He turned the keys, unlocking the door, and rattled the key chain at me.
“I understand you’re interested in my job,” he said.
“So is half of the world,” I said.
“Well, good luck,” he said, “I’ll put a good word in for you.”
“Thanks,” I said, wondering what the price for that would be and then reprimanding myself for being so cynical and suspicious.
He went off to his office and I went right to the microfilm. I looked up Ku Klux Klan and found quite a few references. I went all through the newspaper clippings from 1963 and couldn’t find what I was looking for and just as I was about to quit, I struck pay dirt. It was from the Columbia paper, a report about a Klan convention in some little town outside of Columbia. It showed a photograph of a group of white-robed Klan members. It was highly unusual to have a picture of them, as most of their meetings were held in secret. But there it was. Plain as the nose on my face. I wondered if the photographer was attacked by some of their goons. In the picture the Klan members’ heads were covered in hoods. I printed it and took it to the scanner copier to blow it up. I held my breath as I scanned the picture. The Grand Dragon was wearing sandals and the guy next to him wore highly polished police-issue black shoes. There was no mistaking their beer guts and there was no mistake about their identity. Marvin Struthers and Fat Albert. It was they who had done my daddy in. I knew I had finally found the truth.
I bit my fist and tears streamed down my face. The dark thoughts I had always carried regarding my feelings about Daddy began to reassemble after decades of anger. My heart broke; I was filled with regret—regret that I couldn’t reconcile how a man who was such a bastard to the ones who loved and needed him most gave his very life for the Civil Rights movement. While I hated the way he had treated us, he had possessed strength in his character I’d never considered. He was a fighter. Like me. I was like him. He had never acknowledged that. Neither had I.
For years and years I had said in anger that I was glad he was dead. For the first time in my entire life I missed him. I felt the weight of sorrow in a way I had never known I could. I wanted to wail like a child. I wanted someone to tell me they would make it all right. There was no one who could have done that. I wanted to lie down on the floor and sleep. But I just stood there, my thoughts racing as I tried to sort out the pangs of despair I felt.
Maybe if he had lived he would have been proud of us. He would have seen me become a woman, a mother, a single parent. He would have seen how capable we had all become. How successful, how strong. Maybe we would have found peace with him.
I couldn’t find it in my heart to blame him anymore. I just wished I had known him better. I wished he had known me. Maybe somehow through my recognition of his heroics he could feel that now. I prayed that wherever his spirit was, he knew I forgave him. And missed him. And, finally, that I was proud of him.
Nineteen
School
1963
AT home, I lived in diaper land. I could see myself raising my own sisters and eventually becoming Momma’s nurse as she had been to her mother. It was the southern way. It was what was expected of girls. I guessed they thought Maggie could make a good marriage and I was so homely, I’d never find a husband.
My only hope was to somehow get to college, which seemed less and less likely. I’d probably wind up teaching public school, the plain girl’s other option. I’d wear a big bun on my head, pencils sticking out of it, and kids would tape KICK ME notes to the back of my moth-eaten cardigan sweater. Just the thought of it was depressing. No, I’d figure another way out of my mother’s prison.
I was very happy to go back to school after the holidays. School was the only routine in my life that made real sense to me, and it was time off from the house. Most people loved summer, but winter was my favorite time of year. The summer tourists were long gone and not due back for months. The silence of a walk along the shore with the spray of the ocean in my hair, on my face, let my mind travel. I could imagine myself to be Catherine searching for Heathcliff on the moors or, better yet, I could search for Simon in a place where I could be alone with him. I wanted to get past the silly banter and teasing that defined our conversations. I spent a lot of time thinking about him and his lips. The rest of my daydreaming involved refining various escape plans. At one point I considered taking a bus to Atlanta, pretending to have amnesia and throwing myself at the mercy of the biggest Catholic church I could find. But I knew my accent would betray me as a Lowcountry girl. One call to the bishop of Charleston and I’d be back home in no time. I was too young for enlisting in the army and not holy enough for early entrance to a convent—that was my most desperate plan. So I filled my days with school.
One morning in January, I was in class when Father O’Brien appeared again. We all jumped up from our desks and called out, “Good morning, Father,” as good children with nice manners did. He wanted me to come to his office. I hope nobody died was my first thought, then I realized there weren’t that many people left to die in my family, so it must be another reason. I immediately left my class, with all my classmates staring at me.
“How’s your momma?” he said, closing the door and gesturing for me to sit in the big oak chair opposite his.
“Fine,” I said, “everybody’s fine.”
“Good, good. I see they finished the investigation into your daddy’s accident. That must be a relief to have that behind y’all.”
“Yeah, it is, Father.”
In fact, we were sick and tired of seeing Daddy’s name in the paper and answering questions about his death. Fat Albert and the police department in Charleston had decided Daddy’s death was not a conspiracy. They finally decided he had a heart attack and ran off the road. Because of all the trouble Daddy had when he was building the black school, they probably thought the Klan might have had something to do with it. So they poked around, asking the same dumb questions over and over again. Stuff like, Did he have any enemies? Excuse me, but my daddy was building a heated school for colored kids smack dab in the middle of the Civil Rights movement. He had more enemies than the Japs after Pearl Harbor. Starting with his own family and every bigot who ever heard of him.
Not that it would bring Daddy back to life, but I kept thinking they weren’t exactly wearing themselves out with the investigation. Seemed like the newspaper articles asked more intelligent questions than the police did. It had been the biggest story the newspapers had had since the polio epidemic. I was just glad that Marvin Struthers hadn’t blamed us for giving Daddy a heart attack.
“Well, that’s not the reason I called you in here,” Father O’Brien continued. “I wanted to talk to you about your school record.”
“What did I do? Oh, my library books! I know they’re overdue! Am I in trouble?”
“Heavens, no, child. In fact, you’re doing surprisingly well, amazingly well. Bring the books back as soon as you can.” He cleared his throat with a grown-up ahem. “Susan, every year the archdiocese of Charleston sends a student on scholarship to St. Anne’s Academy in Columbia. Are you aware of that?”
“No, Father.”
“Are you familiar with St. Anne’s?”
“I thought it was a home for unwed mothers.”
“No, honey, that’s the Florence Crittenton Home. Not the same thing at all. St. Anne’s is a privately funded Catholic girls’ boarding school. Over ninety-five percent of their graduates finish college and go on to have careers, teaching or nursing or some other appropriate line of work for ladies.”
“Oh.”
“What’s the matter?”
“I don’t want to be a teacher or a nurse.”
“Well, then, do you know what you’d like to do?”
“Yeah, I mean, yes.” I was twisting in my seat. “I want to be a writer and live in Paris.”
“I see. Well, there’s no harm in having a dream, I always say.”
“Right. So did the Brontë sisters and George Sand.”
This caused a major clearing of his throat. “In any case, every year we hold a sort of competition for that scholarship to St. Anne’s, and I’d like to submit your name as a candidate. Have you ever thought about going away to school?”
“No, Father. I mean, yes, I have, but I thought about going away to college, not high school.”
“Of course, and you should’ve been thinking about that. Well, I suppose what I’m asking you is if you’re interested? If you are, I can talk to your mother about it for you, if you’d like.”
“Um, Father O’Brien, what are my chances of winning it?”
“Oh, I don’t know, probably pretty good.”
“Well, if it’s all the same to you, why don’t we see if I can win it and then we can talk to Momma about it. I mean, there’s no point in putting another burden on her, you know, ’cause if I lose, then she’s gonna feel bad and all.”
“And she’s been through enough?”
“Exactly. I mean, I’d also like to think about it a little. Like what would happen to the twins if I left? Can Momma handle it without me? I don’t really know.”
“I see.” He reached into a folder and pulled out a brochure, handing it to me. “Have a look at this. It tells you all about the school. You have to wear uniforms, but they are included in the scholarship, as are all your books. Plus a stipend of fifty dollars a month goes to the winner for spending money. All medical bills are covered, in case you’re ill or need glasses or something. All you have to do is maintain a B-plus average and you can stay for four years. It’s an excellent program, Susan. I think you should give it serious thought.”
“Oh, I will! Of course I will!”
“And, if you’re worried about getting homesick, you can come home on weekends and, obviously, all the holidays.”
“Right. I mean, thank you for thinking of me and everything. I really appreciate it. I’m sorry, it’s just that I never thought about anything like this before and I’m not sure about Momma and all. You know?”
“Of course I do. But, I think let’s try for it and if you win, let me handle your momma, all right?”
“Okay.”
“Fine.”
“Father? Thank you. Thanks a lot. I really mean it.”
“I know you do.”
Something like this could change my life forever, I thought, it could be my ticket out.
I sat on the back steps that afternoon, tossing a stick for Rascal. I scratched him behind the ears every time he brought it back to me. I’d miss this little dog if I left, I thought. He was so eager to please and so grateful for attention. White seagulls swirled all around, squawking at each other.
I tried to imagine what it would be like to leave the Island and live in a dormitory with a bunch of girls. What if they were mean? What if they were all rich and stuck up? I could always come home if I hated it. What if it was a really hard school? What if I couldn’t do the work there? Going to school in Columbia wasn’t like school in Mount Pleasant, after all. Columbia was the capital of the state.
I heard the door close behind me.
“What are you doing, chile? Sitting ’eah playing with Rascal?”
I turned away from the afternoon sun and stared up at Livvie. “Oh, just thinking.”
“Mm-hm. I thought I smell wood burning!”
“Yeah, that’s me. Burning wood like a furnace out here.”
“What’s in your head, ’eah? Tell Livvie.”
“Oh, I don’t know, Livvie. Life is so confusing.”
“Ain’t that the truth!”
She folded her dress under herself and sat down next to me. Rascal came bounding up the steps, jumped in her lap and started licking her all over her face.
“Get down, boy!” I said.
“Oh, that’s all right. I don’t mind him none. Better than getting bit.”
“Yeah, that’s for sure.” I looked out across the yard to the sky and her eyes followed mine.
“So, you gone tell me what or do I have to sit ’eah till the supper done all burn up?”
“Livvie, if you had a chance to do something really big, would you do it?”
“Chile, I am doing something really big. I’m praising Gawd every day! Iffin that ain’t big enough, then tell me what I should do!”
“No, that’s not what I mean.”
“Then spit it out, chile.”
“Okay, Father O’Brien wants to enter me in a competition to win a scholarship to St. Anne’s boarding school for girls in Columbia.”
“Oh! Lawd have mercy! Your momma gone take a fit iffin you get it too, ’eah?”
“Exactly.”
She thought for a minute. “This is a good school, I expect?”
“Yeah, look at this.” I pulled the brochure from my pocket, unfolded it and showed it to her. It had pictures of smiling nuns and serious students working in a biology lab over microscopes, a picture of the dormitory rooms, a classroom photograph and a picture of the campus. She whistled through her teeth.
“Humph. All right now. Tell me how you feel in your heart.”
“I’d love to go to a school like this. Who wouldn’t? But I’m a little scared too.”
“What you scared of?”
“Leaving everybody.”
“They don’t let you come home none?”
“Oh, sure, you can come home every weekend if you want to. But what if I don’t fit in?”
“You raise your head up high, ’eah?”
“Yeah, you’re right. I mean, this could be my only chance to get out of ’eah.”
“Then, that’s all she wrote. You ain’t got no choice.”
“What about Momma and the twins and Timmy and Henry?”
“Honey, don’t fret none over y’all’s momma. She gone do fine. Timmy and Henry gone get to go to college anyhow, ’cause your uncle gone see to that. Them twins is mine. Don’t you worry none about them twins.”
“Well, I gotta tell Father O’Brien something by tomorrow.”
“Honey, Gawd’s got a plan for you and it ain’t about raising your momma’s children for her. You needs to be in the world and maybe this is His way of helping you. Iffin it’s Gawd’s will, gone come to pass. Iffin it ain’t, nothing you can do about him nohow.”
“Well, we’ll see. I might not even win it, you know. So don’t say anything, okay?”
“Chile, my lips are sealed.”
It was a beautiful Sullivan’s Island afternoon and the sunset was beginning. Gosh, I thought, this morning I didn’t even know St. Anne’s existed, now I thought I might die if I didn’t win the scholarship. How royally screwed up was that?
“Look at that sky,” Livvie said.
“Uh-huh,” I said.
“Ain’t it marvelous?”
“Yeah, it’s marvelous.”
“No, chile o’ mine, you ain’t understanding what I’m telling you.”
Her voice was so soft and loving, it was hard to keep my worries on my mind. “What do ya mean?”
“See them stars starting to twinkle? They’s Gawd’s diamonds. You ’eah me? And the night sky turning so blue? That’s He sapphires for us. And see that streak of red across the horizon? They’s a field of rubies. Whenever you feel troubled and poor in the spirit, just go look at the sunset and all Gawd’s riches just be a-waiting for you.”
“Yeah, sure, Livvie,” I said.
“I ain’t lying to you, chile. I is telling you for true.”
I looked at the sky and it was full of riches, all you could want or spend. She put her arm around my shoulder, gave me a squeeze and then dropped it, taking my hand into her lap. My small white fingers were enfolded by her sturdy dark skin, her palms rosy, her nails deep ivory and thick. Her capable hands, roughened by years of hard work, her loving hands whose warmth radiated and soothed. She spoke to me as though deep sounds could penetrate my thick skull.
“Gone be all right, Susan. Everything gone be all right. Y’all gone see, by and by. You growing up, Maggie growing up,
all y’all gone grow up. Trouble can’t stop that, no sir. Gawd gone send help. He always does.”
WE GLIDED TOWARD Easter, me holding my tongue—I had given up swearing for Lent—and Timmy and Henry trying to behave. Livvie and Momma were doing spring-cleaning. I don’t know what had come over Momma lately, but she had lost a lot of weight and the red glass was nowhere to be seen. She looked pretty good for someone her age, and as near as I could tell that was around forty-something. Momma never told how old she was. She said ladies never revealed their age. Well, if you were living right in the town where you grew up, didn’t everybody know anyway?
One day Simon got a letter. It sat on the table by the stairs, waiting for him. I smelled it first to see if it was from a girl but the handwriting was a man’s and I assumed it was from his father. It was.
Simon’s father was coming to Charleston for a visit. Simon asked Momma if he could stay upstairs with him and Momma said, “Sure, why not?” He showed her a picture of his father, I guess to show her that he was normal or something. Apparently, he was divorced, which Simon said was for the best.
That was when the fun started. The life force flowed back into my momma. She started manicuring her nails again and wearing a girdle, even though she finally didn’t need one. She got out her old Singer sewing machine and took her dresses in so they fit right, then, to our surprise, she hemmed them up to the top of her knees. She spent a lot of time in front of the big old mirror looking at herself. I’d never seen her act this way and it made me nervous.
She got on the phone to Aunt Carol and invited her and Uncle Louis to come for Easter dinner and then she invited the Strutherses and a bunch of people who had cooked for her in our family’s time of bereavement. Of course, she invited Simon and his father.
Simon’s father was the head of surgery at the biggest hospital in Detroit. Bucks, honey. Lots of ’em. I knew my momma didn’t want to be Mrs. Rooms for Rent for the rest of her life.
Finally, Good Friday rolled around. We were all going to Stations of the Cross that afternoon from twelve to three. Simon was bringing his father out to the beach later.