You Never Know: A Christopher Family Novel

By W. D. Foster-Graham

The Christopher Saga Continues

This sequel to “Mark My Words” tells the story of Elijah Edwards, current patriarch of the Edwards branch of the Christopher family and first cousin to Allan Beckley Christopher. Eli bears the legacy of a wealthy, powerful African-American family with generations of old money. He has also inherited a “gift”—one that can bring happiness, joy, pain or tragedy randomly.

From his power couple parents, Eli learned the values of family, service, commitment, integrity, work ethics and the responsibility that came with wealth. His is a family that sets standards rather than follows them, and the Edwards family has put their stamp prominently on the community. He knows well the family motto: “You never know what hand in life you’ll be dealt.”

Will Eli’s “gift”, however, help him or hurt him when he needs it most?

Through his wife of fifty-seven years, his sister, his children, nephews and niece, we will learn of the influence he and his “gift” have had on their lives.

The time is 2007; the place, Minneapolis.

BOOK ENDORSEMENT:

From the profound, prolific pen of W. Foster-Graham—a longtime brother, classmate, bandmate, bass singer and friend—comes a must-read classic gem, You Never Know.

The scope, depth, and breadth of his work comes as no surprise to me! I have shared the stage with W. Foster-Graham since elementary school with Twin Cities Talented Youth at Orchestra Hall, with the Minnesota Orchestra. Even at that early age, he exhibited brilliance and exceptional insight. Those qualities are magnificently manifested in the outstanding craftsmanship of You Never Know.

W. Foster-Graham takes the reader on an intricate, intimate, and intriguing journey through the individual and interactive life experiences of the Edwards branch of the Christopher family. Their story is told through the focus of patriarch Elijah Edwards and yet, W. Foster-Graham’s uniquely engaging style makes the reader feel as though they are experiencing this amazing journey firsthand!

You will be thoroughly fascinated by You Never Know. Do not deprive yourself of this life-changing masterpiece!

Gary D. Hines
Music Director and Producer
3-Time Grammy Award-Winning Sounds of Blackness

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Sep 28, 2018
• ISBN: 9781546257530

W. D. Foster-Graham

W.D. Foster-Graham is a native son of Minneapolis, Minnesota. He received a B.A. in psychology from Luther College, with a minor in Black studies. He is an original member of the 3-time Grammy Award-winning ensemble, Sounds of Blackness. He has also been recognized by the International Society of Poets as one of its “Best New Poets of 2003,” and is a guest writer for Wyatt O’Brian Evans (The Huffington Post, the Washington Post, the Advocate). He is the book review editor for Insight News, a Black community newspaper in the Twin Cities. His passion for writing was inspired by his father, who read voraciously. His tastes in writing run to historical fiction, family sagas, and romance, seasoned with his own brand of African American flavor—at the end of the day, it’s all about the love. He shamelessly admits to a love of romance novels, whodunits, and classic movies of old Hollywood. He also received inspiration from the late novelists E. Lynn Harris and Toni Morrison. In Toni’s words, “If there is a story you wish to read, and it hasn’t been written yet, then you must be the one to write it.” Retired from the field of teaching, he loves travel on the open road and time with his husband and son when not in writer’s mode. This is the 7th novel in his Christopher Family Novel series.

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© 2018 W.D. Foster-Graham. 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 09/10/2018

ISBN: 978-1-5462-5754-7 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-5462-5753-0 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2018910125

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

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

Acknowledgments

Author’s Note

The Edwards Family Tree

Prologue: August 1, 2007

Donna Gray Edwards

Deborah Edwards Hendricks

John Gray Edwards

Elijah Simon Edwards, Jr.

Melvin Louis Edwards II

Julian Marlowe Berry-Edwards

Douglass Merrill Edwards

Darius Timothy Edwards

Wayne Edwards Hendricks-Bell

Kevin Harlan Hendricks

Doris Hendricks Kennedy

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Phoenix

Epilogue: November 4, 2008

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I would like to acknowledge the following: Arthur and Shelly Foster; Elaine Glanton Dyer; Steven and Linda Berry; my fellow Sounds of Blackness alumni; my Central High classmates; Shanasha Whitson; Kevin Moore; All God’s Children, MCC; my colleagues from the Sabathani Life Skills Center; Kim Riley; Alan Martinucci; Audrey Banham Smith (my inspiration for The Look); Rhonda Byrne; Jack Canfield; Joe Vitale; Lisa Nichols; Patricia George; Angela Woods; LaTonia Williams; Sandra Nolen Johnson; Trudy White (my listening ears); Stephen Berry; Pamela Taylor-Berry; and my brothers and sisters in Christ at St. Peter’s AME Church and Christ the King Lutheran Church.

This book

is dedicated

to Walter and to Edward Lee

and to the memory of Dad, who encouraged me to be a storyteller.

AUTHOR’S NOTE

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

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THE EDWARDS FAMILY TREE

Melvin Edwards (Lillian Christopher) (married 1924)

Elijah Edwards Sr. (Donna Gray) (married 1949)

John Edwards (Helen Powell) (married 1981)

Louis Edwards

Justin Edwards

Elijah Edwards Jr. (Sandra Harrison) (married 1970)

Darrell Edwards (Kenisha Williams) (married 1993)

Veronica Edwards (Nigel Moriarty) (married 1995)

Lucius Bradley Edwards

Melvin Edwards II (Fontelle Mills) (married 1979; divorced 1982)

Jerome Edwards (Ariel Franklin) (married 2004)

Julian Edwards (Carter Berry) (married 1983)

Donna Joycelyn Berry-Edwards

Lillian Berry-Edwards

Jeremiah Edwards (Xenobia Dobbs) (married 1957)

Douglass Edwards

Darius Edwards (Mara Saunders) (married 1989)

Demetria

Deleon

Diana

Deborah Edwards (Woodrow Hendricks) (married 1951)

Wayne Hendricks (Theophous Bell) (married 1978)

Ronnell Hendricks-Bell

Jermaine Hendricks-Bell

Kevin Hendricks (Willona Loomis) (married 1982)

Keith

Kandra

Kendra

Doris Hendricks (Eugene Kennedy) (married 1980)

Stephanie Kennedy (Mari Logan) (married 2006)

Dorian Kennedy

Woodrow Kennedy

Prologue: August 1, 2007

Elijah Edwards, Jr. headed for the office with a sense of satisfaction and excitement after having heard from his cousin, Vickie. One thing was a given about working for Christopher Electronics: the company knew how to recognize its employees and treat them well, guaranteeing happy workers and the best results. The testimonial for his father tomorrow was but one example. When Vickie’s father, Allan Beckley Christopher, had opened the regional office for Christopher Electronics in Minneapolis in 1971, Elijah Edwards, Sr. had been his first choice to manage it, and it had continued to be one of the top revenue-producing offices for the company. Dad had since moved on to a seat on the board of directors, but Allan had never forgotten how invaluable his skills and ethics had been back in those early days.

Eli’s Lincoln Navigator SUV cruised smoothly along Golden Valley Road, and a David Sanborn compact disc lifted his already positive mood. Having been a regional manager for the past ten years, Eli was grateful to his dad for grooming him so well to assume the position of regional vice president. It had not been an easy task to fill his shoes, given the fast pace of the information age and technology. However, the core values and work ethic Dad had instilled in him had encouraged Eli to stay on the cutting edge, as expected by headquarters.

Sandra had already finalized their travel plans for their trip to Lisbon next week. With all the plans for Dad’s testimonial tomorrow keeping Eli and his staff busy, his wife’s birthday gift to him of this extended holiday was a blessing, and he hoped the Portuguese he had learned would hold him in good stead. His soon-to-be fifty-five years were showing up in his salt-and-pepper hair and the laugh lines on his face, and the sun had deepened his mocha complexion. He was happy to hear that his daughter Veronica and her family had already arrived from London for the festivities. She had been married for eleven years and was now the mother of two children, but only in the past few years had Eli gotten accustomed to her being Lady Moriarty, Viscountess of Rothmere. He could still see her in his mind as the little girl who would get just as down and dirty in the mud and sand as her brothers and cousins. On the other hand, his Auntie Debbi relished every opportunity to tell any new person she met that she had a grandniece who was part of the English nobility, savoring the gaping mouths of skeptics after she pulled out clippings from the London Times society pages as confirmation of her status.

The Minneapolis Convention Center had been more than happy to handle the accommodations for Dad’s dinner. It had been gratifying to know that so many of the family would be in attendance. All of the Edwardses were preparing for the festivities, not to mention the steady arrivals of Allan’s extended family at Minneapolis-St. Paul International Airport. Limousines and personal vehicles had been coordinated for pickup and delivery, and were transporting his relatives and employees to various hotels downtown.

Eli’s mouth broke into a knowing smile as he pictured his mother, Donna Gray Edwards, wielding her scepter of organization over the social activities during the past few days, with Aunt Xenobia and Auntie Debbi as her stalwart ladies of the court. She would have given Gen. Colin Powell a run for his money in terms of military precision. Auntie Debbi loved this sort of thing, as well. She plunged into it with an inquiring mind that wanted to know everything. He grimaced slightly as he pictured Aunt Xenobia’s part in the process, with her grumbling, bitching, moaning, whining, and complaining while she was getting things done. Though he felt guilty for thinking it, he sometimes wondered if Uncle Jeremiah’s death had been his way of escaping her. Maybe that was why his cousin Douglass had never married. Fortunately, Mom had a way of keeping Aunt Xenobia in line most of the time.

Eli had to give Vickie all of her props, and not only because of the news she had shared with him. When she had gone into the business with her father, Christopher Electronics was already a Fortune 500 company. Since Allan had appointed her CEO, she had taken the company into the ranks of the Fortune 100 and kept it there. Vickie had been profiled in all the major business magazines, interviewed by Oprah, and recognized by such publications as Essence, Ebony, and Black Enterprise as one of the most powerful African American businesswomen in the nation. At fifty-three, Victoria Christopher Mitchell was still so beautiful she had younger men falling all over themselves when she entered a room. However, she always made it clear by word and deed that the only man for her was her husband Travis. Eli respected and admired their successful marriage and family.

As for her father Allan, he was already a legend in his own time, standing in the ranks of A.G. Gaston, Madame C.J. Walker, Henry Parks, Jr., and John H. Johnson. His was a family success story that had inspired and helped so many people in his lifetime. Who knew that Allan Beckley Christopher, Little Mr. Fixit who had come from such humble beginnings in Kansas City, Missouri, would become one of only three African American billionaires in this country?

Eli turned onto Theodore Wirth Parkway, appreciating the scenic beauty of its trees and well-tended foliage, a pleasing alternative to the gridlocked freeways of rush hour. He had always loved the summer days when he took his family for Sunday drives around the city’s notable lake and parkway system. Darrell and Veronica had looked forward to them when they were little; they always seemed to discover something new along the way. Nowadays, Darrell was often busy with his family and his duties as an associate pastor, but not so busy that he couldn’t take time out to touch base with Eli and his grandparents. Even now, every once in a while, Eli and his oldest son would take a drive just to shoot the breeze, occasionally accompanied by his youngest son Bradley. A recent college graduate, Bradley was enjoying the summer break before he started his position in the graphics department at Christopher Electronics, and his boyfriend Rico was a frequent guest at Sunday dinner.

It didn’t seem so long ago that the men of the Edwards family had gone on their first fishing trip up in northern Minnesota. As the family patriarch, Eli’s grandfather, Melvin Edwards, had been in charge, with Dad, Uncle Jeremiah, and Auntie Debbi’s husband Uncle Woody as his assistants. It was exciting, being allowed to accompany them for the weekend. Eli had been nine at the time, and his brothers John and Mel—and cousins Wayne and Kevin—had also been included. Eli’s brother Julian and his cousin Douglass had been too young to go, and Cousin Darius hadn’t even been born yet. His grandfather owned the cabin, but it was still considered camping, because they all brought sleeping bags along with their fishing gear. As difficult as it was to stay still, Eli’s vigilance paid off when he caught his first fish. Their most recent trip had required three cabins to accommodate everyone, but the spirit of the weekend was, as always, infectious. The men returned loaded with fish and good cheer, and seeing Dad laughing and dispensing his words of wisdom had touched Eli’s heart.

What a day it’s going to be, he thought as he turned off the CD player to catch the latest weather and traffic reports on the radio. Instead, he heard the following: We interrupt our scheduled broadcast for a breaking news story. The Interstate 35W bridge across the Mississippi River has collapsed….

Donna Gray Edwards

Was it a lifetime ago? Or was it only yesterday that I met Elijah? Sometimes, it’s hard to tell. It’s gone now, but the 38th Street Delicatessen will always hold memories for me of that autumn day in 1947. Sure, we had both attended Central High School, but I graduated in 1940, and he did so four years later. Young folks today would have called him under the radar. In those days, women usually dated and married men who were older. World War II, however, changed that to a degree, and many Black men didn’t make it home from the war.

I was working in the housekeeping department at the Leamington Hotel back then, living at home with my parents. I was more than ready to move out and get a place of my own, but most young single Black women of class stayed at home until they got married. I was in no rush to marry. However, age twenty-five was prime time to secure a husband, and most of my classmates were already married and starting families. My older sister Aurelia, in fact, had married a month before her husband Rufus shipped out for World War II with the army in the spring of 1942. She gave birth to their first child, Rufus Barnett, Jr., eight months later. They didn’t waste time after he returned from duty, either. Their second child, Rowena, was born in February of 1946. By 1947, Aurelia was pregnant with her third child. The pressure was on.

The church mothers at St. Matthew’s African Methodist Episcopal Church looked at me as though I were a science project with a fast-approaching deadline. In the Black community, the hub and the rallying points that kept community spirit strong lay in the churches. There was always that sense of oneness during worship in the call-and-response of the worship and the Scripture readings, the Decalogue and the Gloria Patri. Regardless of one’s socioeconomic status, we were all equal in the eyes of God at the altar call. Our choir may not have sung at the Pentecostal level, but they were soul-stirring nonetheless. When people in the community were in need, this was where they came first, and the congregation responded to those needs. Only last month, Charles Sims and his family had lost their home in a fire, and the St. Matthew’s family was there to support them in the recovery process. In a city with a very small Black population in comparison to others of its size, looking out for one another was essential to our survival.

But back to the church mothers, bless their hearts. They constantly dropped subtle and not-so-subtle hints to Madear about eligible bachelors in the community. She, of course, took this unsolicited advice as a call to arms. My children, my nephews, and my niece all tell me I look like Gladys Knight, from the Motown group Gladys Knight and the Pips. I certainly have her lips, and Aurelia was right there in my face with advice like Donna, if you really want to catch a man, start putting on some lipstick. You’ve got lips that most women would kill for. And for heaven’s sake, do something to jazz up your wardrobe. I’m not sayin’ you have to look like a slut, but at least show off those hips of yours. You’ve got weapons, so use ’em.

Dad didn’t get involved in all this subterfuge; anyone I dated, though, still had to pass his inspection despite the fact that I was grown and working. Funny how that gets passed down—because Elijah and I had four sons, my approval carried more weight, even though Julian was a toss-up. Back then, I was perfectly content to curl up with a book or listen to the radio after my workday at the hotel, much to the dismay of Madear and Aurelia. That only made them more determined in their quest to find me a husband. When I actually did go out on an occasional date, Dad and Rufus were usually in deep discussion about Jackie Robinson and Joe Louis. If not that, there was plenty of shop talk, since Dad owned a gas station. The kids played in the yard as Aurelia and Madear treated the occasion like a Broadway production.

I was beginning to reach the limits of my patience with these stage-managed dates when I got off the 4th Avenue Line trolley car at 38th Street on that September day. I wanted nothing more than to get out of my uniform and into a hot bath, and call it an evening. However, I had promised Madear I’d stop and pick up some cold cuts from the deli for Dad’s lunch. The memory of my last date had stuck in my mind, even though I desperately wanted it to go away. Bert had wanted to think of himself as a charmer, leaning in close most of the time we were out that evening. I wondered if anyone had ever told him, to his face, that he had the breath of a camel. I could just picture the young women at his church keeping their fans going when he approached them for conversation. On the positive side, I could now do things that were more fun than dating Bert—like floss my teeth.

I stuffed my housekeeper’s cap and hairnet into my purse after I found my change. Working in it was one thing, but being reminded of it after punching out was quite another. My hot-pressed pageboy flip was still sleek enough to be presentable, since Madear always stressed a neat, put-together appearance when going out in public. Old Mr. Watkins was heading for the door as I went inside, and I gave him a smile as I held the door for him. I had always liked him. He was almost ninety and his steps were supported by a cane, but he possessed one of the sharpest minds of anyone I knew. Everyone in the community treated him with respect. After he left, I walked over to the counter to place my order. Mr. Ross was one of those men who knew his regular customers so well that he could anticipate what we wanted and have it ready almost before we finished making small talk. Such was the mark in the community of good businessmen, like Mr. Ross and Dad: find a need, meet the need, and meet it well.

I heard footsteps behind me, but I was too busy talking to Mr. Ross to pay any attention. I paid for my cold cuts and turned around to leave when I finally realized someone was standing behind me.

I’m about 5'8, and I found myself looking up at a 6'3 vision in a brown tweed coat. My heartrate went from zero to seventy in three seconds. Where had this man come from? Hazel eyes framed by a cashew-colored face and curly brown hair looked back at me as I wondered where the air had gone.

Uh, miss….are you alright? I heard a voice say.

Where had that voice come from? Oh. Right. It had come out of his mouth. I needed to grab some composure from somewhere. I was a twenty-five-year-old woman, not one of those teenyboppers who went into hysteria over Frank Sinatra. But those lips….if he dared kiss me in that deli, I had no doubt I would pass out. I was the sensible one. Things like this weren’t supposed to happen to me. I had heard there was a species of man known as a pretty boy, but I never dreamed I’d be standing three feet away from one. I heard him repeat, Are you alright? and then realized I was clutching my bag as if it were filled with hundred-dollar bills from Northwestern Bank. I took a deep breath and finally said, I’m fine. I’m….sorry I kept you waiting.

No problem. It’s not often I see someone as lovely as you in a deli.

Was this man actually flirting with me? Now I understood why Lena Horne sang You’re My Thrill. I struggled to assemble a coherent sentence, but my rational mind had fled for parts unknown, and I was stuck with Why, thank you, uh…uh….

Elijah. Elijah Edwards. And you are…?

D…d…d…Donna. Donna…g…g…Gray.

Nice to meet you, Donna. Are you sure you’re alright?

I’m….sure. I just….had a long day…at work. Breathe, breathe, I kept telling myself. Well, I don’t want to….keep you from your….order. I’ll just….go.

Wait, he called out as I headed toward the door. Don’t go yet. I’ll only be a few minutes here, and then I thought we could talk.

My rational mind came back for a brief appearance and told me, Leave while you still can. Why, oh why, did my body contradict me and walk back to him? Was I going to fly to pieces if he ever touched me? I had always been able to hold my composure with men, especially on an intellectual level. Never in my life had a man had this kind of effect on me. Sure, my mouth said.

Great. I won’t be a minute. He gave me a smile that made me feel like I was standing outside on the hottest day in July. As I wondered if God was playing a joke on me, he finished paying for his order and came to stand at my side. How about going over to Wilharm’s for a soda? We can talk there.

I nodded in agreement, and we left the deli. He unlocked the passenger side of a 1941 Buick sedan parked at the curb and opened the door for me, gently closing it once I was safely inside. The fact that I was riding up 38th Street with a virtual stranger didn’t even register. The name Edwards had a very familiar ring to it, but for the life of me, I couldn’t put my finger on why, at that moment. All I instinctively knew was that I would be safe with Elijah, and if I made it through our date without throwing myself at him, I would learn everything I could in that short space of time.

We were seated in a booth almost immediately after we arrived, and for the next hour, we talked almost nonstop between sips of ice cream sodas. I had been reading the Minneapolis Tribune regularly about the Cold War and the Minneapolis Spokesman for news of Black veterans. I had heard Rufus’ stories about combat in Europe, and how it had changed him. I enjoyed our exchange of ideas. While Bert had come from a don’t worry your pretty little head about those things mentality, Elijah respected my viewpoints, and was still extremely charming.

I’m surprised we haven’t met before. After all, Minneapolis isn’t exactly heavy on Black folks. His hazel eyes twinkled. Where did you go to high school?

Central, I replied, and then I went to work. What about you?

Same here. After I graduated, it was off to the army. They found out I had a head for electronics, and put me to work; then I went to Dunwoody after I came back home. Next stop is the U of M.

A man with ambition, I thought as I dreamily stirred my soda with the straw. That’s great. I know you’ll be a success. I lowered my lashes and raised them to show my appreciation and desire for more of his attention. I wasn’t disappointed, given the way he flirted with his eyes in that silent moment while sipping his soda. What was it about the way he wrapped his lips around that straw that made the place ten degrees warmer? You’re My Thrill started to haunt me again. What would it be like to dance in his arms—and possibly more? I needed to come back to earth, and a question that had been gnawing at me helped accomplish this. You know, if we both went to Central, we should have met. When did you graduate?

I was in the Class of ’44.

Oh no, I thought to myself. What have I gotten myself into? Rational Mind was telling me to stop trolling the junior high schools and back off, but my body was still in rebellion. That explains it. I was in the Class of ’40. Here it comes—his cue to cut and run. I was poised and ready for a brush-off, still not understanding why I was already aching for a man I’d known all of thirty minutes.

Without batting an eye, he gently reached over and took my hand in his. Well, Donna, do you mind if I say that I find you much more interesting?

Heat. Heat. Heat. More heat. It was getting harder to sit still, and Rational Mind was gone. I wanted to wet my lips in the worst way, but there were just some things a lady didn’t do on a first date—even an unexpected first date. I managed a smile with just a hint of promise. No, I don’t mind, Eli. Thank you for the compliment.

When we pulled up in front of the house, I was still tingling inside from our time at Wilharm’s, especially when he had gone to the jukebox and selected Bing Crosby’s Till the End of Time. I was dangerously close to weightlessness when I heard, I’ve really enjoyed our time together, Donna. It’s not often I meet a woman like you. I mean, you’re smart, and you don’t apologize for it or try to hide it. What I’m saying is, I’d really like to see you again.

I’d like that, too, Eli, I beamed. But there’s one thing you have to do first.

Sure. What’s that?

Come inside with me. My parents will want to know who you are. You know, protocol.

Stepping inside the door, I had barely gotten out my introductions when Dad hauled Eli into the den and Madear dragged me off into the kitchen. "Do you know who that is, Donna?" she exclaimed in a tone that made me think she was going to shout right there between the pots and pans.

Sure. He’s Eli Edwards.

"You don’t understand, Donna. He’s one of the Edwardses! I don’t see how you missed him. His family’s at St. Matthew’s practically every Sunday!"

So what? I just think he’s a great guy, so I brought him home because we’re going to be dating.

Well, you just tell your Mr. Eli Edwards that he’s welcome here any time, with our blessings! Madear beamed with eyes that screamed wedding!

So why is Dad grilling him like a cheese sandwich? I know that’s why he’s in the den.

That’s just your daddy’s way. You’ve known that ever since you and Aurelia were old enough to date.

By the time Eli left, he was in solid with Madear and Dad. They had given my unplanned first date their hearty stamp of approval. I called Aurelia shortly afterwards to break the news to her, knowing I’d never hear the end of it if I didn’t. The shriek that came from the receiver was so loud I pulled it away from my ear—for a moment, I thought she’d gone into labor. I swore she got to the house in three minutes flat, running from her car to our door like an eight-months-pregnant sprinter, poised and ready for every juicy detail she could get about Eli and me.

It was about a week later when Eli invited me to dinner with his parents. Madear and Aurelia had fussed over me for at least an hour—my dress, my hairdo, whether or not to wear pearls. You’d have thought they were being granted a special audience with Harry and Bess Truman. I had never been one to read the society section of the Spokesman, so it still hadn’t really dawned on me what Madear meant—until we pulled up in front of their home on the corner of East 34th Street and Portland Avenue. The mini-mansion with its carefully tended landscaping and brand-new Lincoln in the driveway whispered wealth. In my mind, I thought, Oh.

I could see where Eli had inherited his looks when I met Melvin Edwards. He was in his early fifties then, and in great shape. I had no doubt there were women my age who would have grabbed him if they could, for Edwards men apparently seasoned very well as they grew older. However, it was the woman standing beside him, whom he looked upon with such love and devotion, who protected him from the she-wolves.

Lillian Christopher Edwards—stunning was an inadequate word to describe this grande dame of the community. Her dark brown hair was freshly pressed and styled into an elegant upsweep. From what Eli had told me, she was in her late fifties, but she could easily have passed for a woman in her early forties. Her rich, burnished-copper skin exemplified a saying in the community: Black don’t crack. Her dinner dress was pure Christian Dior, accented with a small diamond pendant and matching diamond earrings. I was considered tall for a woman, but she had to be standing over six feet. It was obvious she was quite comfortable with her height, given the two-inch heels she wore. She was our society queen, and she knew it. Even as she extended her hand to me in cordial greeting, gracing me with a gentle smile, there was no mistaking the shrewd appraisal in her eyes. One word from this statuesque woman could make or break a person in the community. If I flinched, I was doomed before I ever got a chance.

I’m happy to meet you, Mrs. Edwards, I said, returning her smile. Eli tells me you graduated from Oberlin College. Isn’t that where Mary McLeod Bethune attended school?

Yes, as a matter of fact, she replied at the mention of one of our great Black educators.

Have you ever wondered what she would say about the state of education for our people in this country, after what it took for her to get through school?

I saw her expression change from calculating to thoughtful. Yes, I have, Donna. No matter what anyone says to rationalize it, ‘separate but equal’ in schools and education is anything but.

I agree. I know there’s going to be a time when schools will be desegregated across the country, but it’s going to take more people putting themselves on the line, not unlike our soldiers in this last war. Once they saw what life was like outside the U.S., I know they weren’t pleased about coming back to the same old attitudes. The military will have to make some changes, and soon. I wouldn’t be surprised if President Truman does just that.

I could feel the warmth of Eli’s eyes on me. We’d had these kinds of discussions already, but now his mother was regarding me with an entirely different attitude—one of respect. You know, Mr. Edwards and I have talked about that, especially after the Hastie Decision during World War II. Personally, I think we could use someone like Ida B. Wells right about now.

I felt my confidence increase. Yes, we could. To have a woman like her take on the racist climate of Memphis, tell our people in her newspaper to leave the city instead of enduring the indignities there, and then have them actually do it—that’s power.

Once Lillian was seated at the dining room table, everyone else could sit. Eli, following his father’s lead, pulled out the chair for me. Discussion was lively at dinner, as we discussed Ida B. Wells and her influence on Black history. I was introduced to Eli’s brother Jerry and his sister Debbi. Jerry thought it’d be cute to make remarks about a woman’s place. Lillian turned in Jerry’s direction, pulled her glasses down from the bridge of her nose, and looked down over them in a withering stare that I could only describe as The Look. Jerry practically swallowed his tongue in silence. In time, I would quickly discover that in many social situations, no one ever wanted to be on the receiving end of The Look.

As I observed the family dynamics, it was obvious where Eli had gotten his viewpoints about women, not to mention his comfort with dating an older woman. An empty head wouldn’t last three minutes in Lillian’s presence, and Debbi had been thoroughly trained in her image. I was also impressed by Melvin’s belief that wealth carried with it the responsibility of being of service to the community. This was not unlike Elizabeth Congdon up in Duluth.

Later on, when I did more research on Melvin, I would see a man of great integrity and honor. In addition to his responsibilities as chief executive officer of Edwards Enterprises, the family business, he was active in the NAACP and the Minneapolis Urban League. He encouraged his employees to invest in and support the community, especially the children and minority-owned businesses. At St. Matthew’s AME, Melvin continued to set an example by donating not only his money, but also his time. His actions in the Twin Cities served as a powerful testimony to those qualities.

After Eli drove me home, I had barely walked in the front door when I was dragged into the kitchen by Aurelia. Madear was seated at the kitchen table, and my sister plopped me down into a chair.

Well? Well? Aurelia was chomping at the bit.

Aurelia, calm down. Give your sister a minute, and she’ll tell us, Madear said with deceptive calm.

Well, the mansion is fabulous. It’s everything you could imagine they would have. Beautiful, exquisite pieces. The interior design of that place belongs on the cover of a magazine, but there’s a warmth to it.

I knew it! I knew it! my sister cried out.

So, tell us about dinner, Donna, Madear urged. What’s Mrs. Edwards like?

And don’t leave out a thing! Aurelia insisted.

Two weeks after my evening with Eli’s family, Aurelia gave birth to her third child, a boy they named Riley. I thought that would keep my sister busy, especially since Little Rufus had started kindergarten. Wrong. As long as she had access to a telephone, a newborn infant didn’t break her stride when she wanted news updates about my prospective candidacy as an Edwards bride.

Fall turned to winter—a rather long, cold one, at that. The snowfall was average for Minneapolis, even though Madear’s family in Lexington, Kentucky shuddered at the thought of coming up here during the months between November and March. In fact, despite all the years she’d lived there since marrying Dad, Madear had retained a slight Southern accent.

Well, March didn’t even give us a break. It roared all through the middle of the month, when the temperature hit -27. Eli hit the books for his classes at the U of M while I plugged away at the Leamington. This time, my money was going toward our future—a sort of mental hope chest. When we could, there were Sunday dinners at my house and Saturday dinners at his. Occasionally, there were dinners that brought both families together. And day by day, I fell more and more in love with Eli.

I felt far more relaxed knowing that Lillian— someone who shared my penchant for bookishness and intellect—was in my corner. One day in late spring, while we were having lunch, she asked me, You and Elijah are planning to have children when you marry, aren’t you?

I paused. Well, we both want children. But to be honest, he hasn’t proposed yet.

That’s beside the point. The point is, my son is quite taken with you. The last time I saw that besotted look on an Edwards man was when Melvin was courting me. Her eyes took on a faraway look that spoke volumes of very pleasant memories. Trust me, Donna, he’ll be asking for your hand sooner than you think. I have no doubt the two of you are a good match.

Thank you, Lillian. I love him, and I won’t be anything less than the best wife to him. Of course, I’ll expect the best from him, as well.

Lillian smiled conspiratorially. That’s the spirit, Donna. Never let it be said that a woman can’t be powerful and still be a lady. Now, about your children. There are a couple of things you need to know, and it’s best you know now. Although the Christopher side of the family is evenly balanced, the Edwards side runs to boys. In fact, it was a fluke that I had Deborah. So if you’re hoping for girls, I’d advise you not to hold your breath.

Well…the main thing is that we have children, so I guess I can live with that.

Lillian patted my hand. Good. Now for the second point. Edwards babies are also known for being—how shall I put this—robust.

I wasn’t too keen at the sound of this, but my inquiring mind wanted specifics. What exactly do you mean by robust?

To give you some examples, Donna, Elijah weighed ten pounds, six ounces at birth. Jeremiah was eleven pounds, one ounce, and Deborah was nine pounds, twelve ounces.

What? I gasped, almost spilling my tea.

Lillian sighed. I’m afraid so, Donna. I didn’t believe it when Melvin’s mother told me, either. But when you have an Edwards baby, expect it to weigh at least nine pounds. On the positive side, good health runs in the family, so you’ll be spared those childhood illnesses that befall most school-age children.

As I put my tea down on the coffee table to process this news, my thoughts went to Aurelia and her three children, noting the fact that none of them had weighed more than eight pounds at birth. I regarded my future mother-in-law with some anxiety. She looked as if she had probably delivered her babies without so much as breaking a sweat, if one could go on sheer force of personality alone. How many prospective Edwards brides had been chewed up and spit out by this woman before I had come along? How many had failed this particular test miserably? In that moment, some inner source of strength, and the power of my love for Eli, squelched the anxiety. I felt my spine straighten. I see. In that case, if you did it, I can do it, also.

A warm, affirming smile appeared on her face as she came over to embrace me. I knew it. I knew there was something different about you. This time, my son picked the right woman.

I didn’t know what possessed Eli to take me to Lake Calhoun on July 6, 1948—the hottest day of the summer. As the temperature climbed to 101, no one even thought about walking on concrete and asphalt surfaces barefoot, unless they were begging for first-degree burns. By all accounts, I would have said no and gone home to sit up under a fan after work. Another voice, however, reminded me of a golden opportunity to see Eli in swimming trunks again. I listened to that voice wholeheartedly.

Of course, by this time, I had heeded Aurelia’s advice about using my weapons. My halter-top swimsuit served me well, showing off my full breasts, and Eli’s amorous looks put some sass into my hips. The lake was pretty full of swimmers, and I wasted no time putting on a swim cap and jumping into the water to cool off. Eli was right behind me, his playful side most charming.

Normally, I made a picnic lunch when we went to the beach, but this time, Eli insisted on bringing it. I was sure that Ms. Reed, the Edwards housekeeper, had prepared it, so I was looking forward to a treat. When we got out of the water and went back to our blanket, I was anticipating not only the food, but the special touches she had undoubtedly added.

I know Ms. Reed has outdone herself today, I said, opening the picnic basket.

Eli pretended to look hurt. What makes you think she fixed all this?

Eli, you know I love you, but when it comes to cooking, Ms. Reed puts all the chefs in town to shame. Even as I said the words, I felt my mouth watering.

Okay. I saw a mysterious look in his eyes. At least let me make your plate.

Thank you, kind sir.

I hoped he wouldn’t hear my stomach growling as he took out two bone china plates and arranged a cold-cuts delight on them, followed by a loaf of fresh French bread, mayonnaise, and potato salad that would have made me slap the head chef at work. A smile crossed my face as Eli added a small vase filled with fresh-cut carnations, balancing it in the middle of the blanket. He carefully filled two crystal goblets with iced tea and smiled at me. It all felt so romantic that I tuned out the sounds of the beachgoers around us.

I thought it was a little unusual that he put the silverware out last, but I had to admit it was such a nice touch, wrapped in burgundy cloth napkins and tied with ribbons. It seemed almost a shame to start eating after all the care he had put into the presentation, but Eli simply said, Shall we?

By all means.

I untied the ribbon and opened my napkin, momentarily dazzled as the silver caught the gleam of the sunlight. If this is his idea of a casual picnic at the beach, I wonder what roughing it means to him, I thought. I had