33
TULLAHOMA
SATURDAY, MAY 20, 1944
Wheels rattled on the pavement as Leah pushed Helen in the baby carriage, Mrs. Paxton pulled the Bellamy children’s wagon, and Rita Sue pushed a wheelbarrow.
Leah paused and adjusted her new summer hat to keep the morning sun out of her eyes. “Thank you again for helping the children’s home with the scrap drive.”
“It’s a pleasure,” Rita Sue said. “I know y’all need adults to help with the little ones—as well as wagons and wheelbarrows.”
Mama steered the wagon around a pothole. “Besides, I can’t wait for everyone to see these kids as assets, as giving, not taking.”
“Today they are taking,” Leah said. “Taking scrap.”
The ladies laughed.
“Lupe, have you told her yet?” Rita Sue asked.
“Told me what?”
Mama changed hands on the wagon handle. “Now I can tell you about yesterday’s errand—I spent the day at the library.”
“The library? I thought you were shopping.”
“I didn’t want to raise false hope.” Mama turned onto Jackson Street. “Mrs. Sheridan is quite the research librarian. We now have a list of addresses of all the orphanages in the Chicago area.”
Leah stopped, and her mouth hung open.
Rita Sue smiled and motioned her forward with her chin. “Move along.”
Mama wore a smug expression. “I was planning on returning to Kerrville at the end of May, but I’ll stay an extra week. You and I are taking the train to Chicago—the Dixie Flagler.”
Leah’s head whirled. “But that’s—I couldn’t—how?—the baby.”
“It’s all set. We’re staying with my cousin’s daughter in Chicago. She has two little ones, so we’ll have supplies and can wash diapers. And I can watch Helen while you search.”
“But that’s so expensive.”
Mama flapped her hand. “Will insisted, and Clay’s been nagging me to make you go. These Paxton men are generous to a fault. That’s mighty handy sometimes.” She winked at Leah.
All the pictures she’d seen of the city scrolled through her mind, but the picture she couldn’t see was the one she longed for most dearly—Callie and Polly.
Mama puckered one corner of her mouth. “You aren’t used to receiving gifts, are you?”
“Yes, I am.” Leah frowned into the borrowed baby carriage. “I’ve received charity all my life.”
“Ah, mija. It’s not the same. This is a gift of love.”
Leah blinked over grainy eyes. Biblical love from Clay. Familial love from Mama Paxton. “So when do we leave?”
Mama grinned. “Sunday, June 4. Helen will be seven weeks old.”
Leah smiled at her sleeping daughter, dressed in a light kimono for the warm day. “I’m sure she’ll be a good traveler.”
On the lawn at the Coffee Children’s Home, Miss King passed out red, white, and blue sashes to the children. Wagons and carts bore hand-lettered signs reading “Coffee Children’s Home for Victory!”
“Mrs. Paxton!” Miss King looked even more flustered than usual, but in a happy way. “The children are so excited about this scrap drive.”
“I’m excited too.” Leah braced herself as two of the girls hugged her, one on each side, and Leah hugged them back.
Miss King leaned closer. “They can’t join the Scouts or the Junior Red Cross, because we can’t pay their dues. They’re itching to do something for the war effort.”
“Of course, they are,” Mama said. “I’m glad my Leah thought of a way for them to help.”
Miss King divided the children into pairs, with an adult or older child minding each group, including Mama and Rita Sue.
Leah was assigned to ten-year-old Mikey and six-year-old Hattie. The little girl had arrived at the orphanage recently when her foster father was drafted and her foster mother took a factory job. Since the child was one-quarter black, Miss King said it would be difficult to place her in a home, which broke Leah’s heart.
Hattie climbed into the wagon, but her large dark eyes followed Mama Paxton. “That lady has dark skin.”
“Yes, she does.” Leah nodded for Mikey to start pulling the wagon down Dechard Street. “Her family comes from Mexico, where it’s sunny and warm.”
Hattie pulled one of her little black braids and squinted at Leah. “Your skin’s kinda dark too.”
Leah inspected her bare arm in the sunshine. At last she’d lost enough weight to wear her yellow floral dress again. “My family came from Greece, where it’s also sunny and warm.”
“I’m dark.”
“Oh, I think that’s because some of your family came from Africa, where it’s sunny and warm. Now, Mikey has lovely pink skin—”
“Pink! That’s a girly color.” Mikey glowered at her.
“A manly shade of peach.” She gave him a reassuring smile. “But when he spends too much time in the sun, he turns redder than the stripe on your sash. You and I don’t, Hattie.”
“Here’s our street.” Mikey turned onto Franklin and up to a white bungalow.
“All right, children. You know what to say.” Leah motioned them up the walkway, while she stayed behind with the baby.
Mikey rang the doorbell, and a young woman in a green floral housedress and a blue gingham apron answered the door. Two small children peeked out from behind her.
“Good morning, ma’am.” Mikey tipped his cap to her. “We’re from the Coffee Children’s Home. We’re collecting scrap. Got any tin or paper we can turn in for you?”
“Oh my! Aren’t y’all sweet? I have a heap of paper and metal scrap out back, and I haven’t had time to haul it in.”
“We’d be happy to do that for you, ma’am.”
“Meet me out back.” She shut the door.
Mikey and Hattie ran around the house, the wagon clattering behind them. In a few minutes, they returned, the wagon half full.
“Good job,” Leah said. “At this rate, we’ll be the first back.”
Mikey’s grin stretched the width of his narrow face. “Told Marty I’d beat him. Come on, Hattie.”
Hattie didn’t move. She lifted a foot capped with a white bobby sock and a sturdy brown shoe. “Teacher and Principal were fighting over me.”
Fighting? “How’s that?”
“Teacher says I’m not white, and she shouldn’t have to have me in her class.”
Leah’s gut contracted and burned.
“Principal says I’m not black enough for the colored school, so they have to keep me.” Hattie twisted her dusky arm in the warm air. “I’m not white. I’m not black. I’m nothing.”
“Oh! Darling girl!” Leah stopped the baby carriage and scooped Hattie up onto her hip. “You are not nothing. You are something.”
Leah fingered one of her braids. “This isn’t nothing. I can feel it. It’s something.” She tapped her nose. “This isn’t nothing. It’s something.”
One slight shoulder shrugged.
Leah poked her lightly in the side, prompting a giggle. “See? Nothing can’t laugh. Only something can laugh. You are something. In fact, you’re something special.”
Mikey faced them, his hands coiled into fists. “Who’s your teacher, Hattie? I’ve a mind to pop her in the nose.”
“Hush,” Leah said. “No one’s going to pop anyone in the nose, you hear?”
Mikey groaned. “I hear. But I oughta. Miss King says we’re all created in God’s image—you, me, Hattie, the Negro boys and girls at the Davidson Academy. All of us.”
Leah smiled and hugged Hattie. “That’s right. Listen to Miss King. She’s a wise woman. Every person is special to God. You are special to him. Don’t you ever forget that.”
Don’t you either. The voice flitted into Leah’s ear, so faint, she thought Hattie had spoken, but the child was squirming out of Leah’s arms.
Made in God’s image. Special. Beloved. Belonging.
Leah glanced into the carriage to her darling sleeping daughter, then back toward the children’s home, where she was welcome, and where she’d come with her mother-in-law and her dear friend, who had enveloped her with friendship and love.
Yes, she did belong.