Scarlet Carnation: A Novel Page 4

  “I’m sure we will,” she replied.

  John squeezed her hand in assurance.

  They turned left on Vallejo and John stopped in front of a lovely, three-story Victorian. It was packed in tight, with no space between it and the next building.

  John knocked on the door, a level of formality they didn’t practice in her family. She walked right into her aunt and uncle’s and her cousin’s homes—as they did with hers.

  “Jonathon,” his mother declared. “What a surprise. Come in.”

  May watched John kiss his mother’s cheek. She waited for her elder to signal how they would greet one another. Mrs. Barrow put out a hand, so May did the same. In the middle of their handshake his mother smiled and opened her arms. May gladly accepted the unspoken offer of a quick hug and took the liberty of kissing the woman’s cool skin. She wanted to impress Mrs. Barrow, to show her respect and that she was ready to be a good wife for her son.

  Mrs. Barrow’s deep-blue dress was simple, but elegant, and she wore pearls around her neck and on her ears. They were unexpected company, so this was her everyday wear.

  “We cannot stay long, not even for tea, but I want to share my news with you,” John explained. “Is father home?”

  Mrs. Barrow nodded. She pointed to the parlor and walked up the stairs. May studied John. He looked nervous, and younger than usual. Like most men, he probably longed to earn his father’s respect. Mr. Barrow hadn’t expected his son to become an academic. While he hadn’t expressed strong disapproval, he told John that a professor’s salary would not afford him the finest lifestyle. May admired John for being willing to follow his mind rather than his pocketbook when it came to choosing a career.

  John explained the layout of the house to May. “Father’s study is on the third floor. Bedrooms are on the second. This floor has the kitchen, dining, living room, parlor, and a laundry area—though mother sends it out.”

  “It’s lovely,” May said.

  “A typical railroad Victorian.” He shrugged. “With an amazing view in a wonderful location.”

  They sat down and waited for his parents. May was delighted to be here when he shared the good news, appreciated being brought into this circle of family life. She looked around the formal room. Above the fireplace was a portrait of a girl who looked to be seven or eight.

  “Who is she?” May asked.

  John pulled his lips into a sad, tight smile. “That is Anne. She died when I was ten and she was eight. Scarlet fever.”

  “I’m so sorry,” May said.

  “It was a long time ago. I was too young to be affected, but please do not speak of her with my mother as it upsets her.” He shook his head. “I don’t understand why she keeps that portrait so prominent.”

  An older, equally handsome version of John walked in, asking, “What’s your news, son?”

  “Dominican in Marin has made me an offer which I have accepted.”

  “Wonderful!” Mrs. Barrow replied.

  “Congratulations, son. I know your mother will be relieved to have you close by. When do you start?”

  Mr. Barrow kept his tone measured. He would not be considered a warm or kind man, but neither was he harsh or angry. She wondered if she could ever win his heart over. In contrast, she was confident she and Mrs. Barrow would have a warm and mutually supportive relationship much like Auntie Diana and Nana.

  “Faculty meetings start on August fifteenth,” John replied.

  May hadn’t even thought to ask. Two months away. That would be plenty of time to make arrangements. This was extremely exciting and becoming a reality. Her life was about to change entirely, for the better. She was about to have her own home in Marin County.

  They chatted for a few minutes about the exhibition, which John’s parents visited several times already. They’d enjoyed it, but wished the event to be over. For months the traffic had been bothersome and on far too many nights the sounds and the lights from the fair were disruptive.

  Mrs. Barrow hugged May farewell, ending with a squeeze that confirmed May’s belief they would be close. Mr. Barrow bid them goodbye with a nod of the head.

  May buzzed as they traveled back to the East Bay. It was such a nearly perfect day together. Despite her being upset, John was able to forgive her poor temper and then bring her to his home to have time with his parents.

  She stood at the railing of the ferry, wrapped from behind in John’s arms. He leaned in ever so slightly against her back as his thumb stroked her hand. A pleasant shiver traveled down her spine.

  “It’s like we are leaving the Emerald City,” she said as they sped away from the tall buildings.

  “Back home to Kansas?” he replied.

  She smiled. Dorothy only wanted to return to Auntie Em, but she was a child. May yearned for the comfort of home and the excitement of the Emerald City. She looked across the water at the hills in Marin. Somehow her wish was being granted, not by a Good Witch, but with this wonderful man.

  John whispered into her ear, “Do you want to come to my studio?” He cleared his throat. “For a private supper?”

  Her heart surged with joy. She’d been to his studio many times, but never with the thought of becoming intimate. Now they would be since everything was in place—he’d graduated, gotten his position, and she’d made a thorough study of Mrs. Sanger’s pamphlet. She was a modern woman, prepared for this moment with a sponge and solutions in her bag. Thanks to scientific research she was able to follow her heart while keeping her head.

  She nodded and murmured, “Mhhm.”

  He kissed her neck. A delightful tingle traveled down her spine and out to every edge of her body.

  “Are you certain?” he asked.

  Yearning filled her every pore. She turned around to look him in the face. “I am if you are,” she replied.

  He smiled and nodded, showing equal desire in his beautiful eyes. She grinned back; they were ready to make this official.

  “I don’t have a rubber,” he said in a low voice.

  “Mrs. Sanger has other methods,” she told him. “I’m prepared.”

  They gazed at each other and finally consented to give in to the desire of their flesh.

  CHAPTER 4

  NAOMI

  June 1915

  Naomi burst with anticipation as she left her job at the Booth Home for Unwed Mothers. She was proud to work at the Salvation Army clinic that gave young women a safe place to deliver and good choices when it was over. Far fewer babies were abandoned to the elements in communities with clinics like this.

  Nearly half of her patients left without their babies. The clinic found responsible infertile parents eager to welcome a newborn. Those who left with their babies would as often as not become the baby’s older sister in the eyes of the world—their mothers claiming a late-life pregnancy to protect their daughters. Most of the young women who came to the home to deliver their babies were hiding their condition from someone.

  It was a light day of work—no births on her shift—but even if she’d spent hours in a grueling delivery she would be excited to get home because tonight her family would be together. By the grace of God, Cedric’s first return since becoming a coal man coincided with Willie’s two days off. She stopped at a market in Chinatown on the way home to buy each of their favorites: catfish for Cedric and sweet potatoes for Willie.

  Walking to the front door she measured her home against the house she’d toured in the Santa Fe Tract with Mrs. de Hart, and found it severely wanting once again. Everything lacking in her house seemed magnified since envisioning them in something better. The two slats on the porch that were bare of paint and so cracked that she avoided stepping on them for fear of making a large hole taunted her. Spots of bare redwood showed through where chips of color popped off the door and the wooden siding.

  Inside was no better. They had no electricity, so the slight smell of kerosene permeated the air. It was so familiar she hardly noticed it, but it was unpleasant. With only two bedroo
ms in the house, Maggie slept in the laundry room, which felt oppressive now that she was a young woman of fifteen years.

  Naomi didn’t consider her kitchen to be an undue burden until she pictured using the gas stove to cook and hot water from a tap for cleanup. Someday.

  Naomi sighed as she started a wood fire in her oven. Be grateful for what you do have, she reminded herself, and then added, but you do not have to give up your dream of a better life for all of you.

  While the fire got started, Naomi pulled six plates from the cherrywood breakfront that matched their rectangular table. These red-rose-trimmed dishes were only for special occasions. As she set, each flowery plate brought to mind its future user. Willie at the head, with Gramma Jordan next to him; then Cedric. She would sit at the foot with Joseph to her left and Maggie to his side. She paused to take in the moment of anticipation. All six of them would be together.

  Her firstborn walked into their dining room just as she set a knife by Willie’s plate. Her breath caught and love swelled in her heart. No matter his age, he was still her baby.

  “Cedric!” she squealed and rushed to him.

  They embraced, Naomi savoring the connection—and noticing he was thinner and more muscular.

  “It’s good to be home,” he said, his eyes welling up.

  Naomi’s throat filled. She cleared it, cupped his cheeks with her hands, and replied, “It’s so good to have you home.”

  Cedric was subtly transformed in the two weeks since he’d left Oakland to be a coal man. He wore a maturity that came from measuring yourself in a new way. He’d lost some of his innocence. Maternal protection rose in her, but there was nothing for her to say or do.

  She wanted her children to be confident, hard workers who knew their own worth in a society that didn’t measure them by their skills or diligence. They’d never been far from Oakland and only read about the worst degradations of colored people. Even Willie spared them stories about the many abuses he faced, to keep his own dignity. They were surrounded by a stable community of church and family that cherished them since the day they were born. She feared she and Willie made a mistake in not preparing them to take their place as adults in society.

  Naomi fought Cedric—arguing that seventeen was too young to work on the rails. She suggested he find a job in Oakland or San Francisco while being careful not to insult her husband for his labor. Railroad work paid well and was honorable, but the cost of being in a hostile world, and away from family, was a price she didn’t want for Cedric. However, her son disagreed. As soon as he finished at Oakland High School he took a train job. Gramma Jordan reminded Naomi to be grateful he’d waited until then, because so many young men didn’t understand the value in the diploma and did see the benefit of earning money.

  “Cedric!” Maggie, Naomi’s beloved daughter, exclaimed from the doorway, “You look like a real man now.”

  “And you still look like my scrawny little sister,” he teased.

  Naomi watched them embrace, her heart filled with joy as they clung to one another for an extra breath, demonstrating their love with a pat and a squeeze.

  After they broke apart he challenged, “What are you wearing?!”

  Maggie twirled around in her Aunt Jemima wardrobe: a long gray dress with a white apron and matching kerchief.

  “This is what I have to wear to work!” Maggie shrugged. “It pays well.”

  Cedric said, “You smell sweet . . . like syrup.”

  “I will NEVER want to eat another pancake after this job.” Maggie laughed and then she yelled “Cedric’s HOME!” into the air, letting Joseph and Willie know the exciting news.

  Joseph arrived in a flash. Her boys pounded and hugged greetings in the way of young men.

  “I’m taller!” Joseph declared. “Right, Ma?”

  “I haven’t been gone that long,” Cedric bickered. “There’s NO way you are taller than me after two weeks.”

  Naomi laughed and replied, “Don’t bring me into this.”

  To her eye they were still the same height, but it was only a matter of time. With fifteen months between them, Joseph would most likely grow taller than his older brother. Maggie passed Naomi last year, leaving her the shortest in the family.

  She was also the darkest, though Maggie was closest to her complexion while Joseph and Cedric were the exact combination of her dark and Willie’s light skin tones.

  Willie, out of his blue Pullman porter’s uniform and in his green lounge clothes, walked in saying, “What’s all the fuss about?”

  “Hey, Pops.” Cedric smiled. They embraced, so long and sweet it raised emotion in Naomi again. She blinked the moisture in her eyes. It was plain to see that these two now shared something she didn’t understand or have a part of.

  “Cedric, take your things to your room, and wash up. Dinner will be ready when you are.”

  She returned to the kitchen to see to the food. Maggie followed.

  “It’s good to have Cedric home, isn’t it, Mama?” Maggie asked.

  Naomi nodded. “It hasn’t been the same without him.”

  Maggie gave her a hug. “It’s okay. He’s still our Cedric.”

  “Always,” Naomi agreed, “no matter where he is. Can you run down to tell Gramma Jordan that Cedric is home?”

  Jordan Wallace, Naomi’s mother, lived with her friend Mrs. King, less than two blocks away. The widowers, neighbors since the 1890s, decided to share a flat after Mr. King died.

  Maggie, lanky and energetic, rushed out the back door without a thought to change. Naomi wondered what the neighbors might make of her outfit, though in truth they’d seen her coming and going in it for many weeks.

  Maggie wasn’t nearly as bothered by the outfit as Naomi and Gramma Jordan. They thought it demeaning. Maggie seemed to think it was humorous, and thought her elders were taking her job too seriously. She was thrilled to be making good money over the summer. Naomi feared it would hamper her ambitions, but Maggie said nothing would stop her from becoming a teacher like her Gramma Jordan.

  Naomi finished cooking, plated the food, and carried it out.

  “Oh, Ma. You made my favorite!” Cedric beamed in delight at the catfish when he saw it.

  A wave of satisfaction traveled down Naomi’s spine. Cedric had a measure of distance from her since leaving childhood. He loved her, she knew that, but he didn’t have much use for Naomi. His companions, young women, even his father—they all held more interest to him than she did. Maybe the time away would help him to have more appreciation for family.

  Maggie returned with Gramma Jordan. The silver-haired woman hugged her grandson long and hard. She cupped his cheek just like Naomi. Then they all sat down around the table.

  They’d lived in this home in West Oakland for Cedric’s entire life—with Willie’s parents until they passed, and then the five of them. Naomi appreciated this simple Victorian, but it was small, outdated, and a rental. Several dear friends had been forced to move when their landlords sold their homes out from under them. Large profits from the rising price of real estate were hard to resist even for the kindest landlords.

  Not wanting to give any additional cause for an eviction, Willie and Naomi didn’t request repairs, let alone improvements. Over the years this fine apartment became increasingly dilapidated. If they lived in a home that they owned they would never be forced to move and they could make repairs and improvements as they chose.

  “Tell me about it, son,” Willie proclaimed, his hazel eyes wide with interest.

  Cedric responded, his voice weary, “As the low man I have the overnights along with the other new guy. It’s hard. I’m off from ten until four.”

  “That’s eighteen hours of working!” Naomi exclaimed. “You are supposed to have eight hours off each day.”

  Cedric shrugged. “They don’t care about ‘supposed to.’”

  Fierce protection welled up in Naomi. Her son could not possibly get enough sleep if he was worked that hard. She stole a glance at Joseph,
hoping he was listening and learning—the railroads were no friend to their people.

  Willie patted her hand. “Leave it be, Naomi. It’s just the way it is on the rails. Cedric can handle it as well as any of us do.”

  Naomi felt tears push against her eyes. She didn’t want her son to have to bear the same lifestyle as Willie. He worked four hundred hours a month—and was away from home far more nights than he slept there. It was a good income that provided well for them, but Naomi wished her husband was able to share the day to day running of their lives. She was accustomed to making do without Willie, but she missed his insight, humor, and warmth when he was gone.

  She declared, “This is precisely why we need our own union.”

  Willie replied, “Well, we don’t have one—and the AFL isn’t concerned with colored workers.”

  “Someday soon,” Gramma Jordan declared, “the time is coming.”

  When Naomi married Willie in 1895 he was a conductor for the Pullman Company. He’d been passing for white to have that more prestigious, higher paid, and less strenuous job. When Cedric was still an infant a white coworker realized the truth of her husband’s blood and warned him to “voluntarily return to his rightful place.” Willie understood what was on the other side of that threat, and he put in to become a Pullman porter instead of a conductor. Losing the pay was rough, but the relief from fear was a weight from Naomi’s shoulders.

  And now Cedric was a coal man—an even more strenuous, and lower paid, position.

  Years ago she mistakenly believed that in Oakland their race would not be a barrier to their success, but she’d learned otherwise. She didn’t have the same work options as white nurses, and her children were not being offered positions in offices like their white classmates.

  Naomi returned her attention to her family, looking around the table at her three children, her mother, and her husband—together for just this night. None of them knew when they would be together again. She would not allow her frustrations from the past nor her fears for the future to interfere with this time with them.

  Naomi reached her arms out. Cedric placed his left hand in hers. She rubbed it with her thumb. Joseph took her right hand. She gazed at the circle of hands. The Holy Spirit filled her heart. She nodded to Willie, signaling him to lead grace.