That afternoon, I caught up with Ruth at Christ, the Redeemer, where she worked as a bookkeeper and taught religious studies in the church’s after school program. Ruth sat in a chair, before a semicircle of ten five- to ten-year-olds in the church’s basement. She was teaching the story of the Annunciation to Mary. When she saw me, she paused, and then finished reading her paragraph.
“Here Jordan,” she handed her Bible to a little round-headed chubby-cheeked boy in the front row. “You read a paragraph, then pass the book to Naomi.” She gestured toward a pretty little girl with long, dark curls. “Each of you, take turns. I’ll be right back.”
She came over, her expression anxious. “What’s wrong? Have you changed your mind about doing the column?”
“No, nothing like that. I just wanted to double-check something.”
“Yes?” Her frown lessened a little but not much.
“Three years ago, you said Esther didn’t have a male friend. Are you sure?”
“Don’t tell me you’re going to start with that business again.”
“No, but I am going back to the threatening notes.”
“The notes? But they didn’t necessarily mean that—”
“No, they don’t mean that whoever wrote them was her boyfriend. But maybe Esther was in love with somebody and you didn’t know about it. Or maybe she simply said hello to the wrong person one day and he got a crush on her. We don’t know, but we should try to find out. Don’t you agree?”
“Yes, of course, but … I really don’t think she was seeing anybody. I can’t imagine her going out with somebody and not telling me. I can’t imagine her going out with anybody, period. She was so shy. So scared of being hurt. And that scar—it made her believe that nobody’d ever love her.”
“Maybe that was it. She was hungry, so hungry that she took what she needed from the wrong man—and didn’t realize it until it was too late.”
“God, I hope you’re wrong.”
A thin, little boy appeared at Ruth’s side. His intelligent face was familiar. He tugged at her skirt.
“Oh, Job,” she said, glancing down at him.
He nodded to me. “This is the lady, right?” Before she could answer, he turned to me. “You the lady, right? The one said she was gonna bring my mama home?”
Ruth and I exchanged glances. I was so embarrassed, I could’ve gone through the floor, but I nodded. “Yes, I’m the one.”
“You promised. I remember. And then you went away. Why’d you do that?” His face and voice showed more bafflement than anger.
I swallowed. “I …”
Ruth intervened. “Job, it’s not so easy.”
He gazed up at her. “But she said it. She promised. You said to always keep a promise.”
“Job,” I gently touched his shoulder and hunkered down to his eye level. “You’re right. I did make a promise and I should’ve kept it. But something happened in my life.”
His eyes were sad. “Something bad?”
“Yeah,” I said softly, “something bad.” I deliberated whether to tell him, and then decided to. “I lost my mama, too.”
His lips formed an O. Ruth started, surprised and upset.
“I didn’t know,” she said. “I’m so sorry. When we didn’t hear from you no more, I should’ve known something happened. But I just figured—”
“It’s okay.” I said, and then told the boy, “So Job, I know what it’s like to lose your mama. And that’s why I’m back. I know it lays a hurting on you like nothing else.”
His eyes were large and wet. “So you gonna find my mama now?”
“No,” I said, “I can’t promise to bring her home. I can only promise to ask questions, push for answers. You understand?”
I heard myself and thought how ridiculous it was to ask a child, or any grieving relative, to hope and not hope at the same time. As far as this little boy was concerned, I’d just promised to bring his mother home. Period.
He nodded. “You won’t go away again?”
It hurt to hear him ask that. I smiled to cover my sense of failure and guilt and took his hand to reassure him.
“No, I’m not going anywhere.”
His dark brown eyes searched mine, and they struck me as old. Already, he’d learned harsh lessons in disappointment and loss. He was deciding whether to believe me, deciding between skepticism and faith. I was relieved to sense him choose the latter. He put his slender arms around me and gave me a tight hug. I hugged him back, feeling the frail bones beneath the skin. Then Ruth whispered to him to go back to the other children. She’d be with them shortly.
When she turned back to me, her expression was slightly disapproving.
“I’m sorry about your mother, but I wish you hadn’t made that promise. It’s one thing for me to have hope and maybe be disappointed, but—”
“What was I supposed to do? I did make him a promise and I should’ve kept it. We both know there’s not much I can do, but I’ll do everything I can.”
That little boy had gotten me to commit myself to a far greater degree than I ever intended to. But was that so bad? I had a gnawing ache to make a difference to someone, to write something that would impact someone’s life and, yes, maybe even right a wrong.
Furthermore, it was true, what I’d said. I did know what it was like to lose your mother. I was a grown woman when I lost mine and I still ached from it. How much more must Job have been suffering? He was only a kid.
“I don’t mean to criticize,” Ruth said. “It’s just that—”
“I understand,” I said, cutting her off. I wanted to get through this as quickly as possible. There were only so many hours before my next deadline. “Now, I need to know: are you still in contact with Beth Johnson?”
She shook her head. “We sort of had a falling-out after Esther’s disappearance.”
This was news to me. “About what?”
An embarrassed silence.
“It was my fault, at least partly. I kind of lost my head and blamed her for what happened. Said a lot of stupid things. If she hadn’t been ill, then we wouldn’t have had to go to the hospital, Esther wouldn’t have had to park the car so far away, and she wouldn’t have had to go back to fetch it alone. You know, that kind of stuff. Beth might not want to talk to you.”
“Well, when I find her, you can apologize—if you want to.”
“I wouldn’t mind doing that, but that might not be enough. I had the feeling she didn’t want to have no more to do with us anyway. Not after the robbery and the cops started talking like Esther had something to do with it. Beth was acting scared, like she was afraid they’d start thinking she had something to do with it, too.”
Made sense. I didn’t say so, but I could understand Beth’s concern.
Back at the newsroom, I went through my notes and found Katherine Goodfellowe’s telephone number. I studied it for about two minutes, mulling things over. Then I reached for the telephone.
Esther Todd’s disappearance did not signal the end of Mrs. Goodfellowe’s benevolent interest in all things colored. Goodfellowe no longer maintained the kind of one-on-one interest in her protégés that she had shown with Esther, but she did continue to make substantial contributions to develop young talent. As a matter of fact, Mrs. Goodfellowe was the second highest contributor to the Agamemnon Awards, after Adrian Snyder, the West Indian numbers king. The pile of invitations on my desk included one to a Christmas awards banquet at which Mrs. Goodfellowe’s contributions would be honored. Maybe I could use it to get her to talk to me.
When she came to the phone and I introduced myself, she assumed that I was calling to set up an interview because of the dinner; I did not correct her. I said I was pressed for time and she agreed to let me come down that day.