Lily of the Springs (22 page)

June 1954

New Boston, Texas

“
H
ere, Debby Ann, chew on this for awhile.” I pulled a Gerber’s teething biscuit from the box and handed it to the baby. “Maybe it’ll make your gums feel better.” Poor thing. She’d been especially cranky for the past few days, and her constant slobbering told me she was probably cutting some new teeth, which meant…
oh, joy
!...she was going to be more of a pill than usual. And today, of all days, that was not good.

“Come on, sweetie. I’d better put you in your high chair or you’ll get that sticky mess all over my nice clean coffee table.” I swept Debby Ann up from the floor and took a few steps into the kitchen. “I’ll put you here in the doorway so you can still see Mommy while she cleans, okay?” With my free hand, I dragged the high chair over the Linoleum and settled her into it, latching the silver tray in front of her.

Of course, this wasn’t to her liking. As soon as I walked away, she began to fret. I sighed and turned around. “Debby Ann! What am I going to do with you? I’ve
got
to finish cleaning for the Tupperware party tonight. You don’t want my friends to come into a dirty house, do you?”

Debby Ann’s cries intensified. She began to pound at the tray with the flat of her hands, kicking and squirming as if she could propel herself out of the high chair by sheer will. With a frustrated cry, I dropped the dust rag and stomped over to her.

“Lord Almighty, Debby Ann! You’re gonna be the death of me.” Thank the good Lord I’d managed to prepare the refreshments for the party this morning while she napped. Because once she was up, she’d become a holy terror.

Maybe I should take you down to Betty’s. Let you play with Davy for a while until I can get my work done.

Not that Debby Ann and Davy actually played together. More like fought together. Neither one of them had mastered the idea of sharing. As soon as Debby Ann went for one of his toys—one that he’d barely spared a glance at—he suddenly decided it was the one toy he absolutely couldn’t live without. Which always prompted a screaming fit on Debby Ann’s part.

On second thought…maybe taking her over to Davy’s right now wasn’t the best idea in the world.

As I pondered what to do, I heard the apartment door across the hall open, followed by a male voice sounding as clear as if he was in the room with me. “Don’t forget, hon, I’m going to the NCO Club to listen to the fight after work.”

I frowned. Darn walls in this apartment building were so thin, you could probably hear your neighbors let go of a stinky one. Which must make us real popular, I thought. Lord, with Debby Ann’s racket, the new neighbors probably thought me and Jake tortured the poor kid day and night.

A feminine voice responded to the man, but I couldn’t make out what she was saying. His footsteps faded as he reached the stairwell at the end of the corridor. And suddenly, I had an idea. I’d been meaning to stop in at the new neighbor’s and introduce myself, but I’d wanted to wait until they were settled in a bit first. They’d only moved in two days ago, and I suspected they were still unpacking boxes. But if he was going to the club to listen to the fight—like every other male in Texas, apparently, including Jake—that meant the Missus might like to come to the Tupperware party.

“Come on, Debby Ann. Now seems like a good time to go meet our new neighbor.” I anchored the baby on my hip and stepped out into the hallway. Seconds later, I was knocking on the door of Apartment 27.

“Just a minute!” a musical voice called from inside.

I kissed Debby Ann’s moist forehead as I waited. “You’re pretty happy now, aren’t you, baby girl?” I whispered.
As long as you’re in Mommy’s arms, you’re fine
.

The door opened, and I plastered a big smile on my face.

“Yes?”

I stared, my speech momentarily deserting me.

“Can I help you?” the woman said, her dark eyes questioning.

“Uh…yeah, hi. I’m Lily Tatlow, your next door neighbor, and this here is my little girl, Debby Ann. I…uh…was wondering…I’m having a little Tupperware party this evening…seven o’clock. And…uh…would you like to come?” I knew I was blushing; my cheeks were hot as fire. The woman probably thought I was a durn fool.

But if she did, she was polite enough not to show it. Instead, she gave me a sweet smile. “Well, thank you, Lily. That sounds really nice. We just moved here from Chicago, and I haven’t met anyone yet. And Merle just told me he’s staying at the club after work to listen to that prize fight he’s been talking about all week.”

I nodded and hoped I wasn’t staring. “Yeah, my husband has been going on about it, too. The silliest durn thing I’ve ever heard of—gettin’ all riled up over a couple of fellas beatin’ the stuffin’ out of each other.”

The woman gave a soft laugh that reminded me of the sound of water running over smooth rocks. “Seven o’clock, right?” she asked. “Would you like me to bring anything?”

I shook my head. “Not a thing. I spent all weekend looking through
Ladies Home Journal
for recipes, and I think I’ve come up with some humdingers. Well…gotta go. Still have lots of things to do before seven. It’s really nice to meet you…” I stopped, realizing I still didn’t know the woman’s name.

As if reading my mind, she stuck out a slim brown hand, her smile widening. “Barbara. Barbara Kinway.”

I shook her hand. “And I’m Lily Rae Tatlow. Oh, I already told you that, though, didn’t I? Well…I’ll see you tonight. I live right down the hall—Apartment 25.”

Back in my own apartment, I closed the door and slowly walked to the couch. Cuddling Debby Ann to me, I sank down onto it, my mind jumbled.
Well, what’s done is done
. I just hoped Barbara wouldn’t feel too uncomfortable here tonight with all the other ladies.

She sure was nice as pie, but…she’d be the only colored woman in the bunch.

***

“Betty, could you help me in the kitchen with the refreshments?” I asked, heading toward the kitchen door.

The other women in the living room didn’t even look up. They were too busy exclaiming over the various pastel plastic containers displayed on a table and trying to decide which ones they could absolutely not live without. The Tupperware lady had finished with her sales program, having introduced each piece, suggesting different ways it could be used.

I’d asked Betty to help in the kitchen, not so much because I needed help, but because I wanted to get her alone and thank her for saving the party.

“What would I do without you?” I said, turning to her once inside the kitchen. “I just wanted the floor to open up and swallow me whole when I saw the looks on them girls’ faces after I brought Barbara into the room. And I swear, if you hadn’t been the first one to say hello to her, I don’t think they
ever
would’ve found their tongues.”

Betty shrugged. “That’s what happens when you live in a place with a lot of hicks who’ve never met people of a different race. They act like morons.”

I went to the icebox and took out a tray of individual tomato aspic molds resting on beds of lettuce. I’d made them this morning with lemon Jell-O and tomato sauce, one of the recipes I’d found in
Ladies Home Journal
. “Well, it was just so nice of you to talk to Barbara and make her feel welcome.”

“No thanks necessary.” Betty glanced around the kitchen. “What can I do to help?”

“You can start slicing that butterscotch pie there on the counter, and dish it out.”

Betty opened a drawer and pulled out a knife. “Well, I’m just impressed you invited her to the party. I’ll bet there’s not another woman in that room who would’ve had the guts to do it…even if they
wanted
to.”

I bit my bottom lip as I placed a dollop of mayonnaise on each gelatin mold, glad that my back was to Betty. My flushed cheeks would give me away, and I’d have to admit to her I hadn’t known Barbara was colored when I’d invited her. Truth was, if I
had
known, I wouldn’t have considered, even for a moment, to ask her to the party. Not because I was mean or prejudiced, but because…well, it just wasn’t done. White folks didn’t mix with colored folks. Not where I came from, anyway.

But why, I couldn’t help but wonder. That Barbara Kinway was just the nicest woman. Polite and well-spoken. And Lord, she was just as pretty—maybe prettier—as any of the women in the room. She was dressed elegantly in a belted dress of butter-colored jersey, with white gloves and heels. A single strand of pearls encircled her graceful neck under a sleek, ebony chignon. If it weren’t for the rich, chocolate tone of her skin, Barbara would’ve fit right in with the other ladies, most of them acquaintances of Betty’s from the Officers Wife’s Club.

I turned with the tray. “I think these are ready to go.”

Betty placed the last slice of butterscotch pie on a plate. “It’s just a matter of time before things change,” she said. “The way we whites…especially down here in the South…treat the Negroes is shameful. Sooner or later, they’re going to rise up against it, you wait and see.” Betty looked up, her blue eyes more serious than I’d ever seen them. “And when it happens, if I have the chance, I’m going to be right there with them.”

I was still thinking about Betty’s passionate words as I followed her back to the living room. Not much had changed since we’d left. The Tupperware Lady was still taking orders. Several of the women were bunched together, sipping from coffee cups; others were examining the merchandise. Barbara Kinway was sitting primly in a chrome-back kitchen chair, legs crossed at the ankles, her gloves in her lap as she daintily sipped from her cup, virtually ignored by the women around her. Her dark eyes were watchful as she glanced around the room, her pretty face composed. If she was at all bothered by the other ladies’ cool treatment, she certainly hid it well.

Or was used to it…

I could’ve kissed Betty when she walked directly over to Barbara with a plate of pie in each hand. “Barbara, you absolutely
have
to try some of Lily’s butterscotch pie. It’s her mother’s recipe, and let me tell you, this little Kentuckian knows how to cook. I guarantee it’s the best thing you’ve ever put in your mouth.”

A hush fell about the room as all eyes went to Betty and Barbara. I saw raised eyebrows, especially from the older officers’ wives. One of them, a haughty blonde from Charleston, looked absolutely outraged that Betty had offered the pie to Barbara first.

Barbara hesitated as if she wasn’t quite sure what to do—take the offered plate or avert the situation by refusing.

Betty grinned. “Come on, Barbara. It’s only fair that the newest tenant in the building should get first taste.”

I felt like cheering. It was clear to her—and everyone else—what Betty was doing. She was making a statement--prejudice would not be tolerated here. Barbara was my guest, and she’d be treated as such.

Following Betty’s lead, I moved over to stand beside her. “But before you have something sweet, you should try this tomato aspic. Fancy, huh? Didn’t I tell you I scrounged up some highfalutin’ recipes out of
Ladies’ Home Journal
?”

Barbara’s gaze moved from Betty to me, and then down to the tray of molded red Jell-O. She smiled. “I’d love to try both,” she said. “What a lovely job you’ve done, Lily. These are almost too pretty to eat.”

I beamed. “But eat them, we will. Tell you what, Barbara, you set down that coffee cup and I’ll refill it for you in a jiffy.”

Conversation began again, and the awkward moment passed. I was sure, though, that Betty would catch heck for it as soon as that Charleston gal got her alone. But I wasn’t a bit worried about her going up against that scrawny little Dixie-gal. Likely, Mrs. Charlene Steadman, wife of Lt. Colonel Steadman III, would come out of that exchange with a new exit for her bodily functions.

It was almost nine o’clock when the party started breaking up. To my surprise, a few of the other women had followed our lead and had made an effort to include Barbara in our conversations. No doubt, it had been the first time they’d ever talked to a colored girl in a social situation. It was a start, and I was glad I’d acted on my impulse to go over and invite my new neighbor to the party.

But most of all, I was glad I hadn’t known beforehand that Barbara was of a different race. Because I’d learned a valuable lesson tonight. Listening to her talk about her husband whom she’d married just recently, their former lives in Chicago, her hope to have children some day, to see them grow up in a country of prosperity and freedom, I’d come to a startling conclusion. Beneath the color of her skin, Barbara was pretty much just like me and Betty.

Everyone had left by nine-fifteen, except for Betty, Barbara and Karen Graham, a plump redhead from Vermont who’d been one of the first women to chat with Barbara after Betty’s dessert moment. The two women had found they shared a passion for sewing and were discussing the latest Butterick patterns while me and Betty started clearing up.

I heard the front door open as I carried a tray toward the kitchen.

“
Lily Rae
!”

The swish of my taffeta circle skirt was audible in the room as I spun around. Barbara and Karen stopped in mid-sentence, obviously shocked by the apparent fury in Jake’s voice. Betty was already in the kitchen, washing the dishes.

“
Goddammit
, Lily Rae!” Jake shouted from the hallway. “Why is it that hallway light is on every time I come home? It wasn’t more than two days ago I showed you that goddamn electric bill and told you to stop leaving lights on all over the damn place!”

I cast an apologetic glance at the two women on the sofa, placed the tray down on the coffee table and hurried out of the room.

He was coming toward me down the short hallway, weaving like a drunken circus clown. My heart sank to my toes. He’d been doing so good lately. Since his return from Korea, he’d been the kind of husband I’d always dreamed he’d be—attentive, sweet and fun-loving…with just a few slips here and there. But not once had he come home like this.