Chicago and Peach Grove, 1907
Redwood clambered up narrow stairs from the smelly little dressing room to a dim backstage corridor. Her feet barely touched the ground. Over two years on the run, but here she was with The Act, performing a few spots from the headliners at the Prince Vaudeville Theatre in Chicago. Out front, an excited crowd poured in. Milton always watched the buck dancers and pantomime as the audience took their seats. Eddie was hiding somewhere from a jealous musician who caught Eddie kissing his gal and feeling her behind. Redwood sucked her teeth, disgusted. Eddie had no sense of time and almost missed their call last night. He was probably up to nothing good again.
She dashed by jugglers and fire-eaters fixing to go on. A young novice blew flames into the flies and got scolded in Greek by seasoned members of his troupe. They wiped ashes from their white shirts and shook their fists. Redwood dodged Chinese acrobats tumbling and racing up the walls. A Chinese dragon puppet with ten legs and a long red silk tongue licked her feet. A scaly tail curled ’round her waist. The Chinese act was on next, so escaping the dragon was easy.
“Eddie?” she whispered at them, stepping away from the tail.
The dragon shook its enormous head. White-faced clowns in raggedy harlequin costumes peered at her, arms and shoulders drooping in exaggerated shrugs. Two dogs from the animal act paced with Molly the trained mule, as if they had stage fright too.
The Prince Theatre offered a collection of entertainment acts from ’round the world. A tenor who’d sung for the president of these United States sat in the wings with eyes closed, lost in music. Theodore Jordan and Sarah Nelson practiced the entrance for a romantic sketch they’d performed for royalty in Europe. Redwood almost couldn’t believe she was running backstage with such a fast crowd. Every which way you turn, thrills and razzle-dazzle, and Eddie was fixing to mess up their golden opportunity.
“I’ve lost a rabbit. You’ve lost Sambo,” the magician said. Was he making fun of her? “The audience will boo.”
“I don’t plan on cooning forever,” she said to him.
“It’s an unlucky Friday, the thirteenth of the month.” He reached in his hat and his hand came up empty. “Watch yourself, gal.”
Not bothering to ask after Eddie, Redwood plowed through the Irish dance troupe—they never talked before going on, just worked their feet. The green room had been commandeered by a French equestrienne and her skittish white horse. Redwood poked her head in and out quickly. The lady was whispering French in the horse’s ear and stroking his neck like they were lovers. Eddie wouldn’t have lasted a minute in there. Redwood was covered in a light sweat. Behind all the flats and a mountain of props a young white man leaned out the stage door and declaimed Hamlet, Macbeth, and Lear. He shouted his final speech with a gray wig, a gnarled staff, and a mouth full of cotton. Was he supposed to be funny or not?
Eddie was nowhere in sight.
The Wild West pageant had assembled—horses, wagons, and blackface savages brandishing tomahawks. Redwood searched the actors’ faces. Blackface could turn you into anybody, even your own Chinaman or Negro self. Saeed, a Persian acrobat playing Chief Blood Curdle, smeared war paint on his bare chest. Seeing Redwood, he smiled.
She tugged long black braids till they were straight on his head. “Ain’t you a sight?”
“Not for long.” He shrugged. “I get killed first thing.”
“Have you seen Eddie?”
“He was hiding in the stagecoach, but I told him you all were about to go on.”
“Thanks.” She squeezed his hand. “You goin’ watch me?”
“Wouldn’t miss it.” He made a bow to her. The other savages poked each other, certain that Saeed was sweet on Redwood. Saeed tugged her waist and whispered in her ear, playing romance to the hilt. “Perhaps tomorrow we could—”
“Sure.” Redwood raced downstage to Milton shaking out tension beside Eddie.
“Where have you been?” Eddie hissed at her. “You ’bout to miss the call.”
“He just got here too,” Milton said dryly.
Redwood shrugged and peeked through the heavy red velvet curtain. The theatre was jammed, ’cept for expensive box seats set off from either side of the stage. Nobody sat under the painted cherubs that flapped tiny wings and strummed harps. Sightlines at that angle were terrible. Redwood burped up a bubble of tension. With all the rehearsing they’d done, she’d do fine, but who was there to see her shine?
“Remember, you have to love whoever comes out and pays their dime.” Milton read her like a favorite poem. “Do your best, give ’em the time of their lives.”
“Don’t worry,” Eddie said. “Chicago is just people, no different than anywhere.”
“We’re two spots from the headliners tonight,” Redwood said. “We got their undivided attention.”
The dusty curtain parted, and the bright electric chandelier went out quickly, a fountain of jewels, melting away to nothing. The theatre’s leaky roof, ratty seats, and rickety balcony came into sharp relief. A sea of scowling white faces floated in the darkness as the stage lights washed away distant details. The last act had left them sour.
Redwood, costumed as a dapper young city man, danced to lively music between Milton, dressed as a uniformed railroad porter, and Eddie playing a good-for-nothing Sambo—colorful patches, comical shoes, and a floppy hat with a hole in it. Both men were done up in blackface—sooty dark skin, juicy red grins from ear to ear, wide eyes bugging out in fright or glee. Redwood wore regular makeup that highlighted her handsome features under the intense stage lights. Her dress coat, cane, and hat gleamed—not His Honor: The Barber, but close.
Less than a minute into their routine, the front rows grew restless and bored, ’fraid they were in for just another coon show. They cussed and spewed insults in Polish, German, Italian, Russian … Chicago was a town of immigrants, onstage and off. People had run to the windy city from everywhere in the world. Redwood tried to listen underneath the alien words to catch their spirit, how Mama taught her. That was the best way to work a spell on folk who were foreign or even homegrown.
The music got carried away. Tripping over a luggage cart, Eddie got tangled in a mountain of tumbling suitcases and carpetbags. A demon of disorder, he cartwheeled and somersaulted ’cross the stage. Everything he touched went flying, and Milton ran ’round catching one heavy thing after the other. Redwood sang a sweet nonsense ballad. Milton prevented mishap from befalling her ten times including a big chest landing on her head. Finally, he got snagged by a twirl of her cane and went soaring through the air. Eddie scratched his chin at Milton’s sudden disappearance and handed Redwood the last bag. Oblivious to Milton’s labors and the dangers she’d escaped, Redwood gave Eddie a big tip. He did a jig, tapping his feet on the stage floor like it was a drum. Milton crashed on the overturned suitcases to an explosion of applause.
Milton stood up and fell down ’cross the stage as the audience laughed and cheered. Redwood observed him with undisguised panic. Finally offstage, Milton crumpled, obviously in real pain. Unconcerned, the musicians played the intro for their next song.
Eddie gaped at Milton in the wings, but quickly recovered his grin. He grabbed Redwood who was ’bout to run offstage. They struggled till she flung his arm away with such force he landed on the ground—on the down beat. The audience howled.
Saeed backflipped onstage between Redwood and Eddie. Bare-chested, covered with stripes of war paint, and sporting a loincloth, a feather headdress, and beaded moccasins, he threatened them with his tomahawk. The musicians took their cue from him and played Injun music. Saeed cavorted upstage and down, screeching as he patted his mouth. This supposed war cry was echoed by Injun enthusiasts in the audience. Eddie acted as if Saeed’s entrance and his fight with Redwood were part of the show. The musicians played the song intro again, while Saeed and Eddie circled Redwood, Injuns riding ’round a wagon of white settlers. A white rabbit hopped across scattered suitcases, and the audience hooted. Redwood finally gave in to the improvisation and, with Eddie and Saeed adding harmony, sang a popular favorite:
Come right in, sit right down
and make yourself at home.
You’ve found the place you’re looking for,
there’s no more need to roam.
The sign reads “smallpox” on the door
but a welcome mat lies on the floor
So come right in, sit right down
and make yourself at home.
Saeed improvised an acrobatic dance, more Persian than wild Injun. He leapt into the air, twisting and tumbling in an elegant, exotic ballet. Redwood’s dapper young man, not to be outdone by a savage, set down her cane and cartwheeled and backflipped ’cross the stage. Eddie did bumbling antics and fell on his behind, trying to upstage them. No one paid him any mind.
Saeed dashed ’cross the floor, ran up Eddie’s bent back, jumped from his shoulders, and swung from a prop streetlight down into the balcony box seats stage right. Eddie saw Redwood running for him and turned to escape her. Too slow. She jumped on his back and using their combined momentum leapt for Saeed. He caught her at the waist and swung her into the seat next to him. Sweat made his blackface glisten as he grinned and whispered, “Don’t ever scare me that way again.” They posed like elegant dignitaries enjoying the show.
The stunned audience didn’t take a breath for almost a minute.
Eddie broke the mood shouting, “If any y’all good patrons think you can run up my back too, y’all better have another thought coming.”
In a storm of applause, Redwood rushed out the box door. Saeed jumped down to the stage and bowed with Eddie as the curtain dropped in front of them.
Aidan, his ratty hair pulled into a pigtail, his clothes rumpled but not filthy, stood in Ladd and Elisa’s doorway. He was close to sober, yet standing up straight without trembling and weaving still took considerable effort. Ladd opened the door. Aidan would’ve run away, but he spied Elisa hovering behind her husband.
“Evening, Mr. Cooper,” Ladd said.
Without saying a word, Aidan held the sweetgrass basket out to Elisa. His hand shook, but he managed not to drop it. Elisa pushed past Ladd and took it, touching his fingers and then squeezing them. Inside the basket was a carved wooden box stained deep burgundy. She held it up to the light.
“Thank you, Mr. Cooper, that’s fine work,” she said. Ladd nodded agreement. “We haven’t seen you for weeks.” She took his arm. “Don’t you want to come in?”
“No, ma’am.” He slipped away from her. “I just come by to say thank you. To your face.”
“You’re skinny as a will-o’-wisp. Ain’t you been eating, Aidan?”
Hearing her say his name he could have wept. “My appetite’s not what it used to be.” He turned to leave, but was mobbed by Iris and her cousins Jessie, Tom, Bill, Becky, and Ruby. He got who went with what name on the first round.
“Where’s your banjo?” Iris said as they dragged him inside. “You should leave it here for us to keep safe.”
Elisa closed the door.
“Can’t you get that darn window open? It’s a sweatshop in here,” Milton said.
In the cramped dressing room they all shared—the only one for colored at the Prince Theatre—Milton fell out on a divan. His left arm was stuck in his jacket sleeve. The rest dragged on the floor. His shirt was half out his pants and unbuttoned to the waist. Sweat streaked his blackface makeup. Redwood, dressed in Aidan’s clothes and her face clear of makeup, sat down on a stool next to him to wrap his swollen ankle.
“Hold still,” she snapped, not angry at him, but at the healing she couldn’t do.
Eddie, out of makeup and costume and in handsome evening attire, struggled with a tiny window. The glass cracked when he finally shoved it open. He brushed his hands together, clearing off the dust. “We were awful tonight. They goin’ fire us,” he said.
“Audience didn’t notice a thing,” Milton replied.
“You only did the one number.”
“Didn’t you hear ’em cheer?”
“For Saeed, wild Injun to the rescue, not … the air is worse outside than in.”
“That’s Chicago for you.” Milton sighed. “Eating rotten pigs with every breath.”
Eddie slammed the window shut. Dust flew up his nose. He sneezed in Redwood’s direction. “Milton’s got a bum Achilles’ ankle, what’s your excuse?”
“I don’t know.” She started the bandage again. What would Aidan think of their Injun shenanigans? What’d she think? “And you putting on the good face every night, no matter what…”
“That’s the show,” Milton said. “Didn’t I warn you?”
“Why you taking Eddie’s side?” Redwood grumbled.
“You want to lose the audience? Go back to Tennessee?” Eddie snorted.
“Doing shows in Chicago is not what I imagined.” She set Milton’s ankle on a stool.
He flinched. “Not feeling like a feisty blues singer, huh? Maybe you’re not suited for nigger shows.”
Redwood cut him a sharp glance. “I am disappointed,” she admitted.
“Persian skunk was dying to show off,” Eddie said. “You can’t break Saeed’s heart, Red, he don’t go with women.”
“So? You done tole me that a dozen times at least.” Redwood didn’t want to fool with love anyhow. “A man could do a lot worse.”
“You want to be one of them whores, laying down for whoever can pay?” Eddie picked his way through open suitcases, oversized shoes, several Sambo costumes, and a stack of fright wigs. He stood over Redwood, fuming. “Or do you want to wash nasty floors and dirty drawers like all them other sad Negroes? Or marry some poor colored fool on his knees, blinded by love, ignorant as all get out, smelling of dirt and praying to a fire-and-brimstone god, so Miz Sequoia will love him till doomsday? Cooning ain’t no worse than that.” He loomed over her, half-truths and spit on his lips. “What you got to complain ’bout?”
Redwood stood up, eye to eye with Eddie, so mad she could catch fire. Milton gripped her, but she shook loose. “Eddie, you don’t know what I want, what I dream.”
A tap on the door startled them. Saeed stuck his head in. “Are you all decent?”
Before anyone answered, he came in. Without blackface, Saeed was a few shades lighter than Redwood. His angular features and haughty expression were far from the savage buffoon he played. Tonight he was dressed as a fine Persian gentleman. His voluminous blue-and-gold pants came in at the ankles and turned a walk into a strut. A blue-and-purple embroidered belt rode high on his waist, accentuating his muscular chest and broad shoulders. Embroidery accented the flowing sleeves of his short jacket and the blue-and-gold turban on his head. He cut a fine figure. Redwood determined to have a costume such as this very soon.
“Everything all right with you, Mr. O’Reilly?” Saeed said.
“Yes, thank you, Mr. Saeed. Where you going, a Persian gent, dressed to the nines?”
“Attire from my homeland works a spell.” Saeed gestured dramatically at Eddie who didn’t disguise his disgust. “I am Ali Baba and can open sesame all your heart’s desires.” He kissed Redwood’s hand.
She almost smiled. “Thank you.”
“No. I thank you, lovely lady, for giving me a chance tonight. But say no more. I am late. I am glad you are well, Mr. O’Reilly. A good evening to you all.” He bowed and exited as if from a stage.
“Did you plan this with Saeed?” Eddie said.
“Of course she didn’t,” Milton said. “They don’t have a crystal ball to see my ankle giving out.”
“The manager’s goin’ cheat us tonight. Don’t need a crystal ball to see that.”
“You so worried about money, take my share,” Milton shouted.
“Hell, we be lucky if he pay me and Redwood.”
Milton squealed in pain. “Can’t put off that boneyard baron for too much longer.”
“You ought to see a real doctor,” Eddie said.
“I did. White doctor, here in Chicago. He said I oughta be dead already and nothing he could do for me neither.”
“I don’t say I can do what I can’t,” Redwood mumbled. “Maybe it’s too tight.” Her hands trembled as she retied the bandage yet again. Spider bite wouldn’t have caused her all this trouble back home in Peach Grove.
The gaslights flickered as the door flung open. Eddie jumped. “Bad news never knocks.”
Brother George, a little older, a little thicker, and very fashionable in city attire, strode into the dressing room with a fistful of roses. On his arm was a fair-skinned, striking lady in proper, clubwoman attire. A corset gave her a tiny wasp waist and pigeon chest. Lace poured from her sleeves and almost covered her hands. A fountain of lace flowed up her neck too and bubbled under her chin. She looked a bit older than George and was an honest-to-god upper-class Negro woman, George’s woman at that. The cramped, sweaty dressing room seemed to offend her delicate senses. She sneezed and shuddered several times. Redwood didn’t take the time to worry over her just yet. Handsome, fire-breathing, big brother George was grinning in her dressing room. She leapt into his arms.
“George, you found me. You did indeed.”
“Sequoia threw me off a bit.”
He swung her in the air. Roses scattered ’round the room. After knocking over a costume rack, hatboxes, and the Chinese screen Redwood dressed behind, George set her on the ground in front of his woman, who murmured “my goodness gracious.”
“Baby sister, you were grand,” George said.
“Iris is the baby. I’m grown up now,” Redwood replied.
“Who you telling? This is my wife, Clarissa, clearing her throat in case I forget my manners. This is Redwood, my grown-up sister.”
Redwood bowed to her. Taken aback, Clarissa covered her shock with a curtsey.
“How did hardheaded George ever get somebody so nice to marry him?” Redwood squeezed Clarissa’s hands.
After a moment of hesitation, Clarissa squeezed back and looked Redwood up and down. “He said you were a girl, but I … I didn’t believe it. You were dressed so convincingly and your voice was so … rough. And now this outfit too.”
Redwood hugged Aidan’s shirt close to her skin. “This is Mr. Eddie Starks and Mr. Milton O’Reilly.”
“Mr. Starks.” Clarissa smiled at Eddie and then looked at Milton with concern and disapproval. “Mr. O’Reilly.”
“Forgive me if I don’t get up, ma’am.” Milton nodded to her as if tipping a hat. He tucked his shirt in and pulled his jacket back on. “My father took an Irish name for the stage, as if he were a white man in blackface. The name stuck to the whole family.”
Milton had never told Redwood that. He had secrets too. “We come up from Georgia together,” she said. “Singing and dancing and whatnot.”
“Whatnot?” Clarissa raised her eyebrows.
“Singing and dancing don’t always pay, ma’am.” Milton smeared cold cream on his face and wiped the black away with a white towel.
“I did root medicine too, but no conjuring,” Redwood said.
“That’s the truth, so don’t worry, Mrs. Phipps.” Milton had cleaned one cheek and his forehead. He looked like a haint or a ghoul for sure. “Miz Redwood won’t let any man get next to her, not for long.” He wiped away his juicy red grin. He was sweating again. “They’re afraid to mess with her.”
Eddie groaned and rolled his eyes. Clarissa looked stunned.
George let loose a big laugh. “Whole family’s wild. You know who you married.”
Milton crossed his arms and shook his head. “Redwood’s a real hoodoo, beloved by the spirit in everything. I tell you one night, I saw a bear—”
“Mrs. Phipps might not have much truck with backcountry hoodoo,” Eddie said.
“That’s true, Mr. Starks.” Clarissa tried to smile. “I am a good Christian.”
“I won’t apologize, ma’am, for us show people.” Milton finished cleaning his face and looked human again. “For us doing the best we can.”
Clarissa took a breath and her angular features softened. “I expect it’s difficult without a family, on the road, without setting down roots.”
“Most colored entertainers come from good, respectable families, ma’am, just like yours.” Milton didn’t hide his irritation.
“Redwood was always talking ’bout her brother up in Chicago town,” Eddie said quickly. “Kept us going.”
George’s eyes widened. “You all played Peach Grove, the night the bear—”
The theatre manager stumbled over a loose board in the dark hall. A skinny white man with a red face in a dull brown suit, he backed right into Clarissa, cussing. She smiled graciously at him as he sputtered and stepped away from her. He stood in the doorway and looked at all the fancy colored people crammed into the tiny room.
“What happened?” He toed the fallen screen and costume rack. “Oh. Admirers.”
Eddie shrank several inches. George snorted. Milton tried to sit up, but pain defeated him.
“You know we’s wild!” Redwood spoke in darky dialect.
The theatre manager pretended not to hear her and without uttering a greeting, launched into business. “The box office receipts were down.”
Redwood frowned. “I thought it was—”
“We’re just grateful for you putting cash money in our pockets.” Eddie talked over Redwood and hunched his shoulders.
“Looked to be a full house to me,” George said.
The theatre manager considered him. “Poor sightlines up in the balcony,” he said.
“Sir, excuse my husband.” Clarissa spoke sweeter than Redwood could imagine anyone being. The theatre manager nodded at her reasonable, honey tone. “But I know,” she continued, “you don’t plan to cheat these hardworking colored performers out of their rightful due. Why, the audience loved them.”
The theatre manager was so taken aback, he stepped out of the room.
“Don’t worry,” Redwood said. “They cheat all the performers.”
George chortled. “My sister always see the good in everybody.”
The theatre manager deposited a small pile of money on a dressing table. “Well, she’ll be finding somewhere else to sing.” He disappeared down the hall.
“We were two spots from the headliners!” Eddie darted for the cash and began counting it. “What’d y’all go talk that way to him for?”
Redwood was disgusted. “I could do your dialogue, but I’d sound like a fool.”
“Now don’t you two start,” Milton said.
“I’m sorry,” Clarissa said. “It’s my fault.”
George grabbed Clarissa by the waist. “My wife think women should get the vote and then go agitate for colored people’s rights. She believe in speaking up.”
Clarissa looked flustered at George.
“That’s grand,” Redwood said. “Eddie don’t believe in nothing ’cept Eddie.”
“You’d be begging on the side of the road without me. I rescued you.” Eddie had been telling these lies so long he’d convinced hisself. “I taught you everything you know. I made you a star performer. Otherwise you’d still be picking cotton in Georgia!”
Milton groaned and passed out on the divan. Redwood pushed Eddie aside and stumbled through boxes to the divan. Eddie was hot on her heels.
Redwood touched Milton’s damp cheeks. “He’s burning up.” She tasted his sweat. It was metallic and bitter. “He might not make it through the night.”
“This is the end of us.” Eddie brandished the money in her face. “Even if we split his share, it’s not enough. He won’t be good for nothing for weeks, maybe not ever.”
Redwood turned on him. “Milton’s your best friend in the world. He picked you off the side of the road!”
“He tole you that? Well, I’ve been doing the picking up here of late.”
Redwood wanted to smack him. “He always found a piano for you! He give you the biggest share and even paid your gambling debts. Now he could die. Are you goin’ leave him high and dry like that fickle audience you always talking down?”
“Fickle is it? You been reading the encyclopedia for that one.”
“Hush.” Redwood put a rag on Milton’s brow.
“Milton wasn’t nothing till I come along. I don’t owe him. He owe me.”
“What?!” Redwood hissed. Clarissa flinched. George looked up at the ceiling.
“I can’t let him ride on my coattails forever, drag me down.” Eddie was loud enough for the back row. “I’ve been carrying you both for too long.” He stuffed all the money in his pocket. “This ship is sinking. You planned your escape with Saeed, well, I gotta save Eddie Starks. I ain’t drowning out here with a broke-down dancer fixing to croak while you sail off with a faggot Injun!”
Redwood reached her storm hand to an inch from Eddie’s throat. She didn’t touch him, but he was choking and gagging all the same. He couldn’t move a muscle. In an instant, his hazel eyes were shot with blood. George took a step toward her. One violent shake of her head and George halted.
“Who’s talking about dying?” Clarissa glided up close to Redwood, clasped her hand, and drew her away from Eddie. He gasped and staggered. “George says you’re the best healer he’s ever seen.” Clarissa spoke so quietly, Redwood had to calm down to listen, had to ask herself what the hell she was doing. “I hear tell, you pull away pain, like magic,” Clarissa said.
Milton’s eyes fluttered open. “Yes, you’re too modest, Red, I’m not dead yet. Melodrama Eddie likes to play the scene at the edge of a cliff.”
“Ain’t my fault if truth is nasty medicine,” Eddie said. “You tried to kill me.”
“Ha! If I wanted you dead,” Redwood said, “the boneyard baron would be singing your last hymn.” She shouldn’t get so angry. She had to watch herself better.
“Is that so?” Eddie clutched his throat. “That’s a comfort.”
“Let’s not go on about all that.” Clarissa fingered Aidan’s worn pants. “Look at these old clothes. We have to get you something to make you feel nice inside, a woman again.” Redwood stroked Aidan’s shirt and shook her head, not so violent this time. Clarissa slipped her arm through Redwood’s, fearless for all her delicate sensibility. “George was hoping you’d come live with us.”
“That’s right,” George said. “I’ve done well. Chicago is a dream factory. Anything you can think of.”
“I used to could feel into everything, dead, alive, yesterday, and tomorrow,” Redwood said. “I don’t know how to act now.”
Clarissa looked baffled, but patted her shoulder. “You were a sensation onstage.”
“I’m not talking ’bout that,” Redwood said. “I … ain’t been myself since I left home.”
“Time to write a new song,” Milton said. With a mighty effort he stood up. “See, I’m okay, Big Red. And let him fire us, Eddie. I still got a trick or two in my bag.”
“Another job ain’t goin’ be easy to find.” Eddie moved in on George and Clarissa. “Theatres are hitting hard times. Maybe these good people—”
“Will come and hear us play again sometime,” Milton said. Eddie sighed.
“Why didn’t you write me?” Redwood meant to tease George, but it came out hard. “Not one word…”
“You’re home now.” George squeezed her shoulders.
Redwood hadn’t been able to heal Milton, and she’d almost choked the life out of Eddie. That didn’t feel like home or anywhere she wanted to be. “Am I?”
“What a question,” Clarissa said. “Of course you are.”
Redwood stared out the window to the stars.