Page 90 of Under the Tulip Tree
CHAPTERTWENTY-NINE
The aroma of roasting turkey filled the house. Children’s voices echoed down the hallway to my bedroom, where I sat at my desk, fingers hovering over the keys of my Underwood typewriter. How was I supposed to write my article with such pleasant distractions?
“‘Precilla Gray was born in Williamson County before the Civil War began.’” I reread aloud the opening line for the fourth time. “‘At 107years of age, she attributes her good health to taking care of herself and wearing yarn petticoats.’”
Mary’s soft laughter sounded behind me, and I turned to find my sister standing in the doorway. “Yarn petticoats?”
I chuckled. “That’s what she says. Maybe we should try it.”
She grinned, and I realized how much I enjoyed having my sister in the house again, noisy children and all. She still looked sad and worn from time to time, but the stress lines inher face had eased since she’d moved back home. After Mrs. Watkins retired and made Mama the manager of the sewing shop last month, Mary had stepped in and taken over the household responsibilities. I had to admit she was a much better cook than either Mama or me.
“Alden just arrived. He’s downstairs with Grandma Lorena.”
I glanced out the window to the street, surprised to see his car parked at the curb. “I didn’t hear him knock.” I stood and stretched, working the knots in my shoulders that tended to form when I sat at the typewriter too long.
“I’m glad you invited him to join us for Thanksgiving, Lulu. He seems like a really good guy.” The wistful tone in her voice brought an ache to my heart. Homer filed for divorce last week despite threats from his father to cut him off financially. He had a new girlfriend and had no desire to see his children.
I hurried downstairs and found Alden sitting next to Grandma on the sofa. She laughed at something he said, his grin revealing his pleasure at her response. When his gaze shifted to me, he stood. I’d taken more care with my appearance today, and the look of admiration in his eyes made all the effort worthwhile.
“Don’t you look pretty, Rena,” Grandma said. She started to rise, and Alden offered his hand. “Margaret told me she didn’t need help putting the finishing touches on the meal, but I think I’ll go pester her anyway.” She winked at me before disappearing into the kitchen, where Holly’s high-pitched voice ordered James to “stop sneakin’ licks of the punkin pie.”
Alden and I settled on the sofa. “Your grandmother’s right. You look beautiful.”
I felt my face flush under his intense study, but I relished the compliment. “You look quite dashing yourself.” My gaze traveled his length, noting the charcoal-gray suit he’d purchased for his new job with the Works Progress Administration.
He reached into his pocket and took out something bulky. “I was going to wait and give this to you at Christmas, but it seemed appropriate to give it to you today.”
My curiosity piqued, I reached for the gift, thinking the size and shape revealed it as a book. Tearing off the tissue paper, I gasped.
It was a framed picture of Frankie.
“I’d forgotten you took her picture that day.”
She sat in a chair on her front porch, her deformed hand resting in her lap while her other hand hid her mouth. I remembered wondering what she was thinking about.
“She’d be proud of you, Rena.”
Alden’s soft voice caused my eyes to fill with tears as I gazed at her precious face. “I hope so. I’m glad Mr. Carlson changed his mind about including her story in the collection of narratives. He didn’t even ask for one edit.”
Alden laughed. “I’m sure reading Mr. Armistead’s editorial in the newspaper about you and the FWP helped change his mind. Not to mention the fact thatCollier’sis set to publish your series of articles on the lives of former slaves. Everyone assumes slavery died with the war, so I doubt many people have heard of the turpentine camps in Florida. Yourinterview with the man who escaped from one will open a lot of eyes and hopefully bring some change.”
I smiled and wiped the wetness from my cheeks. “I still can’t believe I’m writing forCollier’s. I can never thank Mr.A. enough for submitting my article to his friend.”
He stole a quick glance toward the kitchen, where happy voices rose and fell, then took my hand in his. “Some of the WPA employees were talking about you the other day. They say your articles will make people stop and think. About how we need to learn from the past and make the future a better place for everyone.”
I squeezed his hand. “Mr. Armistead received several letters to the editor from readers saying as much. Of course, he’s received some nasty letters too from people who say we need to go back to the days of slavery. He won’t let me read those, but I can imagine what’s in them.”
He let go of my hand and put his arm around my shoulders, drawing me to his side. We’d gone on our first official date a week after Frankie’s funeral, and I smiled every time I thought about her insisting Alden was perfect for me. She was right, of course.
“There are always going to be people who oppose change, but I think they’re in the minority. Most people desire to live in harmony with others, no matter their differences.”
I hoped he was right. It would take more than a few articles in a magazine to bring about the changes necessary to accomplish such a feat. I felt honored to be a small pebble on the path to the peaceful existence among peopleof different races and socioeconomic status, beginning with my own family. Mama had been shocked to learn about Sadie Pope Hall and her treatment of Frankie. When I told her my article about my experience with Frankie would appear in a national magazine, I thought she’d be furious. Instead, she asked to read it before I turned it in to my new editor. She found me on the back porch a little later.
“This isn’t what I expected.” She handed the pages to me.
I waited for the lecture about the embarrassment I would bring to our family if I allowed the article to go to print, but it never came.
“I think I see now why you admired Mrs. Washington.” A sheen of tears filled her eyes as she met my gaze. “I’m proud of you, Rena.”
