“That’s right!” said Old Hattie grimly. “You ain’t gittin’ my home away from me—the only roof I’ve got over my head.”
“Then I’ve got to go out and borrow money somewhere,” said Imogene. “I can’t swing this without cash. Maybe Irene and Vern …”
“Do what you want to,” said Hattie. “It’s your affair.”
“Mrs. Netherton always told me when I was in trouble to come to her,” Imogene went on. “She might could lend me some.”
“O.K.” said Hattie. “Go to Miz Netherton. There’s Miz Arnold too.”
Imogene went, but came back unhappier than ever. Now that she had quit her job, Mrs. Netherton did not care to lend her money. Mrs. Arnold told her she had no security.
“Your white folks!” she snorted. “See how they take care of us? See how they help us? Now, there’s nothing left but to try to get a loan from the bank.”
Wednesday and Thursday were confused and upset with packing.
“It’ll take a hundred dollars train fare to get you and the two boys up to Jersey,” said Imogene on the last day. “When I get there, I’ll ask Ruth if she can spare it on a loan.”
Old Hattie nodded.
“Irene will come in every day to look after you till you’re well enough to make the trip,” Imogene went on. “The boys can help you pack up, and they’ll look after you on the train.”
Old Hattie nodded her head again.
“I’ve taken care of everything,” said Imogene. “I’ve notified the real estate man you wanted to sell. This will make a good business corner. If you get a good offer, phone us collect and we’ll start lookin’ for a pretty place up in Jersey.”
Old Hattie’s head sank lower on her breast.
“Take care of yourself, Mama,” Imogene said at last.
“I’ll have to,” replied the old woman.
Lula Bell could not believe she herself was going until she saw all her clothes neatly packed in a new suitcase. Eddie closed it and snapped it shut. He took it out on the porch with the others. Lula Bell wore her best Sunday dress. Aunty Irene had straightened Lula Bell’s hair and curled it. She tied a pretty blue ribbon bow on top. “Where’s your plats gone to, honey?” asked Mama Hattie.
Lula Bell looked around the front room. Everything in it was dear to her—the worn settee, the platform rocker, the wobbly table with the radio, the linoleum rug, the limp lace curtain at the hall door, even the broken window pane covered with cardboard. On the wall hung a framed photograph of herself as a baby, sitting on Mama Hattie’s lap, with Imogene standing stiffly behind. How could she leave this room, this house that had always been her home? How could she leave her grandmother?
“Hurry, we got to go,” said Imogene. “It’ll soon be time for the train. You comin’, Mama? Brother Williams’ car is waiting.”
“I won’t go to the station,” said Mama Hattie. She kissed Imogene and hugged Lula Bell.
“Mama Hattie’s girl …” That’s all she said. She sat down in her chair. She leaned back and did not look up.
Lula Bell’s eyes filled with tears. She wasn’t happy at all. Going up north was no fun.
A big crowd of people from Hibiscus Street came to the station. Aunty Irene and Uncle Vern and the four children were there, besides Lonnie and Eddie. Lula Bell’s best girl-friends came, Floradell, Geneva and Josephine, besides all the other children, big and little.
The streamliner sounded its mournful blast and came sliding smoothly along the tracks. As she mounted the steep steps of the purple and white coach, Lula Bell knew she ought to feel proud. She knew this was a big moment in her life. She waved her hand to the children, and threw kisses in every direction. But she did not see them at all. Through her tears, all she could see was Mama Hattie leaning back in her chair—sick, lonely and bereft.
CHAPTER VI
Change of Scene
Lula Bell had never been on a train before, so she was very excited about it. She sat still in her seat and watched the landscape go by. She tried to point out everything to her mother, but Imogene was too tired to look. She leaned back in her seat and soon fell asleep. For a long time Lula Bell never said a word. At last her mother woke up and asked her: “You hungry?”
“No ma’m,” said Lula Bell.
“Well, it’s time to eat, girl.”
Aunty Irene had fried two young chickens and bought a bunch of bananas, and given them to the travelers to take along. The food was to last them till they reached the end of their journey. Imogene bought coffee and milk from the man who came through at intervals, peddling them. They sat up straight in their seats and ate.
“You like to read?”
A strange boy across the aisle had a pile of funny books. When he finished with one, he handed it over to Lula Bell. It was a change from looking out the window all the time. She smiled as she took each book and looked at the pictures, then handed it back. Suddenly she saw that it was getting dark outside. Lights were coming on in houses and towns.
“When will we get there?” asked Lula Bell.
“Not till tomorrow evening,” said Imogene.
“Tomorra?” asked Lula Bell. “Where do we sleep?”
“Right where you are,” said Imogene. “Right in your seat.”
“But I can’t sleep sittin’ up!” cried Lula Bell.
“You’ll have to,” said Imogene.
When night came, there was no difficulty. Lula Bell began to yawn. Imogene got pillows from the conductor, and tipped the seats back. Lula Bell curled up comfortably and soon fell asleep. But all night long she had bad dreams. Mama Hattie was always falling down, and Lula Bell had to help her up. Once she fell in a lake of water, and Lula Bell had to swim out to save her. All the people standing on the shore turned their backs and walked away. They let Mama Hattie scream for help. It was hard work pulling her to shore.
Lula Bell woke up with a start. She wasn’t in her own bed at home at all. She was in a strange place and she didn’t like it. The lights were dim and she could hardly see. All around her were people she had never seen before, coughing and snoring. It was terrible. She reached over to touch her mother for comfort. Then she saw the tired look on her mother’s face, and decided not to. She knew where she was now—on the train, going up north.
Clackety, clackety, clack, the train wheels kept banging beneath her, and sometimes the train jerked and shook her. She was the only girl on Hibiscus Street who could go up north—she must remember that. All her imagined dreams of what it was like up there, came tumbling back into her mind. But mixed up with them was the vision of Mama Hattie swimming in the water … with no one to pull her out but Lula Bell. She dozed again.
Then all at once night was over, and it was morning. Imogene pulled up the window shade, and they went to the washroom to wash. They opened the shoebox of fried chicken and Lula Bell ate a leg and a wing, then a banana. They waited a long time for the coffee-man to come through, but he didn’t. The train stopped with a jerk.
“Where we at now?” demanded Lula Bell.
“Must be in Carolina somewhere, or maybe Virginia,” said Imogene. “I’ll just run into the station here and get us some coffee and milk. You sit right where you are till I get back.”
Imogene tripped lightly down the aisle, and down the steps of the coach. When Lula Bell saw her outside on the platform, she became terrified.
“Mama!” she screamed. “Imogene! Come back! Don’t you go off and leave me!” She ran swiftly down the aisle, bumping into a man coming the other way.
“Watch out where you’re going,” he said gruffly.
At the end of the coach, Lula Bell saw the boy who had let her look at his funny papers.
“What’s the matter?” he asked. “What are you crying for?”
“My mother ran away and left me!” cried Lula Bell, sobbing.
The conductor, passing through, heard Lula Bell’s words. He patted her on the back.
“Don’t worry, little girl,” he said. “The train stops fifteen minutes
here. Your mother will be back in a minute. She’s just buying herself a cup of coffee.”
Suddenly everything was all right again. There was Imogene stepping up the coach steps, with a cup of steaming coffee in one hand and milk in the other.
“Was that you screaming?” she asked.
“You ran away and left me,” sobbed Lula Bell.
Imogene was so ashamed of her daughter, she could not speak. After they got back in their seats and drank their coffee and milk, and after Lula Bell’s crying spell was over, Imogene explained things to her and begged her to stop acting like a baby. The scolding did not make Lula Bell any happier. She began to sulk.
“I’ll jump off this ugly ole train, and jump on another one and go back and stay with Mama Hattie,” she threatened.
Imogene laughed. “Go ahead. Do it—the next time the train stops.”
Lula Bell kept her head turned away from her mother and stared out the window. She refused to talk or to answer any questions. She began to feel homesick for Mama Hattie and the tears rolled down her cheeks.
“Go ahead and cry, little cry-baby!” teased Imogene.
After a long, sulky silence, Lula Bell asked, “How soon will we git there?”
“Pretty soon,” said Imogene. “Better go wash your face.”
They ate more fried chicken for lunch, and this time the coffee-man came through.
“Will we soon be there?” asked Lula Bell a dozen times.
Each time Imogene, with her head deep in the boy’s comic books, nodded and said, “Pretty soon.”
“Ain’t we ever gonna git there?” demanded Lula Bell, at the end of her patience.
“Next stop is ours,” said Imogene.
She began collecting their scattered possessions and putting them into her suitcase. She and Lula Bell went to the washroom and washed up. They put on their hats and coats, and then they sat and waited. The train came into a large city, passing tall buildings, factories, bridges and busy streets. It switched across many tracks and finally crawled into a huge station.
“This where we git off?” asked Lula Bell. “This up north?”
“Yes,” said her mother. “You gonna be a cry-baby up north?”
“No ma’m,” said Lula Bell stoutly. But her heart was beating fast.
She and her mother hung onto their suitcases, and pushed and shoved their way through the dense crowd of people. The crowd moved slowly out through tall iron gates, and Lula Bell saw a clock ahead on the wall. It was the biggest clock she had ever seen in her life. Then suddenly Aunty Ruth loomed up out of nowhere. And behind her was Uncle Theodore and Lula Bell’s own Daddy Joe. There was a great deal of noisy kissing and laughing, and shaking of hands. They all looked at Lula Bell.
“Well, well,” said Uncle Theodore, “so you’re Imogene’s girl.”
“No sir,” said Lula Bell. “I’m Mama Hattie’s girl.”
They all laughed loudly. Then Imogene said, “Mama Hattie’s practically brought her up. I’m just a poor working girl, away from home every day. Somebody’s got to foot the bills.”
They all went out and got into a big bus. Daddy Joe, dressed in a fine new suit, took Lula Bell by the hand. He told her she had grown and was getting mighty pretty. But she would not talk to him. He looked different. He seemed like a stranger. And she was too scared. There were cars and buses and street cars and elevated trains all going in every direction. She had never heard so much noise or seen so many people before.
“Where they goin’ so fast?” she asked, pointing. “House on fire?” They all laughed at her question.
“Little greenhorn come to town,” said Daddy Joe. “Green as a cucumber.”
“There’s no fire, honey,” said Aunty Ruth. “This is a big city.”
The air was cold and damp, and it was getting dark. Lula Bell shivered. Hibiscus Street, with its sandy yards, green hedges and shady, moss-hung oak trees seemed far, far away. Fear clutched at the little girl’s heart.
“Why did I come?” she asked herself. “I don’t like it here.”
They had five blocks to walk after the long bus ride. The houses sat close together on the sidewalks. There were no yards and no trees. There were cans of garbage at the doors and in the hallways. The garbage had a bad smell.
At the Pearlena Apartments, they climbed up four flights of stairs. Aunty Ruth’s apartment was small and crowded, but clean and pretty. Several neighbors came in to welcome the newcomers. While Imogene talked and laughed with them, Aunty Ruth put Lula Bell to bed. But she could not cheer her up.
Lula Bell lay in bed sobbing, “I want to go back home again. I want my Mama Hattie. I want my Mama Hattie.” Then at last fatigue won, and she fell into a restless sleep.
The next day things were better. It was Sunday and Aunt Lucy and Uncle Nat drove over from Long Island in their car. They brought their three children, Roger, Luther and Lenora. Lula Bell was shy at first, but after she got acquainted, her cousins seemed just like the children on Hibiscus Street. They had fun playing together.
Aunty Ruth cooked an old-fashioned southern dinner of fried chicken, sweet potatoes, turnip greens and cornbread, and everybody enjoyed it. In the afternoon, Uncle Nat took them all for a drive in the park. It was crowded in the car. The children had to sit on the grown people’s laps, but that made it all the more fun. The park had green grass and lovely trees and statues, just as Aunty Ruth had described it in her letters. It had a big lake and they drove all around it. They stopped at a refreshment stand and Daddy Joe bought Coca-Colas for the grownups and ice cream cones for the children.
After Aunt Lucy’s family left, Aunty Ruth’s flat seemed very quiet.
“How you like it here, Lula Bell?” asked Uncle Theodore.
“There’s nobody to play with,” she answered. “I wish Roger and Luther and Lenora would come back.”
On Monday morning, Lula Bell was wakened early, while it was still dark. Uncle Theodore and Aunty Ruth had to go early to their work. Uncle Theodore worked in a storage warehouse and Aunty Ruth in a dress shop. She was as good a dressmaker as Imogene.
“I’ll speak to my boss again about a job for you, Imogene,” she said as she left the house. “I told her you were coming, and I think she’ll make an opening for you.”
Imogene and Lula Bell stayed alone all morning in Aunty Ruth’s flat. Lula Bell’s daddy came in the afternoon. She asked him, “Why ain’t you workin’, Daddy?” but he did not answer. The strangeness had worn off now, and he seemed more familiar. Lula Bell sat on his lap for a long time and once she pulled his ear, the way she used to do when she was little.
Then Imogene said, “Lula Bell, you go outside and play. I have important things to talk over with Daddy.”
“Outside? Where? What can I play?”
“Anything,” said Imogene. “Go down on the street. There are no yards here. You may as well get used to it.”
“Who do I play with?” asked Lula Bell.
“Goodness sakes!” cried Imogene. “Go find somebody … go do something … get out of this flat! I don’t want you hanging round my neck all the time.”
“She might could get lost in the big city,” said Daddy Joe. “She don’t know her way around yet.”
“Keep your eye on this apartment house,” said Imogene. “It’s called the Pearlena and it’s on Mechanic Street. You’ve got a tongue in your head, Lula Bell. Ask a policeman if you can’t find your way.”
Imogene turned to Daddy Joe. “She’s got to learn to take care of herself. Her grandma kept her a little ole baby down home.”
“She don’t want me,” thought Lula Bell, as she walked slowly down the four flights of stairs.
Lula Bell stood just inside the front door and looked out. Another flight of stone steps led down to the sidewalk. Strange women were sitting on them talking, but she could not make out what they said. Strange children were calling out to each other on the sidewalk below, but the way they said their words made them sound different. A man came out o
f a downstairs door, bumped into her and said, “Don’t block the door.”
Lula Bell did not move.
“Git out!” he said, giving her a shove.
Lula Bell hurried out. She went down the stone steps. At the bottom she leaned against the pillar of the iron-railing that enclosed the areaway. A group of girls were starting to play hopscotch on the sidewalk. One had a piece of white chalk and was marking lines down. Lula Bell watched eagerly. She liked to play hopscotch. It was the same game, only on Hibiscus Street, she scratched the marks with a bamboo stick in the sand. She did not use chalk.
Suddenly she rushed out, took the chalk away from the girl and began to mark on the sidewalk. “That’s not right,” she said. “You oughta make it curved up here at the top. That’s Home.”
The girl grabbed the chalk back. “Who are you?” she demanded. “I’mw doin’ this.”
“You gotta have a curve at the top,” said Lula Bell.
“That ain’t the way we play,” said the girl. “We make it straight.”
“We make it curved,” said Lula Bell. “That’s the real way to play hopscotch.”
“Hopscotch?” said the girl. “This ain’t hopscotch. It’s POTSY.”
“Oh!” said Lula Bell, surprised. “We call it HOPSCOTCH down on Hibiscus Street.”
“Where’s that?” demanded the girl. “Where you come from?”
“Down south,” said Lula Bell faintly.
“I thought so,” said the girl. “You go on back down south and stay there.”
“Can’t I play?”
“No you can’t.”
Lula Bell turned away. The girl whispered to the other children and they all stared at her.
“Cucumber! Cucumber!” they cried, pointing their fingers.
“See the newcomer, see the newcomer,
Green as a green-and-yaller cucumber!”
“They don’t want me,” Lula Bell said to herself. She leaned against the iron pillar again, and tears came into her eyes. She watched the game, but no one asked her to play. She learned that the name of the girl who had talked to her was Hildegarde.
It was the second time she realized that she was not wanted. But this realization came more often as the days went by.