Page 71 of The Women of Oak Ridge
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE:MAE
THE DAY AFTER THE FIRE,I went to work as usual and acted as though nothing out of the ordinary had occurred. As though I hadn’t a care in the world. As though the living, breathing fear that swirled through me like a twister every waking moment didn’t exist. Although Clive had not verbally threatened me, the fire was a dangerously clear warning. If I said anything to anyone about my suspicions regarding him being a spy, I would find myself behind bars.
So I biked around K-25 as I’d done every day since I arrived last summer. I carried tools to work crews and transported parts to the maintenance shop. I filed papers, wrote work orders, and ate lunch at the cafeteria, even laughing at the silly joke a coworker told. Mr. Colby seemed to keep a close eye on me, and it was exhausting to go about my work without showing the raw terror I carried inside of me.
By the time my shift ended and I made my way to the bus stop, my emotions were on the brink of spilling onto the pavement.While I waited at the back of the crowd, Velvet arrived and smiled as she approached. It faded when our eyes met.
“Mae, is somethin’ wrong?”
The compassion in her voice was my undoing. Tears escaped, and my chin trembled. “I just feel so alone,” I whispered. I hadn’t meant to say anything, but the despair-filled words left my mouth on their own.
She touched my arm. “Is there anything I can do?”
I shook my head. There wasn’t anything anyone could do.
“Would you like to come to my house for a cup o’ coffee?”
Her offer took me by surprise. “I... I don’t know.”
“My roommates are working the late shift, so they won’t be around. It’s always nice to have the place to myself. It can get crowded and noisy when all four of us are home.”
I had dreaded going back to the dorm. Sissy’s absence and Prudence Thorpe’s meddling made me want to crawl into a hole and never come out. Velvet’s invitation offered me time to get control of myself. “Yes,” I finally said. “I’d like to come to your house.”
A warm smile filled her milk-chocolate-colored eyes. “I’m glad.”
We boarded the bus. As I made to follow her to the seats in the back, she gave her head a small shake. “We’ll meet up again when it’s time to get off.”
The journey from K-25 to the area of Happy Valley made up of hutments didn’t take long. I disembarked with Velvet and other men and women, all Black. If anyone wondered why I’d joined them, they kept it to themselves. When we passed through the gate, the guard eyed me and scrutinized my badge, but he ultimately waved me through.
I followed Velvet as we wound our way through rows of look-alike dwellings. All were tiny, square, and made from plywood. A pipe stuck out the middle of each pitched roof, smoke curlingfrom some of them, and plywood-shuttered windows kept out the cold weather as well as the warm sunshine. Clotheslines stretched between houses, where stiff items flapped in the December breeze.
“How long have you lived here?” I asked.
“Roonie and I came to Tennessee in 1943.” Velvet led the way up a wooden walkway to the front door of a hut. “He lives over in the men’s section.”
Her comment puzzled me. “Who is Roonie?”
“My husband,” she said over her shoulder as she entered the house. “Come on in.”
I hesitated on the stoop.
I’d never been inside the home of a Black person before. The Black families in our small mining community in Kentucky kept to themselves, yet Mama’d always taught Harris and me that everyone was created in God’s image. There weren’t any differences between the races that should ever make anyone think themselves better or more deserving than the others.
When Velvet turned a welcoming smile to me, my shoulders relaxed. “Thank you,” I said as I crossed the threshold.
Every inch of the confined space appeared occupied by something. Four narrow beds along the four walls; four straight-backed wooden chairs; a coal-burning stove in the center; clothes on pegs; personal items scattered about. There was just enough room to walk a circle around the stove and back.
“It ain’t much, but it keeps the rain off our heads.”
I tried not to stare. It wasn’t Velvet’s fault there weren’t better living accommodations provided for her and the others. Her earlier comment rolled through my head. “You said your husband lives in a different area. Why is that?”
“Because,” she said, matter-of-factly, “colored men and women aren’t allowed to live together, even if they’re married.” She didn’tmeet my gaze but moved to the stove to get a fire started. “Have a seat.” She indicated the chair next to one of the beds.
I did, noticing a well-worn Bible lay on the pillow of the neatly made bed.
“My mama gave that to me when Roonie and I married up.” She reached to pick up the black book and smoothed the rough cover lovingly. “It belonged to her daddy. He was born a slave on an Alabama cotton plantation. After the Civil War ended and he was free, he saved enough money to buy this Bible. He didn’t know how to read yet, but he was determined to have the Word of God in his home.” She carefully returned the book to its spot.
As I watched her fill a kettle with water from a bucket and set it on the stove to heat, it occurred to me I had no idea the depth of suffering Velvet and her family had endured because of hatred and ignorance. Like most white people, I’d learned about slavery in school. I knew about segregation and laws I didn’t agree with, like the one preventing Velvet from living with her husband. But other than being an aggravating nuisance, they didn’t affect me. At least, not in the way they affected Velvet.
