Easter peered down at the letter again.
Getty,
What of the love you whispered in my ear when you were buried deep inside of me? Was that a lie? Or has that bright bitch cast a spell on you? I beg you, meet me at our place by the river so that we can talk.
I love you.
Minister Tuck scratched the bald spot at the center of his head with one hand and used the other to fish his handkerchief out of the breast pocket of his jacket. He dabbed the cloth against his nose.
“You have been an exemplary teacher, Miss Bartlett, but as of late …” His words dropped away as he attended to his nose.
Easter waited.
“You seem to be distracted. But this …” Again his words faded, his face flushed scarlet, and he seemed to look to Easter to finish his thought. When she offered no help, he started again, dropping his voice an octave. “This is a Christian school, Miss Bartlett, and this,” he said, tapping his finger angrily against the letter, “is inappropriate. I would have to report it to the authorities. He is a child, you know, just fifteen years old.”
No, Easter did not know, and her head snapped up in surprise and disbelief. The reaction was telling. Minister Tuck fell back into his chair as if he’d been shot in the heart.
“Of … of course you would have to report it if I’d written it, but I didn’t,” Easter stammered. “I’m insulted that you would think me capable of such a thing.” Easter stood up. “It’s a joke. A childish prank,” she continued, her hands gripping the edge of the desk.
Minister Tuck was a man of God, a man of the cloth, but he was still a man, an imperfect being, and he’d had his waywardness, oh yes, his flesh had been weak. But he was a man, and certain behaviors were expected of men. But a woman?
Minister Tuck picked up the letter and shook it at Easter. “People have seen you two together.”
Who? she wanted to ask. They’d been careful. Very careful.
“Yes,” Easter barked and straightened her back. “I have tutored him on occasion.”
“Watch your tone, Miss Bartlett. You need to tread lightly.”
“You tread lightly, sir!” Easter bellowed back at him.
Tuck was stunned and reeled back in his chair. Easter’s face contorted with rage. She looked like a trapped animal and he had no doubt that she would pounce on him if he made any sudden moves. So they glared at one another, each waiting for the other to fold, and then finally Easter did and the anger whistled out of her.
Tuck slowly raised his hand and wrapped his fingers around the small silver cross that hung around his neck. Easter cleared her throat, smoothed the pleats of her dress, and calmly eased herself down into the chair.
Then she asked, “Where did you get this letter?”
She knew it had to be the girl. Sara Lee had probably fished it from his pocket during some childish act of foreplay.
Tuck squeezed the cross until the prongs cut into his palm and said, “The boy gave it to me.”
Praise the Lord if it ain’t Easter Bartlett!”
Their reintroduction took place in the colored car of the Atlantic Coast Line headed to Virginia. Easter had given the chestnut-brown woman a blank look. The eyes had seemed familiar, but the sophisticated hairstyle and dapper attire had thrown her.
“C’mon now,” the woman said as she wiggled her behind into the seat beside Easter. “It’s me, Madeline! Don’t be that way. We go too far back for you not to remember me.”
Easter looked harder.
The woman grinned, proudly patted her bobbed hair, and licked her painted lips before she curled her palm around her mouth, leaned close to Easter’s ear, and whispered, “Mattie Mae Dawkins, from down home Waycross, girl!”
Easter’s neck snapped. “For real?”
Mattie Mae Dawkins was calling herself Madeline now, and Easter supposed it was the right thing to do because she didn’t look much like the tenant farmer’s daughter Easter had known her to be.
Mattie Mae’s grin spread and she bubbled, “Sure nuff.”
“Why did you change your name?”
Madeline huffed, “Mattie Mae is country, and I’m a city girl now.”
“What city would that be?”
Madeline’s face unstitched and her fizzle went flat. “Why, New York City!” she said, as if that was the only city in the country or even the world.
“Oh.”
Madeline was returning to New York from Florida, where she’d spent two weeks with her sister and newborn nephew. She was heading back to Harlem, where she had a job in a beauty shop and a room in a row house.
Easter smiled inwardly. If she’d had any doubts about this woman being the former Mattie Mae Dawkins, the not-so-new Madeline had put them to rest. The rambling, the babbling, endless waves of words was vintage Mattie Mae. Easter was ecstatic to have her talking a mile a minute in her ear. Madeline reminded her of home and Easter was suddenly awash with nostalgia. And then the good feeling cracked when Madeline said, “Heard about your mama. Sorry …”
She didn’t mention Rlizbeth and Easter was thankful. The dead were better off than the living, so Easter knew her mother was fine. But she’d run off and left Rlizbeth in that house with that man who used to be her father and his new wife. Every day she tried not to think about that, and every day she failed.
“Thank you,” Easter said and patted Madeline’s knee.
The steel wheels of the train churned, streaking them past trees, homes, and children lined alongside the tracks, bearing teeth and pink gums as they hopped in place and waved gleefully at the passengers.
“So, where you headed?” Madeline asked.
“Richmond.”
“Richmond? I didn’t know you had people there.”
Easter didn’t have a soul there. But she’d purchased a ticket that would take her to the end of the line and the end of the line was Richmond, Virginia. Seemed as good a place as any.
“I don’t.”
Madeline frowned. “Well, why in the world you going there then? You got a job waiting for you?”
Easter shook her head.
“I don’t understand.”
She didn’t understand either. “Just some place new I guess.”
Madeline
