Thank you all so much for reading. Sorry for the long wait. :) Reviews are welcome. Give me your feedback. Tell me where you want to see this story go. Warning: this chapter contains the n-word and brief mentions of lynching.
"How is the reading?" Crane said while they waited for the trolley.
They glanced at each other in passing today. Abbie made sure to stay occupied with work, so he wouldn't make any attempts to speak to her until now, when the library closed, when people tucked themselves into their winter wear and went to their warm homes.
She's never read the play word for word, but Mama often quoted her favorite passages from it. Those were the ones she knew. It was nice to read them in their context.
"It's interesting. I'll return it Friday," she said.
"You may keep it as long as you wish. I doubt anyone is going to miss it."
"Thank you."
"You are most welcome, Miss Abbie."
"You can just call me Abbie."
"Miss Abbie is more so proper. Actually, it is most appropriate if I address you by your last name instead, Miss…"
"Mills. And suite yourself." She paused. "You really get into your reading."
He chuckled. "It is a habit of mine. I like to interact with the story. My markings didn't cause distractions from the text, did they? My sincerest apologies if they resulted in annoyance."
He underlined, circled, boxed, commented, questioned, and folded pages in half. She didn't mind and enjoyed reading his commentary.
"It doesn't bother me. It just means you're very observant. You take everything in."
"Indeed." He stared at her like he wanted to say more, but his eyes dropped to the snow.
"My Mama did the same thing in her copy. My dad teased her about it. He told her those characters wouldn't write back to her." She shook her head, smiled, and told him about how her dad hid the book.
Abbie still had it, but she kept it in a memory box she decorated for them. If she even flipped the cover open, she was afraid Mama would come from the grave and tell her to remove her damned hands. Mama never let her read her books but often told her about the stories and characters in them.
Crane laughed. "They sounded like quite the pair."
"They were."
"If I may ask, what happened to your parents? I noticed you referred to them in the past tense."
Abbie wasn't one to open up to a stranger so suddenly, but here she was, revealing. That one percent made her say things.
"They died. Our dad first. Then our Mama."
"I am so sorry for you and Miss Jenny's losses." He paused. "I, too, lost my parents. It was due to pneumonia. I miss them dearly."
She examined his downturned mouth and droopy eyes. Why was he so grief stricken? Her ulcer of anger wouldn't let her sympathize. Pneumonia. His parents died because of fucking pneumonia, not because one of them was chested with a bullet or because one of them split their wrist and let their blood flow freely like gusted wind chimes. But because of a harsh cough, because of a throbbing chest, because of breath that whistled and eventually gave out in their balmy sleep. Their death was peaceful and privileged. Death didn't carry her parents like that. She was ugly to them, reddish, lashing, speedy, white hate. No, she couldn't say sorry.
"That must've been hard."
"It was. How were your parents deceased?"
"You ask too many questions," she said.
"I am simply rather curious. You do not have to share."
"I wasn't."
"Very well. I understand. There are certain matters which are personal and intimate to one. I've no right to intrude."
She was glad he got it and tugged her coat around her neck. Her scarf would've been nice right about now if Jenny didn't swipe it from the coat rack on her way out. Somehow hers ripped. Abbie was annoyed, but she let her sister have it. She'd rather freeze instead of Jenny. When would this snow let up anyway? Was the trolley even on its way?
"Would you like to borrow my scarf? It is rather chilly out here."
Chilly was a fucking understatement.
"I'm fine," she said.
Sharing a book was one thing, but clothes? That's where she drew the line. She wouldn't accept it.
"Miss Mills, I do not want you to be uncomfortable. I insist." He removed it from his neck, held it out for her.
She shook her head. "What's the deal?"
"Pardon?"
"Why are you being so nice? What do you want?"
"I don't—"
"You're a white man offering your scarf, your book, to a black woman in 1960. You've defended me when that man was rude toward me. You've called me beautiful. There's no telling when the next trolley will come in this weather, but you let me take the last seat while you wait in the cold. Not to mention, you're nice to my sister and gave me your handkerchief. So what is it? What do you want, Ichabod?"
She was tired of them fogging the lines. There were rules that weren't supposed to be bent, even if they were in the North, a supposedly liberal and progressive state, a place for better opportunity for black people. That was shit. The whites up here were no different than the ones in the South. Racism wasn't terribly blatant here, but it still existed. Black people had a "proper place" in New York, too.
"Why must I want something from you, Abbie? Why mustn't I treat you with respect and dignity? Why mustn't I treat you like a lady? Why mustn't I treat you like a human being? That is what you are. Furthermore, I am not color blind. I am, indeed, white and male. You are an African-American woman. Miss Jenny is an African American woman. I know how America treats African Americans—"
Her ulcer of anger got bigger.
"You have no idea how America treats us. You know from what you watch on television and read in newspapers, but you will never know that, Crane. You can empathize, but that's it. You don't know hate. You don't know what it's like to be stripped of basic rights. You don't know what it's like to hear about or see a lynching. You don't know what it's like to watch your family being treated like shit."
"You are right. I won't ever know the plight of being African American. I apologize for my insensitivity, my poor choice of words. It was never my intention to upset you. I only meant that I am not ignorant to this country's attitudes toward Black Americans, which is utterly detestable. I truly am sorry, Abbie."
She sighed, pulled her collar closer. "What do you want?"
"As I told you before, I would like to be friends."
"We can't be friends."
"What is your rationale besides our skin color?"
Was he serious? Just because they lived in the North didn't mean they were safe, that she was safe.
"I could die. Is that rationale enough? If we were in the South, we wouldn't be having this conversation, let alone working together unless I was your maid."
She wasn't about to risk her life for a friendship she couldn't have publicly and one that people wouldn't accept. Abbie almost lost Jenny that night. The heavy waiting, the bottomless worry, the frantic pacing and crying. She wasn't about to subject her to that torment because she was buddy buddy with a white man.
"I would never want to put you in harm's way." He glanced at his scarf. "It would be much easier if we lived in another time, one where your life wouldn't be jeopardized for engaging with me. It's rather foolish and selfish of me to suggest such an idea in the first place. I fear I do not use my head some moments. I can be such a wishful thinker. I will not ask anymore. However, will you at least accept my scarf? You are freezing. I know what is custom and what is law, but you, as an African American woman in this world, deserve kindness and respect. I hope this is an indication of that."
It was hard for Abbie to believe that he genuinely wanted to be her friend, that he genuinely wanted to treat her the way she was supposed to be treated. And yet, that one percent of her believed him again. He was thoughtful. The trolley started to round the corner. She took his scarf.
"Thank you," she said.
Abbie knew they were both fucking crazy.
It smelled like wood and pine trees and was red and cozy, like warm socks out the dryer, but Abbie hid the scarf under her coat before she entered their apartment. She did not need Jenny asking her questions about where she got it from. This is the second time she's hid from her. It wasn't like her to lie to her, to keep secrets, but she didn't want Jenny to worry or get upset. Nothing was happening between her and Crane anyway. They weren't friends. They just were what they were.
"Hey, Abbs," Jenny said, turning off the stove.
She was always cooking. Abbie wondered how she did it so much. But she was grateful for hot and homemade meals, so she never questioned it.
"Hey. How was work?"
"The same old, same old." She shrugged. "You?"
"Same."
"Did you freeze out there?" Jenny giggled.
"Hell yeah. I needed my scarf, you know?"
"Sorry. Yours was right there. I didn't have time to find mine."
"So you say." Abbie walked to her room hang her coat and scarf up. Then she went into the kitchen, where her plate was on the table.
"I did buy myself another one after work, so you can keep yours. I have it in my room."
"You may as well keep it."
"Oh? It's your favorite scarf."
"It's my only scarf, but it's okay. You might lose one tomorrow or something."
"You already bought one, didn't you?"
Abbie ate some of her potatoes. "Something like that."
"It better be the best scarf ever for you to just let me keep yours."
She bit her lip. "It just may be."
"Well, thanks. And we have Corbin's this weekend." Jenny kissed her cheek before heading off to bed. "Night."
"Hey, kid," Corbin said when Abbie walked into the bakery.
"Hey, old man. Heard Joe was catching a cold."
He nodded. "Yeah. At home resting. I need all hands on deck today."
"You know I don't mind."
"Thanks, kid." He patted her shoulder. "Feel free to take any extras home."
"Will do."
Abbie headed to the kitchen, where Jenny mixed cookie dough. She removed her coat and the scarf, put on her apron, and washed her hands.
"How was class today?"
Class would never be class without Stella, without her blue ribbon and clumsy feet and determined chatter. She was missed.
"It was difficult." Abbie grabbed some dough from the bowl, kneaded it into a flat-like circle.
"Yeah, I can imagine. I still can't believe it. How is her family?"
"Trying to hold on. They're arranging her funeral in Georgia."
Stella's aunt and uncle would travel down South and stay for a few days. Any of her friends or co-workers were welcome to join them.
"Are you going to go?"
"As crazy as it is, I'm thinking about it."
"Seriously?"
"She was my student, Jenny."
"Anything could happen to you."
"You don't think I'm afraid?"
"What if you don't come back?" She paused. "I almost sure as hell didn't return that night."
Abbie flinched, stopped swirling the dough in her palms. There was nothing she could say because Jenny was right. And all of those feelings choked her. Her sister could have died. Abbie was terrified Jenny may receive the same call about how her and an officer got into an altercation or how she ended up hanging from a tree in the woods.
"We are all we get, Abbie."
She hugged Jenny and kissed her forehead as she cried. Could she really risk it? Could she really leave her sister to worry herself mad? Could she recreate that trauma for Jenny, for herself even?
"You're right."
No, she couldn't.
They slid the cookies in the oven.
"I'm going to stop by Stella's aunt and uncle's place for a bit. Maybe bring them some dessert. It's the least I could do."
"Do you want me to go with you?"
"I'll be okay. Thanks though."
"I didn't mean to give you a hard time. I just…"
"Jenny." Abbie shook her head. An explanation wasn't necessary. "I know. It's okay."
She nodded.
"I need you two kids upfront. I'm going to go to my office to call little Joey."
"We'll be up there," Jenny said.
"Tell him hi for me, Corbin." She patted his arm. "Hope he feels better."
"Thank you, Abbie. Just yell if you need me. I won't be long."
They nodded and made their way to the front of the register, where a white woman entered in a long trench coat and a knitted hat. With her nose erected high in the air, she barely made eye contact with them.
"Hi, what can we get for you?" Jenny said.
"I'll take two vanilla cupcakes." She held out her cash and quickly withdrew her hand, like she was afraid Jenny had something worse than cooties.
Jenny counted her change while Abbie fixed her order. She accidentally dropped one of the cupcakes.
"Damn it," Abbie said.
"You clumsy nigger," said the white woman.
She grew warm, a little panicky. They were the ones to really be careful about. Oh, how they twisted tales, like the white lady in Mississippi, who said Emmett Till flirted with her. That little boy turned up mutilated, beaten, drowned, and barely recognizable, leaving his mother and community with stones and stones of grief.
"It was an accident. She didn't mean it," Jenny said.
Abbie breathed. "You can have them free of charge. Give her back her change."
She crossed her arms. "Not until she apologizes."
It was hard for Abbie to bite her tongue in situations like this, but it was even harder for Jenny. This wasn't the time for her stubbornness and defiance and protection. She knew the consequences. The only reason she pushed the limit was because Corbin was here and gave her an out. He always defended her when she back-talked a customer, who left red-faced and empty-handed and didn't return. But Corbin wouldn't be there all the time.
"Now," Abbie said.
Jenny bit the inside of her cheek, huffed, and reopened the register. She slammed her money on the counter.
"You insolent nigger. How dare you? I'll have my—"
"What seems to be the problem?" Corbin said with his hands on his hips.
"Your workers are rotten. This one here dropped my cupcake on purpose while this one nearly threw my money at me. They should be fired or worse. I don't know why you insist upon hiring coloreds. They do nothing but steal and cheat. They are filthy niggers."
Jenny balled her fist, and Abbie took her hand, calming her. She prayed she wouldn't say anything. Sometimes, she had quite the temper.
"Ma'am, with all due respect, I suggest you get. These women did no such thing. You will not disrespect their character. Get."
"You're defending—"
"I said get. Now."
She stormed out, but not before telling them her husband would here about this.
"That bitch," Jenny said.
"You two okay?"
"Yeah. Thanks, Corbin."
He saved their asses and now he would take them home. That's what he did if they had an unpleasant occurrence with a customer. He didn't want them outside if there was a possibility of them getting hurt. That same customer could linger near the store, waiting for them. Corbin would never put them in danger if he could help it. He even made them wait a week or two before returning to the bakery.
"Abbie, Jenny, you know the drill."
They took off their aprons and hurried to the back to get their belongings. Abbie also packed a few desserts for Stella's family. As she wrapped the scarf around her neck, the bell on the door dinged.
"We are about to close for a moment, sir. You'll have to come back in about half an hour," Corbin said.
"Oh, very well."
It was Crane, who was the last person Abbie wanted to see, but oddly, he wasn't.
"Hello." He smiled. "It is nice to see you two lovely ladies again."
Jenny grumbled while Abbie said, "You, too."
He glimpsed at his scarf. "It looks rather charming on you."
She wanted to cringe at his compliment. It was nice. However, she prayed her sister couldn't read between the lines, wouldn't put two and two together, but Jenny never missed a damned thing. She had a feeling she'd hear about it later.
"Thank you. It's keeping me warm. I hope you're staying bundled in this weather, too."
"Indeed I am. Thank you."
"You're welcome."
"Well, I see you all have to go. I shall return another day. I wish you both a great weekend."
"You, too." She gripped the scarf. "Thank you."
"It is my pleasure. Anyhow, I do not want to keep your time any further. Enjoy your afternoon." He smiled, tipping his head toward them.
She twisted his scarf around her hands. He had a way of glinting a little hope in her.
"If you girls need anything or see anything, you let me know," Corbin said after he stopped in front of their apartment building.
They nodded.
"Thanks, Corbin," Jenny said.
"I told your Mama I'd keep an eye out for you two. Be careful. And Jenny—"
"I know."
"I want you safe, okay?"
"Yeah."
Abbie thanked Corbin again and they went inside.
"You need to fucking cool it, Jenny," she said, slamming the door behind them.
"Me? What the hell was that with library man?" Jenny said.
"We're talking about you and your damn temper right now, not me."
"My temper shouldn't be the issue when you're the one entertaining a white man. Are you fucking serious, Abbie?"
"I'm not entertaining anything or anyone."
"You're wearing his fucking scarf."
She took it off and threw it on the ground. "Happy?"
She paced. "I still can't believe this. How did you think this was okay?"
"Why am I being singled out? Your slick fucking mouth could get us in trouble, too, Jenny."
"Somehow, it doesn't seem as bad as what you're doing."
Why was Abbie the bad person? She didn't like that they pointed fingers. They knew the ramifications. One action wasn't worse than the other.
"It's nothing. He's—"
"What? Kind?" She chuckled. "And you're telling me to cool it. After what happened to me? Do you really think he's so gentle, that he gives a shit?"
Her and Crane weren't together. She doesn't know why she wants to stick up for him. She understood where her sister was coming from, but this was nothing. The lumps of guilt in her stomach didn't tell her that.
"We're not even friends, Jenny."
"Like it fucking matters. I've seen how he looks at you. He likes you. And I have a feeling you won't be able to draw the boundaries. You didn't even tell me about this. You lied, Abbie. To me. Of all people. What other trinkets did he give you? What other sweet things did he say? You're supposed to be on your guard. What would—"
"Shut up. Do not bring Mama into this. I am not the only who has to be responsible."
"You aren't. I have work to do, too. I'll admit it. But I'm not stupid enough to keep the wrong company."
Abbie shouldn't have said what she said. She knew better. She was oldest, the example. And Jenny was angry, hurt, and pushed her buttons. Abbie knew how to push hers too.
"Fuck you, Jenny."
Then she grabbed the pastry box and left, slamming the door behind her again. She stomped up the stairs to Stella's. Jenny didn't know what the fuck she was talking about. Abbie wasn't keeping company with him. They weren't friends, and she had no intentions of crossing boundaries because she wouldn't need to draw them in the first place. They weren't together. And yet, what Jenny said had a bit of truth and forced her to ask the question she tried to ignore. Did she want to cross the boundaries? She knocked on the door before she gave herself the answer.