Page 26 of Under the Tulip Tree
Yes.
And no.
I couldn’t explain it.
Something had stirred inside me when Frankie began telling her story. Something that had been dormant until that moment. It was almost as though I saw young Frankie romping through the plantation, carefree and happy, when her life was suddenly altered in the most horrific way. Obviously I knew she’d survived being sold and beaten, but I hungered to know the details. I wanted to know how.
How does one keep going after experiencing such horror and pain?
I thought about the past seven years. My life was nothinglike hers, my hardships no comparison, but I’d suffered. Or I thought I had until I heard Frankie’s story.
I heaved another sigh.
My parents wouldn’t understand my confusion, but Grandma Lorena might.
I looked at the clock. Grandma got her hair done every Saturday morning, then ran errands. I wouldn’t be able to visit her until later this afternoon.
An idea sprang to mind.
I could visit Frankie and continue the interview. I’d told her I would come by as time allowed. With a strong need to get out of the house, now was as perfect a time as any.
I flew to the closet and dressed. Gathering my notebooks and pencils from the desk, I stuffed them into the canvas book bag I’d carried in school. I hadn’t sneaked out of the house in years, but I remembered every squeaky floorboard to avoid lest I alert my parents to my departure as I made my way to the front door. They couldn’t prevent me from leaving the house as they had back in my teenage years, but I didn’t want to continue the argument over Frankie and the FWP interviews.
The day I started my job, Mama gave me several coins for the streetcar in case Mr. Norwood proved to be a man I felt uncomfortable riding with. The coins were still in my purse. For a brief moment I thought about calling him since he’d given me his telephone number at the boardinghouse where he was staying. I was certain he wouldn’t mind givingme a ride if he wasn’t busy, but I decided not to bother him on the weekend. Better to let him believe my interview with Frankie was finished.
The sun shone brightly, a glorious autumn day. I’d enjoy the short walk to the streetcar stop. I couldn’t wait to get to Frankie’s. I hoped I’d learn the secret to her survival today.
CHAPTERTEN
The streetcar line ended at the state capitol building. I was the only white person to disembark with a dozen other passengers, each staring at me with suspicion in their eyes. I let them move on to their destinations, with one or two turning back to give me a last look, before I got my bearings. When Mr. Norwood drove me to Frankie’s, he used the street that ran parallel to this one. I feared I would get disoriented if I took a different route, so I walked a block to the familiar path and headed into Hell’s Half Acre.
It’s strange how different the neighborhood seemed without the protection of a car and a man. I suddenly felt exposed, especially when residents who’d been going about their Saturday business turned to gawk at me. I nodded politely to two women sitting on a porch, but neither returned the greeting. When a little boy ran toward me with a friendlygrin, his mother hollered for him to keep away. I told myself it was because I was a stranger and not because of my white skin, but I had to admit had the situation been reversed and a black person walked down our street, the reactions would be the same.
I sped up my pace when a group of five or six young men took notice of me. They were lounging on the steps of a house across the street, but when they spotted me, one of the men stood.
“Hey, lady. You lost?”
The others laughed and whispered while the bold one continued to watch me. My heart hammered in my chest as I drew even with them. I shook my head and kept my feet moving, praying they’d simply let me pass. Frankie’s little house was around the next corner. I just had to get there.
“Where you headed, lady?”
I stole a quick glance over my shoulder to find the man’s attention still on me. When he took a step into the street, my heart nearly stopped beating. My legs began moving on their own, going as fast as possible in my heeled shoes. Oh, why hadn’t I worn my saddle shoes?
I didn’t have time to think. I simply knew I had to get to Frankie’s.
I rounded the corner and had a vague sense of spectators watching from the safety of their homes, but no one came to my rescue.
Frankie’s yellow house shone bright in the morning sunshine. To my utter relief, she was there, standing at the frontgate as though waiting for me. I rushed into her open arms and buried my face in her shoulder.
“What’s goin’ on? Rena? What you doin’ here, chile?” She smoothed my hair while I tried to catch my breath.
“You know this gal, Mama Fran?”
The voice of the man. I shivered and tucked deeper into Frankie. She smelled of cinnamon and flour.
“’Course I do, Billy. She be a friend o’ mine.” Frankie’s frail arms tightened around me. “What you mean scarin’ her like you done?”
“Didn’t mean to, Mama Fran. Figured she was lost. You know it ain’t safe for someone like her to wander round down here. Just wanted to be sure she got to where she’s going, isall.”
