Page 83 of Under the Tulip Tree
“Frankie, run!” I yelled, but it was too late. The poker came down on the little girl with a horrific crash.
“Rena?”
I woke, startled to find Mama’s face looming above me. Light came from the hallway and illuminated her worried expression.
“We didn’t realize you were home until I heard you yell. Are you all right?”
I sat up, shaken by the nightmare. “I guess I fell asleep.”
She turned on the lamp on my desk. “Have you eaten? There’s leftover meat loaf in the refrigerator.”
I nodded. “Alden and I stopped at the diner.”
Surprise registered on her face. “Was this a date?”
“No, Mama. We needed to talk about work.”
Her eyes narrowed as she settled on the edge of the bed. “Mary says you told her you might quit your job.”
I refrained from emitting a growl. My sister had never been able to keep a secret. “I might. I haven’t decided yet.”
Mama studied me. “Did something happen?”
I would tell her about Sadie Pope Hall someday, but I wasn’t ready yet. She’d have too many questions and strong opinions, and I simply couldn’t manage them right now.
“I finished Frankie’s interview today. As much as I enjoyed meeting her, I’m not sure I want to continue with more interviews.”
“Well.” Mama’s satisfied smile irked me. “I’m sure it’s for the best. You know I didn’t approve of you going down to that...neighborhood. I’m sure you can find another job that suits you better.”
I glanced at the notebook on my desk. “I still need to type up my notes and turn them in to the FWP office.”
She frowned as she eyed me. “You look tired. Those notes will be there in the morning.” She stood and walked to the door but turned to face me before leaving. “I think it best if we keep your involvement with the FWP quiet. You’re quitting, so there’s no need for anyone to know where you’ve been or what you’ve been doing.”
“I’m not ashamed of it, Mama. And I’m not ashamed of the time I spent with Frankie. I still believe the interviews are important. Maybe more so now than when I first started.”
Her lips pinched, as they usually did when she was unhappy with me. “Be that as it may, there’s no reason to give the gossips something else to hold over us. I expect you to abide by my wishes.”
She turned and left the room. Her bedroom door closed a moment later.
I lay back down, frustration keeping my muscles tense. Would telling Mama about Sadie change her mind? Doubtful. She’d probably side with our ancestor. At the very least, she would argue that Sadie lived so long ago, her actions had nothing to do with us.
I rolled onto my side and stared out the window into the night sky. Stars twinkled on a black canvas, the same stars visible to everyone, no matter the color of their skin.
What I’d said to Mama was true. I wasn’t ashamed of my work with the FWP. The interviews I’d conducted in Hell’s Half Acre showed me another side of the story. The world as I’d always known it now looked different. Felt different. I was different. Would Frankie’s story affect others the same way?
I got out of bed and sat at my desk. With light from the lamp, I opened the notebook and read through a page of notes about the day six-year-old Frankie was sold. A terrible ache settled in my heart reading her word-for-word description, especially when I reached the part involving my very own great-great-great-grandfather. I couldn’t fathom how aman, a father, could stand by and watch a child dragged away, screaming for her mammy.
The very image brought tears to my eyes. Tears of sadness... and shame.
With the house quiet for the night, I rolled a clean sheet of paper onto the cylinder of my Underwood. I stared at the blank page, thinking of Frankie. Because of her, I’d come to understand that everyone has a story to tell. It wasn’t always pretty or happy, and, like my own family’s tale of woes, it could be a bit messy at times. But our stories mattered.
Frankie’s story mattered.
I smiled, and my fingers began their dance across the keys.
It was ten o’clock the next morning when I woke to the sound of the telephone ringing downstairs. I’d stayed up through the night typing, refusing to let my eyes close each time they drooped in exhaustion. When I finally fell into bed just before the sky began to lighten, a neat stack of typed sheets of paper sat on the desk.
“Rena?” Mary knocked on my door, then opened it slowly. “Good. You’re awake.” A sly grin creased her face. “Mr. Norwood is on the telephone.”
