom reminded Silk of a child's room in a magazine. The wallpaper was decorated with little ballerinas. Frilly gingham curtains with sashes hung at the windows and the dust ruffles around the bed matched the curtains. On the floor beside the bed was a multicolored oval rug that was bordered with peach rosettes. Beneath the windowsill was a large, wooden toy box that was painted white and had Dallas' name engraved on the front.

There were dolls and stuffed animals everywhere: perched on shelves, clustered on top of the chest of drawers, lying in toy cradles, and life-size dolls stood like sentries in different areas of the bedroom. Silk had never possessed any shiny, new toys as a child. She'd had a crude rag doll that Big Mama had made for her out of old scraps of fabric. But Silk's most prized possession had been a Tiny Tears doll passed on to her by one of Big Mama's customers, discarded by her daughter after she'd dropped the doll and cracked its hard plastic skull. Silk had cherished that doll, feeding her lots of water and then squeezing her rubber tummy to make the tears trickle from her eyes.