“Out to the Winrows?”
“Yes,” Raymond instructed.
What was it with every Charlestonian he encountered that they had a need to disparage the Winrows? Raymond could barely make out the houses he passed on the way to his darling Elma. Rather than houses they appeared like growths from the soil, some tilted, some spreading like an overgrown root over the land. He could make out colors of the clapboard and the roofs that teetered toward the sky like tilt-a-whirls in saucy pastels and dim ivory. Every once in a while he heard someone singing or a banjo strumming. The world he’d entered was somehow of another time, an unlikely place for a modern girl like Elma, he thought. But nothing he saw of the impoverished countryside was daunting enough to make him reconsider his choice to make Elma his bride. Francina could have said that Elma was a sharecropper’s daughter and he wouldn’t have changed his mind. Tonight he was going to meet the Winrows, whoever and whatever their circumstances. When the carriage finally stopped, Raymond paid the driver a handsome sum, he was that happy. It occurred to him that the mighty Miss Diggs might have to reconsider her perception of him if she knew he’d come barreling into Charleston with a minstrel show. Yes, the handsome and dignified Mr. Minor had been the guest of the Phil Smith Colored Minstrels. That’s how he’d got to her front door.
Maybe Miss Diggs might not have asked him in, if she knew Mr. Minor was probably no better off than the Elma Winrow she’d so mercilessly dismissed. Colored folks had such a problem accepting the idea that looks can be deceiving. But now, Raymond Minor really wanted to make a good impression. He wanted to appear to be a man of substance, not just another Creole dandy. He wanted to be taken seriously by Elma’s folks, especially Elma’s mother, of whom she spoke so constantly and highly. He imagined Eudora’s fingers to be laced and golden from the way Elma spoke of her mother’s craft.
The path to the Winrows’ was narrow and beaten down. There was no light other than that leaking from inside the small windows beyond the porch. Raymond took off his hat so as not to seem so citified and extraneous. Here every object had a function, had to be necessary, nothing frivolous, nothing simply for fancy’s sake. He wondered if that was why he had a hard time getting Elma to laugh easily. Was laughter a rarified commodity in the Winrow house? At the door Raymond heard what he thought to be an altercation. But he certainly couldn’t vouch for that when Elma came to the door. Her face was frozen with astonishment; she didn’t seem able to move her lips to say a word, like “Hello, Raymond, I’m awfully glad to see you.” The first words Raymond heard were from Ma Bette. “Elma, chile, who’s to the door? Don’t let jus’ anybody in heah. The family’s goin through enough as tis.”
Since Elma was incapable of answering her grandmother, Raymond simply introduced himself as he shut the door behind him. “I’m Raymond Minor, a friend of Elma’s from Fisk, and you must be Ma Bette.”
The sound of Raymond’s voice drew life out of Elma. “Oh Raymond, what a surprise! Ma Bette, this is the young man I talked to you about. Mama, Mama, Raymond Minor’s here to visit,” Elma said loudly, warning her mother not to be quarrelsome now no matter what. There was no need to involve Raymond in the family’s catastrophe.
“Well, bring the young man in, Elma, and offer him some coffee,” Eudora shouted from the second floor.
There was no getting around the pall that sat in the kitchen, no matter how Elma tried to banter as she’d seen her Fisk cronies do. “I wish I’d had some notion you were coming this way, Raymond. Why, I would have held dinner for you. We had a delicious gumbo.”
Raymond, who had never heard Elma talk so fast, couldn’t get a word in, but he managed to guide Elma to the porch where they could be alone for a second or two. “Sweetheart, what’s the matter? What were you goin’ on so about in the kitchen?” Raymond asked.
Finally, believing she’d found safe harbor, Elma flooded Raymond’s ears with the whole story about how her father had packed up and left without so much as a fare-thee-well, how Lizzie had run off somewhere on the farm screaming like a banshee, and how as if that wasn’t enough, “Here comes some white man who says we have till Monday to be off our own land. Oh, Raymond, this is the most perfect time and the worst time for you to show up. Not what you expected, huh?”
Raymond drew Elma close to him. “I came to see you, not your pa or your ridiculous cousins.”
“Oh, no. You’ve seen Francina?”
“Of course, Miss Diggs of Charleston.”
Elma blushed. “What you must think of me!”
Raymond shook his head, “It was I who made all of the presumptions.”
“I never denied it either.” She looked down, pursing her lips, embarrassed.
“But there’s nothing to deny. As far as I can see, the Winrows are nobody to look down upon. They are high-class God-fearing folk who’ve been dealt a hand of bad weather and an equally bad hand by Fate, who is known to have a quirky sense of humor.”
Elma’s back straightened. “You think it funny?”
“Well, I was rather amused to meet the real Miss Diggs.” Raymond’s eyes twinkled. “To tell the truth, I much prefer the pretender.” He took her hand and kissed it. He smiled, drawing her close again. “It seems like you could use some help getting everything ready for the move. Is there anything I can do?”
Elma shook her head vigorously, “Oh no, Raymond. Mama would die before we let a stranger come to our aid, but thank you for offering.”
Raymond wanted to say more. He wanted to say that without a man to help them they were making things harder on themselves for no good reason, but Raymond could imagine Eudora’s pride.
Elma hesitated. “Raymond . . .”
“Yes, Elma,” Raymond responded.
“Raymond, there is one thing you can help me with.”
“You name it,” Raymond beamed.
“We’ve got to find Lizzie. She’s run off somewhere round here and we need to find her. She’s taking this whole thing about Pa very hard. What do you think, Raymond? Is it like a man to take off like this? Oh, there must be some mistake—”
Suddenly a voice came from under the porch. “You’re darn right. There’s some mistake! Pa didn’t go anywhere without takin’ me.”
It was Lizzie, whose head popped out from her hiding place full of bristles and dust now. Who’d have thought to look for her so close? Everyone assumed she’d run off to the farthest reaches of the land in search of her father, but no, she’d stayed close at hand as if she was waiting for her father’s footsteps.
“Who’s that?” Lizzie asked, gesturing to Raymond.
Elma couldn’t help laughing. “Lizzie, where are your manners? That’s a good friend of mine from school. Raymond, this is my sister, Elizabeth.”
“My name is Lizzie. That’s what I answer to, even at school I made Francina call me Lizzie too.” With that Lizzie presented herself.
“Well, Lizzie, I’m Raymond Minor.”
“Oh, I know ’bout you already. I can hear everything from under the house. You came all the way from Nashville to visit us, but you went to the wrong house, didn’t you?”
“Well, I like to think that I’ve found the right house, Lizzie, cause I’ve got something for the Winrow girls that they don’t know about yet.”
Elma covered her face with her hands. “Oh, not another surprise. I can’t take another surprise today.”
Sensing her sister’s nervousness, Lizzie tried to calm Elma. “This might be a good surprise, Elma. After all, he says he’s a friend of yours. Friends bring good surprises.” Then Lizzie looked at Raymond so hard he believed he might turn to stone if his surprise didn’t live up to Lizzie’s expectations.
“Well, now, I’ve got three bona fide tickets to Phil Smith’s Colored Minstrel Show for this very evening. Do I have any takers?”
At that very moment Eudora appeared at the door. “Good evening, Mr. Minor. I see you’re prepared to take my girls out for the night. Well, that’s mighty thoughtful of you. Takes a h
ardworking man to come up with niceties these days. Just what is it that you do, if you don’t mind my asking?”
“Why, I’m an architect by training, a builder.”
Relieved that Raymond practiced some recognizable trade, Eudora repressed her natural inclination to hold on to money and not spend it on foolishness the way her husband did. She wanted her children out of her hair this one night. She needed time to think. “Just give them a few minutes to ready themselves, Mr. Minor, and they’ll both be lookin’ pretty as can be.” Elma couldn’t believe her ears.
Lizzie flat-out refused to go. “I’m stayin’ right heah till Pa comes home,” she stubbornly announced.
Eudora wanted to say that might be a very long time, but instead she honeyed her tongue. “Lizzie, for all we know your Papa may well be playin’ with the Phil Smith band. Now that’s a real possibility, isn’t it?”
That sounded to Lizzie like a real idea, as opposed to these folks’ silly notions that her pa had deserted them. Of course, her father wouldn’t miss an opportunity like this, to play with the renowned Phil Smith Band. Why, she should look her best. For the first time in hours Lizzie smiled. She smiled at Nana. She smiled at Eudora. Lizzie smiled in the mirror and up the stairs. She knew where her father was, even if the rest of them didn’t have a clue. He was with the minstrel show. How many times had she and her papa talked about leaving everything in Charleston to go make music. Now the day had arrived.
12
The Phil Smith colored minstrel show had set up its tent outside Charleston about five miles from the Winrows’ on a piece of land owned by one Leo Carruthers, who proudly stood next to the hawker selling tickets.
“Ladies and Gentlemen, come this way to hear the most beautiful voices and music of the colored world today. If you miss this performance you’ve one more chance. Two shows, but no more! The finest warbling black voices this side of the Mason-Dixon Line are waiting to entertain you. Come right this way!”
The hawker caught sight of Raymond and waved toward him to step right up. “How many tickets you need, brother? Phil says you really saved the show when you fixed his violin on the way down here.”
Raymond blushed. He’d wanted Elma to think he was just a friend of Phil Smith, which he had become, but only after a choice feat of refined woodwork on Phil’s fiddle. Actually Elma was impressed that Raymond had made himself useful. She had been concerned about how seriously Raymond took life’s responsibilities.
“Step right on in, brother. Here’s three tickets for you. I’ll be sure to tell Phil you came with two dazzling lady friends.”
Elma smiled, but Lizzie‘s eyes cut at the hawker. She wasn’t a dazzling lady, she was a hard-working farm girl and she had the calluses to prove it. She wanted to give the hawker a talkin’ to, but Elma whispered that the man was trying to pay her a compliment and the best way to take a compliment was to smile, nod, and keep on going. Dazzling lady, indeed! But Lizzie was in for a surprise.
The music started before they got to their seats. A semicircle of colored men in blackface were singing, “O, oh, didn’t he rumble” with tambourines justa-goin’ and Phil’s fiddle ringing out the melody. Lizzie was enchanted. The show was a mixture of jokes, skits, and song, all designed to show off the many talents of the troupe. Lizzie found herself clapping all the time. Beside her, Elma was a study in contrasts. She sat erect, refined and distant, her mind still reeling from the tumult caused by Tom’s disappearance. The minstrel players jammin’ before her appeared a grotesque, dark pantomime of joy, bawdy yet melodious, loud and loving, laughing through grit. It was all too much for Elma to decipher tonight. She measured each breath and endured the show.
Lizzie only got upset when a clown with extra-large shoes and a yellow and white polka-dotted jacket became the brunt of all the jokes. The blackface he sported was ten times darker than the others and there wasn’t one redeeming quality to him, but he drew the most laughs from the crowd. Lizzie was disturbed. My pa is naturally black, and he is nobody’s fool! Some of the slapstick reminded Lizzie of how white folks treated her when she went to meet her mother at the houses where Eudora sewed. But once the entertainers invited the audience to do the cakewalk, Lizzie couldn’t help but join in. This was something she and Osceola had mastered at Deke’s during the day when no one was around. Lizzie wished her father and Osceola both could be with her to see her legs cut through the air with all the other colored legs. Maybe Lizzie liked this show business more than she thought.
Afterward, Lizzie and Elma were introduced to the company by Raymond, who’d made friends with everybody from the clowns to the crooners on the way down from Nashville.
Lizzie watched the performers taking off the blackface, revealing fine-looking colored men, and asked Phil, “Since you’re colored already, why do you wear blackface?”
Phil was taken aback. “Cause we’re a minstrel show, kid.”
That was not much of an answer to Lizzie’s mind, but the serious tone of Phil’s voice led her to believe that was not something he wanted to continue to discuss. But he said he would teach her a tap routine and some songs if she liked. So Phil and Lizzie were so busy, they didn’t really miss Elma and Raymond, who had gone for a walk behind the tent.
Raymond thought the new moon boded well for his plans for the evening. Elma’s hand was soft and warm and fit his so perfectly. Elma looked at the sky and didn’t see the moon. All she saw was the darkness. She saw in the sky an unknown chaos that had enveloped her family.
Raymond finally began to speak to her about the true intentions for his surprise visit. Raymond’s voice brought her back from panic. “Elma, I know I’m just comin’ out of school, and though I call myself an architect, I’m really a master carpenter, but I can build anything, Elma. There’s a lot of building construction goin’ on in New York City, and that’s where I want to take you as my bride. Elma, will you marry me?”
Elma fell into Raymond’s arms, her fists clenched against his back. “Yes, yes, I can’t, I can’t, but yes!” and they kissed as they never had before. Both were relieved and confused.
“Elma, you’re saying you will marry me then?” Raymond asked tentatively.
“Yes, but I can’t. I do love you, Raymond, and everything in me says go to New York with you this very minute, but there’s so much I haven’t told you. I can’t. So yes, I want to marry you, but I just can’t, not now.”
“But why, Elma? This makes no sense. What you’re sayin’ to me makes no sense at all,” Raymond said, while holding Elma even closer to him.
“It makes sense if you’ve been told to get off your land by Monday sundown, if your pa has hightailed it to God only knows where and there’s an ol, ol woman and a child to look after. It makes sense then, Raymond. Yes, I want to marry you, but I can’t. Do you understand now? I can’t get married. I can’t finish school. I’ve got to stay here with my family.” Elma tried to turn away from Raymond, but he caught her arm and drew her to him. Her taut clenched fists opened and she relaxed into his embrace.
“So I have a fiancée, but not right now. Is that it?”
“Yes, Raymond, that’s it.”
“Well, once I get settled in New York, soon as I can help out, I will.”
Elma gently stepped back from Raymond. She couldn’t bring herself to look him in the eye, but she found the courage to say, “Oh, no, Raymond, I wouldn’t want that. Neither would my mother. We’ll take care of ourselves somehow. Let’s go back now. We’ve left Lizzie on her own with strangers, you know.” With that the two lovers sought one last glimpse of passion in one another and then headed toward the tent.
Lizzie and Phil were in rare form when they entered; fiddling away, Phil played against the rhythm of Lizzie’s feet. Elma knew the melody—it was “Swing Along”—and joined in, her voice belying the tumult of her emotions. Elma found peace somewhere between the notes of the song so heartfelt and vibrant. Raymond inched in a little on Lizzie and the two became dance partners immediately, Lizzie
trying to outdo Phil at every turn. Finally, out of breath and laughing, the quintet said their good-byes and the Winrow girls were escorted back to the farm.
In the back of the wagon Lizzie’s eyes kept searching the horizon for her father. She’d been so sure he’d be there. She hadn’t forgotten all the hateful things her mother had said about him, nor the disgust on Ma Bette’s face when she had to say his name, Tom. How Lizzie wanted to hear her pa answer to “Tom.” She wanted to hear his gruff voice singing; she wanted his cornet to blare through the night and wake all the neighbors, letting them know Tom Winrow didn’t go anywhere. He was with his family like any good man. Lizzie wanted her father’s singing to wake them up, wake them all up who looked down on him and felt sorry for her. Wake em up, Pa, she felt her insides crying. Wake em up! And Lizzie’s face was covered with tears as they pulled up to the house. She shot like a crazed child up the stairs to her room where she could cry without being told how her father wasn’t worth it. Nobody was fooled. Nobody tried to stop her.
It was late, the kitchen and parlor strewn with boxes and crates, half-filled baskets and overstuffed trunks. Eudora whirled about, her energy and rage focused on her tasks. Raymond attempted to speak to her. Out of the side of her eye, Eudora saw Elma catch his hand.
“Will one of you tell me what is goin’ on here? I’ve no time for foolishness now.”
“It’s nothing, Mama.”
Raymond interrupted Elma. “Now Mrs. Winrow, I hate to break it like this, but I have asked Elma to marry me. Not now, we know we can’t marry until things are more calm here, but once I get set up in New York, I intend to send for her.”
Eudora’s face tightened as she heard these words. This was not what she had planned, not at all. Though she hadn’t mentioned her plan to Elma, this was not it. “But young man, you’ve nothing to offer my child but tickets to a minstrel show.” This was cruel, but Eudora didn’t care anymore. She showed no response to Raymond’s promises or his credentials. Finally Elma stepped over to him and whispered that enough had been said and he should go.