Faith's Reckoning, page 15
Faith felt her attention settle on her breath again without any undue effort. The noticing allowed a sense of clarity to develop, as though the silt of a stream were settling into the still presence of a large pool. When she had worked in the missionary medical clinics in Burma in 1968, she had strayed from her Nazarene roots finding refuge in the teachings and practice of Theravadan Buddhism. Mindfulness practice, the friendly attention to her breath, had become her daily bread. It had not supplanted her faith, only expanded it. In a sudden flash, she realized that she had not really talked to Sylvia about this part of her life. Maybe meditation could serve as a spiritual compass for her niece.
Faith carried her mug of coffee into her bedroom, the rubber bottoms of her slippers slapping against the hardwood floors. She stood before the bookshelf that held her Bibles and devotionals and meditation books and took another sip of coffee. She sat the mug on the bedside table and picked up her reading glasses, perching them on top of her head for later use. She felt a thrill as she ran her fingers along the spines of the books. They were not organized in any specific way. Certainly not by author, and only vaguely by subject because after all, how do you classify the subject of God? Finally, her hand came to rest on the white binding of a small volume. She pulled the book from between its nearest neighbors and donned her glasses. The soft butter cream cover featured a ghostly image of a tree emerging from the mist. The title “A Gradual Awakening” was printed beneath the author’s name, Stephen Levine. She sat on the edge of the bed and leafed through the yellowing pages. Just reading the chapter titles recalled the comfort she had found in these words, the comfort of being at peace with not knowing.
She took her coffee and the book back to the kitchen and sat at the small table in the dining nook. She read the first pages, then reached for the stationery pad and pen that were always on this table. She began a letter to Sylvia.
“I know how hard it must be for you to trust in something greater, that bears witness to our suffering as humans, especially the suffering of the innocent that you see in your work every day. And I know it is natural for the mind to become afflicted with indignation. But I do not think cynicism is born from the suffering, but from the disappointment of being too certain in our beliefs. We must be able to tolerate the absence of answers….”
When she finished the letter, she tucked it inside the front cover of the book, then dropped it in a large manila envelop. She addressed the package to:
Sylvia Barbarino, Esq.
5928 36th Street
Austin, TX 78705
MISSISSIPPI 1932
Plessy could hardly sit still on the train ride home from New Orleans. Though sleep deprived, he churned with excitement at the prospect of seeing Delsey and telling her the news. Philip Randolph had been thrilled when Plessy said he would accept the job with the Brotherhood of Sleeping Car Porters. They had disembarked the train together in New York, discussing the details of the work. There would be no salary initially, but Randolph promised to find some money for Plessy if the union grew. Plessy would organize the Pullman porters by distributing pamphlets at stops along his route and attending meetings of the Baker Heater League in New Orleans, Birmingham, Atlanta and Washington, D.C. He was authorized to assign tasks to the other union members then report his progress to Randolph.
The Crescent was scheduled for a twelve-hour layover in New York before it returned to New Orleans the next morning. Randolph invited Plessy to spend the night at his home in Harlem. As the two men left the train platform, Plessy felt flush. He had collected a handsome twenty-dollar tip for finding a woman’s lost wedding ring on the train. The two men crossed the large open halls of Penn Station and made their way through the tunnels to the subway. Plessy paid the nickel fare for both himself and Randolph and they boarded the new 8th Avenue train to 125th Street. Minutes later, they stepped out of the subway car and ascended to the street above. As the cool evening air greeted Plessy, he felt lighter, unchained from some great weight. Black couples, elegantly dressed, were getting into their new roadsters while the strains of Duke Ellington pulsed from a nearby club. He was home.
They walked the five blocks to Randolph’s flat in a brick rowhouse, where his wife Lucille had a home cooked meal waiting for them. After dinner, the couple insisted that Plessy join them at a friend’s party. He declined, saying he had to be on the Crescent by five a.m. to prep the sleeping cabins, but they persisted, promising to introduce him to the people who were the lifeblood of the Harlem Renaissance. Plessy reconsidered, not able to resist a chance to step out of the shadow of the South for an evening. The party had reminded him of his time at Howard University, the thoughtful conversations of people envisioning a cultural reformation. He was especially taken by Zora Neale Hurston, a woman whose intelligence and fearlessness reminded him of Delsey.
That had been a week ago and he had traveled over four thousand miles since then. The brakes squealed as the train pulled into the Hattiesburg station. Plessy was almost there, almost back with his Delsey, the woman he knew he wanted to marry. He was dressed in a fine, blue gabardine suit he had purchased with his leftover tip money. He bought it because he wanted Delsey to see the man he was meant to be. He picked up his suitcase and leapt from the train as soon as it reached the platform, stopping to gather a bouquet of purple asters and goldenrod on the short walk to the Wiggins’ Trading Post. He approached the door to the back office, then paused and knocked.
“Just a minute,” replied Delsey, her voice instantly sending his body into a riot.
He straightened his wide maroon silk tie and held the flowers out in front of him.
When she opened the door, her jaw dropped, and she gasped in delight. “Sweet Jesus! And I thought you were handsome before! Come in this office and close the door before I make a fool of myself in public.”
She took the flowers from his hand. He drew her into his body, closing the door behind him until the latch clicked. She put both arms around his waist and tilted her head back to receive his kiss. The wet fullness of his lips eased the longing that had been growing in her for days.
“I missed you so much Love,” she whispered in his ear, “Missed you something fierce.”
He scooped her up and began to waltz in slow big circles, her arms clasped around his neck, still holding the flowers. Her feet lifted off the floor as they twirled around the room.
“Marry me, Delsey. Please marry me,” he said, his warm brown eyes impatient for an answer.
“Yes!” she said, “Yes, yes, yes!”
He lowered her until her feet touched the ground. They continued to dance, spinning faster in a small circle, a pas de duex. After a minute of exhilarating dizziness, they stopped and looked at each other.
“I love you, Plessy Walker, like the God’s sweet earth loves rain. And I will marry you heart and soul,” she reached up and kissed him hungrily, “and body.” They laughed and Delsey leaned into him, her head resting against his chest just beneath his chin, his arms draped around her waist.
The accumulated exhaustion finally caught up with him and Plessy leaned on Delsey a little. “Oh, Dels, I have so much to tell you, such wonderful news. I want to spill it all out right now, but I don’t want to rush it. When do you get off work?”
“Soon, just let me post these bills and I’ll come home. It is Saturday and it’s kind of slow. Hardee won’t mind. He’s already closed up shop for the day,” Delsey stroked the side of Plessy’s weary face. “You run on and catch the train. I’ll walk home and stop at the grocery on the way. It’ll give you a chance to sleep before supper.”
He wanted to lay down with her on the floor right then, to pour himself into her then fall asleep in her arms. But he gathered the energy to push the last few miles toward home. He opened the back door to leave and saw his suitcase sitting where he had dropped it. He remembered the present tucked inside.
“I’ve got something for you,” he said, reaching down and unsnapping the locks on the case. He pulled out a soft bundle wrapped neatly in tissue paper. He turned back around and handed it to Delsey. She removed the paper. Inside was an exquisite dress, unlike anything she had ever owned. She held it up to herself and let it unfold to its full length. Made of wine-colored silk crepe, it had a V-shaped back that plunged to a fitted waist, sleeveless with a high collar in front, accented with black beading. The ankle length skirt billowed slightly in soft folds. Plessy had bought it for five dollars when he got his suit in Harlem.
“Oh, Plessy,” Delsey was speechless for a moment. “How can we afford….?”
He stopped her by putting a finger to her lips. “I received a sizable tip for finding a passenger’s lost ring on the train. I wanted to buy you an engagement ring, Delsey, but I knew what you would say. So I waited before spending our savings. We can talk about it tonight.”
“But Plessy, it is so beautiful. I’ve never….” Delsey was on the verge of tears. She thought how happy her mother would have been for her today.
“Not half as beautiful as you, Dels. And we deserve good things in this life. I can’t wait to tell you about Harlem and Philip Randolph and….” The warning whistle signaled that the train was about to leave the station.
“Run, go catch the train, Love. I’ll see you at home in a couple of hours,” Delsey said as she grabbed one last kiss and pushed him out the door.
After he left, she cleared her desk and carefully smoothed the tissue paper, meticulously folding her new dress and rewrapping it. She tucked it into a large canvas bag that served as her purse and grocery bag. Then Delsey gathered the bills to carry to the mailbox and locked the office door behind her. She stepped out into a perfect autumn afternoon. The golden slant light warmed her against a faint cool breeze that whispered in the red russet oaks and bronze hickory trees lining the road home.
The leisure of the walk put Delsey in a reflective mood. She had kept to herself for most of the first year after moving to Hattiesburg, holed up in her office living quarters with the occasional refuge of the Wiggins’ home. She had always been treated well by Maudie. Delsey was not sure whether Maudie felt a particular sympathy for her as a young woman who had lost her mother by the age of ten, or whether Maudie recognized the Lord’s work in every face she beheld. Regardless of the reason, Delsey was grateful. It made the transition from Alabama easier, but she missed her family and the company of other Black people. After she met Plessy, a nesting instinct in her began to take hold. Once they moved into the cabin, she started to make friends in her new neighborhood. The first was the near blind, gray haired Otis Jenkins, parked in a rocking chair on the front porch at the local grocery store. He was there every day, a local fixture, and a sort of country ambassador, greeting everyone by name. But to know your name, he had to get your story first, and that was the beginning of Delsey’s induction into the fold. She later joined the local Baptist church, and its worship hall and members became welcome company on those long stretches when Plessy worked the rails.
Delsey dropped the letters in the corner mailbox in time for the three-p.m. post and followed the dirt road along the railroad track leading north toward their cabin. She welcomed the exercise and the unfettered hour it would take to get to the grocery store. There was plenty of time to savor Plessy’s proposal, to daydream about their life together. She drifted back to their first meeting on the train platform outside of Gulfport. The lure of the library car had called them both and her immediate feeling had been that Plessy’s incarnation as a Pullman porter was a mistake, an error of casting in some great play. She suddenly remembered the dream she had on the train just before arriving in Gulfport. The plain yellow farmhouse, the shellacked maple doorframe, the toddler’s grasp around her knee. But who were the men gathered around the table? She now recognized Plessy as the man at the head of the table, but what had they been talking about? She let the questions go, focusing instead on the image of the farmhouse. In her dream, it was a simple structure, nearly square but a little wider than long with a porch fronting the house. Large windows on all sides beckoned to those who passed, the warm light of oil lamps flickering in the front two windows.
Walking home, Delsey floated between her fantasy of the house that she and Plessy would build and the call of the sights and sounds around her. This Saturday afternoon there were few cars on the dusty road. A couple of towheaded ruffians ran barefoot one last time before winter set in. Where the tracks forked a couple of miles from the depot, a farmer rode into town in a horse drawn cart filled with bales of cotton, the last of the year’s harvest. The slow steady clop, clop of the hooves echoed in the lazy afternoon sunshine. She came to the Negro quarters a half mile from the cabin and passed a graying pine plank house where the Tucker brothers sat on their porch, playing checkers on makeshift tables. She stopped at the corner grocery store and Otis greeted her warmly.
“Evenin’ Miss Delsey,” he said, eyes uplifted, gazing blankly toward the late afternoon sun.
She was not sure whether he recognized people by the sound of their steps or the scent of their approach. “Evenin’ Mr. Otis,” she replied, more chipper than usual.
“What’sat I hear?” he smiled. “Yo’ man come home?”
“Well, yes,” she felt a flush of shyness. “You’re some kind of seer, aren’t you Otis?”
He smiled, the dense cloudy cataracts of his eyes suddenly opalescent. “When the Lord takes one set of eyes, he gives you another.”
“He brought me somethin’ from New York City, Otis,” she said.
“Umm huh?” he mused.
“A dress, like I never seen.” Delsey pulled the paper bundle from her bag and worked one corner loose so Otis could feel the material.
“That silk?” he asked.
“Yes sir!” she said proudly.
“What’sa color?” He loved to remember the joy of seeing the world in brilliant hues.
“Deep dark red,” she replied. “More like burgundy.”
“Um um um, beautiful,” he exclaimed rolling the material between his thumb and fingers. “I reckon this means he’ll be asking you to marry him soon.”
Delsey was so startled by his clairvoyance she could not respond. She and Plessy had barely spoken their intention and it was too soon to share it with anyone.
After a pause, Otis eased her on her way. “Well, I guess you better buy those groceries so you can get on home to him. Tell him to drop by and talk to old Otis sometime.”
“I will, Otis, I will,” Delsey said. “You want anything from the store?”
“No, thanks. Got everything I need,” he said, then smiled. “Sunset’s a comin’.”
She went into the store and gathered what she needed to make a chocolate cake for Plessy, his favorite. A bar of baking chocolate, a pound of butter and a quart of milk. Then she splurged and bought a three-pound pot roast to go with the potatoes and carrots from the garden. Tonight they were going to celebrate. She gave the cashier two dollars, the equivalent of a day’s pay for her. With the change, she purchased a peppermint for Otis. He was dozing when she came out of the store, so she dropped the candy in his shirt pocket, letting him rest.
Delsey walked more briskly as she neared the cabin. She crossed the railroad tracks and ducked through the opening in the bushes, following the little path Plessy had cut for them. When she got to the door, she opened it quietly, careful not to wake him. The blue suit hung neatly on the bedroom door, which was propped open. She could see him lying there under the covers, his back rising and falling with the deep rhythmic breathing of sleep. She put her bag on the counter and pulled the dress out, the paper protecting it from the groceries. She unwrapped it and hung the dress on the door next to Plessy’s suit then stood back and looked at the two of them there together. As quietly as she could, she fired up the stove and put the roast and vegetables in to cook, then opened the canisters of flour and sugar. She measured the ingredients carefully, mixing in the eggs, milk, baking powder and butter. She set it aside to cook later.
Finally, Delsey did what she had wanted to do since Plessy walked through the door to her office two hours ago. She took off her clothes and silently slipped into bed with him. He moaned slightly as she curled up to his back, resisting the urge to wake him with the stroke of a hand. She closed her eyes and soaked in the warmth of his body, then drifted off into a deep sleep.
When he awoke, twilight had settled in. He was hungry, the smell of roast and onions and carrots filling the house, but his thirst for Delsey was greater. He rolled over and pulled her supple body on top of him, waking her slowly, at first, with soft kisses. Within minutes, though, they were rocking at a feverish pitch and their lovemaking was over much too soon for either’s liking. They considered starting again after a pause, but hunger was calling them both.
“Let’s eat supper,” Delsey said, “We’ve got all night.”
They put on their flannel robes and stepped from the bedroom into the warm kitchen. Plessy lit the oil lamps and set the table while Delsey served their plates, then put the cake in to bake, stoking the fire with fresh wood to make it hot enough.
“It’s so good to be home with you, Shugs. I’m sorry I was so tired. I was going to cut us a Christmas tree this afternoon, but…” Plessy said.
“No ‘sorrys’ tonight,” she said, placing a hand on his chest to quiet him. “We have a lifetime to worry ourselves over troubles, both little and big. But tonight…. tonight’s for dreaming.”
“And celebrating,” he said, as they sat down at the table. He lifted a fork to his mouth and took a bite, the juiciness of the marbled roast whetting his appetite. They took their time enjoying the meal.
“The way you cook, Delsey Clemons, I do believe I would marry you even if you weren’t so good lookin’,” Plessy said when he had finished.
“Well, I don’t know that I can say the same, Mr. Walker,” she sassed, “because as smart as you are, if you think my value lies in my domestic abilities you need a gorgeous face to go with that fat head.” She smiled playfully. “I have never worked as a domestic, and I don’t plan to start now. I will make my living with my mind, not my back.”
