Harlem Redux (11 page)

The forced casualness sounded false even to his own ears. Her face took on a set expression. He was reminded that Rachel had a firmness of character that was startling in one who looked so frail. She could express herself in cool, precise terms when she wanted to. When she raised her chin, he knew what was coming.

“If Lilian’s the
only
reason you’re back, you might as well leave right now. You can’t change what happened.”

“I have to know why she did it.”

“You never will—”

“I have to try to understand.”

“Or try to ease your conscience?”

Her remark stung, as he knew it was meant to. He felt himself grow warm.

“Thank you,” he said, “for putting it so succinctly.”

Her expression softened. “I’m not judging you, but that don’t mean I got to help you deny the truth neither.”

“I’m not asking you to.”

“Aren’t you?”

He smiled grimly. “Perhaps you’re right. But I didn’t come here to talk about myself.”

“Who then?”

“Lilian’s husband.” His eyes traced her lovely profile. “Do you know him?”

“He’s a good man. Kind. Loyal.” Her eyes flickered over him. “The kind of man a woman can depend on.”

He ignored that. “So he loved her?”

She nodded.

“Treated her right?

“You mean ... did he treat her better than you treated me?”

Their eyes locked.

“You don’t give a man a break, do you?”

“Only when he deserves one.”

Utter silence.

“Rachel, I know I hurt you,” he said huskily. “I never intended to.”

“Then why did you?”

He regarded her with regret. How could he answer? What could he say? As always, when words failed him, he found another way of communicating. Without thinking, he reached for her. He put his arms around her and hugged her. She resisted for a moment and then put her arms around him, too. They clung to one another. Her cheap perfume, acrid yet seductive, enveloped him. She had worn the same scent when he’d last seen her. He paused in his thoughts, remembering.

Life was much simpler then. We were both so hopeful.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “More sorry than you’ll ever know.”

“But why? Why’d you stay away so long?”

“Don’t ask,” he said. “I can’t answer.”

She pulled away. He reached out to caress her cheek but she averted her face, then turned back to gaze at him with suspicion. Taking his left hand, she laid it on top of her own and studied it. She turned it this way and that, with the air of a gypsy fortune-teller. With her fingertips, she stroked his palm and traced a line along his fourth finger. She found no traces of a wedding ring, but still she asked: “Who is she?”

“I’ve stayed alone.”

She searched his face with wide, clear eyes that not only sought the truth of his feelings, but also revealed her own. He had the momentary illusion that if he peered into her eyes, long enough, deeply enough, he would learn all there was to know about her. But then, he asked again about Lilian, and the illusion died. Rachel’s face clouded over; her lovely eyes became dim.

“There’s nothing to tell. Lilian just got sick. That’s all. She just … got sick.”

“I can’t accept that. There’s more. There’s got to be.”

“David, I know you feel bad, but you can’t start chasing demons. Listen,” she said with a rush of feeling. “Sweet was always here for Lilian. She had herself a good man.” A trace of bitterness crept into her tone. “It’s okay if you were out there having a good time, baby, ‘cause believe me, at the end, she didn’t even know you were gone.”

“You’re not being fair,” he said and felt like an idiot saying it.

“Well, neither are you.”

Her eyes challenged him and he started to respond, but then something happened: He remembered how much he’d enjoyed her peppery temper. After a moment, he laughed gently and conceded. “You’re right.”

She looked at him. Then her anger faded as quickly as it had come. A smile came to her lips, too. “You hungry?”

He nodded.

“C’mon, then. Let’s have lunch.”

He helped her set the table and noticed the floral design on her china. It was familiar. “These were my mother’s dishes. Her everyday service.”

“I always liked them. After your daddy died, I asked about them. Lilian said I could have them. She didn’t mind and Gem didn’t care. Don’t you remember?”

He didn’t, but it mattered little. The dishes and the silverware she gave him to lay next to it conveyed a feeling of comfort. The tension between them eased. As she worked to prepare the meal, she exuded an air of serenity. She had the face of an ebony Madonna: gentle and sweet, but solemn. He noted the calming beauty of her dress. She seemed at peace with herself. He envied her.

The air of contentment that filled her kitchen as she cooked stayed with them. They left the topic that had brought him to see her and spoke of pleasant matters. She had seen a new exhibit of sculpture by Meta Warrick Fuller. Fuller’s work was brilliant. Did he know that Fuller, a black woman, had actually studied in Paris with Rodin?

When given free rein to choose her topic, Rachel made a spirited conversationalist. Her inquisitive mind had refused to accept the limitations of her formal training and sought to expand itself. She was well read. Her knowledge of contemporary literature, philosophy, and art was more than adequate for intelligent discussion. She also had a spicy wit that cut through pretension and hypocrisy.

He looked at her laughing face and wondered,
What would’ve happened if I had returned?
But there was no point in thinking about it. Whatever chance they might have had was long gone. His fall from grace when he decided to stay away four years ago would be nothing compared to the condemnation he would suffer if she knew
why
he had stayed away.

And was it wise to visit her, speak with her, to sit in her kitchen and share her meal? His visit was meant to heal old wounds, not inflict new ones. He needed her forgiveness. For his sake, as well as hers. He would have to leave Harlem within twenty-four hours. The moment he clarified a few questions about Lilian’s death and settled matters concerning the house with Sweet, he would board a train and speed back to the life he had built in Philadelphia.

That life was simple. It was lonely but not entirely dissatisfying. As a lawyer, he helped people. He lived modestly so he could afford destitute clients, those who might not have had a chance otherwise. He was extremely effective as a criminal defense attorney. In fact, he had made a name for himself, not as a defender of lost causes, but as an honest man who could make things happen.

His work had become his penance. Guilt drove him during the day and exhaustion put him to sleep at night. A successful court decision helped to assuage his shame, but never fully lifted it. Success also fueled his anxiety. He dreaded newspaper coverage that might bring him attention. So he always sought the small cases, the ones no one wanted to be bothered with. But too often, a case would take a twist that lent it unexpected significance. When this happened and reporters knocked on his door, he would bar himself in his small one-man office. He would think of home. He would dream of seeing Lilian and Rachel and Annie.

On Christmas Eve 1922, deeply homesick, he had written to Lilian and mailed the letter before he could change his mind. She had quickly answered. A correspondence gradually developed, sporadic and hesitant on his side, consistent and faithful on hers. After a few months, he suspected that she knew why he was staying away and what he was doing. In time, he became certain she did. But she never once criticized him nor did she pry. Her letters expressed love and gentle curiosity. Her tactful avoidance of issues that might have pained him convinced him that she understood and accepted his way.

Lilian was the only person with whom he had been honest, and that was because she had never forced him to lie. He could not expect that of Annie or Rachel. Their grief over Lilian’s death and relief over his return had temporarily abated their inquisitiveness, but it would return if he stayed too long. He would have to leave in order to retain their respect and affection. He was convinced of it.

In the meantime, he meant to make the most of his short visit by finding out everything he could about Lilian’s last months. Looking at Rachel, he thought he understood her reluctance to discuss Lilian’s illness. It was, after all, an unpleasant subject. But surely she must understand his need to know what had happened.

“Lilian used to write me,” he said, “telling me all the goings-on.”

Rachel dabbed at the corner of her mouth with her napkin. “Did she mention me?”

“Once. She said you’d moved away.”

“Is that all?”

He nodded.

Rachel picked at her food. “You know, Lilian and me . .. well, we sorta had a falling-out. It was more on her side, really. She dropped me. From one moment to the next.”

“But you two were like a married couple.”

“Yes, maybe. But Lilian did drop me. She threw her sticks in with Gem.” Rachel gave a rueful little laugh.

David laid down his fork. “Actually, Annie did say something about that. But it’s hard to believe.”

“Well, believe it. Somehow, Gem got Lilian to trust her. It started with them going out all the time, shopping together. By the time Gem left, she could get Lilian to do just about whatever she wanted her to. Even quit her job.”

David looked stunned. “But that job at the
Black Arrow
meant the world to her.”

“Lilian said her doctor had told her to quit, too. But she didn’t quit when
he
told her to. She quit when
Gem
told her to. Lilian said she could use the time to work on her book. Well, I didn’t trust Gem. She never wanted to help nobody. So, I went to see Lilian. I tried to tell her that Gem was probably up to something, but Lilian wouldn’t listen. It wasn’t none of my business, she said. She wouldn’t talk to me after that. Ignored me when she saw me at the poetry meetings.”

If anyone other than Rachel had been telling him this, he wouldn’t have believed her. But Rachel and Lilian had been like sisters for years. Rachel loved Lilian more than Gem ever loved her, and he knew Rachel would never lie. It hurt to think that Lilian had betrayed their friendship in favor of Gem. “Betray” was perhaps too harsh a word. Gem, after all, was Lilian’s sister, her flesh and blood, and it was fine if Gem wanted to be close to Lilian, to repair their relationship. But she never should’ve done it at the cost of Lilian’s friendship with Rachel. She never should’ve forced Lilian to make that choice. And Lilian should’ve refused to make it.

“Months went by when I didn’t see her,” Rachel said. “Then, in the fall, Sweet sent for me. Wanted me to help Annie nurse her, just till he found somebody regular. I got to admit, I wasn’t too keen on going over there at first, seeing how she’d treated me, but then we’d been friends for so long ... and Sweet was so worried. It scared me when I saw her. She wasn’t the same, David. You wouldn’t have recognized her.”

“Annie said the doctors could never figure out what was wrong with her.”

Rachel hesitated, then said, “I’m sorry, David, but they did mention schizophrenia.”

Schizophrenia.
He turned that over. It was one explanation. Naturally, it didn’t make him happy, but—