Authors: Alle Wells
She swiped the cleared table furiously. “I’ll tell you one thing, Mickey. You will be a hungry man when you leave this house.”
I scraped the plates and stacked them neatly. “We’ll be fine, Mother. Don’t you worry.”
Mother grabbed the cart handle and moved toward the door. “Why should I worry about you and her? The two of you obviously aren’t worried about us.”
I quickened my step to keep pace with Mother and opened the kitchen door for her. Inside the door, I gently held her arm and led her to the kitchen table. She faced me, impatience and frustration written across her face.
I held her hands across the surface of the old wooden table and talked to her downcast eyes. “Mother, the check from the RFC will be more than enough to carry you through for a long time. Times are changing, and Sophia has a full-time job in the county school system now.”
I looked around the room. “You know what you should do? You should have a telephone installed here. I’ll be just a short call away. I hear that President Roosevelt is planning more reconstruction projects in Georgia. You have more timberland to offer and plenty of land to sell if you need to.”
Mother lifted her eyelids. “Mickey, I worry about Flo taking care of a baby. There’s no telling what will happen with you gone all the time.”
I straightened my back, saying, “Ah, give her a little credit, Mother. She really hasn’t had the opportunity to be a mother yet. What was it you always said? Don’t throw the baby out with the bathwater?”
Mother got up and gathered the dishes into a wash pan. “Well, let’s hope that doesn’t happen, literally.”
Chapter VII
Dottie
1940-1945
Flo and I spent the next few months furnishing our new home. I was proud of the tasteful window blinds and draperies, wool rugs, and kitchen necessities Flo found at Sears and Roebuck on Ponce de Leon. We took our time setting up housekeeping while our baby grew inside Flo’s belly and planned to move into our new home after the baby came. When I saw the special interest Flo took in setting up the child’s room, I knew that she would be a good mother.
I took no chances with the birth of our child and Flo’s health this time. I found a top-notch specialist at Grady Hospital to monitor her and deliver the baby. The doctor predicted that Flo would give birth in January. He suggested that she spend the last three weeks of her time in the hospital. I drove Flo to the hospital the first week of 1940. Weekends, I camped out at the YMCA, visited Flo, and worked on the house. As Flo’s time came closer, I slept in the hospital waiting room.
Our little girl’s life began on January 23, 1940, during the biggest snowstorm in Atlanta’s history. Travel in the city, including rail, died under ten inches of snow. Nobody had anywhere to go, and I was satisfied to stay where I was. I opened the hospital room door, balancing a potted poinsettia left over from the holidays on one arm. Later, Flo said that poinsettias always reminded her of that day.
I felt a blush of heat rise in my face at the sight of Flo sitting up in the narrow bed, holding my little angel. “Hey there, little Mama!”
Flo was alert and smiling. “Oh Mick, come see! She’s dark and handsome just like her daddy.”
I set the potted plant on the side table. My large frame hung unsteadily, half on, half off the tiny bed. Flo was right. She had my olive skin tone, and her eyes were dark brown like mine.
“
Mick, I want to name her Dorothy Lamour. You remember that movie star in
The Jungle Princess
.”
I had never seen Flo look as beautiful as she did that moment. Her eyes sparkled with tears when she looked at our little daughter and then back at me. She was clearly a woman filled with love and pride in her family.
“
Sure, Little Kitten. Anything you want.”
Flo looked back at the baby who drifted into sleep. “My Dottie, someday you’ll be tall, dark and handsome just like your daddy and Dorothy Lamour.”
***
I didn’t write off Mother’s comments completely. I hired a colored lady named Rosalee to come in and help Flo with the housework. Rosalee rode the streetcar to our doorstep to and from work. Colored people in the city didn’t act like my friends, Lewis and Miss Sara. Rosalee rarely spoke and if she did, she mumbled. Her downturned lips stayed frozen in place when I laid a five dollar bill in her hand every Friday.
Flo kept herself busy attending to Dottie’s every whim and never objected to the help. On Wednesdays, she rode the streetcar to the A&P and the dry goods store on Ponce de Leon. She would buy a ham, pork roast or beef roast for Rosalee to cook for the weekend. Flo bought almost everything else in a can: bologna, chocolate syrup, fish, fruit, meat, milk, soup, and vegetables. I learned to eat Kellogg’s Corn Flakes with the bottled milk dropped on our doorstep twice a week instead of my sister’s country ham, grits, and gravy.
Eventually, Flo learned how to bake the hams and roasts the way Rosalee prepared them. She could make mashed potatoes, but not gravy, and preferred rice. I learned how to doctor the gooey rice with slabs of butter and salt until it tasted good. Flo did the best she could, and I tried to adjust. On Fridays, I’d stop by Sallie’s Bakery on Highland and pick up a coconut cream pie or some macaroons for a weekend treat.
Flo dressed Dottie up like a doll baby and took her to the local photographer every three months. As Dottie grew, so did the touched-up portraits lining the living room wall behind the sofa. Her dark curls multiplied and plump cheeks grew with each new stage. Caring for Dottie was Flo’s life. Sometimes I felt a twinge of jealousy watching the two of them roll around on the pink quilt spread across the living room rug. But then, I realized that I had my friends at the railroad, and Flo was here alone. She had no one but Dottie whom she spoiled. Flo jumped to Dottie’s every need even before she asked. I sometimes worried about how Dottie was going to turn out.
When Dottie was three, the circus came to Decatur. We had her picture taken sitting on a pony in a cowgirl dress. We had copies made, and I still carry that small picture in my wallet. I bought a new Chevy sedan in 1944, and we took Dottie to the beach. We spent my whole week of vacation at a cabin camp in Myrtle Beach, SC. The cabin had a kitchen and everything we needed. But Dottie screamed whenever we passed the
frosty cone
sign outside our camp. That little girl could eat ice cream until it ran out of her ears.
Sometimes we’d ride out to Mother’s on Sundays and have dinner. One Sunday, Flo and Sophia huddled together on Mother’s old divan looking at the latest fashions in Flo’s movie magazines. Mother and I sat on the front porch watching the birds. Sadie took charge of five-year-old Dottie. Dottie wanted to climb the trellis that ran up the side of Mother’s back porch. Mother’s prized Clematis weaved its way in and out of the slats.
Sadie ran toward Dottie and snapped, “No, no. Dottie, get down from there. You’ll hurt yourself and break Gamma’s flowers.”
Dottie climbed higher and refused to come down.
“
No! I want to climb tree.”
“
It’s not a tree, Dottie, it will fall on you. Get down or I’m coming over there to get you.”
The fragile lattice began to crack. The part holding Dottie broke off. Sadie reached out, caught the back of Dottie’s dress and pulled her out from under the lattice before it hit the floor. Dottie cried and threw a tantrum. Wiggling out of Sadie’s hold, she ran in the house to find Flo. Sadie looked frazzled when she reached the front steps and told us the story.
“
Mickey, you’d better take a switch to that child and teach her to mind. If you don’t, she’s going to hurt herself.”
Feeling satisfied after a good meal, I passed Sadie’s comment off as coming from an old maid who had been around too many children.
“
Oh, let her be. She’s just curious is all.”
***
Flo was a stargazer. She loved movies and the people in them. She stopped at the newsstand on Wednesdays and stocked up on every movie magazine she could find. Flo had a three-legged table in the bathroom as high as the big claw foot tub. She kept her magazines stacked on the table next to a floor lamp. After putting Dottie to bed, she’d lie in a bubble bath and read her magazines.
It was the hottest Saturday afternoon I can remember. Flo fanned herself on the porch. I sat across from her, admiring her figure in a pair of shorts, matching halter top, and sandals. I thought that Flo had to be one of the best dressed women in Atlanta as much as it cost to clothe her. When I looked at her sexy legs that day, my mind wasn’t on money. She became more beautiful over the years, or maybe her beauty had grown on me. Sophia had been right; I’d learned to love her. Our love for Dottie bonded us and made us a family.
Dottie begged Flo, “I wanna swim, Mommy. Wanna swim.”
Swimming to Dottie was splashing around and walking on her hands and knees in the big claw foot tub.
“
Well, Honey, it sure is hot enough to swim.”
Flo picked up Dottie even though the child’s legs nearly touched the ground. Dottie stuck her thumb in her mouth and leaned her full weight on her mother’s tiny shoulders. Flo was a good mother. I couldn’t have expected more from her. She kept Dottie safe and happy. I held the screen door open for them.
“
You want a Tru-Ade?” I asked Flo.
She looked at me over her shoulder. “Sure, an orange one.”
I walked to the icebox and popped the caps off the sodas on the wall opener. On the way back, I leaned on the door frame and watched Flo wrestle Dottie’s clothes off.
Dottie whined, “I want Fluffy.”
“
No, Baby, you can’t get Fluffy wet.”
Dottie reached for Flo’s magazines. “I want book.”
Flo said, “No, Dottie. Don’t touch Mommy’s books.”
Dottie jiggled the pole lamp and looked up at the ends of the gold fringe swaying back and forth on the red velvet lamp shade.
“
I want Miss Light.”
Flo pulled the chain under the lamp shade “All right, I’ll turn on Miss Light. But don’t touch my books.”
Flo grabbed Dottie’s arms and swung her over the side of the tub.
“
Wheee! Go swimming. Mommy and Daddy will be right outside.”
Dottie started to splash around. I gave Flo the soda. We stood in the doorway and watched Dottie for a couple of minutes, then went back to the porch. Flo and I sat in white Adirondack chairs on the porch and watched two burly men carry furniture into the house next to us.
“
Who are those people, Mick?”
I took a swig of the Tru-Ade. “Name’s Ackerman, just transferred here from the North Carolina shop.”
Flo scrunched her nose. “German?”
I nodded. “I think so.”
Flo looked the other way. “I don’t like Germans.”
I laughed. “How do you know you don’t like Germans?”
Flo folded her arms. “Just don’t, that’s all.”
I sat there thinking that Flo formed most of her opinions from movies and the magazines that promoted them. The thought reminded me of the clip of air bombers flying over Japan, the opening act to
Snow
White and the Seven Dwarfs
. If the war doesn’t end soon, I thought, everyone in the whole world will wind up hating each other. A sharp crackling noise followed by a pop that pierced my eardrums jolted me out of the daydream.
Flo sat up. “What in the world was that?”
I looked around. The men next door set the table on the ground.
A guy with a cigarette hanging out his mouth pointed to the house and said, “Hey, Buddy! Check your wire.”
I stepped to the side of the house. The wire carrying current to the house sizzled and smoked.
Flo stood up. “I’d better see to Dottie. I bet she’s scared to death.”
Next, I heard Flo’s blood-curdling, heart-wrenching scream. I bolted into the house. Those men I didn’t know followed me. The washroom was ablaze, the claw foot tub enclosed in a circle of fire. Through the flames, I saw Miss Lamp across Dottie’s naked back submerged under the water. The big man held me in a tight basket hold.
I jabbed my elbows into his sides and kicked him. My kicking threw us off balance, and we tumbled over the dining room chairs. “Let me go, Man! Can’t you see my baby? Let me go!” I screamed at the man.