The Big House: Story of a Southern Family

By J. Keck

A bygone era defines Minnie's loyalty to heritage, tradition, and family. Continuing the saga of The Big House Story of a Southern Family, the 1919 Great Depression explodes, engulfing everyone. Life for Minnie, though, is more than survival, it is the desire for self-fulfillment and love. Transformation comes at a cost. Personal dreams poignantly clash with the heartbreaking circumstances of poverty and cruelty that surround Minnie, shaping her character to meet the challenges.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Dec 1, 2015
• ISBN: 9780985032357

Book preview

FAMILY

BOOK TWO

J. KECK

STONEHAVEN

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, or resemblance to events or locales is entirely coincidental.

Copyright ©2015 J. Keck

All rights reserved

Cover Illustration by Riley Dickens

No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise–other than for ‘fair use’ as brief quotations embodied in articles and reviews–without prior permission of the publisher.

For permission requests, write to the publisher, addressed, Attention: Permissions Coordinator, at www.jkeck.com.

This publication is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the author’s prior consent in any form or finding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent publisher.

Paperback ISBN-13: 978-0-9850323-4-0

ISBN-10:  0985032340

ebook ISBN: 997-8-09850323-5-7

1st Edition: October 2015

www.jkeck.com

Printed in the United States of America

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

This sequel to the book, The Big House: Story of A Southern Family, took me about three years to write. There was not only the creative process of the writing, but the research required to establish the facts and time line. I am grateful to so many individuals and institutions that have made this book possible. First and foremost, I want to thank my friends and family for their patience, and their willingness to go through the process with me. Finding a balance between these two extremes has been difficult for all concerned. Quite simply, I am most grateful to them and their unflagging encouragement.

Next are the individuals I feel a particular indebtedness and affection for their untiring belief in this novel, and their efforts to see it to completion. Francesca Romero, senior editor and publicist, who has provided her extensive editorial skills and untiring dedication to the project; Carolyn Bixby, Nancy Rueschenberg, and Tammy Mulvaney, associate editors, with their keen eye for grammar and the innate sensitivity for the characters and the plot of this novel. Additionally, Riley Dickens, artist and graphic designer of the cover who, as a son of the South, brought both skill, integrity, and that special feeling for marrying the story to the picture. Woody Cummins, with his knowledge and history of the Delta and, last but not least, Stephen Baba, Dan and Lorraine Urbina, Barry Stapp, and Ken Pellmann, who have provided me with invaluable feedback and support in the writing of this book.

Other important sources I would like to acknowledge are:

www.Arkansas.com for its historical, social and geographic information, including its flora and fauna.

www.Arkansas.gov

The Internet with all its helpful resources. Considerable information was available on the Free Black population of the pre-Civil War South, its population in the City of New Orleans, and its circumstances after the war and during the Jim Crow South. Also, the technical information was invaluable regarding farming, implements, and the prices of all commodities and hourly pay at that time, and Wikipedia for information about the

Ontario Black History Society for all its information and the willingness of its staff to be helpful regarding the Canadian Black experience, and its relationship to American Black history.  www.blackhistorysociety.ca

Harold C. Valery, M.D., for his generous time and medical knowledge of the epidemiology, symptoms and prognosis for the disease Typhoid.

Various persons at the Chambers of Commerce of Memphis, and many small towns in the Arkansas Delta.

COYMEN FAMILY TREE

Charles Coymen

b. (1837-1862)

Married to Anna Keghel 1858

b. 1843-1927

Charles Frederik Coymen

b. (1858-1932)

Son of Charles Coymen & Anna Keghel

Married to Isabelle Henderson 1889

b. 1866-1894

John Pieter Coymen

Son of Charles Coymen & Anna Keghel

1859-1931

Mathew Johannes Coymen

Son of Charles Coymen & Anna Keghel

1862-1910

Nora Gibson nee Coymen                  James Gibson

b. 1890                                    b. 1876

Daughter of Charles Coymen & Isabelle Henderson      Married Nelly Peabody 1900

Divorced Robert Prescott 1914                  Divorced 1918

Married to James Lion 1918

Bonnie Prescott (1909-1925)                  Norton Gibson

Daughter of Nora Gibson nee Coymen            Son of James & Nelly Gibson

1909-1925                              1905-Present

Minnie Prescott                              Gibson Gibson

Daughter of Nora Gibson nee Coymen            Son of James & Nelly Gibson

b. 1912-Present                              1908-Present

Jeanette Ann Gibson (1918-Present)

Daughter of Nora Coymen & James Gibson

1918

Robert P. Coymen

b. 1891

Son of Charles Coymen & I. Henderson

Married Maisy Shaw 1914

William Coymen

Son of Robert P. Coymen

b. 1915

Roy Coymen

Son of Robert P. Coymen

b. 1917

Daryl Coymen

Son of Robert P. Coymen

b. 1918

Lou Etta Donnelly nee Coymen

b. 1893-1927

Daughter of Charles Frederik Coymen

Married Dod Donnelly 1919

b. 1893-Present

Milton Donnelly

b. 1920-Present

Son of Dod Donnelly & Lou Etta Donnelly

Part One

CHAPTER 1

LIVING THE DREAM

NURSING COLLEGE

Tuesday, October 2, 1928

Memphis, Tennessee

My tension began to increase as Sister Mary and I walked down the hall to the administrator’s office to meet with Mother Superior Agnes. The sound of our footsteps echoed off the white walls, barren but for two crucifixes hanging at each end of the long corridor. My body felt the chill of an early autumn, as well as the austerity and discipline of college—a Catholic college.

We continued to walk in silence, turning to go down the staircase to the main hallway. I was reminded of boarding school—Catholic boarding school. Going to the administrator’s office always had a bad connotation and, usually, bad consequences. Then I thought of something more positive only minutes before—my conversation with Grace, my best friend.

I think this year’s going to be all right, Minnie.

I’m not so sure. Just look at our stack of books.

Even though we had taken the last seats across from one another so we’d have a little more room for our books, the two piles still partly hung over the end of the table. The front edge of our trays almost touched on the narrow, communal table in the school cafeteria. At the far end of our table came the clatter of noise from the serving line, punctuated by the clanking and banging of pots and pans from the help in the kitchen.

Minnie, cheer up. You give the best injections!

You think so? I asked, looking at Grace and thinking how pretty she was in a simple sort of way. A brunette with thick wavy hair, unlike myself, she had big, lustrous brown eyes. That’s when it hit me. She reminded me of my late sister, Bonnie, yet not. Grace had a lightness and sense of humor that wasn’t at all like Bonnie’s serious nature.

"Listen, it’s just not me saying this, but I’ve heard it from the students and patients—even from some of the teachers!  No one can hold a candle to you. You’re the best … ‘shot-giver’ by far!"

It amused me how Grace could just make up a term by putting words together, then use it so convincingly that both she and everybody else accepted the term as bona fide. More than once, students had made the mistake of using a ‘Gracism’ and getting a lower score on a test. For some unexplainable reason, Grace never used the terms in class and, as a result, was never corrected by the sisters.

Well, Grace, I’m not going to argue the point if you really think so.

I do. I do, indeed, Minnie! exclaimed Grace, her long, dark eyelashes fluttering. In all honesty when we were bussed to the hospital, I’ve overheard many of the patients there say, ‘I always ask for Minnie to give me my shots. She’s got a gentle touch.’

I looked down, smiled, shook my head and took a breath. At least I don’t have to worry about that.

When a patient gave me a compliment, it both pleased and embarrassed me. I was caught blushing by more than one of them—especially the men, who often embarrassed me even more by joking, Minnie, you’re blushing. How cute.

Here, stick your arm out, Grace. I saw a slight apprehension cross her face. With my left hand, I gently pinched a piece of her flesh on the side of her upper arm between my forefinger and thumb, then picked up a pencil in my right hand, turning the eraser down. Now watch this, and I pretended one pencil was the syringe. Stick it quickly into the flesh, inject, and try not to wiggle the needle.

Ohhh … that’s how. I see—

But looking at Grace, I could see she didn’t feel so confident, which was confirmed when she added, I’ll follow you around and you can teach me just like the nurse did for you.

Okay, we’ll ‘practice’ on the patients. That’s why they call it… a practicum.

Grace started to cackle. She really thought that was a hoot.

For me, though, the practicum was the best part of school—hands on, helping people. In this particular case, it was so satisfying to show Grace something that she could use to help patients. She always seemed to be the one helping me with my studies. At that moment, deep within myself, a wonderful feeling of joy bubbled up. I was so happy. I was happy I was going to be a nurse.

You know Mr. Brown in Room 302?

Yes, said Grace thoughtfully.

Well, he’s got diabetes and his foot has gangrene. Looks like part of his leg’s gonna have to come off.

Oh, no! How gruesome.

It is, but even so, I’ve decided I’m going to ask the surgeon if I can assist or just view the procedure.

My Gawd, why in Heaven’s name?

I’ve decided I want to be a surgical nurse.

No, not that!

Well, someone has to do it, and … I am interested in it.

I could never do it. It’s just too awful.

The distraction of the noise seemed to break the tension of the subject about Mr. Brown. Beside us, girls in their first year of nursing chattered excitedly, their voices rising above the more subdued ones like Grace and me.

Back to the practicums, Minnie, that was a real doozy: why they call ’em practicums.  Grace chuckled again, her eyes brightening and her spirits reviving. A practicum. That’s really rich. Grace began to laugh, which attracted the attention of the closest students, who leaned in to try to hear what was so hilarious.

Grace’s laughter was infectious and I started to laugh. Then I was jolted by the sound of Sister Mary’s firm voice behind me at the table.

Minnie—?

I turned to speak when Sister went on to say, You have a visitor.

CHAPTER 2

THE VISITOR

Sister Mary stopped in front of the door. Knocking gently, she carefully opened the door, poked her head into the room and said, Mother Superior, Minnie is here.

Have Minnie come in, Sister. Then please, shut the door.

When I entered the room, I was startled and unnerved. My mother sat in one of the two chairs in front of the dark, mahogany desk. Once Mother saw me, she nodded, not rising from her chair, saying only, Minnie, nice to see you.

I stared at Mother for a few seconds until I realized that my lack of response was drawing attention. Ready to return Mother’s compliment, I stopped. For whatever reason I was on guard. Catching myself, I replied simply, Thank you, Mother.

With nothing more said between us, I glanced at Mother Superior, Sister Agnes, whose pleasant expression was fading to a look of puzzlement. Minnie, your mother’s made a special visit to see you, having come from California recently. She’s asked me if she may see you alone. So, of course, under the circumstances, I want to give you time to be together.  Pausing respectfully, she then went on, I’m sure that you have a lot to talk about and share—those special feelings between mother and daughter.

I was taken aback by Sister’s comment. At that moment I truly didn’t know what to say regarding those special feelings between a mother and daughter. Sensing that I had to say something, I replied dully, "Yes, those special feelings."

Whatever Sister Agnes’ initial assumption was of our relationship, Mother and I could see that she realized she had been wrong, now seeing the coolness of our initial greeting to one another, followed by the irony in my voice.

Mother, seeing Sister’s concerned expression, took charge of the situation immediately. Standing up, she said reassuringly, I can’t tell you, Sister Agnes, how much I appreciate your understanding—your understanding of these personal feelings, and of your decision to give us time alone. Thank you.

You’re … you’re welcome. 

Sister hesitated and appeared to will herself to stand up. I’ll be at the waiting table in the alcove outside the office. Just let me know when you’re finished.

I held my breath, hoping she’d see that I did not want her to leave, but Sister had pushed herself up. Before I could shake my head, she turned and crossed the room. Pulling the heavy oak door open, she did not look back. There was only the sound of the latch as it slid back into place.

Mother, not wasting any time, took her seat and motioned for me to move my chair closer to her. Once I had seated myself and put my books next to the leg of my chair, Mother leaned forward and spoke directly in a hushed voice. "Minnie, I’ll not waste any words. We need your help!"

I … I don’t understand, Mother.

"Well, let me say it as plainly as I can, again. We need your help! I’ve been working at Goldsmith’s cafeteria."

She saw my shocked expression, but she paid no attention to it and barreled ahead. Your father can’t find work; Jeanette’s in school. There’s not enough money to buy food and to keep a roof over our heads.

But, how can I—?

There’s a job opening at the telephone company. I have a friend who can get you the position. It’ll pay enough to get us all by.

I was dumbfounded. I couldn’t believe what I’d heard her say. Now I realized why she was here and what she wanted: I was to leave school, go to work and help support the family.

My surprise turned to resentment. She just didn’t care. None of my plans or friends or the good sisters mattered to her. I felt—

I said nothing.

Mother was absolutely silent.

How did you find me, Mother?

It was simple. You left your forwarding address at the Catholic Girls Club.

My hands gripped the arms of the chair so hard that my knuckles turned white. Looking down at my feet to avoid making eye contact with Mother, I asked, my voice quavering, Don’t you realize what you’re asking?

"I do. I wouldn’t have come here if I didn’t feel we—your family, Minnie—could count on you."

It was all I could do not to strike out. I had the strongest urge to reach over and slap her—the way she’d done to me so many times in the past. How dare she?  After abandoning me for the past three years and leaving me to survive on my own, she had the gall to ask me to give up what I loved most—nursing.

My eyes were riveted on my feet. The weight of the past was oppressive in her presence. Lifting my eyes slowly to meet hers, I said directly, Mother, I’m not the same little girl you left—you left behind. I have changed. I’ve learned—

Finally, I rasped bluntly, "I’ve learned how to survive and make a living."

Minnie, that’s good. I knew you’d make it.

You knew—you knew, my heart was pounding, I’d make it! I said incredulously. At this moment I was so upset I struggled not to lose control and scream at her to get out of the office, get out of my sight.

We need you, Daughter. If I didn’t think you were strong, and could help us—

"Then?  Then, Mother, what?"

She avoided answering my question, saying, imploringly, "Minnie, we need your help!  Would you actually deny us in our time of need, Minnie?"

The resentment, as was so often the case when it had to do with Mother, then turned to shame and an increasing sense of isolation and aloneness.

I was struggling with myself when moments later, I heard Mother’s voice saying, Minnie, I’m asking you to come home.

"Home! Home, you say, Mother?"

Yes, Minnie … home.

I sat there and looked at her directly. By the expression on her face, I realized that she was anxious because of what appeared to be my indecision. Then came the realization she was begging me to come home. I didn’t take pleasure in seeing Mother grovel. It was not in my nature to gloat over someone’s misfortune—not even my own mother’s.

Strangely, I began to feel a certain pride in myself—a pride which I felt I had earned, earned from years of deprivation, hardship and honest labor. Mother had come to me, asking for my help. It was then that I knew what I had to do: I couldn’t let them starve. I couldn’t refuse them my help. They were my family—even if Jeanette was my half-sister and Dad was my stepfather.

At this moment, Mother was relieved to hear me say the words, "Yes, Mother, I’ll … I’ll do it. But her expression changed quickly when I stated, Mother, things have to change. It can’t be the same with Dad—the drinking."

She stared briefly realizing, I believe, that I was no longer a child, that these past few years had changed me. Now I was not just asking something of her, but demanding it.

He understands. Things have already changed, Minnie.

Also, when I come back if he starts his old ways again, then, I shook my head, I’ll leave.

Minnie, James has changed.

Taking a deep breath, I said, Okay—

Mother, having watched and sensed my struggle, remained guardedly vigilant until I said clearly, Yes, Mother, I’ll come home and go to work. Lifting my hand up, I pointed at my chest, adding, I’ll tell Sister Agnes myself: I’m leaving.

Today?!

Yes. Yes, Mother, today.

Good! I knew you’d help us, Daughter.

Yes, she was pretty certain I’d help them, but she was right to have fear—the doubt that I might not. She had no idea just how close I’d come to rejecting her and the rest of the family.

Also, your grandpa’s expecting you.

Grandpa?

"I called him just before I came here. I told him we’re all back from California. That’s the way he understands it: We—we are back from California. I think you know what I mean. It would just upset him to know anything different. You don’t want to bring him any more grief than he’s had the last few years—the deaths of your aunt, Etta, and his favorite nephew; the loss from those terrible floods."

Mother shook her head slowly. A lot of the fight’s gone out of him, Minnie. He’s an old man now. You want to do the right thing. Don’t you?

I nodded my head; then I felt my eyebrow arch involuntarily, aware that the old resentment had crept back, deepened not only by her physical presence, but also by her requests that I lie to Grandpa.

She seemed to anticipate my thoughts. There shouldn’t be any problem if he asks you about California, ’cause as well as having sent him cards from the family for Christmas and his birthday, I always sent him birthday cards only from you. I know, Mother said with a hint of bitterness in her voice, just how close you two are. Continuing to explain my birthday cards, she said laconically, Other than a greeting and a few words, I kept everything simple. This way there won’t be any problems.

I know she noticed my reaction because I saw a tremor of recognition cross her face before she went on. Still, she’d not given any ground by showing the slightest acknowledgement of my feelings.

Yes, Minnie, he’s tired and needs peace of mind.

Then, for the first time that I could remember, I realized she had held her tongue and—most likely—her anger at any hint of defiance on my part. I could hear it in the tightness and tone of her voice when she mentioned the close relationship between Grandpa and me. She was jealous, but she wouldn’t let that spoil things now. No, she wasn’t taking any chances since she had my compliance.

Unexpectedly, I heard Mother say, I thought you’d enjoy going to the Big House, since the job doesn’t start until the first Monday in November. You’ll have just over a month to be with your grandpa if we put you on the train later this afternoon.

Today. Grandpa’s?

A vacation. That sounds nice, doesn’t it, Minnie?

"Yes, Mother, a … vacation. It almost sounds like old times—being with Grandpa."

Yes. Yes, it does, repeated Mother, like old times.

Her voice sounded flat as she drew in a short breath, squinted her eyes, appraising me in this new way. For the first time she was acknowledging—if only by her reaction and choice of words—my feelings. She engaged me on a totally different level, not as an equal, but as an adult.

Turning my gaze away from her to the window, I saw the changing colors of the leaves. Unexpectedly, another deep emotion swept over me when suddenly I thought of Grandpa. To see Grandpa, Marie and the Big House—that was a gift I had missed with all my heart.

Well, Minnie, Mother’s voice jolted me back to the present moment, I’m sure you’d like to wrap things up. No point in wasting any more time. I’ll wait for you in the hall. Not wasting any more time, Mother left me sitting in the office, alone.

I understood what she wanted, reached down and picked up my books off the floor. I sat there and ran my hand across the title of the book: Anatomy of the Human Body. Then I opened the cover and leafed through the pages, seeing where I had already underlined a certain passage. I began to read when suddenly I shut the book with a thud. I felt a sickening ache. Realizing what I had to do now, I quickly left the office and found Sister Agnes sitting in the alcove. She looked up apprehensively. I think she knew there was a crisis because she said, How did things go, Minnie?

I shook my head slowly. Not well, Sister.

Let’s go into my office.

After she closed the door but before we could sit down, I said, I have to leave school.

Leave school? she said, shaking her head.

Yes, ma’am. Today, I’m afraid.

To—day?

I’m really sorry.

But … but Minnie, your education. You’ll only have one more semester after you finish in December. Then, you’ll be a nurse. Don’t you understand? You’ll be ruining—

I understand, ma’am. But I didn’t understand. No, no, I shouldn’t have to do this. No! I thought. But I caught myself. I realized that if I were to think about this anymore, my rage would boil up and overpower me and I couldn’t—no, I wouldn’t—go through with it.

Sister, I have to leave, I said, closing my eyes.

.… .

Mother had thought ahead. She brought a suitcase and a train case for me to pack some things I would need to go to Grandpa’s. The rest of my belongings, including a few textbooks that I wanted to keep, could be put in the trunk, which she would take home with her after she dropped me off at the train station. Then, she’d rush back to work.

Grace, my best friend and roommate, was given permission by Sister Agnes to help me pack. After we had finished sorting and packing, Grace helped me haul my things from my room, down the stairs to the foyer. When we got to the door to the office she gave me her address, both at the school and at her home, urging me with all her heart, Minnie, please write me. Please.

I will.

But Grace could read me like a book. Minnie, I’ll write you. She handed me a piece of paper and pen, urging me, "Here. Give me your address at your grandpa’s. I’ll write you, but once you get settled, write and send me your new address. Promise me you will write."

"Grace, I promise." I wrote down Grandpa’s address, which I knew by heart.

Only then, outside Sister Agnes’ door did Grace relent, hugging me long and hard. I watched as Grace turned and walked down the hall. I saw her raise her arm. I knew what she was doing. She was wiping away her tears. I wanted to be emotional, but there was no time for tears. I still had to go into Sister’s office and withdraw formally from school.

When I opened the door, Mother was seated, not talking with Sister Agnes. Mother’s eyes were focused on her nails, rubbing her thumb nonchalantly across the edge of her forefinger’s nail. Sister Agnes was holding a sheaf of papers, just staring at them. I could tell she was upset, but like me, she knew there was nothing more that could be said or done to change things.

As soon as our eyes met, she nodded and I came into the room.

Before I took my chair, Sister said, You’re leaving school, today. Is … is that true, Minnie?

I glanced at Mother, who jerked forward slightly, glaring at Sister Agnes, who was still looking at me, waiting for my reply, not realizing—or caring—that Mother might be annoyed that she was meddling, trying to subtly undermine my decision by asking if it were true I was leaving, today.

Yes, Sister. I’ve decided it’s best for me and my family if I leave, today. They need me.

I recognized Sister Agnes knew my decision was final and there was nothing she or anyone else could say at this point. She knew what kind of person I was. She knew I had not made this decision lightly. I had yielded to my own feelings of what was right and wrong. Whatever the circumstances, they had to be dire if I were prepared to jeopardize—no, actually end—my nursing career now.

Motioning for me to come around the desk, she held out the pen.

Minnie, these papers state you are leaving of your own free will. You have not been coerced or bullied. You have not been discharged because of a failing of moral character, of failing grades, or an inability to get along with your peers or with the patients.

I saw her hesitation. I knew she wanted to say more or for me to change my mind. I nodded my head and said, I understand, Sister. I really appreciate everything you and everyone here have done for me.

Taking a deep breath, she handed me the pen. All right, Minnie. Sign here, please.

I felt like I’d let her down. I felt like I was signing my own death warrant.

And now, pointing with reluctance to another set of papers, here, too, Minnie.

Once I signed my signature and gave Sister back her pen, she handed me some of the papers, saying regretfully and quite softly, These papers are your copy. You’ll want to keep them. They may be of value to you later on.

Yes, Sister.

Well, I presume she’s finished, Mother said shortly.

She is, said Sister Agnes, lifting her brow slightly.

Well, good. Please call a taxi for us?

Sister Agnes straightened in her chair and glared at Mother. I assumed she felt Mother had spoken to her like a servant or salesperson and she was offended.

Mother, seeing her reaction, quickly tried to soften any hint of disrespect, explaining, Sister, I have to get back to work. I’m pressed for time. Mother, uncertain about how her explanation was being received by Sister, continued in a more conciliatory manner, I apologize if I sound abrupt or rude.

I was surprised. I never heard Mother apologize. I’m sure that hadn’t been easy. Maybe this new job had gotten her off her high horse. I wondered, just how long would this change of attitude last?

I glanced over at Sister. I saw that she seemed mollified. She slowly reached down and picked up the telephone, then dialed out. Would you please send a driver to the Nursing School? When she gave the operator the address, I realized the operator was probably new at her job, which made me think that it wouldn’t be long before that new voice at the end of a line would be mine. I wondered if that person enjoyed her work as much as I had dreamed about the joy of being a nurse, only two hours ago at lunch.

Once Sister had hung up the telephone, Mother said, Sister, we’ll show ourselves out, not wanting to bother you any further.

It’s no bother. Sister walked us to her office door and opened it.

Mother extended her hand and shook Sister’s. Well, thank you. We’ll wait out of doors for the driver. Walking out of the room, Mother did not look back, but the sound of her hurried steps said that she was anxious because now she must answer to someone more important than herself—her employer.

I turned and looked at Sister. There was a deep silence between us, which was more painful than awkward or embarrassing. The silence lingered until she spoke.

Minnie— I could see that Sister Agnes was struggling to keep her composure. Minnie, we’ll miss you. I feel that we’ve lost one of our best students.

Sister saw that I was surprised by what she had said: one of our best students.

Yes, Minnie, one of the best, reiterated Sister Agnes. There’s never been any question in my mind that you had the ‘calling.’

Again, silence enveloped us like the silken threads of a cocoon, which quickly became the silken webs of a prison that prevented our unspoken words from breaking free. Even this meaningful moment, we realized, had passed and could not be recovered.

Well … go with God, dear.

Those were our last words spoken. I closed the door behind me.

CHAPTER 3

RETURN TO THE BIG HOUSE

Wednesday at breakfast with Grandpa became more involved than either Mother or I had imagined, since we knew him to be a man of few words.

Tootsie, Grandpa asked, how’d you like California?

Well, it was all right, but I’m glad to be back here.

I heard Marie cough. I realized she hadn’t left the room, and turned my head to see her staring at me. Something in her look made me feel uncomfortable, but I couldn’t imagine why she appeared so concerned. I went to take another bite of my food, only to hear Grandpa question, Tootsie, what’d you like about California?

Not much at all, sir. It was too different from home.

That’s understandable, but … what’d you do out there?

Oh, I went to school, not much else, really.

Uh huh … I see. How ’bout the people—make any friends?

No, sir. They didn’t care much for Southerners.

They don’t care for Southerners!  Well, the feeling’s mutual, then.

Remembering some things I’d read in magazines about California, I volunteered, I stayed pretty much in town. It was kind of boring not having the river to go fishing in.

Tootsie, they got an ocean there, don’t they?

I was positively stumped, and didn’t know what to say until Marie interrupted, Miss Minnie, my daughter wrote me once she got married and moved from Long Beach to Los Angeles. One of the things she said was that the fish didn’t taste right. She didn’t like the taste of saltwater fish.

Yeah, they don’t taste good at all.

Well, no wonder you got bored. And bad tastin’ fish. Grandpa turned his mouth down and shook his head. No siree, that’d never do.

Grandpa gave the topic a few more seconds’ thought; then I could see he was finished with California. Not someplace I wanna even visit! And that was that.

I just happened to look up at Marie, who was refilling my coffee cup. I saw something in her eyes—something almost sad. I was perplexed until I realized she’d never asked me about California—not a single word since I’d come back to the Big House.

Yes, Marie went on, Grandpa not looking up from his breakfast plate, my daughter moved in with her husband’s family just over a year after having moved with y’all to Long Beach. Annie must’ve got her mother-in-law or somebody else in the family to write me the news, ’cause the handwriting was different than hers. (Interpretation: Annie doesn’t know how to read or write.)

All this time I realized, Marie had known that the family abandoned me. She never said a word to anyone—especially not to Grandpa, knowing that he would have disowned Mother. In my case, she didn’t want to rub salt into my wound.

Minutes later, as Grandpa and I were finishing our breakfast, Marie appeared with a man whom I vaguely recognized, at the entrance to the dining room. Mr. Charlie, Mr. Higgins is here to see you. I was surprised that Marie brought him unannounced to the dining room, rather than to the parlor.

Hi, Charlie. Sorry to interrupt your breakfast.

No, no, I’m fine. Would you like a cup of coffee, Hank?

Wish I could, but not this morning. Thanks.

A tall, gangly man, Mr. Higgins was somewhat younger than Grandpa—maybe ten years or more. His hands were big and rough—like a farmer, but I remembered he was one of the larger landowners, though his holdings were nowhere near the size of Grandpa’s.

You met my granddaughter before, didn’t you?

He stood there for a few moments, trying to place me. Then he nodded his head. That was sometime back. You were just a young’un then; believe you were headed out the door with a fishing rod and pail.

That would’ve been Minnie, all right. Oh, Grandpa paused, guess I haven’t introduced y’all formally. Hank Higgins, this is Minnie—or Tootsie—as she’s known around here. Minnie—

I stood up and smiled. How ’re, Sir?

Mr. Higgins smiled back. Ma’am, but the smile faded quickly. Charlie—

I looked over at Marie and saw what appeared to be a look of concern on her face, but it was her hands folded in front of her apron that got my full attention. Marie was wringing them nervously. I sensed she wasn’t wringing her hands because of the noise coming from the kitchen where Delia, Marie’s morning helper, was working and talking with Eddie, who used to be Grandpa’s chauffeur before his eyes developed cataracts.

Charlie, I still got a little more work to get done. Could you spare some men?

Sure.

Also, thought you oughta know there’s that problem at the firehouse and with one of the sharecroppers. Know who I mean, Charlie?

Marie glanced at him. I knew something was up. It wasn’t just field hands he needed. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Grandpa rise from his chair. Wordless, Grandpa walked across the room and into the hall with Mr. Higgins, who followed close behind him. That’s when—seconds later—I overheard Grandpa in the hall say, Let’s go to my office.

His office? Usually Grandpa took guests to the parlor. The office was something else—a lot more important and … private. Marie came over and started to clear the table without looking at me.

Miss Minnie, why don’t you come to the kitchen? I can give you another cup of coffee in there. This way we can catch up on all the news, honey.

Catch up on all the news? That didn’t sound like anything important. No, I was being distracted—distracted in order for me to not accidentally overhear the men’s conversation.

Hours later it happened again, but this time it was at lunch. We had just sat down as Marie was bringing in a couple of sandwiches and potato salad. The coffee was already on the table and both Grandpa and I were sipping it slowly when we heard a vigorous knocking on the front screen door.

Marie rushed out of the room and returned shortly with the sheriff, Bill Williams, who didn’t wait to be invited in but came over to the table.

What’s up, Bill? You look all fired up.

Sorry to interrupt your lunch, Charlie, but—

Oh by the way, sorry, ma’am, I was plumb forgettin’ my manners.

Don’t you recognize this young lady, Bill?

He stood there a moment. Embarrassed, he fumbled and quickly took off his hat and scratched his head. Well, I’ll be damned if this isn’t Minnie. You sure done some growin’ since you was last here, young lady.

I stood up. I believe I have, sir. Nice to see you again.

Charlie, you must be right proud. Anybody can see that she’s a Coymen all right. No mistakin’ that. And … she’s got manners. I can see that right off.

Grandpa didn’t say anything, but he did smile when he looked at me. I knew he was pleased with the compliment—especially the part about the family resemblance. Turning his attention back to the sheriff, he motioned for him to come over to the table and have lunch with us.

Wish I could, Charlie, but I got somethin’ I need discussin’ with you.

I could see Marie had tensed up and stood there at the kitchen door, her eyes intently focused first on the sheriff, then on Grandpa and back again. All the while she was wringing her hands, just like she’d done when Mr. Higgins appeared at breakfast.

Grandpa pushed his chair back, saying, Let’s go off to my office. Marie, bring some coffee in to us. I’ll eat later. Grandpa walked out of the room along with the sheriff, whose voice trailed off in the hall. Two negroes, a boy and his mother, were lynched last night over in… .

I was horrified. When I looked over at Marie, only the fleeting emotion of fear or anger crossed her face. The emotion was quickly replaced by something inscrutable. I sat there, not quite knowing what to do or say until Marie hurried over and said, oddly, Now, look what’s gone and happened. C’mon into the kitchen if you don’t mind my company, but first I best get those gentlemen some coffee. Matter of fact, I’ll take them both a couple of sandwiches. They’ll do a heap of good thinkin’ if they got food in ’em.

I was surprised, both by Marie’s seemingly casual request and by her switch to country dialect. When Marie switched to dialect, I knew she was distracting me. Not only was she getting me out of the dining room, she was removing any chance of me overhearing the men.

Two manipulations and two serious men in the same day at Grandpa’s had definitely alerted me, especially when the sheriff said, lynching—lynching of a boy and his mother. The thought of it made me want to leave the room and throw up.

Now c’mon, Miss Minnie, urged Marie. With one hand she reached under my arm and with her other she