Page 85 of Under the Tulip Tree
She busied herself straightening the covers of my bed. “James is still at school, but Holly and Buddy are playing checkers with Dad.”
I looked at her in disbelief.
She chuckled. “Buddy has really taken to him. James and Holly finally wore him down last night with their pestering to teach them how to play the game, but I don’t think he minds.”
“What about his drinking? You don’t want the kids around that.”
“I told him I wouldn’t let the children see him if he was drunk. He’s actually stayed sober since we moved in.”
I kept my thoughts to myself. Finding fault with our father wasn’t something I wished to dwell on just now.
“I don’t know when I’ll be home.” I picked up the stack of papers that held Frankie’s story. With utmost care, I tuckedthem into my notebook and placed it all in my school bookbag.
“I’ll let Mama know.” She hugged me then, long and tight. I fought to keep my tears at bay.
Alden arrived a short time later. Instead of waiting for me in the car as usual, he came to the door. My resolve crumbled at the sight of him, so handsome and solemn in his dark suit. I fell into his arms and shook with silent sobs. The kids came to investigate, but Mary thankfully shooed them into the kitchen and left us alone on the porch.
When I finally quieted, we sat on the steps.
“Jael invited us to come to the house this afternoon. She said there would be people coming and going all day. The funeral is tomorrow.”
I sniffled. “I’d like to go. To both, if you wouldn’t mind coming with me.”
“Of course. Frankie was a special person. I’m glad you introduced me to her.”
We drove to Hell’s Half Acre under cloudy skies. It seemed fitting that the sun wasn’t shining on this day. The number of cars parked along the street in front of the yellow house surprised me. People gathered on the porch and on the path leading to the house, chatting. The door stood open and I could see more guests inside. Every face I saw, however, was a different color from mine.
“Maybe we shouldn’t go in.” Uncertainty swirled through me. It was one thing to meet with Frankie and her great-granddaughter in the privacy of her home. Mingling as oneof only two white people in a crowd was quite another. They belonged here. I didn’t.
Alden studied the group on the porch. He had far more experience with people from different walks of life than I did. I waited to hear his opinion.
“Frankie was our friend. We might not know all of these people, but I believe the majority will be as welcoming as Frankie and Jael. Think of all Frankie endured throughout her life. I don’t think she’d want fear to prevent you from honoring her.”
I looked back to the crowd. I might not have known Frankie as long as they had, but she’d become dear to me in our short time together. It was only right that I join with those who mourned her passing.
“You’re right. Let’s go inside.”
Alden came around and opened the car door for me. In an unexpected move, he took my hand in his and we made our way up the path. A hush came over those on the porch as they watched us approach. A man stepped out to block our progress, and I recognized him as the one who’d chased me—or so I’d thought—when I came to visit Frankie alone.
Alden’s hand tightened on mine. “We’ve come to pay our respects. Jael invited us.”
The man’s stare bored into Alden a long moment before his eyes met mine. My knees trembled beneath my skirt, but I didn’t look away.
Finally he nodded and stepped aside. “Anyone who was a friend of Mama Fran’s is welcome here.”
We climbed the remaining steps, with all eyes on us. Thankfully, Jael met us at the door.
“I’m glad you came.” She took me by the hand and led us into the room. Conversations slowed until everyone grew quiet.
“This is Rena, Mama Fran’s friend I was telling you about.” She turned her smile to me, her eyes red-rimmed. “Mama Fran never talked to anyone about her life as a slave. Not even my grandpa.” She indicated a gray-haired man nearby, and I recognized Frankie’s son from his picture. “Mama Fran always said the past was best left in the past, but you changed all that. She told me after you left that first day that if anyone else had shown up at her door asking to hear her tales, she would have sent them packing.”
Several people in the crowd chuckled.
Jael squeezed my hand, and tears slipped from her eyes. “But the Lord sent you. Last night before she went to bed, she said she was glad she’d shared her story with you. Said if change is gonna come, it has to start somewhere.”
Murmurs of agreement swept the room.
Jael let go of my hand and reached into her pocket. She pulled out a small book with a worn leather cover. It looked quite old.
