Eleanor had turned off the television and was heading up for bed when her telephone rang. She looked at the clock, sighed and picked up the receiver.
“Hello.”
“Do you have a mother?”
“Mama.”
“Don’t ‘Mama’ me. When was the last time you called home? It’s been a month of Sundays at best.” She tsked her teeth.
Eleanor sank into the settee, blameworthy as charged. “I’m sorry. Things have been happening so quickly I can barely keep up.” I lost the baby, I’m in the middle of an adoption while trying to figure out how to fake a pregnancy.
“Ain’t no excuse. You at least need to check in. Even if it’s only for two minutes so that I know you alive in that big city. Anything could happen to you.”
“Oh, Ma. I’m fine and well.”
“How’s my grandbaby? She must be just a-dancing in your belly by now,” her mother sang, and Eleanor could picture her round cheeks and those deep creases that marked her forehead when she smiled.
“I just can’t wait to hold my first grandbaby in my arms.” The line crackled with the static that was common during their long-distance calls. “I bet she comes out…”—staticky static—“… ooking just like you.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Oh, all the babies in our family look like us. We got strong genes and my people are known to have hair thick as rope. Your daddy’s genes are what softened your hair out a bit,” she chortled over a break of static. “You know he’s hoping for a boy. But I know it’s a girl. I done seen her in my dreams, with a little button nose.”
Eleanor pulled the knitted throw over her lap, swallowing hard. Was the baby she lost the same baby her mother had dreamed about? She shuddered.
Thank goodness, her mother hadn’t required much more than an “uh-ha” and a “you don’t say” to keep her going. The line continued to crackle with bits of static, but Lorraine blabbered on. About the items she had purchased for the baby at the five-and-dime, and how she had all the people in church praying each Sunday and Wednesday for Eleanor to have a safe delivery.
“Now, I know you had two false starts, Sugar, but don’t let that spook you. The third time is most definitely the charm. You hear me?”
Lorraine’s voice was filled with such hope, it further confirmed that Eleanor was right in keeping the secret. She was doing her mother a favor.
“From your lips to God’s ears, Mama. I know you got a pipeline to the man upstairs, and it’s strong as steel.”
“You better believe it.”
They said their goodbyes, and Eleanor folded the throw across the back of the chair and carried herself upstairs. It was late, after ten o’clock. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d gone to bed with William.
He’d been working odd hours and sometimes napped at the hospital so that he could complete his residency on a fast track. His goal was to finish up as close to the baby being born as possible. Or at least that’s what he told her.
Stop it, she chided herself as she fluffed her pillows and climbed into bed. Eleanor hated the voice of doubt that had started creeping from the corners of her mind, haunting her ever since William had taken on more work. How could she doubt him? He had married her despite her defects, forgiven her when he found out that she had been dishonest, and worked long hours to become a doctor so that he could make a comfortable life for them. As much as she enjoyed archiving, it wouldn’t provide a quarter of what William would for their family. But still, she wondered, how much work was there to be done to keep him away for so long? She knew her isolation was partly to blame for her paranoia. She missed her life on Howard’s campus. She was lonely, but deep down she knew that she deserved this bit of penance. Infertility came with a price.
Rose had arranged to drop by in the morning with a carpenter for the work in the nursery. “This is Bernie,” Rose said as a way of greeting her.
He was a tall man wearing blue overalls and a white long-sleeved T-shirt cuffed at his elbows. His skin was dark, like Swiss chocolate.
“How do you do.” Eleanor rested her hand on her padded belly. She had gotten into the habit of wearing the pads each morning when she got dressed, as a way to bond with the idea of the coming baby.
“Morning, ma’am,” he said, but didn’t make eye contact. Bernie carried a silver toolbox in one hand, and had a heavy belt hanging from his waist.
“Let’s head on up,” Rose said and prompted Eleanor to show them the way to the bedroom.
As Rose walked about pointing out all the upgrades, Eleanor bristled at the financial details that she tossed back and forth with Bernie. It was hard to wrap her head around the amount of money Rose was willing to spend on aesthetics alone. Her own mother had told her that when she was born, they didn’t have money for a crib, so they had used a dresser drawer.
Rose handed Bernie a deposit check. “Well, I’m off.”
Eleanor thanked her and pressed her lips together in what she hoped resembled a smile.
“Nothing’s too good for my grandchild,” she said and then made her way out the door, leaving her signature scent of Chanel No. 5 in her wake.
Eleanor stood staring at the kitchen cabinets, listening to the commotion coming from the nursery. She was not used to having someone else in the house with her. Besides that one visit from Nadine and Rose’s occasional drop-bys, Eleanor spent her days alone. Should she go up and offer Bernie something to drink? His footsteps echoed overhead as he moved back and forth, and then she heard drilling. After several moments, she decided to leave him be. Mrs. Porter had sent over a book of poems by Phillis Wheatley, and a handwritten foreword signed by John Hancock that Eleanor had been looking forward to sinking into. The book was even earlier than the collection of Wheatley’s that William had gifted her when they were courting. It had been so long since he had requested a bedtime story from her, and she missed that easy time between them. She made herself comfortable in the den and was halfway through the book when she heard Bernie’s footsteps on the stairs. She stood, touched her pads and met him in the kitchen.
“All done for today. Be back in the morning.”
“Sounds good. Thank you.”
Eleanor watched him walk out the back door with his toolbox. His shoulders were erect, and he held his head high. She recognized it as the Negro man’s pride. Her own father carried himself the same way. She had assumed that he had a car outside, but as she watched from the window, she saw he was marching down her street. She wondered where he might live, and what type of life was awaiting his return.
After his first day, Bernie reported to work every morning at eight a.m. sharp, and that forced Eleanor out of bed and through her morning ritual without giving her the time to feel sorry for herself. Bernie preparing the nursery for their upcoming baby reminded Eleanor to focus on the blessing of it all.
On the third day Bernie worked upstairs, Eleanor was taking a home test in the den when she heard him singing. She put down her pencil and listened. The tune was so unlike anything she’d heard, but somehow it seemed familiar. Then it dawned on her: it was music that she had come across in her archiving. Before she thought it through, her feet carried her upstairs.
“Sorry to interrupt.” She stood in the doorway. Bernie was up on a ladder, removing the light fixture from the ceiling. “Are you singing Big Drum music?”
Bernie looked down at her, surprised. A waxy sheen of sweat covered his face. “How’d you know a thing like that?”
“I’m an archivist at the library at Howard University. I’ve been helping my boss secure music, books and artifacts from across the African diaspora.” She beamed proudly. She wasn’t just some privileged housewife.
Bernie climbed down the ladder slowly.
“How do you know it?” She rested her back against the doorframe. Dust was everywhere and the room smelled of wood shavings.
“I am from Grenada.”
“I should have guessed,” she said, though she only knew a few West Indian students at Howard. “How long have you been in the States?”
“Nearly eight years. Come here at seventeen.”
“How do you like it?”
“Depends on the day.” He climbed back up the ladder, dangling a sheer light fixture that was shaped like a white cloud.
“Well, I’ll be downstairs in the den. Let me know if you need anything.” She backed out of the room.
As the days passed, Eleanor was surprised by how easy conversations flowed between her and Bernie. They had discussed his culture and music at every passing, and by his second week at the house, she felt comfortable bringing a Big Drum record up to the nursery.
“Would you like to hear something I’ve found?” she asked, clutching the record to her chest.”
“If it’s not too much trouble.”
Eleanor stepped into the room. Bernie stopped hammering the shelves in place on the wall. In just the few days he’d been working she could see the baby’s room starting to take shape.
Eleanor put the record on the player and then remembered that it was more proper for her to take the only seat in the room.
“What do you think?”
“Sound like Carriacouan, funeral music. Something we play when honoring the dead,” he said, his accent growing thicker. Bernie went on to explain the instruments that she heard and what part each played. They were so deep in analyzing the music that when she heard William call her name from downstairs she jumped.
“Excuse me.” She stood abruptly. “My husband is home.” She picked up the record, tucked it in her bedroom and then met William in the hall at the top of the stairs.
“Hello, my darling wife,” William said, pulling her into his arms.
“It’s so good to see you.” Eleanor snuggled against him. Their time had been so limited lately. William was only home for a few hours at a time, often coming in the middle of the night to shower, change, catnap, and when she woke in the morning he was already gone. Eleanor hadn’t realized how badly she had ached for him until she put her nose into his neck and smelled his skin.
“How come you didn’t let me know you were coming home early? I would have made supper.”
“Baby, tonight’s the Dr. Drew memorial fundraiser.”
It was one of the events Rose had put on her appearance calendar. “Goodness, I guess I’ve mixed up the days,” Eleanor said, over the hammering that started pounding from the nursery.
“Ah, the nursery. I haven’t had a chance to peek my head in there. Best if I go in and introduce myself.”
Eleanor followed William down the hall and into the bedroom. William extended his soft hand and shook Bernie’s calloused one.
“Nice to meet you,” William said, smiling. “Looks like you’ve got your work cut out for you in here.”
“You’ve got a house with good bones, sir. No trouble at all.” Eleanor had always thought of William as tall, but she couldn’t help but notice how much taller Bernie was.
Eleanor threaded her arm through William’s as they walked through the theater to the ballroom. She was giddy to be out of the house, even if it was for one of Rose Pride’s events. At least she was breathing the fresh air and, most importantly, holding on to her husband’s arm. Everything in her life seemed brighter when he was by her side. She had missed him.
“You look lovely,” he breathed into her ear. “I can’t wait to get you back home.”
She giggled. “Don’t start none.”
“Consider this my reservation for later,” he said, and let his hand fall down her waist, and Eleanor melted against him as they sailed across the parquet floors.
They had been instructed by Rose to arrive five minutes after the program was set to start, so that they could get to their seats without anyone stopping them. Already seated at the many round tables were the who’s who of Washington, D.C., and Eleanor watched as William waved to several of his colleagues. She saw a few women who had attended Howard with her, but just smiled as she held on to William and they made their way to the table. The stuffing around her middle felt secure, and the loose dress she wore created a tent that concealed her shape, but it was her face that worried her. She knew she lacked the pudge that came with pregnancy, so she had added extra blush to her cheeks to give herself that pregnancy glow. William led her to their table, across from his parents and two other couples that Eleanor recognized as friends of theirs. The master of ceremonies had gotten choked up talking about Dr. Drew and took a few seconds to clear his throat, then dabbed at his eyes with a white handkerchief before continuing.
“ ‘So much of our energy is spent in overcoming the constricting environment in which we live that little energy is left for creating new ideas or things. Whenever, however, one breaks out of this rather high-walled prison of the “Negro problem” by virtue of some worthwhile contribution, not only is he himself allowed more freedom, but part of the wall crumbles. And so it should be the aim of every student in science to knock down at least one or two bricks of that wall by virtue of his own accomplishment.’ These are the wise words of our brother, Dr. Charles Drew, just three years before his untimely death.”
The man finished by listing all of Dr. Drew’s accomplishments, and then the room opened up in applause while William’s father and his two friends whispered back and forth to each other.
“Rumors are still flying around about Drew’s death. I think it was confirmed that the car accident happened in a sundown town.”
One of the men sucked his teeth. “Driving in the rural South is detrimental to any Negro man’s health.”
“You know the way segregated hospitals are. I heard they put him in a ward and left him unattended.”
William’s father leaned in. “My colleague said it was Duke. When they got Drew to the hospital, they were told that they couldn’t admit Negroes and that he’d have to go across town to the for Coloreds only hospital.”
“He was denied the blood plasma that he helped develop? Now, that don’t make no sense.”
“They must think that all Negroes are second-class folks.”
“His life was snuffed out because he was Negro… The hospital had plasma, but it was labeled ‘white only,’ ” William added as Don Shirley concluded his song and took a bow.
Waiters carrying baskets to collect donations floated around the room. Duke Ellington walked onstage, followed by his twelve-piece band. They played while dinner was being served. Dinner was Eleanor and William’s cue to leave. Rose looked across the table and gave Eleanor a nod.
“I think I better excuse myself. The baby is just not agreeing with me right now.”
“Oh, Eleanor, we understand. We’ve all been there,” said Rose’s friend, whose name eluded her.
“We better go,” William said, putting down his napkin.
“Oh son, I’d hate for you to miss saying hello to Minnie Drew and catching up with the family. Lewis is outside with our car. He can drive Eleanor home. I’m sure Eleanor won’t mind,” Rose said with a lightness to her voice.
This was not a part of their plan. The whole table was looking at Eleanor. She wanted William to come home with her; they had not spent quality time together in so long. But how could she go against Rose publicly? She was cornered.
“Darling, your mother is right. I’m just going to lay down. You stay and enjoy yourself and mix with your old friends. I’ll see you later tonight.”
“Are you sure?” he asked, and she thought she saw a quick flash of relief wash over his face.
“Of course.” Eleanor took his arm and allowed him to help her from the table. As they passed through the doors, Eleanor looked up to see none other than Greta Hepburn gliding in wearing a dress that clung to her like a second skin.
When William came home much later, Eleanor could smell the after-dinner brandy that he had probably shared with the men around the bar. He reached for her, but she moved her shoulder and settled deeper into her pillow, pretending to be asleep. Eleanor couldn’t remember the last time they had been intimate, but she was too angry to feel aroused. William didn’t push it. He rolled over to his side of the bed. Once Eleanor heard him snore, she opened her eyes and stared up at the ceiling, wondering why he had not tried harder for her affection. She looked over at her husband, watching as his chest rose and fell.