Page 18 of Under the Tulip Tree
Her touch on my forehead was cool as she smoothed my wild hair. “I know you don’t understand all this, Frankie. All you gotta know is that Master and Mistress be our owners, and we has to do everything they tells us to do, whether we like it or not.”
“Why, Mammy? Why can’t we just leave here?” My hand and head throbbed, and I wanted to get as far away from the Halls as I could.
Her sad eyes met mine. “One day you’ll understand, and then you’ll know why I ask God ev’ry night for freedom.”
I watched Mammy leave the cabin, her slim shoulders slumped. I cried until I was exhausted, angry with everyone. Why was Miz Sadie allowed to hurt me and not be the one who was wrong? Would she beat me again tomorrow when I returned to the big house? Why couldn’t Mammy and us chillens leave here and find us a better mistress, a nicer one?
When I finally quieted, with my throbbing hand tucked against my heart, I felt something take hold inside me. Like a big ol’ log on a cook fire, it fed my bitterness and anger. I didn’t know what to call it, but the way it made me feel, I guessed it was the opposite of what Mammy taught me about love. She wouldn’t be happy I had this new sensation swirling around inside me like a twister, but I couldn’t help it. It was there, and I liked it.
I knew one thing for certain.
No one could take it away from me. Not even that devil woman Miz Sadie.
CHAPTERSEVEN
Alden Norwood arrived at Frankie’s house promptly at four o’clock, bringing an end to my first day as an FWP interviewer. I had more than a dozen pages filled, back and front, with Frankie’s story, yet she’d barely begun telling about her life as a slave. She asked if I wanted to return the following day, and I eagerly accepted the invitation.
“How did it go?” he inquired after we’d been on the road several silent minutes.
I shifted my attention from the view of downtown traffic to him. I’d been thinking about Frankie’s maimed hand and how a simple trip to the outhouse that day would have saved her from a lifetime of misery. I couldn’t fathom how someone could beat a six-year-old child with a fireplace poker, crippling her for the rest of her life, because of an accident.
Yet discussing my feelings with Mr. Norwood was out ofthe question. He didn’t think me qualified for the job in the first place. “Fine,” I simply said.
He glanced at me, then back to the road. A long minute passed before he heaved a sigh. “All right, Miss Leland. I apologize for misjudging the financial circumstances of your situation and your need to work for the FWP. You were correct in saying I don’t know anything about you or your family. I’m sorry I made assumptions this morning.”
Another glance, as if he was waiting for me to respond. He seemed sincere, and it pleased me that he’d seen the need for an apology. “Thank you, Mr. Norwood.”
His full lips formed an easy grin. “Now that we havethatbehind us... how did it go today? Were you able to coax her into telling you much?”
I smiled, glad to have the morning’s unpleasantness over and done. Maybe he wasn’t as patronizing as he’d seemed. “I’d say so. I have thirteen pages of notes, and I told her I’d come back tomorrow to finish the interview.”
“Thirteen pages? What else could she possibly tell you that she hasn’t already?”
His astonishment concerned me. “How many pages do you usually end up with when you’re finished with your interviews?”
“Five, maybe six. It depends on the interviewee, but most answer all the questions within a couple hours.”
I worried my bottom lip. I’d been with Frankie the entire day, yet I wasn’t anywhere near the end of our interview. I’d given up reading questions after the first few and let her tellher story in her own way, but maybe tomorrow I should stick with the list in order to speed things up.
“How was your day?” I asked, changing the subject. I didn’t want word to get back to Mr. Carlson that my first interview wasn’t keeping to the schedule. The less I said to Mr. Norwood, the better.
He told about the elderly couple he’d interviewed—a ninety-two-year-old gentleman and his eighty-eight-year-old wife who met after freedom. The man had worked in a tobacco factory since he was a young boy, but she’d been a field slave. As Mr. Norwood shared interesting details about the couple’s lives, my mind drifted back to Frankie, wondering how Miz Sadie treated her the next day. Admittedly, I was anxious to get back to the little yellow house in Hell’s Half Acre to hear more.
When we arrived at my house, I glanced at the home I’d lived in most of my life. In recent years, repairs to the porch and roof had been neglected, and the yard was more weeds than anything else. But it was still a grand and beautiful place, even if the family who occupied it no longer was.
“Thank you for the ride.” I gathered my things into one hand so I could open the door with the other. “Same time tomorrow?”
He nodded. “But remember, you have a lot of other interviewees assigned to you. You’ll need to finish up with Mrs. Washington and move on.”
The reminder and the superior tone he used grated. So much for thinking we might become friends. “I’m sure I canmanage my own schedule, Mr. Norwood. Good night.” I slid from the car and slammed the door harder than I’d intended. When I glanced back, he pushed his hat back high on his forehead, a look of surprise on his face.
I’d just opened the front door when I heard his car back down the driveway and leave. Oh, the man could rile me! How would I ever put up with him for all the weeks it would take to complete the interviews?
“Rena, is that you?”
Mama came from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a dish towel. I’d hoped to sneak into the house and get to my bedroom without anyone seeing me. My head was so full, I needed time to process the day and all that had happened before Mama started with her questions.
“Hi, Mama.” I put my things on the hall table and removed my hat. “You’re home early.”
