“Hear he’s in Canada.”
“Better stay there,” said Uncle Hammer.
* * *
◆ ◆ ◆
After that the evening was full of stories, long-ago stories told over and over again. There was the story about our friend Mr. Tom Bee and how the white store owner John Wallace had shot him because Mr. Tom Bee refused to address him as “Mister.” There were stories from Big Ma’s childhood, stories of her first husband Mitchell, and stories of Grandpa Paul-Edward. There were stories of Uncle Hammer and Papa when they were boys, stories about their mischief, stories about their older brothers, Uncle Mitchell and Uncle Kevin, stories of laughter and good times. Stacey, Christopher-John, Man, and I had our stories to tell too. Stacey had gotten to be a master storyteller and we all deferred to him, calling on him to recount the events as we all remembered them, and he did so with great gusto, acting out the parts of all persons involved, standing up to show their action and mimicking their voices. We laughed as hilariously as when I was a child hearing the stories in front of the fire down home.
Most of the children did not hear the stories. They were still downstairs in the rec room. There was plenty of room to run and play down there; also, there was an old standup piano they could bang on, games, and a phonograph, as well as all of Rie’s and ’lois’s childhood toys. Of course they had taken their new Christmas toys downstairs too. We had not seen them since they disappeared and figured we wouldn’t see them again until they were called to come upstairs.
Rie and two of her girlfriends were in the recreation room with the children, along with a gangly young man who had come courting Rie on this Christmas Day. He was captain of her high school basketball team. Rie always had some boy courting her and they were good boys. Stacey saw to that. He drilled them like an Army sergeant when they came to call. All boys who ventured to see Rie knew the protocol and they adhered to it. They knew they could only visit on Sunday or a holiday, knew they had to be wearing a suit and tie, and knew above all else that Rie was to be treated with respect. She was a gregarious girl, high-spirited, as beautiful now as she had been as a baby, and the boys flocked around her. They were always the popular boys, on the football and basketball teams; shyer boys were too mesmerized to approach her, though Rie had no airs about herself. She treated everyone the same; yet there was a magnetism to her, and girls and boys alike enjoyed being around her. With ’lois, though, it was different. She pretty much kept to herself. While all the other children entertained themselves in the adult-free rec room, ’lois had come back upstairs to sit with the “old” folks. She was listening to the stories. She was always listening to the stories.
* * *
◆ ◆ ◆
Late that night, when Aunt Loretta and I were alone in the kitchen washing the last of the dishes from the second round of Christmas dinner eating, Aunt Loretta, her hands in soapy water, suddenly said to me, “Cassie, you got a man in your life?”
“What?” I asked, startled by the unexpected question.
“It’s time, Cassie. Past time. Woman needs a man. Now, you had a good one, fine-looking one at that. But he’s been gone a good long while now and you need to be with somebody.”
I laughed. “You know who you sound like, Aunt Loretta? Big Ma.”
Aunt Loretta nodded at the comparison. “Couldn’t be compared to a finer woman, but getting back to what I was saying, you’re not getting any younger, you know. Fact, you getting old, girl!”
I laughed again. “Well, thank you very much!”
Aunt Loretta reached out a soapy hand and squeezed mine. “Serious now, Cassie, don’t you want children? It still ain’t too late.”
I pulled away and dried the casserole dish I was holding. I turned my back to Aunt Loretta and put the dish away before turning to her again. “I lost my child, and the only man I wanted.”
Aunt Loretta’s hands were back in the dishwater. “You’re wrong, Cassie, to talk that way. I had a no-good man. Fact to business, I had two no-count men. They was good for only one thing and you know what that is. Come to think of it, they wasn’t always good at that neither, but you better not tell them that. Thought they was God’s gift!” She shook her head and went on. “Didn’t treat me right. Ran around with other women. Beat me when it suited them, even though I gave almost good as I got. Both those men, each of them, they gave me a child and I couldn’t love those children any more than I do. Mostly, I had to raise them by myself. Then I met Hammer. My children were near to grown and he was good to them. Hammer didn’t give me a child. I was already too late for that. Wish I hadn’t been, but that’s just the way it was. Still, he’s the best man’s ever come into my life. Now, he’s got his ways, you know that, but the man has never raised a hand to me, never cheated on me, and he’s totally honest with me. If he doesn’t like a thing he sure enough lets me know about it. You know how direct he can be. Me, I don’t want to think about growing old, but each day I look in the mirror and face the fact that I’m doing just that, and I thank the good Lord I’ve got Hammer.” She looked at me again. “You need to have that too, Cassie, a man who loves you as you grow old. Every woman needs that.” She gave me a studied look. “Just don’t wait too long.”
I thought of Guy and took up another dish to dry. As I did, Aunt Loretta looked at me hard. “Saw something in your face just now. Is there somebody?”
I shook my head and smiled. “No one I could ever bring home.”
“And you don’t want to tell me about him?”
I continued to smile, but said nothing.
“All right, nosy me,” said Aunt Loretta, turning back to the dishes. “I’ll butt out of it then.”
* * *
◆ ◆ ◆
During the Christmas week, I went to see Lawyer Tate. He was in the same office, wore pretty much the same kind of clothes, and had the same personality. “How’s my old block?” he asked as he ushered me in.
“Just like you left it,” I said.
He laughed. “It’s good then. Hated to leave it.”
“But you did.”
“Had the opportunity. Had to take it.”
I figured he did. Lawyer Tate and his wife had bought the house next door to Stacey and Dee about two years after Stacey and Dee bought their house. Then, a year ago, the Tates had seen a house that they liked in wealthy, all-white, exclusive Ottawa Hills. The house was for sale. They were politely shown the house, but their offer was rejected. The rejection was clearly racial. The white realtor admitted it. “No way are they going to let you in there,” the realtor said. “Only reason I could show you the place was because of all your political connections. They didn’t want an uproar about it.” Lawyer Tate was not dissuaded. He went to a man for whom he had great regard, a man he trusted, a white lawyer and a friend, and made a deal with him. The white lawyer, with impeccable credentials and sizeable wealth, bought the house, then turned right around and, at the same price for which he had bought it, sold it to Charles Tate.