The Wilful Daughter Read online

  “It was war, and there was so much death and sadness. Mr. Reuon went out to see what was happening and was shot upon leaving the house. The Germans did not come back to search the rooms. They believed he was one of those they had attempted to execute in the cellar. Madame Reuon was mad with grief and the nanny was doing her best with the children. I went out and found food and water for them, but when I returned Madame had a heart attack and died.

  “The nanny and I thought it best to find shelter some place else. So we left in the black of night with the four children. We were staying in a church and gathered with us more orphans, children who were not sure what had happened to their parents, if they were dead or alive.”

  Rosa released a tiny sob. “How sad.”

  “Yes, that is war. Sad and tragic. But the priest told the nanny and me of a place where the children would be safe and that’s where we took them. At least ten boys and girls we took to a place the Germans were not headed. The nanny died of pneumonia in the first few weeks, the journey was that hard. But I stayed with them until I got every one of them to the nuns at St Ives Convent. There I worked and remained for the rest of the war. One of the few places untouched by all the devastation.”

  The Piano Man finished his lemonade and was about to put down his glass when June appeared at his hand to take it and caressing his long fingers all at one time. “Thank you, Miss June.” He gave her a bright smile and June, who usually bubbled with conversation, quietly nodded.

  “Mr. Jenkins, you have led a fascinating life.” Bira said. “Why would you decide to come to Atlanta after all the time you spent in Paris?”

  Good question, Willie thought. Something must have happened there to send him back to the states.

  “Yes, Paris is very exciting for a colored man the way you paint it, Mr. Jenkins. Atlanta is just a big dull country town,” the Blacksmith added.

  The questions, Willie realized, had begun before the courtship.

  “There are many reasons why I came to Atlanta, Mr. and Mrs. Brown. To settle down from all the excitement of the continent is the first thing. I could work in New York. I played at a very trendy downtown white club before I left. But there is still racism there. Plus I wanted to be in my own country.” He dramatically hesitated. “I was born here. I wanted to come home.”

  Willie knew he couldn’t touch that. This brilliant man? From Atlanta? Coming home? No wonder papa was impressed. He was one of a kind.

  He wasn’t sure who moved first but when Peter Jenkins stood the Blacksmith was there, towering over him. “I should be going. I feel I have overstayed my welcome.” The Piano Man looked up at his host.

  “With stories like yours and playing like yours you will always be welcome in our house. Minnelsa.”

  “Papa?” Nervously she stood.

  “Show Mr. Jenkins the way to Mrs. Maples. We don’t want him to get lost.”

  “I’m sure I’ll be fine, sir,” the Piano Man said. Willie turned to look at June but she was gone.

  “Nonsense. Charlene Maples would have my head if I didn’t get her prize boarder back to her. Minnelsa, show him the way.”

  Graciously, Peter Jenkins nodded his goodbyes to the ladies. But to Brother he extended his hand.

  “A pleasure meeting you, sir,” the long fingered stranger said.

  “A pleasure hearing your story,” Brother told him and shook his hand again. “I am sure my family would love to hear more of how and what you did in France.”

  The Piano Man nodded. “I would be delighted to tell you more at another time.”

  And with that Peter Jenkins and Minnelsa Brown walked out of the house together towards Mrs. Maples.

  * * *

  She was prettier then the preacher described. “She’s the oldest daughter. All right looking. Not a beauty like the youngest. Very quiet. If you want to try courting her it might be worth your while. She doesn’t talk much. Hasn’t had a beau since John Wood went off to the war and died. But like I tried to tell you Brother Jenkins, it ain’t her you gots to worry about. It’s the Blacksmith.”

  He had handled that easily. A little music, an heroic tale. He had done well. But this woman was a different thing. She was neither as volatile or as beautiful as her sister. She seemed reserved and mannered. And proper. He understood that she could be the key to his future.

  “You don’t have to do this, Miss Minnelsa. I think I’m well traveled enough to find my way two blocks to a boarding house.”

  “My father insisted. And when my father insists we usually comply.” She smiled at him. He slowed the pace. They were near a honeysuckle bush and he heard bees buzzing.

  He stopped to study the bush as she watched him. “You don’t have that in New York. Bees buzzing in a bush?”

  He sniffed it. “Smells wonderful. What’s it called?”

  “You don’t know what that is?”

  The Piano Man shook his head as she laughed.

  “It’s honeysuckle.” She pulled a blossom from the bush. “It tastes as good as it smells.” She showed him how to suck the tiny bit of sweet nectar from the blossom. With some hesitancy he did it, allowing her to hold it for him and touching her fingers with his lips once he placed the blossom in his mouth.

  She blushed a bit but not before saying: “You really never lived in the south before?”

  “You’re right. There is nothing like this in New York. If there is, I never noticed it.”

  She had beautiful eyes. Coal black, big and round, with naturally long lashes but lacking life. He overlooked her obvious sadness to appraise her obvious attributes. The black hair was like spun silk and neatly placed in a bun at the back of her head. He wondered how long it was. Just like an Indian maiden. He had heard their mother was part Indian. Her face was not sallow but almost white, like good porcelain china. Smooth. He could tell she had never worn any type of make up for her skin was perfect. There was a natural rouge color to her lips.

  They started to walk slowly again, leaving the sweet smelling bushes behind. Her body moved slowly in step with his. She was tall, not as tall as he, but tall for a woman. Even though she carried herself regally, the sadness he saw on her face probably made her shoulders seem to slump low and forward. Her frame was small but not tiny. Not like June.

  June. He had to get her out of his mind.

  “You teach school, the preacher told me,” he said trying to find out more about her.

  “My sisters and I are all teachers. Except Rosa, she’s nurse. June, well, she just started college. She might be one of your students. If she was going to Morris Brown. She’s going to Spelman. We all went to Spelman.”

  “And your brother?”

  She smiled. “Willie is an artist. He would make a great art teacher but every time he wants to start school he gets sicker. He’s quite talented. Despite his. . . problem we are proud of him.”

  She had yet to talk about herself. “What do you teach?”

  “Well I teach English, and Fawn teaches. . .”

  He held up a hand to stop her. “I was just asking about you. What age children do you teach?”

  She didn’t answer at first. Then she stood perfectly still. He heard the clock tower ring on the hour. Seven pm.

  “It’s getting late.”

  “But it’s summer. I understand summer in the south is the best time.”

  “I have to get back.” She walked faster and he took her hand. She was shaking. He held it to calm her. “I can find my way and I will walk you back home.” She smiled. “Now answer my question or am I too ugly to talk to?”

  “Oh no,” she almost shouted. “No it isn’t that. I just don’t like to talk about myself.”

  “But this,” he said taking her other hand, “It isn’t talking about yourself. This is answering questions.”

  “Questions?” she said nervously as her eyes grew wider.

  “Such as what age children do you teach?”

  “Oh,” she smiled. “Little ones, six and seven years old. I t
ry to get them to speak English correctly.”

  “Do you read them poetry?” He was still holding one of her hands and she was still shaking.

  “Sometimes. I write little poems for them to memorize. They like that.”

  He smiled at her. “Do you like what you do? Teaching the little ones?”

  “We’re here,” she said and withdrew her hand.

  “I asked a question,” he said firmly.

  “I love children, especially the ones I teach.” She looked up at the porch and Charlene Maples sauntered out, a bit disgusted to see that Peter Jenkins had found the most eligible woman in town.

  “Good evening, Mrs. Maples,” Minnelsa started. The Piano Man realized that she was acting like a child when it was obvious that Minnelsa was perhaps a mere five years her junior.

  “Good evening, Miss Minnelsa. Mr. Jenkins. We missed you at supper.”

  “The preacher was kind enough to allow me to dine with his family. Then he introduced me to some of his congregation. The Browns are a delightful family. And quite talented.”

  “I’ve heard.” Mrs. Maples sarcastically shifted her weight.

  There was a deep silence as she stared at the two of them. “My father asked me to walk Mr. Jenkins here so he wouldn’t get lost. I’d best be going.” She extended her hand. “Nice meeting you, Mr. Jenkins.”

  “Oh course it was a pleasure.” He took her hands in his narrow ones. “But I must walk you back home.”

  Mrs. Maples placed hands on her hips. “Minnelsa Brown knows how to get home, Mr. Jenkins.”

  “And I would be lacking in my duties as a gentleman to let her walk home alone. I will return shortly, Mrs. Maples.” Before she could speak again he turned Minnelsa around and they walked the way they had come and quickly.

  “This isn’t necessary Mr. Jenkins.”

  “Call me Peter and it is necessary.” She stared at him. “My mother told me that colored women are not safe in the south from those white men who could just show up at any time and. . . My mother taught me always to see a lady, even a lady who is just a friend, to her door.”

  “But Mrs. Maples. . .”

  “Is my landlady not my mother.” Minnelsa grinned then giggled. “There I like that. A smile. You should smile more often.”

  “Spinsters are not allowed to have much to smile about.” Her face changed.

  “Spinsters are not as beautiful as you, Miss Minnelsa. Spinsters are women who have no hope of a future with a husband or children. I do not see that for you.”

  They were almost to the honeysuckle bush when she told him: “I am thirty-three years old, Mr. Jenkins.”

  “And I am thirty-five and in need of settling down, Miss Minnelsa. Now I could find any young woman of eighteen or even twenty to take as a bride. Most of the time young women don’t understand or like the same things you do. The real problem is finding a suitable bride who is your age.”

  “Really?” she blushed.

  “Really.” He took her hand again. “You love poetry. You write it. I find that appealing.”

  “Really?” she blushed again.

  “Really,” he smiled.

  His smile all but won her to his side. He cleared his throat then said. “Miss Minnelsa, would you be offended if I called on you?”

  Minnelsa’s eyes brightened and she blushed as she said: “I would be honored, Mr. Jenkins.”

  “Good. Then I will speak to your father.” He released her hand and they walked to the Blacksmith’s house.

  And so it began.

  CHAPTER SIX

  June would not come out of her room to hear the grand announcement from her father that Mr. Jenkins would be calling on Minnelsa. The sisters were jealous but quite excited. They all dressed for bed and went into one room to brush each other’s hair and talk about courtships for they were all sure this was going to turn into a great wedding. Papa was allowing a courtship and he had already asked all the important questions.

  Bira knocked on June’s door and when she didn’t get a response she let herself in. The girl lay on her bed crying, her hair all about her face.

  “There is no need to be jealous, June,” her mother said. “You’ll have plenty of time to find a husband when you finish college.”

  “I’m sure I will, Mama. When I get to be thirty-three years old. I don’t want to be as old as Minnelsa when some man asks me to marry him. If I have to wait for Fawn and Jewel and Rosa to find husbands, I’ll be as old as you.”

  Bira smiled as her baby daughter started to cry again. She felt responsible for the sadness her child was feeling. It was at moments like these that she wished she had been able to take more time with June. Not leave her to the whims of her older sisters while she cared for their ailing brother. There had never been a firm hand with June, or a hand that explained everything she needed to know. She went to June’s bed and gently rubbed the girl’s back.

  “Your father has made the rules for a reason, June.”

  “To make me rot here the rest of my life.”

  “To make sure none of your sisters are slighted in the area of courtship.” The girl said nothing.

  “June, if a man came into this house and had his pick of any of your father’s daughters he would easily pick you first.”

  June sat up and stared at her mother. “Yes, you. And that isn’t fair to your sisters. You are and have always been the most beautiful. It is not fair that every suitor who comes here for any one looks at you and admires you.”

  June wiped her eyes. “Mr. Jenkins didn’t.”

  Bira smiled. “Oh yes he did. He watched you every chance he got. When he wasn’t looking at you it was because he was trying very hard not to watch you.”

  At this June smiled. Bira patted her. “You must learn that great beauty has a price and you must allow yourself time.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” she said softly.

  “Now go join the other girls.”

  Obediently she got up and went to Minnelsa’s room. Together the sisters were like children, laughing giggling and happy, oh so very happy. June sat on the corner of the bed as Minnelsa told of her walk to Mrs. Maples, of Mrs. Maples’ jealousy and, of course, of her walk home.

  “He didn’t try to kiss her.” Fawn leaned over to tell June.

  “Which is good since a moral, upstanding person, a good man, would never try to do that,” Rosa added.

  “Which is why papa would like him,” Jewel continued.

  Minnelsa blushed. “Papa sent me with him. I didn’t ask to go.” Then she looked down at her hands and added, as she folded them: “I’m sure he knew how to get to Mrs. Maples’.”

  “The important thing is that he knows how to get here.” Fawn laughed and then said softly, just in case their parents were listening: “Papa is a smart old dog. He made sure that Mr. Jenkins would know two things: where you lived and that he wanted him to court you. I know papa set the whole thing up.”

  “He did nothing of the kind.” Minnelsa spoke with a half smile on her face. “He just accidentally. . .”

  “Accident my foot. Papa set you up to court that man and you know it.” The words slipped off Jewel’s tongue like brown sugar syrup. “I wish it had been me. He is so handsome.”

  Rosa’s tone was harsh. “Papa is not going to let you get married before Minnelsa and you know it. He has his plans. It makes sense that the oldest get married first. It’s a proper way to do it.”

  “Well, hurry up and marry him.” Jewel giggled to her oldest sister.

  “But I don’t know him. I just met him.”

  Fawn brushed her hair as she spoke: “Make it a fast courtship sister. Some of us are just wasting away here. A lot depends on whether you and Mr. Jenkins make a good couple.”

  “But I don’t even know yet if I want to marry him.”

  The room fell silent. Minnelsa looked at her sisters. Only June was not frowning. “I need to court him and take my time understanding how I feel about him.”

  “You mean,”
Jewel asked with a most serious look on her face, “It wasn’t love at first sight?”

  Minnelsa shook her head. “That’s only in books, Jewel.”

  “No, it’s not. I loved him the minute I laid eyes on him,” Jewel said and the sisters agreed that they all loved the Piano Man for his charm, his looks, his hands, and his music. For his coming into their house and into their lives and making them see that there were men out there that could live up to their father’s expectations.

  The talk went on and on and June said nothing. She brushed her hair like them. She just watched the spinsters, as she called them, for she had no intention of ever becoming one of them. Minnelsa was thrity-three years old. Old enough to have children of her own, a life of her own. Minnelsa was so dull, so boring. The Piano Man would never be happy with a woman who took her only joy in teaching her babies as she called them. She was glad her sister didn’t love him.

  She watched them, she wondered about them. Fawn was the first to say: “We’re counting on you, sister. We’re all counting on the Piano Man asking for your hand.”

  “After what he did today, all his stories and talent, I know papa will say yes,” Rosa added, her voice ringing with excitement.

  June slipped out the room and went to see Willie.

  “How is it with the spinsters?” he whispered when June came in.

  “They are hoping that Minnelsa will marry the Piano Man and free them all to court whoever they want.”

  “You don’t think that will happen?”

  She climbed on the bed and sat behind her brother pushing him up and massaging his shoulders as she did almost every night. “Willie, unlike Minnelsa, I have been alone with the Piano Man under the moon and the stars.”

  “Sounds romantic. But give Minnelsa a chance.”

  “Willie, you’re not listening. I looked into his eyes and saw that he wanted me.”

  “Juney,” Willie pleaded, “It was night and he had been drinking and playing the piano.”

  “No,” she kneaded his shoulders harder. “I am young but old enough to know when a man is interested in me. Oh, the Piano Man may have walked our sister home, may have laughed and talked with her. I bet he smiled at her when Mrs. Maples came out. But I know he will never marry any of the Brown sisters. Except me.”