“That’s not true.”
“Do you see how he looks at me? Like he wishes I was dead.”
“It’s all in your mind, Emma.”
“He thinks we don’t want him, that we abandoned him!”
“You’re just emotional because of your father, and Harlan is overwhelmed too. Tenant’s death took a lot out of both of you.”
“You think so?”
“I know so. Give him time, he’ll come around.”
* * *
One afternoon, Harlan wandered into the kitchen to find Emma standing at the window. He tried to back away, but it was too late, she’d already sensed his presence.
“Harlan?”
“Yes ma’am?”
Emma spun around to face him. Her eyes were bloated and red from crying. She didn’t expect sympathetic words, though she did hope to see a glint of pity in his dark eyes. But there was nothing there.
“Yes ma’am,” he repeated flatly.
Incensed, Emma shook her fists, barking, “I lost someone too, you know! He was her husband, but he was my father. I hurt too!” A fresh torrent of tears spilled from her eyes.
Harlan stared passively at her, unsure of what was expected of him; he droned once again, “Yes ma’am.”
“I am not your ma’am. I’m your mother!”
Harlan fled from the kitchen, up the stairs, and back into the safety of Louisa’s bedroom.
Chapter 17
Finally, the day came when Louisa, dressed in mourning black, joined the family in the dining room for breakfast.
Setting a plate of sausage and eggs down before her, Emma asked, “How you feeling, Mama?”
“How you ’spect I feel? I ain’t never gonna feel right, ever again. Pass me them stewed apples, I need something sweet in my mouth.”
Emma handed her mother the bowl.
“I see you all packed up and ready to go,” Louisa said, scooping the apples onto her plate.
“Well, yes. Sam has to get back to work and I—” Emma stopped. There was really no reason for her to leave. She could stay a few more weeks; Sam could make do without her. But since Harlan hadn’t made her feel especially needed or wanted in the house, she didn’t see the sense in staying on. “Sam has to return to work or he won’t have no job to go back to.”
“I see. When y’all planning on leaving?”
“Tomorrow. First train.”
Harlan’s face broke into a smile so wide, it showcased every tooth in his head. It was all Emma could do to keep from slapping that grin clear off his face.
“You gotta stay till Friday, Emma,” Louisa said. “That’s when the lawyer will be ’round.”
“Lawyer? For what?”
“To read the will.”
* * *
Turned out, Tenant owned not just the family house in Macon but acres of land in Warner Robins and a warehouse in Milledgeville. He held savings accounts in two different banks, war bonds, and a life insurance policy worth five thousand dollars.
While the lawyer rattled off Tenant’s assets, Emma and her brothers were slack-mouthed with astonishment.
The lawyer went on to say that it was Tenant’s wish that all of the property (except for the family home) be sold off, and the proceeds split between Louisa and their children.
Emma was aghast. “Mama, did you know Daddy had all this?”
“That we had all this? Yes, of course I knew.”
“But how . . . how did he . . . you all acquire so much?”
Louisa sighed wearily.
“Mama?”
Louisa reached for Emma’s hand. “Let’s just say that God has been very, very good to us.”
* * *
Sam and Emma didn’t return to Grand Rapids, not even to collect the clothes they’d left behind. Emma said it wasn’t worth the train fare.
“Well, what about your piano?”
“That old thing?” She waved her hand. “Why would I go back for that when soon I’ll have enough money to buy a brand-new one?”
* * *
It took five months to settle Tenant’s estate. In May of 1923, Emma and Sam took her inheritance and set off for New York to visit Lucille.
Chapter 18
The Greyhound bus arrived in the bowels of the Manhattan night. Country mice that they were, Emma and Sam couldn’t help but gawk at the throngs of people swarming along the city streets, lit bright by marquees burning hundred-watt lightbulbs.
They were met by Lucille and her husband Bill—a tall, nut-brown man with a smile almost as stunning as Sam’s.
Almost.
After hugs and handshakes, the couples climbed into Bill’s late-model car and set off for Harlem.
When they stepped into Lucille and Bill’s large home, Emma’s mouth dropped wide open. “This all yours?”
“Well, me and the bank!” Lucille cackled as she toured them through rooms replete with chandeliers and miles of shining hardwood floors. “These rugs come straight from Turkey.”
“Turkey?”
They wandered beneath the fourteen-foot ceilings, past built-in bookshelves, into one of five bathrooms where Sam pointed at the sink and jokingly commented, “That faucet look like real gold.”
“That’s because it is,” Lucille said with a smirk.
Lucille’s parents and siblings were now living with her. “You got a house full,” Emma commented. “Me and Sam could get a room somewhere.”
“Chile, please,” Lucille replied. “Even with all these folks up in here, I still got one empty bedroom.”
A mixture of pride and awe for Lucille swelled in Emma’s chest, but then, rather suddenly, it was drowned in a sea of unworthiness. Her mood darkened; embarrassed, she feigned a headache and retired to a bedroom so lavish that she lay awake fighting back tears until dawn.
