Page 8 of Meet Me in the Garden
“We aren’tallowedto be married.” She’s suddenly small and fragile, twisting the skin again. “You know that. My birth certificate says Negro and his says white.”
“How about in a church where no one knows you? You could go to Baton Rouge or Lafayette.” My words come out frantic and fast. To think of her inside those gates, behind the heavy doors. “Maybe we can find someone to make you a false birth certificate. Or maybe if you go far enough away, you can say that you lost it, and they’ll marry you anyway, and no one will ever guess that you’re colored.”
“Shh,” she says. “We have a plan all figured out. Just listen.”
“What is it?”
“We’re leaving. Going to Los Angeles. Bill has dreams of working in the pictures, and this way you can go with your sisters after all. I’ll start a new life with a ring on my finger, and before we know it, you’ll be there, too.”
“Los Angeles,” I say. The pieces falling into place.
But Hattie, in her sewing room, giving me tea, kissing my mouth.
“Maybe you can convince her,” Delphine says, reading my mind. She squeezes my hand. “If she loves you, she’ll go.”
“I don’t know if she loves me.”
“How could she not?”
“When are you leaving?”
“In just a day or two. Bill needs to close up his studio and arrange for the shipping of all his things. I spent the morning at his house, helping to pack. Maman can’t know what I’m planning. When it’s time, I’ll cram what I can into a suitcase and go.” All these days I’ve been here waiting for her, she’s been forming a plan without me. “I hope you’ll come soon,” she says. “Right after the New Year, just like you’ve been saying. That would give us plenty of time before I have the baby. We can set up the nursery together.” She’s standing now, hovering over me. “I’ll write to you from California, when there isn’t any danger.” But how will I stand it until then? A sense that we’re hurtling into nothingness. She pulls me up, kisses my cheek. “It’s sort of a grand adventure, isn’t it?” she says, and then she’s gone.
Three days later, Maman and Jean Pierre and Auntie Bertha come into the kitchen. It’s evening, we’re drinking beers around the table, the conversation halts at the sight of their somber faces. Baby Rudy’s on my lap. He’s been playing with the buttons of my sweater, rolling them between his tiny fingers. I hold him tight, grateful for his weight.
“Your cousin’s gone,” Auntie Bertha says. No trace of Delphine’s beauty in her. No trace of Papa’s gentleness. Difficult to believe that she’s the sister and mother of the people I’ve loved most in the world.
Maman’s eyes are fixed on me, probing. “What do you know about it?”
“Nothing,” I say.
“What do you mean,gone?” Claire asks.
“Run away,” Auntie Bertha says. “With a man none of us know. A white man. Older.”
Adele shakes her head, disbelieving. “Why would she do that?”
“She’s carrying his baby,” Maman says. “Months along already.”
Her eyes are still boring into me. I meet them, stare back. For a few moments, I’m formidable. I owe her nothing. But what if I’m wrong, to not tell them what I know?
“This is it,” Auntie Bertha says. “I tried to help her. I was going to send her away to have the baby, and then she could have come back. Started over.”
“The reasonable thing to do,” Jean Pierre says, his arms crossed over his chest. I could hurl my beer glass at him.
“But she chose to take matters into her own hands,” Auntie Bertha continues. “Reckless. I’m finished with her.”
Maman puts her arm around Auntie Bertha’s shoulders. “You did everything you could. She’s in the Lord’s hands now.” Auntie Bertha starts to cry, and Maman ushers her to the back door, Jean Pierre following, shutting it as they go.
A silence at the table. No one saying anything. And then my sisters turn to me, waiting to hear what I know.
“We’ll leave you girls to talk,” Bernard says, standing. He heads toward the front of the house, nodding at Al to follow.
Adele sighs. “Poor Delphine. Tell us everything.”
Pressure in my eyes, a knot in my throat. “You promise you won’t repeat it?”
“Promise,” Adele says.
