Chapter Twenty-Two

The road from Dearfield to Limon was an open stretch the entire distance back to Denver. Anthony used it to their advantage and firmly pushed his foot to the Cadillac’s gas pedal. He eased up only when they proceeded onto East Colfax Avenue and once again encountered city traffic.

The last thing he, or especially Kyle and Amy, could afford was to get pulled over by the cops. Not out of fear of getting a ticket—his father had an in at the local precinct for those type of matters—but because the majority of Denver’s force consisted of not-so-secret KKK members.

Kyle, undoubtedly, was on their “most wanted” list for treason. It just naturally followed that anyone complicit in Kyle’s betrayal was even deader meat. Anthony stole a sidelong glimpse at Amy. She was still writhing and moaning.

She told him on the way to Dearfield, during the halfhour Kyle dozed off that she wasn’t due to give birth for another month. Something was either way out of whack with her health or her baby was going to be delivered ahead of schedule. Anthony was hoping, or more like praying, that it was the latter problem.

He checked his rearview mirror and glanced at Kyle who was hunched down in the back seat staring blankly out the window.

Kyle’s expression was hard to read. He looked like he’d aged ten years in ten hours. One thing was evident, though. White, black, or plaid he really loved Amy.

A traffic light seemed to skip yellow and turn directly to red. Anthony hit the brakes just in time.

His mind wandered while he waited for the green light.

Poor saps. They got about as much chance at happiness as Negroes got of gettin’ a fair shake. Don’t they know it ain’t even legal for them to get married in most states, just because one has brown skin and the other white?

None of it made any sense. Anthony shook his head in bewilderment. An impatient driver behind him blared the horn. Anthony’s first instinct was to cuss the guy out, but he quickly reconsidered and simply drove on.

Amy moaned louder. Kyle bolted upright and leaned over the front seat to caress Amy’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, beautiful,” he said, unsuccessfully trying to mask the fear etched on his face. “We’re gonna get help soon. You can hold on, can’t you?”

Amy’s response was unintelligible. She cried out again. Kyle grabbed Anthony’s shoulder and pleaded, “Hurry! Something is wrong. Maybe it’s the baby.”

Anthony didn’t answer. He didn’t know what to say. Since Dearfield he’d been racking his brain about where he could get Amy medical care, but he still hadn’t figured out anything.

It occurred to him that in a lot of ways Denver was a western version of the Deep South—restricted housing covenants; no Negroes allowed in most department stores, except through the rear entrance); and their seating in the movie palaces confined to the balcony, the “crows’ nest.”

All that was missing were the “whites only” drinking fountains. No wonder he couldn’t think of any colored people other than himself, who might sympathize with them.

He always sought his father’s advice on really tough matters, but this matter might cause a rift between the two of them, which, until now, Anthony had believed to be impossible.

Anthony Jr. was named for his father Dwight Anthony Hudson Sr., who was the most enterprising, visionary, industrious man Anthony had ever known.

His father also had one all-consuming passion. He hated white people for all they had done to colored people.

Dwight almost became a Garveyite, but his father wasn’t a joiner. He preferred handling things his own way.

If Anthony had admitted to him that he was trying to help a white boy and a pregnant colored girl elope, he might not pay for Anthony to attend Howard Law School. A whispering thought gave Anthony pause.

Maybe his father was the solution after all, not his father, but one of his tenants, Euphrates.

She was the closest Anthony had ever gotten to experiencing a grandmother and she had once said to him, “Child, trouble slip under everybody’s door now and then, and some of it just ain’t possible to handle all alone. Don’t ever let foolish pride hinder you askin’ me or some other body for help.”

On another occasion, Euphrates had commented that Anthony had some of the same qualities that she had admired in her twin brother Angus. Intelligence, resourcefulness, and courage, which made Anthony feel good about himself.

He also recalled the day he’d suddenly realized that she must have been through a lot in her lifetime. Maybe she’d even been forced to be a slave like Mr. Joe, his parents’ handyman, had been in South Carolina.

But whatever the details of Euphrates’ life, they remained a secret. She was like a sphinx about her past, forever refusing to discuss it; except that once, when he’d helped her carry groceries home, and she had got to talking about how she and her brother had grown up on a Virginia plantation, and all the tricks she used to play on her brother.

She also started to say something about the Yankees, and the Civil War, but she suddenly turned quiet and sad. Anthony tried to ask her then about the keloid on her forearms, which he had seen when he helped her weed her garden and her dress sleeves had been rolled up, but she scolded him in language he didn’t know a Christian woman like her knew. Then she sent him home after issuing a threat to tell his father if he ever dared be so rude again.

He learned a valuable lesson. Never pry. Mostly, he was aware that Euphrates lived by one commandment: Treat others the same way that you want to be treated.

She always extended respect and compassion, and never passed judgment, on anyone. Yeah, he concluded, she was the one person they could trust.

He floored the gas pedal again and bet himself that he could get to her house in five minutes. He won, but from the curb, the house appeared dark inside.

“You two stay here,” he said to Kyle and Amy. “I’ll be right back.”

He went to Euphrates’ door and knocked and knocked. He wished now that he had repaired the bell like he’d promised. He would definitely get to it tomorrow. But where could she be this time of night?

He heard the neighbor’s screen door squeak open, then, bang closed. He looked over at the neighbor’s porch.

A gray-haired, wiry-limbed, old black man was standing on the porch. The light shining through the man’s living room window revealed that the man was in his skivvies.

“Say boy,” the man called over to Anthony, “what’s your problem? Can’t you see they ain’t home?”

“Pardon me, sir,” Anthony said. “Didn’t mean to disturb you. It’s just that I’ve got an emergency on my hands and Euphrates is the only person I know who can help.”

The man had come to the edge of his porch and was squinting at Anthony. “Say, ain’t you Dwight Hudson’s boy? Euphrates and her people ain’t ‘bout to get evicted is they? That’d be a low-down shame. They done painted, patched, and planted so much that house and yard jest about the prettiest place on the whole block.”

Anthony wondered how someone so old could be so longwinded. He hurried to reply before the man started up again.

“Yes sir, I am his son. And, no sir, my father would never evict Euphrates and her family. I just need her help with something. It’s kind of an emergency. If you could just tell me where …”

The man made a quick U-turn back to his door. “They’s probably at the revival. You know how Euphrates love the Lord. Even got me to go to church once in fact …”

Anthony, already on his way back to the car, didn’t hear the man’s last sentence. Not until Anthony opened the car door did he realize that he hadn’t gotten enough specifics.

He yelled back to the man. “Sir, what church did you say that was?”

After a moment, the man’s screen door squeaked open again, his body silhouetted by the vestibule light. “Didn’t. Try Mount Bethel on Twenty-fifth and Marion.” Anthony waved at the man and hollered, “Thanks!” The man looked toward Anthony’s car as it pulled away from the curb. He shouted, “Say, junior, you in some kind a trouble?”

But it was too late. All that the man heard back was the squeal of tires as Anthony’s car rounded the corner.

⟞ • ⟝

Margaret kept looking in the rearview mirror, but it was the gas gauge needle hovering just above empty that had her panicked now.

She could hardly believe that on her first time driving she had made it safely through Golden, and all the way back to Denver. Now all she had to do was find her way to Five Points and Amy. It had been a long and excruciating day.

Every sinew of her body felt tired and achy. Worse, she could barely keep her eyes open. She’d already allowed the car to drift, once or twice, to the wrong side of the road. Her greatest worry though, was staying ahead of the returning Karavan. They couldn’t be more than fifteen or twenty minutes behind her.

Fortunately, it was getting late. Most Karavan participants would want to go straight home, especially the women. MacDuff and his hooligans, however, didn’t consider cross burnings an adequate show of force. They boasted that the night would officially end with a march through Five Points. The thought of it made Margaret shudder.

She was even more worried about how Devin must have behaved after he discovered her absence from the mountain. He would surely punish her for humiliating him like that. His greatest concern, of course, would be assuring that no one—absolutely no one—ever found out that she was part-Negro.

Aunt Euphrates had called her a “quadroon,” and tried to explain a few other facts.

“Honey, far as white folks is concerned, whether you’s halfcolored, what they call mulatto, like myself and your father because one of our parents, our mama, was colored, African, and one, our pap, who was Irish... or, one-fourth, like you is, or one-eighth, like a whole lot a folks; or even only gots one drop, like too many peoples to count... you might as well be one hundred percent colored ‘cause they’s gonna treat you like they don’t know you jest as much God’s child as they is.

“Besides that, a goodly number of folks what calls themselves white, just lyin’. Some for what they claim is practical reasons; some ‘cause they just sick ‘n tired of bein’ treated so poorly on account of what skin color they got born with.

“I mean, look at me and my brother … same mama, same papa, and same birthday. Still God seen fit to give us different tallness, heart, mind, eyes, and skin colors, just like he do the flowers, but that don’t make us no less brother and sister.

“All this nonsense got a whole lotta people jest goin’ ‘round telling what Mama used to call boldfaced lies, bless they’s hearts.”

⟞ • ⟝

Margaret decided that if she could just get across the Colfax viaduct, which would put her close to Union Station, she could somehow wind her way to the house where Amy lived.

She had been there only once, when Dwight had taken her, but she’d made sure to note landmarks so that she could find it on her own when the opportunity arose.

A hellish light reflected in the car’s side and rearview mirrors and blotted out that portion of the night sky over the burning mountain. The fires around the crosses must have been stoked and built up one more time.

She mashed her foot to the gas pedal. In another minute, she drove across the viaduct bridge, its metal grids clattering loudly, and turned onto Wazee. She was relieved to see the lighted “Mizpah” welcome arch, which dressed the entrance to the train station.

The car sputtered again, but, thankfully, kept going. Her heart was thumping so hard she was afraid of it exploding. The only other times she had felt like this was when she’d witnessed Devin’s attempt to murder his mother.

Thinking about that awful day gave her a nearly paralyzing realization … if Devin had resorted to something that despicable just to get money to pay his gambling debts, nothing would stop him from trying to kill her, even if she was his wife. He didn’t just hate her, he detested her.

After all, he had only married her to use her. At first, for her father’s money, and, ultimately, for her to support him in his scheme to work his way up the Klan hierarchy, which had been soundly accomplished with his promotion to Dr. Locke’s second-in-command.

Only, who could have known that her father had been passing for white all those years? It was merely logical that Devin would now have to get rid of her, otherwise Devin would be banished from the Klan. More likely, he’d suffer an even more dreadful fate.

Her mind kept filling with the images of the thousands of Klansmen marching around the three burning crosses. Their incantations called for blood.

They would prowl Denver’s streets like animals out for the kill until some hard-working colored man refused to say, “yes sir, massa,” or “no sir, massa.” It also might be someone who withstood the front lines of war and returned home, believing he’d at last be accorded dignity and equality or someone who simply wanted to check books out of the public library that was hanging broken and breathless from the end of a suspended noose, like the more than two hundred other colored men who had died in this way the last so many years.

The car wheezed and chugged to a dead stop. Margaret forced herself to remain calm, to accept that no matter how exhausted or frightened she was, she was going to have to walk the rest of the way to Amy’s.

She gave up the car and set foot in the same direction she had been driving. If she stayed out of the light of the street lamps she had a good chance of avoiding harm.

She forgot she was wearing her Ku Klux Klan robe.

⟞ • ⟝

Anthony hadn’t been to church in so many years, he felt embarrassed simply driving up to one. He parked a block away from Mount Bethel for Kyle and Amy’s sake as well as his own.

A large hand-painted muslin banner stretched across the front of the church read:

Mount Bethel Summer Revival

Saturday, August 16th, 8:00 pm

EVERYONE WELCOME!

Anthony walked up the church’s concrete steps, opened one of the heavy wooden doors, went in, and was stunned to hear Pastor Carlisle, his childhood minister, in the pulpit.

Anthony decided instead to go around back and to enter through the fellowship hall.

The church mothers were bustling about in the hall and to and from the kitchen, setting out cakes, pies, and punch bowls of lemonade on two long, white linen-covered tables.

Anthony gave the women a respectful nod and headed directly for a wheel-around clothes rack filled with mostly empty hangers, the exception being the hangers holding two leftover choir robes.

He chose the longest robe and put it on. The hem skimmed the top of his knees, and the ends of the sleeves reached just below his elbows.

One church mother saw him and nudged her friend to look. Anthony sheepishly avoided their quizzical gazes and hurried down the hallway toward the sanctuary.

He stopped at the end of the hallway and listened. The pastor had the congregation’s rapt attention.

Chancing a glance around the corner, Anthony scanned the sanctuary. Euphrates sat with the choir in the loft behind the altar in the middle of the second row.

Anthony ducked behind the large potted palm just in front of him and waited for his chance to go over to her.

Finally, the sermon ended. The choir stood and the ushers went into the aisles to pass the collection plates.

If he dashed, he could make it to Euphrates’ side without attracting undue attention to himself. He mumbled apologies as he brushed past members of the choir.

They frowned and complained; nevertheless, he made his way to Euphrates and squeezed into place beside her.

He got right to the point, whispering, “Mrs. Russell, I’m sorry to bother you, especially here, but we, I mean, my friends and …”

“Ssh, child. Whatever it is, goin’ to have to wait, my solo’s coming up. If you help me with it, when we’re finished, we’ll just keep on going out the front door.”

“But …”

Euphrates didn’t hear Anthony’s attempted objection. She had already gone down front and was looking back at him, waiting for him to join her.

The pianist had already started playing. Anthony excused himself again and made his way down to where she was standing. The comments he heard this time were louder and more sarcastic. He ignored them.

The song was “Amazing Grace.” Euphrates sang first.

Amazing grace, how sweet the sound, that saved a wretch like me. I once was lost, but now am found, was blind, but now I see.

Then she looked at Anthony, indicating it was his turn. Fortunately, he knew this hymn by heart, since it was his favorite. He looked out over the congregation and was surprised to sense their support. He didn’t want to disappoint them. He cleared his throat.

His singing voice, a rich baritone, was rusty and his first few words, ‘Twas grace that taught my heart to fear… were hesitant. Then the Holy Spirit touched him and his next words resonated strength and feeling.

And grace my fears relieved, how precious did that grace appear, the hour I first believed.

He and Euphrates alternated four more verses.

Euphrates: Through many dangers, toils and snares…

Anthony: The Lord has promised good to me …

Euphrates: Yes, when this flesh and heart shall fail …

Anthony: When we’ve been here ten thousand...

The last verse they sang as a duet.

Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound, That saved a wretch like me. I once was lost but now am found, was blind, but now I see.

All the members of the congregation jumped to their feet, clapped, and shouted praises. Reverend Carlisle raised up an “Amen and Amen,” and waved his Bible high in the air.

After a few moments of accepting acknowledgment, Euphrates and Anthony took their leave up the center aisle.

Just as they reached the front doors, Anthony extended his arm over Euphrates’ shoulder and pushed one of the doors open, holding it until she was outside. Again, he followed.

The congregation continued singing without them. He hadn’t realized until this moment, as he took off the choir robe and left it on the stair railing, how oddly muggy and uncomfortable the night was. Euphrates kept her choir robe on.

Neither Anthony nor Euphrates had taken a full breath of air before she pulled her humble frame up to its full height and addressed Anthony in her usual no nonsense manner.

“Child, you better have a mighty good reason for all this. Now, what in the world is going on?”

He explained everything to her, and then asked if she would come to his car to meet Kyle and Amy and tell them where they could find a doctor for Amy.

Before Euphrates could answer, a fiery glow in the sky caught both their attention. They turned their faces to it.

The wicked glare reflected on Euphrates’ mink-dark skin. She set her jaw. “More of that Klan nonsense,” she said, indicating the burning crosses atop Table Mountain.

“Yeah,” Anthony agreed. “Afraid so.”

The air smelled scorched, and tasted … dead.

Euphrates continued staring up at the foothills. There was agitation in her voice as she spoke.

“Them children can stay in my attic,” she said. “Once, they’s settled, I’ll go to Dr. Ford. She ain’t never turned nobody away, not even white folks what can’t pay their bill. Meantime, we’ll figure out how to get them children out a town safely.”

Euphrates nodded, again, toward the burning crosses. “Them Klan characters tryin’ to run us colored folks out a Denver, ‘cept we’s got as much right — more, if you ask me, since we the ones mostly built the bridge they walked over to get this far to be here. Nope, be damned if we’re going anywhere.”

Anthony was pleased for Euphrates to have the last word. As if escorting a queen, he gently cupped his hand under her elbow and assisted her down the church steps, and up the sidewalk to where his car was parked.