Read Online Celeste's Harlem Renaissance by Eleanora E. Tate - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Eleanora E. Tate
Tags: JUV016150
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the pot on the hot plate and brought it to me, I froze. Neither my parents nor Aunt Society allowed me to drink coffee. Aunt Society, who was always on the lookout for things that would make me darker-skinned than I was, said drinking coffee could make me black. I didn’t believe coffee could make anybody black, because Poppa and the old bat drank it and they stayed the same color. Momma hadn’t drunk it at all.
Being this far from home and Aunt Society, I decided to give it a try, just to see. But before I could wrap my fingers around the handle, Aunt Valentina took the cup away. “I forgot. You’re too young to drink that. I’ll fix you some mint tea.”
As she filled the pot with water at the little sink, she said, “We need to have a good girl talk and catch up on everything. But right now I have to go out for a bit. While your clothes dry, you can wear that blue waist and skirt hanging from that hook. Oh, wait! I meant to ask earlier. How was Taylor when you left?”
“Fine,” I said around a mouthful of raw egg.
Wrong answer. She frowned up. “He couldn’t be fine. He has consumption. When does he go into that sanitarium? Or do you not know?”
“No, ma’am, he’s not fine, but he’s still stirring. I don’t know when he goes in, but Mr. Hodges said it should be sooner and not later.” I smoothed out the quilt on the bed. “We have a quilt just like this at home.”
Her frown disappeared. “Momma — your Grandma Lassi-ter — made one for me and one for your momma when we were little bitty girls. Momma was one of the best seamstresses in Raleigh. She taught your mother how to sew, but I managed to avoid learning. It’s a Seven Sisters quilt. See the seven points? This yellow’s from an old tablecloth, this white’s from old sheets, and this green’s from a skirt she had. I forget now where the burgundy cloth is from.”
She rinsed out her cup at the sink, then gathered up her coat, hat, and purse. “I’ve got to go out for a little bit. I’ll be —”
“Oh, but can’t I go with you? What if there’s a fire, or a terrible storm, or somebody tries to break in? What if —”
“Oh, girl, you’ll be safe. You can always go next door to Mrs. Dillahunt’s, in Nine-A.” She pointed to the wall beside the bed. “She knows you’re here. Now I
must
get going. Just feel right at home. What there is of it. Oh, and I keep a chamber pot under the bed, and you can wash up at the sink. You can take your bath and do your other business in the lavatory. It’s the door by that pretty fern plant in the hallway. Mrs. Dillahunt and I are the only ones on the third floor of this boardinghouse, so we have the lavatory to ourselves. Bye now.”
Then the door closed and the room was as quiet as a coffin. I was by myself in big old hog slop, poached-egg-and-burnt-toast-eating, sweatshop-working, floor-scrubbing New York City. My new home.
Chapter
Six
A s soon as Aunt Valentina left, I propped the chair she’d been sitting in against the door. That helped me feel more secure, since I saw a hole where a key could go, but she hadn’t left me one. On the way back to the bed, I noticed a framed photograph on the wall. Two women in pretty dresses — one standing, the other in a chair holding a baby — stared unsmiling at me. Behind them stood a handsome, unsmiling young man in a suit, with his hand on the seated woman’s shoulder. Friends of Aunti Val’s, probably. Somebody’s family? Unlike my family, at least they were together. But here I was, all by myself. How could I persuade Aunt Valentina to return to Raleigh with me, so we could be a family together again, too?
“Oh my, look at me, in New York City sipping tea,” I said aloud. Hey, I’d made a poem. Thinking of “Forsythia,” I remembered that I’d lost our only copy of the
Brownies’ Book
magazine. If only I’d placed it in my schoolbag.
Momma would say I should quit thinking sad thoughts and that I wouldn’t get much done
Being this far from home and Aunt Society, I decided to give it a try, just to see. But before I could wrap my fingers around the handle, Aunt Valentina took the cup away. “I forgot. You’re too young to drink that. I’ll fix you some mint tea.”
As she filled the pot with water at the little sink, she said, “We need to have a good girl talk and catch up on everything. But right now I have to go out for a bit. While your clothes dry, you can wear that blue waist and skirt hanging from that hook. Oh, wait! I meant to ask earlier. How was Taylor when you left?”
“Fine,” I said around a mouthful of raw egg.
Wrong answer. She frowned up. “He couldn’t be fine. He has consumption. When does he go into that sanitarium? Or do you not know?”
“No, ma’am, he’s not fine, but he’s still stirring. I don’t know when he goes in, but Mr. Hodges said it should be sooner and not later.” I smoothed out the quilt on the bed. “We have a quilt just like this at home.”
Her frown disappeared. “Momma — your Grandma Lassi-ter — made one for me and one for your momma when we were little bitty girls. Momma was one of the best seamstresses in Raleigh. She taught your mother how to sew, but I managed to avoid learning. It’s a Seven Sisters quilt. See the seven points? This yellow’s from an old tablecloth, this white’s from old sheets, and this green’s from a skirt she had. I forget now where the burgundy cloth is from.”
She rinsed out her cup at the sink, then gathered up her coat, hat, and purse. “I’ve got to go out for a little bit. I’ll be —”
“Oh, but can’t I go with you? What if there’s a fire, or a terrible storm, or somebody tries to break in? What if —”
“Oh, girl, you’ll be safe. You can always go next door to Mrs. Dillahunt’s, in Nine-A.” She pointed to the wall beside the bed. “She knows you’re here. Now I
must
get going. Just feel right at home. What there is of it. Oh, and I keep a chamber pot under the bed, and you can wash up at the sink. You can take your bath and do your other business in the lavatory. It’s the door by that pretty fern plant in the hallway. Mrs. Dillahunt and I are the only ones on the third floor of this boardinghouse, so we have the lavatory to ourselves. Bye now.”
Then the door closed and the room was as quiet as a coffin. I was by myself in big old hog slop, poached-egg-and-burnt-toast-eating, sweatshop-working, floor-scrubbing New York City. My new home.
Chapter
Six
A s soon as Aunt Valentina left, I propped the chair she’d been sitting in against the door. That helped me feel more secure, since I saw a hole where a key could go, but she hadn’t left me one. On the way back to the bed, I noticed a framed photograph on the wall. Two women in pretty dresses — one standing, the other in a chair holding a baby — stared unsmiling at me. Behind them stood a handsome, unsmiling young man in a suit, with his hand on the seated woman’s shoulder. Friends of Aunti Val’s, probably. Somebody’s family? Unlike my family, at least they were together. But here I was, all by myself. How could I persuade Aunt Valentina to return to Raleigh with me, so we could be a family together again, too?
“Oh my, look at me, in New York City sipping tea,” I said aloud. Hey, I’d made a poem. Thinking of “Forsythia,” I remembered that I’d lost our only copy of the
Brownies’ Book
magazine. If only I’d placed it in my schoolbag.
Momma would say I should quit thinking sad thoughts and that I wouldn’t get much done
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