Page 46 of Under the Tulip Tree
A look of guilt flashed across Mama’s face, but Mary eyed me as though she knew I’d been listening to their conversation.
“I thought you were going tothat woman’shouse for dinner.” Mama sniffed as though the odor from Frankie’s house might have followed me home.
“We did, but she was feeling a little tired, so we didn’t stay long.”
Buddy toddled over to Mama and lifted his arms. She bent to pick him up and wrinkled her nose. “You, young man, need your diaper changed.”
Mary started to her feet, but Mama waved her back into her seat. “I’ll take him upstairs and give him a bath. That way he’s all ready for bed when you get home.” She gave Mary a pointed look. “You and your sister can have a chat.”
She carried Buddy out of the room, with James and Holly on her heels, begging to take a bath too. Their voices faded as the group noisily climbed the stairs.
Before Mary could say anything, I held up my hand. “I don’t want to hear one word about my job with the FWP, about Mama’s opinion of it, or about what Peggy Denny might have to say.”
Mary’s brow shot up. “You needn’t be so rude, Lulu. I knew you were listening to us. I was simply going to ask how your day went.”
She seemed genuine, so I let my hand drop. “I had a good day. The woman I interviewed was a house servant before the war. It was interesting to hear how her life differed from those who’d worked in the fields.”
Mary sighed. “Homer’s daddy wants to hire a housekeeper for us, but Homer said he doesn’t want a strange black lady going through his things when we aren’t looking.”
That was all she had to say? “What does that have to do with the woman I interviewed?”
Her face went blank. “Well, nothing, but when you mentioned she was a house servant, it reminded me about ourneed for a housekeeper. I told Homer we could hire a white maid, but he said that was an even worse idea.”
My blood boiled. I wanted to punch my brother-in-law and shake my sister. “I’m talking about slavery, Mary. These people weren’t hired to do a job; they were forced to do it. They didn’t have a choice. If they didn’t comply, they were beaten and eventually sold to someone else.”
Mary frowned. “Why are you suddenly so concerned with slavery? Mama is worried about you, and now I see why.”
“Because I care about someone other than myself?”
The barb struck its mark. “I care about my family, Lulu. I have three children who depend on me for everything. Their father is—” She clamped her mouth shut and looked away.
Guilt washed over me. I shouldn’t have baited her. “I know, Mary. I’m sorry.”
“You don’t know everything,” she whispered, tears swimming in her eyes when she looked up at me. “I’m not sure how much longer I can stay with Homer.”
We stared at each other. Her quiet words shocked me, and she seemed a little surprised that she’d voiced them aloud. “You’re thinking about leaving him?” While I felt she should have dumped the jerk long ago, this was serious.
Her slim shoulders lifted in a shrug. “I’m just tired of it, Lulu. He’s always out with his buddies, drinking and gambling. I know he’s been with other women, too.”
I sank down into the chair across the table from her. “Oh, Mary.”
“I’m not an idiot, you know. I’m aware of his wild ways. I kept hoping Papa Whitby could talk some sense into Homer, or at least control him somehow with money.” She wiped a tear that trailed down her pale cheek. “He was fired from his job yesterday. I haven’t told Mama yet.”
I reached to grasp her hand in mine, something we hadn’t done in years. The sisterly action brought fresh tears to her eyes. It would be silly for me to offer any advice, being that I wasn’t a wife or a mother. What would she do if she left her husband? How could she raise three children on her own?
We sat in silence for several minutes before she squeezed my hand and stood. “Don’t mention any of this to Mama. I wouldn’t want her to worry. Not yet, anyway.”
I nodded. “I’m not making much with the FWP, but if you and the children need anything...”
She gave a sad smile. “Papa Whitby has always been generous with me and the kids. We’ll be fine.”
After Mary took her children home, I bade Mama good night and went to my room. I was too keyed up for bed, so I reached for my notebook and found the pages I’d filled at Frankie’s. Her story of life in the contraband camp came alive in my mind, and I began to wonder about its location. More than seventy years had passed, so evidence of it would most likely be long gone. Still, I’d like to know more aboutit.
I turned to a clean sheet of paper and jotted a note.
Where was the contraband camp near Nashville?
More questions flooded my mind, and I wrote them down as well.
