One Lump or Two Papa?: I Did Not Know I Was a Negro

By Gertrude Rainey

This book talks about family relationships. This book will enlighten an individual in finding out who and what your value is in your family.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Aug 19, 2016
• ISBN: 9781524621377

Gertrude Rainey

Gertrude Rainey having spent big part of her childhood years in hearing and memorizing the stories that she has always been told by her grandmother which leads her to write stories' when she herself has became a grandmother.

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© 2016 Gertrude Rainey. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 08/09/2016

ISBN: 978-1-5246-2138-4 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-5246-2136-0 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-5246-2137-7 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2016912271

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Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Contents

Part 1

Part 2

Part 1

The piercing screams coming from upstairs assured me I was not dreaming. Something terrible was happening, and mother was screaming at the top of her voice.

As I raced upstairs, I realized I did not hear father’s voice. Mother’s desperate cry was weird and eerie; I actually felt my flesh crawl.

I was at the top of the stairs when mother cried out: "Tom, Tom, don’t leave me, what will I do without you? God is no fair, why is this happening to me? Oh Tom, Tom, don’t leave me.

Father was on the floor, and not moving. I called the doctor, and sat on the floor with Father’s head on my lap. My mind was racing.

I was aware of mother’s ranting and raving incoherently, but, at the time, father was my only concern. Mother knew he was dead; however, I did not have her intuition. I was truly in denial.

Father had passed out and fallen down, as he had done so many times. He will get up soon, you’ll see. Ever since Doc. Crenshaw warned him that his heart was acting up, and he should slow down, he did. Get up father! Please, Please, Please.

Father did not move. Not even when I cradled his head on my lap, not even when I shook him with tremendous force, his body remained rigid and cold, like a stiff board. Mother’s faithful companion (Maude) told me how I fell apart when the attendants took father away.

Doc. Crenshaw gave Mother and me a sedative. I slept all day. It was time to face reality, my father was dead!

He was born 1920, to Edith and Ezra Hillsebeck, on a farm in Biloxi, Georgia. The son of a farmer, he vowed to become rich and powerful. Mother often said: He came to New Jersey with dreams and determination. With what little money he had, he bought a small parcel of land, enough for a shack and a garden. Then he planted tomatoes, beans, corn, and anything he could find space for.

Back in Biloxi, Georgia in 1942, father was drafted for the war, but his flat feet kept him out of the Army. Anger and disappointment prompted his migrating up North.

It wasn’t long before he bought a horse and wagon. This was the peak of World War II, factories were everywhere, and father loaded his wagon daily, selling fresh vegetables to the factory workers. In two years the garden became a farm with heavy machinery and hired help.

Yes, New Jersey was becoming a boom town, and Thomas Hillsebeck was definitely a fore runner in the race. An entrepreneur was born! In two years the garden became a profitable investment, which enabled father to purchase a beautiful white mansion by a large lake on Fairview Drive. That’s upper middle class Jersey City.

Of course, this would be the best time to buy a new car, and take a trip back. That’s what Father did, or so I’m told. He returned in two weeks with his tiny blushing bride, Frances Leona Watts.

My name is Zelma Elizabeth Hillsebeck. I am the daughter of Frances Leona and Thomas Aaron Hillsebeck. We live at 101 Fairview Drive, Jersey City, New Jersey. I was born with silver soon" in my mouth, as most folk would say.

Father spoiled me and Mother let him, of course, she was so very much in love with him. Anything he desired was alright with her.

Fairview Drive was an exclusive community of upper middle class snobs. Lilly White and bent on preserving that image. However, my parents were exceptional pillars of the community, after all, Father’s investments had infiltrated the entire town and perhaps beyond. His presence was usually required at most meetings. But it was quire clear mother was never to keen about accompanying hi at community functions.

As a youngster I always tagged along with Father, and as I grew older Mother insisted that I go with him because she was to busy. I can hear her now in her soft spoken voice saying, Tom take Zee with you tonight, I have so much to do here, or Tom, take Zee to the meeting, she needs to learn the business. By the time I graduated from high school. I knew the business, buying, selling, and haggling.

My two best friends in the whole world Patricia (Pat) Burnside, and Sharon (Shay) Fisher, were already having breakfast when I came downstairs. It seems, Mother had called them last night, but I was asleep. We were friends since the first grade, Fairview High, and college; Fairview debutantes, pillars of society, representatives of our community. Pat was in politics, Shay was an attorney at law, and Zee, the business administrator. We were a team. How well I remember Father taking the three of us on vacation as a reward for our behavior and excellence in school. He always felt that we needed t keep in touch with the rest of the world.

Sometimes we would go places where the people were very poor, then Father would remind us to be thankful for what we had, and the never look down on anyone.

He and Mother were faithful members of the First Baptist Church, very heavy contributors. It’s as though they were trying to atone for being wealthy.

Father’s funeral was one befitting a king, a pioneer, or a diplomat, certainly not a poor dirt farmer’s son; a devoted husband or a loving Father. The Church was filled to capacity, and the service was unusually long. He did pave the way in the community, and they remembered in many different ways. There was diplomacy at its best, from the Rotary Club, to the Masonic Temple. Mother’s world revolved around Father, he was our King and I was Princess.

Pat and Shay never left my side, after the funeral and all the guest had gone, they remained. Mother retired to her rooms and Maude (her constant companion) was there for her. Out of all the help me had at the mansion, Maude was the closest to Mother, like a personal maid, only Mother never referred to her as one, and frankly, she never allowed anyone else to call her a maid. Personally, I loved Maude, she was Nana to me, and she taught me things which became valuable assets in my adult life I will always be grateful.

It is now six months since Father’s funeral, and Mother’s health is beginning to cause me deep concern. I had to rely on daily report from Maude, since I had to beast the office regularly. I tried talking to her each night, hoping that we would strengthen each other. But, this was not to be, she began to regress. Doc. Crenshaw referred Mother’s case to a specialist, who diagnosed her condition as mental depression. My concern deepened, mainly because both doctors were seeing Mother every day.

I didn’t want her hospitalized, so, I hired a private nurse, around the clock, to help Maude. Maude slept in Mother’s room, and I moved downstairs.

Pat and Shay were there for me as always, we watched as Mother’s condition worsens. She was like a baby, helpless, ranting and raving through the night. I distinctly recognized one word: Tom, Tom, Tom that blood curdling sound raced through me like a chilling wind. Howling! It was as though she was trying to tell me she was not coming back. Romeo, Romeo, where fore art thou Romeo?

Dr. Greene made it quite clear to me that Mother’s condition was not improving. The medication only made her comfortable. Frankly, she had lost her desire to live. This sadness was greater and more prolonged than that warranted by any objected reason. Surely, this could not be true. Some people mourn longer. Besides, my mother was a pillar of strength, one who persevered with unusual fortitude; the driving force behind father.

However, as I stared at her frail body, I knew that her strength, her being, depended on Fathers existence. He was her King, she his Queen, They loved with a love that was more than love. Oh the anguish of grief!

While I’m fully aware of immortal love, I find it incredible to fathom anyone pining their life away due to the death of a love one. But, Mother would be an exception to this rule. She died during the night, the suffering had ended. She died of a broken heart. I felt desolated, abandoned, losing both parents within a year created a chaotic situation for me. But, Pat and Shay did not leave me alone; true friends indeed.

Mother’s funeral was relatively the same as Father’s, in that, they both had lost their parents, they were well loved by the community, (a packed church). But, Mother was not affiliated with well known and popular clubs or organizations. Her functions were mainly Church activities, exchanging recipes, traveling with Maude on shopping sprees, or quilting with the sewing club. But, the ceremony was not formal or excessive.

The repast was rather lengthy. I imagine the thought of not frequenting the mansion as often anymore, would account for the lingering crowd as well as the delicious food. Of course delicious food was always available at the mansion. Mother did not cook; however, there was a variety of cooks for everyday folk, and many chefs for people of means.

Frankly, the community was always welcome at the mansion. Besides being a conversation piece the mansion was to the community what some city attractions are to tourist.

Rumor has it that the house once belonged to a big time mafia boss. This never bothered Father because he was always impressed with its uniqueness. I must admit it was exquisite, the way the mansion and the lake seem to enhance each other. Picturesque indeed!

Although the mansion symbolized luxury, my parents never flaunted wealth, but, this did not apply to me, I always felt like a princess, and there were times I actually played the part. Mother was always giving small parties; get together for special guests with hopes of finding a suitor for me. It was so obvious I was never interested in any of the eligible young men in the community, Oh, no this princess preferred to wait for her prince charming to sweep her off her feet.

After all, Father was King, Mother was Queen and I was the Princess. We lived in a mansion overlooking a beautiful lake. I deserved the best.

Pat and Shay had gone to their rooms earlier hoping I would get some rest also. Perhaps complete exhaustion was obvious in my face and actions. As I flopped on my sofa chair overlooking the lake, my body felt like one big mass of confusion.

Usually, I would flop, gaze out of the lake, and patiently await the ripples. The beam of light from sections of the mansion falling on the water painted a picture of serenity, and a gentle breeze would cause the water to ripple. The waves would swallow all my little annoying difficulties of the day, a peaceful sleep would always follow.

Nevertheless, I somehow knew this would not be one of those nights I stated at the beautiful lake, but, at the same time, there as a definite void of interest. Seemingly, my mind would only picture the death of Mother and Father. In realty I had gone from princes to orphan in the same year.

It has been one year since my tragic ordeal, and I must say I’, adjusting very well, and with the help of Pat and Shay I’m sure I’ll overcome anything of a depressive nature. Or so I thought. I had no way of knowing that events could occur that would: ruin my life, as it was; events that could devastate and leave me in a desolate state of mind.

Needless to say, such an event did happen, which was the turning point in my life. This was the day everything fell apart. My name is Zelma Elizabeth Hillsebeck; I live at 101 Fairview Lane, Jersey City, New Jersey. The mansion by the Lake.

I distinctly remember that fateful Saturday, three years after my parents’ death. Pat and Shay had stayed over to help me sort some paper work. Maude had gone shopping, and I needed some papers packed in a box in Mother’s room.

Now, if Maude was here, perhaps things might have been different, because Maude prohibits anyone from entering Mother’s room, unless she’s there.

I was about to call Pat because she was taking so long, when I heard her calling me with a sense of urgency in her