Page 35 of Upstate

Lulu rushed to assure me that sheep were easy animals. “All they need is a place to bed down and some pasture for grazing. I haven’t even told Marcus I’m calling you, but it would lift a weight off his mind if we were able to bring them down there to live, instead of sending them for slaughter.”

“Slaughter? You mean, they’ll be killed if we don’t take them?”

“I’m afraid so, yes. They’ve been bred for their fleece, which isn’t worth what it used to be, and except for the lambs, they’re too tough for mutton. Marcus managed to sell the ram, but the only buyer he could find for the ewes would turn them into dog food.”

“Oh, Lulu, that’s terrible!” I pictured the can of cat food I opened each night for Maxine. I’d never given a thought, before, to where that meat came from. “I’ll talk to Evelyn about it and call you back tomorrow, okay?”

Upstairs, I found you at your typewriter, a cigarette smoldering in the ashtray. “Am I interrupting you?”

“Nope, just finished a chapter.” You went to sit in your leather armchair, cigarette in hand. “That sounded like a real heart-to-heart you were having, Hazel.”

“Oh, stop.” The touch of jealousy in your voice was just enough to make me feel cherished. I sat on your lap and took a drag of your cigarette. “I’ve been friends with Lulu since kindergarten.”

I told you how, when we attended Schuywich Elementary, our last names meant Lulu Logan always had the desk in front of mine in class—except at the start of fifth grade, when a teacher new to town decided the Black girl belonged in the back row. Once our principal found out about it, he took the teacher into the hall to explain (while we listened through the half-open door) that Mr. Logan, who owned the auto repair shop on Main Street, was a respected member of the community whose children were to be treated like everyone else. The abashed teacher came into the room to find we’d already given Lulu back her rightful seat.

“I hadn’t realized I’d moved to such a bastion of progressive race relations,” you teased.

“I never claimed people around here are particularly enlightened on matters of race,” I objected. “You only have to spend a night at the tavern to hear all kinds of narrow-minded talk about agitators down south and rioters in the city. But the Logans have been the only Black family in Schuywich for as long as I can remember. I guess it’s harder to stereotype someone everybody knows by name.”

“Well, if this Lulu Logan is a friend of yours, then I’m looking forward to meeting her.”

“She’s Lulu Green now. Actually, she was calling on behalf of her husband, with a question for you.”

I spilled the whole story about Mr. Logan’s heart attack and Marcus Green’s farm and the tins of cat food. I expected to have to plead Lulu’s case, but you loved the idea right away.

“A shepherdess?” You laughed. “Now, there’s something I never expected to be. Oh, this is going to make a great story.”

It did, too. Those columns you wrote for Mademoiselle were so popular, you were able to raise your rate from ten to twenty-five cents per word. The part I never told you before happened after we’d corralled the sheep you let loose and Billy headed home with Charlie.

You and I and Lulu and Marcus were in the barn, sweaty and filthy and scratching at bits of straw sticking to our skin. You went up to the house to get us cold bottles of beer and came back with the transistor radio, too. We were sitting on that old church pew, drinking Schlitz and listening to music and congratulating ourselves on a job well done. When the disc jockey played “A Big Hunk O’ Love,” it was Lulu who leapt to her feet and started dancing. We all joined in, the four of us shimmying and shaking and having so much fun. The next song that came on was “Smoke Gets in Your Eyes.” Marcus pulled Lulu in close. You did the same to me, casually, like it was a joke. But as the song went on, you seemed to forget we weren’t in some Greenwich Village club. You pressed your cheek to mine and ran your fingers through my hair. Glancing over your shoulder, I saw that Marcus was facing the other way and Lulu’s eyes were closed. I allowed myself to relax into your embrace with a sigh. Then Marcus dipped Lulu on that last plaintive note. Her head tipped back and her eyes flew open at the exact moment you kissed my neck.

Lulu’s eyes narrowed—whether with confusion or disgust, I couldn’t tell. I squirmed away from you just as Marcus brought her upright. He hadn’t noticed a thing, but I was afraid Lulu would tell him what she saw. People back then didn’t think anything of two unmarried women rooming together. If a rumor were to start, though—well, just like in The Children’s Hour, a whisper was all it would take for me to lose my job at the library. And what would happen to you if the good people of Schuywich found out the interloping city girl they’d had their doubts about all along was actually a dyke? You’d upended your whole life to come live with me. I was certain you’d hate me if it came crashing down in flames.

I felt sick as we bid good night to the sheep and started walking up to the house. Lulu linked her arm through mine, slowing her steps until the two of us fell far enough behind not to be overheard.

“Are you all right living here, Hazel?”

It wasn’t the question I expected. “I’m fine, Lulu.”

Turning toward me, she put her hands on my shoulders and searched my face in the fading light. “Is there anything happening between you and Evelyn that you don’t want to be happening?”

Nothing’s happening, I don’t know what you’re talking about—that’s what I tried to say. But the words were trapped in my closed throat. The way Lulu was looking at me, I could tell she understood what the kiss she’d witnessed meant. I didn’t get the feeling she was condemning me, though. Rather, she seemed to be asking if I was being taken advantage of. That’s a trope pulp fiction trafficked in: the butch lesbian corrupting a naïve girl. If that’s what Lulu was worried about, then her question was more kindness than accusation, but reassuring her would mean admitting what I really was. What you and I were, together. Taking that risk terrified me.

Lulu picked up on my terror. “If she’s hurting you in any way—”

“No, no, that’s not it at all.” Tears filled my eyes. My chin trembled. I was showing all the signs of a battered wife. If I didn’t tell her the truth, she’d share her fears with Marcus, or worse yet, my mother. “I’m exactly where I want to be, Lulu.”

“Are you sure about that, Hazel?”

I nodded. Drawing in a ragged breath, I held it until I felt dizzy. The truth rushed out with my exhalation. “I love her, Lulu, the way you love Marcus.”

There it was, in words so plain there’d be no denying them. I’d taken the leap. My future hung in midair like Wile E. Coyote, legs frantically churning as he awaits the fall.

“I believe you, Hazel.” Lulu’s face softened. “You best be careful, though. Folks around here—”

She never finished the thought. Marcus called out for her. Lulu gave my shoulders a squeeze, then strode off. “Coming, honey!”

I trusted Lulu, but her warning was a bucket of cold water spilled down my back. A hot shower didn’t take away the chill. Even with your arms wrapped around me in bed, I shivered.