I laughed. “What makes you think that?”
“Because after seven years, I think I know you a little bit.” He turned and looked at me. “Do you think you’ll ever feel comfortable with them?”
“Probably not,” I answered honestly. “Different world.”
“They’re not bad people, Cassie. Different from the world you grew up in, but decent and willing to accept new ideas.” He took my hand and kept hold. “But you’re comfortable with me.”
“You, I’ve gotten used to.”
“It took a while,” he said. “But you do trust me now, don’t you?”
I smiled. “As much as I can.”
Guy didn’t smile back. “I want you to trust me, Cassie. I’ve told you that before. All this time I’ve been trying to earn your trust, and I think it’s time that you do trust me.”
I sighed. “Why is it so important to you, Guy?”
He turned again toward the ocean. “Because I want you to marry me, Cassie. I’ve told you that before. I want you to be my wife.” He did not look at me for some time. Finally, he pulled from the ledge, his eyes on mine. I just stared at him. Guy let go of my hand. “Something to think about for the new year.”
Several of the houseguests joined us on the patio, and the conversation between Guy and me was ended, but not before his eyes met mine again. I knew he wanted an answer. I had none to give him. The next day I took the bus back to Boston. A few days later I boarded a train for Toledo. I told Guy I would see him in the new year.
FAMILY REUNION CHRISTMAS
(1959)
The family no longer lived on Dorr Street.
Dee had finally realized her dream of having a single-family house. She and Stacey had lived in the Dorr Street house for eight years and it had served them well, but in the fall of 1953 they found their dream home. In a neighborhood where real estate was opening up to people of color, they were able to buy a house from an elderly white couple who, like a number of other residents on the elm-lined street, were moving from the changing neighborhood. A decade before, when Stacey and Dee had first come to Toledo, this neighborhood would not have been open to them. Now Negro professional people—doctors, lawyers, teachers, even a judge—lived on the three-block street, along with business owners and factory workers like Stacey and the Davises. It was the best neighborhood in the city for colored people; other areas were still off-limits to us.
Stacey and Dee’s house was fabulous, huge and majestic, with a brick chimney running up its front porch to its roof of red Spanish tiles. A long driveway ran along the side of the house to the two-car garage, also roofed in red tile, which restricted the view of what lay to the south of it. In front of the garage was an expansive concrete turnaround space, in front of the house was a deep lawn, and beyond the garage and the turnaround space was an even deeper back lawn that extended to a tall woven wooden fence. A stately blue spruce towered high above the garage and grounds and stood like a sentinel guarding the back gate.
All of us were in awe of this new house, bigger and finer than any our family had owned. The living room was impressive, much larger than other living rooms in the area, and had a sizeable fireplace. Two entries led from the living room to the kitchen, one through the dining room, the other through a short hallway that passed stairways going to the second floor, and to the basement. There were oak beams in the ceiling of the dining room, and ceiling-to-floor beveled-glass cabinets lined the back wall. Beveled glass also was in living room cabinets and the French doors opening from the living room into the sun parlor, the front entry room into the house. Brass wall light fixtures shaped like long-tapered candlesticks adorned the walls of every room throughout the house. A tiered chandelier hung from the dining room ceiling and another hung in the breakfast nook.
Adjoining the breakfast nook through an archway was a spacious kitchen. Cabinets and counters and appliances lined three of its walls. Tucked into an alcove of the fourth wall was the refrigerator. Also on the wall was a rectangular box, designed like a clock. In the box were the numbers one through four lined up vertically, with an arrow next to each number. When the doorbells at the front door, side door, or back door were rung, an arrow turned to the number, indicating which had been rung. The fourth number was to ring the maid. None of us had seen such a thing. Built in 1918, the house was large enough to have a maid, and during its early days, a maid had stayed in the attic, two rooms of which were completely finished with a living area, a bedroom, and a closet. The attic became a playroom for Rie and ’lois.
In addition to the fireplace in the living room, there were fireplaces in the master bedroom and the recreation room, located in the basement. Also in the basement were a large washroom and an even larger furnace room, where Stacy kept his workshop. It was a grand, grand house, and like the Dorr Street house, it became the family gathering place for the Logans and the Davises. Through Dee and the girls, we were melded into one family now, and the house was a source of pride for all of us.
Stacey and Dee did not sell the house on Dorr Street. One of the Davises had married and the couple with their two boys moved downstairs, where Stacey, Dee, and the girls had been, while an elderly gentleman from Mississippi took over two of the upstairs rooms and a young married Mississippi couple with a paraplegic daughter moved into another. All the unmarried Davises had moved right along with Stacey, Dee, and the girls and immediately claimed the recreation room as their bedroom. Dee and Stacey were all right with that. Zell and the Davises had become like older brothers to Rie and ’lois and were protective of them, just like Stacey, Christopher-John, and Clayton Chester. Now they were all married and had places of their own, so only Stacey and Dee and the girls lived in the house. It was just the four of them now. It had been a long time coming.
* * *
◆ ◆ ◆
By the time I arrived in Toledo, Mama, Papa, and Big Ma were already there and the house was filled with the aromas of Christmas. Dee, of course, had all the cooking under control and I continued to be amazed by how she managed to get everything done. Once the girls were in high school Dee had gone to nursing school and was now working full-time as a licensed practical nurse, an LPN, at a Toledo hospital, yet she kept the house operating smoothly and, as expected, was totally organized concerning all the Christmas cooking. Rie and ’lois were preparing the food along with Dee. Teenagers now, both girls looked like Stacey. They had his skin coloring and his features, and Dee wryly said, “Robert couldn’t deny those girls if he wanted to, they’re so much like him.”
Throughout the week Dee and the girls had cooked coconut pies and apple and sweet potato pies, two of each. Dee had made two of her special raisin-nut pecan pies as well, but was holding back until Christmas Day to top them off with whipped cream. The same was true of the icebox lemon pies still to be made and topped with meringue. ’lois would make them and some scrumptious homemade rolls, while Rie was preparing German chocolate cake, which had become her specialty. Dee still planned on making an old-fashioned pound cake topped with a lemon glaze. She would also be making a coconut cake. She didn’t even think about making a red velvet cake, knowing that Rachel would be bringing one and no one could top Rachel’s red velvet cake. Becka would be bringing one of her specialty cakes, moist and soaked in rum. No one could bake cakes better than the two sisters. Their mother had taught them well. Dee still planned to make a chocolate cake, though. There would be many of us for Christmas dinner and she intended to have plenty of food on hand.