Read Online Celeste's Harlem Renaissance by Eleanora E. Tate - Free Book Online Page A

didn’t have quite as much water in it now. Even so, struggling up the steps to the stage with that bucket was like climbing the Statue of Liberty with her torch in my hands.
    We began the awful job of scrubbing, rinsing, and drying the enormous stage floor. Down on my tender knees, I trailed after Aunt Valentina. After the first hour I was as wet as the floor. The sweet voice that cheered me so when she came to Raleigh and that she’d greeted me with at the train station now snarled, “Go faster! Don’t let water sit on the floor. It’ll stain the wood. Girl, you missed all that soap!”
    My tears mingled with the rinse water. My back and knees throbbed. I’d scrubbed floors back home but not like this. Now I knew why Aunt Valentina walked bent over. I reckoned that I would, too, pretty soon. Just like in that book of fairy tales I loved to read at school, I felt like I was poor overworked Cinderella and Aunt Valentina was
both
mean stepsisters. She had changed from the beauty to the beast with her ugly ways almost in an instant. But this wasn’t a fairy tale. This was real!
    After a while I lost track of the time. I vaguely remember leaving the building and staggering in damp clothes through icy air and black streets with my schoolbag and Dede. I stumbled a lot. Seems the last time, I fell and didn’t get back up.
    A warm hand touched my cheek. Familiar perfume tickled my nose. Momma? When I opened my eyes, the face I saw was Aunt Valentina’s. Harlem, New York. No clothes. No Poppa. Where was Dede? I saw my violin at the foot of the bed I lay in, by my schoolbag, praise the Lord.
    “Good morning, sweetheart,” said my aunt in her regular calm, soothing voice. “I’m sorry you had such a hard introduction to New York. Have these poached eggs and toast.” She held out a tray.
    “Thank you,” I whispered back. I took the small tray of food and set it on my lap, careful not to let it touch my sore knees and legs. I told myself not to drop anything on the quilt covering me, either. It looked just like the one we had at home. My fingers were so full of water blisters that the fork slipped and fell into an egg. The yolk broke and poured into the white. Now, I knew about eating scrambled, fried, and boiled eggs. But did New York folks eat them raw? Not wanting to hurt Aunt Valentina’s feelings, I sopped at the egg with a piece of burnt toast and nibbled at it. It wasn’t too nasty.
    My aunt sat at a small table against the wall, drinking coffee from a large green cup, watching me eat. She still looked like how I had imagined her when I was on the train. At least that part hadn’t changed.
    I tried to think of something friendly to say. “Do you mind if I start calling you Auntie Val, for short?”
    She smiled, nodding. “Sure. But with an ‘i’— not ‘ie.’ Makes me think it’s fancier.”
    Encouraged, I continued. “Can we go to Easter service? We most always go back home, and I’m usually in the Sunday school program.”
    “It’s this Sunday, isn’t it? We’ll see. You’ll need to find something to wear.”
    “Oh, that’s right.” Damn that robber! “Maybe I can keep my coat on.”
    She nodded like she was sympathetic, but didn’t say anything else. Not knowing what else to say, either, I glanced around the room. It was tiny, for one thing. A small icebox and sink stood by the table, where a hot plate set. The four-poster bed I was in filled the whole end of the room. Bags, hatboxes, sacks, and shoes were piled on the floor along the walls. Dresses, coats, and other clothes swung from hooks and nails stuck in the walls. One white dress with a white head rag made me wonder if she was a nurse. Or was it a costume? A red, black, and green flag draped over the back of the front door. What country was that from?
    I tried to think of something else simple to say, because I was afraid to ask about the serious stuff. “Your coffee sure smells good.”
    “Oh, here.” When she poured a cup from