The Lost Hours (43 page)

I’d been up for hours, having returned the golf cart and done my morning exercise by walking back to the cottage. I’d called Tucker and Helen both, reading my grandmother’s last pages out loud, and telling them about Alicia’s call, and made plans to drive into Savannah with Helen.

She was waiting for me by the sundial wearing a yellow silk knit dress with a wide tapestry belt, making me feel frumpy in my cotton skirt and cotton knit pullover despite the collapsible cane she carried. It even had a yellow tip to match her outfit. It had stopped striking me as odd that the first person I’d ever ask for fashion advice was a blind woman.

“You look beautiful, Helen,” I called from the open window. “You’ll have to take me shopping sometime.”

Helen laughed as she waited for me to stop the car and help her in. “George has invited me to lunch, if that’s all right with you. He invited you, too, but said he’d understand if you were too busy to join us. He’d be happy to drive me home.”

Helen kept her face averted but I could see the blush blooming in her cheeks. “Yeah, I’ll need to get back, so if he doesn’t mind driving you, that would be fine.”

“Please don’t think that I’m rushing into anything. I’m not. I like George and it’s been a long time since anybody who isn’t related to me has paid me any attention. I like to enjoy myself, and to have a reason for wearing pretty clothes.” Helen shrugged. “I like that he’s related to Mr. Morton. He was a real friend to our grandmothers, it seems. And I think we should sit down with him and ask all of our questions. He’s bound to know a lot more than he’s told you.”

I flipped off the radio. “He’s on an extended vacation right now with his wife, but I’ve been sending e-mails on the odd chance he’ll think to check it when they’re in port. He communicated with me once through George, something mundane like where to find the circuit breakers. And then he sent me an e-mail last night answering one I’d sent to him, although it wasn’t really a response.”

“What do you mean? What did it say?”

“Be patient and strong; someday this pain will be useful to you.” Helen thought for a moment. “What do you think he’s trying to tell you?”

“The same thing my grandmother was trying to tell me when she left the charm for me. And I haven’t quite figured that one out yet.”

“Maybe Mr. Morton feels that you need to figure it out yourself without his help. Hearing it from someone else sort of loses its power. Kind of like Malily telling Tucker and me all these years that our parents loved us; it’s just not as effective as it would have been if they’d told us themselves.”

I reached for Helen’s hand, and felt her squeeze back, accepting that I would understand more than most the missing part of the human heart rendered by the absence of a mother and father.

“Does Lillian know where you’re going this morning?”

Helen shook her head. “Mardi and I went down to breakfast really early to get there before Malily did so I wouldn’t have to lie. But I needn’t have bothered; Odella told me that Malily wasn’t feeling well and was having a breakfast tray sent up.” Helen rested her head against the side window and for a moment I was fooled into thinking she was watching the traffic.

Helen continued. “I was relieved at first, and then I began to worry. Malily isn’t one to admit to weakness and is always at breakfast, dressed with full war paint—Tucker’s words not mine—and ready to go before any of us. I’ll just make a point to stop by when I get back, and bring the last of Annabelle’s pages for her to read if that’s all right.”

“Absolutely. And I’m going with you. We’ll finish reading her pages tonight, too. This has got to end. I can’t stand the not knowing any longer. Besides, I’ve got projects waiting for me at home for a few of my genealogy clients. I need to get back.”

Helen faced me. “I guess it’s inevitable, but I somehow can’t imagine this place without you. And the girls—it will be hard saying good-bye.”

“I’ll be back. Promise. I’ll need to check on how the girls’ riding is going, and on Captain Wentworth’s progress, of course.”

“Of course.” Helen elbowed me in the ribs but I didn’t say anything else as we continued our drive downtown.

Alicia Jones’ house was located in a part of Savannah known as the Pulaski Ward. The street itself was brick paved and tree lined with wide neutral areas between the sidewalks and the street. Centuries-old row houses, paired houses, and five-bay center-hall houses, all beautifully restored, lined each side of the street, where a number of brick walled gardens hinted at what might lie behind.

Alicia’s house was a tidy row house with a brick walkway bursting with late-summer pink crepe myrtles and boasting an historic plaque by the front door. She opened the door before I had a chance to knock, greeting us with a cautious smile and the sound of jazz music playing on a stereo inside the house.

She noticed my angel charm first, then reached up to touch her own. The wariness in her eyes lifted as she ushered us in. I made introductions before being led into a cozy living room with bright floral chintzes and framed posters lining the walls featuring jazz greats Ella Fitzgerald, Miles Davis, Cab Calloway, and a host of others I didn’t recognize. A baby grand piano dominated the corner, the closed lid covered with photo frames. Over the fireplace was a framed record album, the edges of the cover frayed from use. I read the title out loud.
“Hunting Angels.”
Below the title, in a large bold font were the words “Including the hit single title track and the number-one singles ‘Time Is a River’ and ‘Moving On.’”

Alicia came to stand next to me. “That was my mama’s first album. Almost went gold. Not that it mattered to her. It was always about the music. But this album”—she tapped the glass—“was her favorite. Always told me that she said good-bye to a lot of ghosts while she was writing the lyrics.” She motioned to one of the sofas. “Please sit down. I’ll be right back.”

I showed Helen to one of the sofas and then sat down next to her. She frowned. “That’s an odd name for an album. What year did it come out?”

“Nineteen forty-eight. I only know this because I spent some time on the Internet after Alicia called last night. The album came out nine years after Josie left Savannah.”

“I bet Odella has a copy. I’d love to listen to it.” Helen raised her eyebrow as we turned our attention back to Alicia, who’d reentered the room with a tea tray.

“Your house is lovely,” I said as I poured milk and sugar into a cup of tea for Helen and handed it to her. “I was admiring your piano. Are you musical, too?”

Alicia smiled. “Not like my mama, no. I can’t hardly sing a note. But I teach piano. I figured out early on that I was a better teacher than musician, so I made the best of both worlds.” She took a sip of her tea and gave Helen and me a considering look. “I’ll admit to being a bit surprised to hear from you after all these years. After my mama died, I wrote letters to both of your grandmothers, to let them know that she’d passed. She talked about them a lot in those last days—it was the cancer that got her—and I was surprised because she’d never mentioned those names before. That’s when she gave me my angel charm and told me all about Lola.” She shook her head. “I would have sworn that she’d had no past before coming to New York and singing in the Harlem Opera House because she never talked about any of that before she was dying.”

Gently, I placed my teacup in its saucer. “Did either one of them respond?”

Alicia shook her head. “No. Neither one. I didn’t know if Annabelle was still alive or not, but I saw Lillian in the papers all the time, so I knew she was alive and well. I had half a mind to just show up on her doorstep and ask her what’s what.”

A half smile twitched at the corner of Helen’s mouth. “I’ve heard of that happening before.”

Alicia pursed her lips. “Yes, well, I thought it just rude. Especially since my mama left something for her. And I explained that in my letter to her, too, but I guess she wasn’t interested.”

Both Helen and I gave her our full attention. Helen choked down a cookie so she could speak. “Was it her scrapbook pages?”

“Oh, no. She had my grandmama Justine burn those before I was born. I know because my grandmama told me. Said she regretted it until the day she died, seeing as my mama’s story will never be shared. See, I wasn’t the only one who believed Mama’s story started at the Harlem Opera House. She came from Savannah—I knew that much, but you never would have known it to hear her talk. It was like she just wiped the Georgia clay from her feet and never looked back. That’s why I’m here. Wanted to return to where we came from. I raised my children here.” She indicated the piano and its collection of frames. “Three boys and one girl. They all still live here except for my youngest son. He’s in Germany right now in the Army.”

I slid my teacup and saucer onto the coffee table, not sure I could hold it without it rattling. “The thing you were supposed to give to Lillian—do you still have it?”

“Sure do. Figured I’d hold on to it for a while longer. Maybe write her again. She must be getting old though, hmm?”

Helen nodded. “Yes. She’s ninety. But still relatively healthy, except for her arthritis.”

Alicia stood and walked to a dark-stained footed bookshelf tucked between the two long front windows. With both hands, she pulled out a thick, leather-bound Bible, then withdrew a yellowed envelope from between the pages. “I figured if I kept it here, I wouldn’t forget about it.”

She handed it to Helen. “I figure you can give it to your grandmother. See what she wants to do with it.”

Helen nodded and slipped the envelope into her purse after a brief hesitation. She turned back to Alicia. “Did Josie ever say anything about her brother, Freddie?”

Alicia sat down again across from us and poured more tea into all three cups. “She had pictures of him. He was a fine-looking man, that’s for sure. My middle son, Jeremy, favors him a great deal. And my oldest son, Frederick, is named after him.” She straightened her shoulders. “I do know that he was one of the founding members of the NAACP chapter here in Savannah. My mama always said that’s what got him killed. That and him marrying a white woman.”

Helen grabbed my hand. “He married a white woman? Here in Savannah?”

Alicia nodded. “Not that they advertised the fact, of course. My mama said that the reverend who married them got raided, and his church burned because they found out he was marrying couples of mixed races. It was illegal here until nineteen sixty-seven, but there were some ministers who felt God was on their side in joining a man and a woman in holy matrimony, regardless of the color of their skin or what the law books said.” Her dark fingers played absently with the angel charm around her neck. “Anyway, when he got raided, they took the marriage records. Found my uncle’s name and decided to teach him a lesson. It was too late, of course.”

“Too late? How?” I felt Helen’s hand in mine again, squeezing my fingers.

“They were expecting a baby.”

Helen’s fingers squeezed mine tighter. “Who was the woman—his wife? What was her name?”

Alicia shook her head. “Mama never said her name. Everything associated with her brother’s death was too painful for her. She never did talk about it. She only mentioned about his being married because of that big Supreme Court case back in sixty-seven that said people of color could marry who they wanted to and that the states had nothing to say about it. Made my mama cry, remembering her brother, who died because he loved the wrong woman.”

“But you don’t know her name?” I asked, but not because I didn’t think I knew the answer. I said it only to fill the empty places in my head that kept knocking against the parts of the truth I still didn’t know.

“No, I’m sorry. Like I said, it wasn’t something she ever talked about. My grandmama always called that part of my mama’s life the ‘great sadness.’ She said it was what made her music so poignant, but I think that’s a horrible price to pay.”

“And her scrapbook pages,” Helen said, “all of them were burned?”

“All of them. I wish she hadn’t done it, but my mama was a force to be reckoned with. If she said she wanted something done, you didn’t go against her.”

Alicia smiled, and I smiled, too, thinking of the three friends who’d lived in different times but had tried to be stronger than they were allowed.

“There’s another reason why I wanted to meet with you today. We—you and I—are related. We found the birth certificates at the historical center. My great-grandfather was your mother’s father. Leonard O’Hare was Josie and Freddie’s father.”

Alicia closed her eyes and nodded. “Well, praise the Lord. It’s always a good day when a family gets expanded.”

We stood and hugged and Alicia smiled in my face. “Although I can’t rightly say we look like we’re kin.”

We both laughed as I helped Helen stand beside me. Helen extended her hand. “Alicia, it’s been a pleasure meeting you. We’ll have to have you and your family to Asphodel soon.”

“Let’s plan on it. And one more thing.” She held on to Helen’s hand a moment longer. “When you open that envelope, I want you to let me know what’s in there. It’s . . . it’s all I have left of my mother, and there’re so many missing parts to her story that I’m a little hungry to learn what I can.”

“I know what you mean, and I certainly will let you know,” Helen said before hugging Alicia good-bye.

We gathered our purses and Helen’s cane, then left among promises to visit again soon. We rode in silence during the short drive to George’s office, where I’d be dropping Helen off, listening only to the whir of the car’s air conditioner. Helen spoke first, her voice thick. “She was married and pregnant, and she’s never mentioned this to anyone before. Dear God.” She shook her head but couldn’t seem to find any more words to convey her surprise and hurt. She turned to face me. “So what do we do now?”