Shadows of St. Louis (6 page)

Sweet
Like
Sugar

He could have stayed in that same position all night and watched her sleep. The simple fluttering of her eyelids mesmerized him. He wondered if she dreamed of him.

As much as he hated it, Henry knew he needed to get home. And that meant leaving his sweet Emma.

Gently, he lifted her head from his lap and slid out from under her. After resting her head on the pillow, he knelt beside the cot she called a bed. He brushed his thumb over her full lips. He wanted to taste those lips so badly, but he also wanted Emma to be conscious when they shared their first kiss.

"I love you," he whispered into her ear before kissing her cheek.

While he gathered his things, he wondered what had become of Charles. He never returned after he had gone to check on Rebecca Jane. Actually, Henry had a lot of questions about Charles and the way he treated Emma. They were awfully close. Somehow Henry knew Emma was more than a maid.

Henry checked the wrap around Emma's chest to make sure it was still in place. Then he applied some antiseptic to the cuts on her face. The whole time he wondered who would do such a thing to her. Since he knew it obviously wasn't Charles, it could have been any number of white people in St. Louis. Henry himself had witnessed Negros being attacked in the street for some alleged offense. He'd never had the courage to interfere in the abuse. He was always outnumbered anyway. Would he be strong enough to defend Emma Lynn in a similar situation? He hoped so, but he wasn't sure. He didn't know if he could live a life like that.

Deciding it was too risky to climb the stairs and leave through the main
door,
he hoisted himself up to the narrow window and left the same way he came.

The moon was high in the sky. Just a few more hours and he'd have to return with the milk delivery.
Just a few more hours until he could see her again.
That thought propelled his sluggish legs home.

He would have preferred to stay at the Goodwin home, not just for the company of Emma Lynn but because their home was so much less depressing than his own. Sure, he wasn’t relegated to living in shacks or boxcars like many of the thousands of Negros in the area but his home wasn’t that much better. It was an overcrowded and rundown apartment building located just on the edge of what was the respectable part of town. From the living room window on the third floor, he could see the polluted wooden village of the Negro population and often wondered how much better off he really was.

Henry shook his head in disbelief. Now he was actually comparing himself to Negros. What was happening to him? How could he even think such a thought?

Taking a deep breath he tried to shake the insane ideas from his mind. He nearly choked on thick, grimy smoked-filled air that permeated East St. Louis. God he hated this town. This city was like where dreams came to die and fester, creating a stench of hopelessness. It was his lifelong
dream to one day just escape
East St. Louis. And now that dream had changed ever so slightly. Now it was his lifelong dream to escape East St. Louis with Emma Lynn.

So deep in thought, Henry almost didn’t notice who was sitting at the bottom of the stairs. "Where have you been?" he asked.

Henry wasn't prepared for that question. He didn't think anyone in his family would miss him let alone care where he'd been. Henry had learned long ago that he was the dispensable Miller, the one not big or strong enough to earn a real living.

"I had
work
to do."

"Work?
You're a milkman. Did you have to go milk the cows yourself?" John didn't sound angry, just curious. He was always curious, which was why he'd always wanted to be a journalist. He wanted answers. Henry should've known his brother would want to know where he was. He just thought John would've been too distracted by the impromptu boxing match that erupted in the living room between the twins after dinner to wonder where Henry had gone.

"No, I —"

"Why do you have a medical bag?"

"This? Uh ...
" Henry
looked at the bag while trying to come up with a logical explanation.

John stood and approached him. He leaned forward and took a deep breath. "You smell like powdered sugar."

Henry flushed. Emma Lynn always smelled sweet like sugar. Her scent transferred to him as he held her.

"You're being ridiculous," Henry said trying to sound confident and relaxed. "Working for the newspaper has made you paranoid." He tried to walk around, but John stepped to the side and blocked his path.

"Paranoid? I think I have a right to be. I know something is going on. Dr. Thompson's secretary saw me today and asked me how my sprained ankle was doing. She said you told her I had a sprained ankle and that you needed to borrow a medical bag to take care of me."

Henry reached for his hat and realized he still hadn't retrieved it from Emma Lynn.

"What's going on with you, Henry? We used to tell each other everything. We were a united front against our brothers the barbarians. Now you're keeping secrets from me. You've been acting strangely for weeks. Are you in some sort of trouble?"

Trouble?
Yeah, I'm in quite a bit of trouble, Henry thought.

He stared at his older brother for a moment. John, the level headed one. The only Miller he could relate to. Surely John would understand. And it would be cathartic to finally get all these emotions off of his chest.

Though he knew no one was outside at this time of night, Henry still didn't want to take the chance of being overheard. "Let's go upstairs and I'll tell you everything."

In the small apartment the Millers called home, their
parents
occupied one bedroom, the twins the other. John and Henry were relegated to the living room. Their father tried to say it was because both of them had jobs that required them to wake up very early in the morning. But when they weren't on strike, their father and the twins had to leave just as early.

Henry tossed his bag in the corner then paced the small rectangle also called the living room floor while John made himself comfortable on the sofa.

"Well, spit it out," John said after several minutes of Henry's pacing.

After taking a deep breath, he blurted, "I'm in love." Already, he felt like a boulder had been lifted from his chest.

John nodded. "I knew it.
It's
Rebecca Jane isn't it? That's why you smell like sugar. You were at the
Goodwins
’ Confectionary tonight, weren't you?"

"Well, yes, but —"

"And that's why Charles invited you to the reception Saturday night. He wants to get to know his future brother-in-law, doesn't he?" John smiled proudly. Even he was being influenced by the Goodwin's money.

"No, he —"

"Well, I can see how this would be a problem." John leaned back and pinched his chin. "She's practically engaged to Frank Gibson."

"No, John, I'm not in love with Rebecca Jane."

John stared at him in confusion.
"Then whom?"

Henry took another deep breath. "Emma Lynn." Once again he had meant to say it with the conviction he felt, but instead it came out as barely a whisper.

"I don't understand."

"Emma Lynn. I'm in love with Emma Lynn." Each time he said it, he felt more confident.

John's brow wrinkled in thought. "The Emma Lynn I know is Negro. Is there another one?"

Henry shook his head.

"You're in love with a lying, thieving Negro?" John said standing from the sofa.

"Yes … No. She's not —"

"I can't believe this. Do you know what she did to Frank Gibson just yesterday? She dressed up like Rebecca Jane and tricked him into kissing her."

The confidence Henry felt just seconds ago quickly crumbled. Was this possible? Henry sat on the floor and put his head in his hands.

"If you don't believe me just ask your new friend Charles. He'll tell you," John continued.

Henry had a hard time focusing on John's words. He was too busy thinking of Emma. Why would she do that? Could that be why she was beaten? Maybe it was retaliation from Frank.

"Were you in her bed tonight?" John asked pulling Henry away from his thoughts.

"No. Well, yes, technically speaking, but it's not like you think. I—"

"That's disgusting Henry. You better hope our parents don't find out.
Or anyone else for that matter.
No self respecting woman will want you if they know you lay with Negros." John pulled off his pants and prepared to crawl into his bed on the sofa. It was actually Henry's turn to sleep on the sofa and John's turn to sleep on the floor, but Henry wasn't about to bring that up given the circumstances.

Henry rubbed his temples as he studied a speck on the cement floor.

"Don't beat
yourself
up about it, Henry," John said unfolding a blanket over him. "Everyone makes mistakes. Just forget it ever happened. Forget about Emma Lynn."

John completely misinterpreted Henry's reaction. There was no way he would forget about Emma. While this information about Frank Gibson raised some new questions in his mind, it in no way changed Henry's feelings for her. It did, however, convince him to not trust John ever again.

Sleep was a pointless endeavor that night. His mind kept replaying images of Emma Lynn, Charles, Rebecca Jane and even Frank Gibson. Frank Gibson, who thought Emma Lynn was Rebecca
Jane .
Then suddenly, it all became clear.

Relative Truth

Henry waited in the alley behind the Goodwin home for Emma Lynn to appear. After several minutes passed he assumed she was still asleep from the medication he gave her. He left the milk on the back porch and then headed toward the cellar window. He just had to get one glimpse of her. He didn't know if he could make it through the day without seeing her face.

As soon as he touched the window he heard a bottle crash. Looking up, he saw a figure stumbling down the alley. An obviously inebriated Charles Goodwin staggered toward him, giving Henry an idea. It was time to have a talk with him in order confirm his suspicions.

Leaving the window, Henry stood by his truck until Charles approached.

His palms started to sweat even though it was quite a chilly morning for the end of June. He knew it was nerves. He didn't know how Charles would react to the accusation he was about to make. Henry wasn't particularly afraid of Charles. He never had reason to be. But Henry knew from living with his father for so many years that alcohol drove people to do irrational and sometimes violent things.

"Does she know?" Henry asked once Charles was in earshot.

"Does who know what?" he slurred with a smile while sitting on the stairs and pulling out a flask. He seemed jolly enough. Maybe Charles wasn't a mean drunk like his father was.

Henry took a deep breath and blurted, "Does Emma know that she's your sister?"

The smile vanished, as did his relatively happy demeanor. Charles stared at his flask. “There’s nothing more sobering than years of deception.” He closed his eyes and smelled his liquor. “That is most certainly why I prefer to be drunk.” He took a long swig from the flask.

“You didn’t answer the question.” Though since Charles didn’t deny that Emma was his sister, he at least knew his theory was correct.

"How did you figure it out?" Charles asked.

Henry shrugged.
"Frank Gibson believe it or not.
I heard he thought Emma Lynn was Rebecca Jane. That got me thinking. They do look a lot alike. Then I thought about the way you look at Emma. It's the same way you look at Rebecca Jane."

Charles sighed, took another drink, and then said, "She was my favorite you know. I don't remember when Mary Anna was born, but my first memories of her are not very nice. She was always a spoiled brat who I couldn't relate to. I was two when Rebecca Jane was born and while I do love her, she's always had this need to be contrary just for the hell of it. Emma Lynn though, was always a sweet little angel."

Henry sat next to Charles on the stairs and waited for him to continue.

"She was the calmest, sweetest baby. She rarely cried. She was always just happy, calm and lovable," he smiled to himself then added, "You know, my name was her first word? We were such a close family back then. We were living in a small town in Indiana. Mother stayed home with the girls while I went to school and Father took care of his shoe repair business. Every day I came home to fresh baked cookies and warm milk. Then Emma Lynn, Rebecca Jane, and I would play our pretend games until we sat down as a family for dinner."

"What happened?" Henry asked.

After a long sigh and an even longer swig of bourbon, Charles said, "She was always darker than the rest of us. I knew she was my sister. I was there the day she was born. I just couldn't understand why she looked so different. Our parents would say that she stayed out in the sun too long or that we had a distant Indian relative. But when I was eight and Emma was three, someone called her a nigger baby. That's when our parents knew she wouldn't be able to pass for white any more like the rest of us."

"Like the rest of you?" Henry asked slightly confused. He had figured out that Emma Lynn was Charles and Rebecca Jane's sister, but he wasn't quite sure how. He thought maybe Mr. or Mrs. Goodwin had an affair with a Negro.

Charles nodded. "It took me a few years to figure it out, but I did." Charles stood and walked over to the milk truck in front of him. Leaning his head against it he said, "Both of my grandmothers were slaves on neighboring plantations in South Carolina. One had a love affair with her slave owner; the other was raped by hers. They both gave birth to several children. My parents happened to come out looking white.

"My half Negro parents met as teenagers living in a supposedly free society. They bonded over the fact that they didn't fit in anywhere. Even though they looked white, everyone knew they were Negro. So they ran away together and assumed new identities.

"They took a gamble having children and it worked out three out of four times. Mary Anna, Rebecca Jane, and I can pass for white. Emma Lynn can't. When our parents realized this, they wanted to abandon her. They wanted to leave her with relatives in South Carolina. But I wouldn't let them. I'm the one that came up with the idea to move to yet another city and pretend she was an adopted playmate for Rebecca Jane. Later she became the maid. We convinced Emma Lynn that we were only pretending she was our sister when we were little. Over time she forgot all about those early years and just accepted her fate." Charles swallowed hard as if he was holding back tears. "It was all my idea. I'm the one that turned my baby sister into a virtual slave."

Succumbing to an onslaught of tears, Charles dropped the flask and put his head in his hands.

"You just wanted to help her," Henry said trying to console Charles. At the time, making Emma Lynn a maid probably seemed like the only logical option. It was the only way to keep her in his life. If someone threatened to take Emma Lynn out of Henry's life, he wasn't sure what he would do or how far he would go to make sure it didn't happen.

"It may have started out that way," Charles said after composing himself. "But it's been twelve years and I haven't told her the truth. I'm so comfortable with my privileged life that I'm afraid of what will happen if ... If people know I'm a Negro."

Henry wasn't quite sure how to respond. On the one hand, he could understand Charles' desire to keep the secret. Life for Negros wasn't easy. On the other hand, Emma Lynn deserved a better life. She was as much of a Goodwin as Mary Anna, Rebecca Jane, and Charles. She deserved the fancy clothes and the leisurely life they enjoyed. She deserved to be loved.

"I'm going to fix this mess I've created," Charles said a few moments later. "I'm going to leave East St. Louis and start a new life. I'm taking Emma Lynn with me. I'm going to take her some place where she doesn't have to live like a servant or be treated like she's nothing because of the color of her skin."

"You're taking her away?" Henry stood abruptly.

"I have to. It's the only way I can give her the life she deserves. There's nothing for her here."

"What about me? I'm here."

Charles paused and looked at Henry incredulously. "And what exactly can you do for her? Do you think you can marry her, build a home, and live happily ever after? I don't even think it's legal. You two don't have a chance in this town."

The burning sensation in Henry's chest told him that Charles' words were true, but he still didn't want to believe them. He hadn't thought this through. He hadn’t worked out the details. But he would start thinking about it now. There had to be a way for him to have a future with Emma Lynn because there was absolutely no way he was going to let her go.