Chapter 5
The day Justine received the news that she’d passed the last two New York State Regents tests she needed to graduate high school, her joy was short-lived.
She returned to the house in Mount Vernon and was told that her grandmother had died in her sleep.
Dennis Boone had reassured her that he would take care of the funeral arrangements.
Justine sent her mother a telegram with the news that Flora Russell had passed away and that her employer had scheduled for her to be interred at Woodlawn Cemetery in the Bronx.
Flora Russell was laid to rest on a raw, rainy day in late January with less than a dozen in attendance at the gravesite.
Justine had come to the Bronx with Dennis, and once her grandmother’s casket was lowered into the ground she returned to Mount Vernon with him to pack for her move to a furnished apartment in New York City.
She’d had little interaction with her boss or his wife once she’d discovered she was carrying Dennis Boone’s baby.
She’d continued to attend classes, despite experiencing an occasional bout of nausea.
However, that paled in comparison to the fatigue that plagued her whenever she needed to concentrate on her lessons.
Her appetite hadn’t changed—she didn’t feel the need to eat more than usual, and if not for the absence of her menses and the tenderness in her breasts, Justine might have believed she was experiencing a pseudopregnancy.
She still wore the same size clothes she’d worn before she’d been with Dennis Boone.
Justine had filled two suitcases with all her worldly possessions and snapped them closed when Lillian Crawford entered her bedroom. “I’m sorry about your grandmother,” she said in a soft, controlled tone.
Justine glared at her. She wanted to tell the supercilious woman that she was so sorry that she didn’t have the time to attend the graveside service because she’d been too busy looking after her scheming daughter, who spent most of her time in bed eating copious amounts of food.
“Thank you, Mrs. Crawford.”
Lillian pointed to the suitcases. “If you’re finished here, I will have my man bring them upstairs.
He’s been given directions where to take you.
Once you’re in the apartment, he will give you an envelope with enough money to last you for several months.
A midwife will check on you every month, and she will give you more money to take care of your personal needs.
You don’t have to concern yourself with paying rent, electricity, gas, or for the telephone.
I suggest you make the best of whatever you’re given, because a year to the day after you give birth, you’ll be on your own. ”
Never had Justine wanted to hit someone and continue hitting them until they ceased to breathe. “You and your daughter are going to hell for what you’ve done to me,” she threatened softly.
Much to her chagrin, Lillian smiled. “I may be going to hell, but if you ever tell anyone that you’re carrying Dennis Boone’s baby, I will make certain you end up in jail for a very long time.”
Something snapped inside Justine at the same time a rush of rage seared her brain. “I curse you, this house, and everyone in it. And I also curse this evil thing I carry inside me, because it was conceived in sin.”
Lillian recoiled as if she’d been slapped across the face. “Get out! Now!”
Reaching for her coat, Justine slipped her arms into the sleeves, picked up her suitcases, turned on her heels, and left the small space that had been her sanctuary since she first moved in.
She stood outside in the bitter cold, waiting for the man who would drive her away from a house where she’d been surrounded by people who thought nothing of committing one or more of the seven deadly sins.
Mrs. Crawford and her daughter didn’t know they’d done her a favor sending her away where she wouldn’t be contaminated with their evil.
The two women weren’t the only ones who’d done terrible things.
Dennis Boone believed paying for her grandmother’s funeral had absolved him of the fact that he’d become involved in criminal activity before reinventing himself as a law-abiding businessman.
He had purposely ignored rumors that despite his outward appearance, he was still a criminal who lived in a big house with live-in help and had been fortunate enough to marry well.
Folks knew that if it hadn’t been for his wife, he would’ve been refused entrance even through the back doors of the homes of most educated Black folks, because he couldn’t be trusted.
Most of them were doctors, educators, and entrepreneurs, influential people who had attended elite schools while belonging to exclusive social organizations, all achievements Dennis Boone could barely imagine.
Justine did not understand why he drank every night before going to bed with his wife. Was it to dull his senses before he was able to have sex with her? Or perhaps he drank to forget the demons who continued to haunt him for what he’d done in a past life.
Thankfully, she didn’t have to wait long for the driver, as a Ford woody station wagon came up the driveway. Her fingertips were becoming numb despite her wool gloves. The driver came to a stop, got out, picked up her suitcases, and stored them on the rear seats.
“Well, what are you standing there for? Get in the car!” he ordered, holding the door open for her.
Justine got in, sitting behind the front passenger seat, and seconds later the driver slammed the door so hard the vehicle shook.
She sat motionless, staring at the rolls of fat on the back of his neck when he hoisted his bulk behind the steering wheel.
He was breathing heavily, and she prayed he wouldn’t expire until after he’d taken her where she had to be.
Mrs. Crawford had hinted she would live in Manhattan.
But where? It would be the second time she would travel to the borough, one of five that made up New York City, but there were so many neighborhoods and Justine hoped she wouldn’t be forced to live in a broken-down tenement building with rampant crime.
She shook her head to dispel the possibility.
There was no way Precious and her mother would set her up in a less than desirable or dangerous neighborhood and risk her safety, because they wanted the child she carried.
It would stand to reason that if they were paying a midwife to monitor her pregnancy, they would want to make certain she would not only carry to term, but also deliver a healthy baby.
Justine felt her eyelids drooping. She didn’t know if it was because of her condition, or the heat inside the vehicle, but she was beginning to feel overheated.
She shrugged out of the wool coat, unbuttoned her sweater, and then rested her head on one of the suitcases and closed her eyes.
The motion of the car over smooth surfaces had lulled her to sleep, but whenever the tires hit a bump or a pothole on the roadway, she was jerked awake.
Sitting up, Justine decided taking a nap, even a brief one, was impossible.
She stared out the side window, seeing trees, buildings, and other cars zip past as her driver increased his speed.
That’s when she noticed it was beginning to snow; she wanted to get wherever the driver was taking her before the snow made driving hazardous.
Justine was finally able to exhale a normal breath when the station wagon came to a complete stop. She was barely able to discern where she was until she peered at a streetlight through the falling snow. The street sign read: 145TH STREET.
“This is your stop, miss,” the driver said. He shifted in his seat, then handed her an envelope. “Mrs. Crawford said to give you this.”
Justine took the envelope before slipping back into her coat.
It was then she saw what had been written on the front of the large envelope.
It was the address and apartment number of the building where she would live, and she hoped that in addition to the money she’d been promised, there was a key to her new apartment.
The driver hadn’t bothered to get out to help her, so she opened the car door and struggled to get her suitcases and then carried them up the stoop to the building. Justine made it inside the vestibule, and warmth enveloped her like a comforting blanket.
She smiled. At least she wouldn’t have to put on layers of clothing, like she’d done when living with her mother, just to keep from freezing to death.
There were so many times during the winter months when she’d gone to bed fully dressed whenever the building’s superintendent told his tenants that he was awaiting a delivery of coal for the boiler.
Justine opened the envelope and saw money, two keys, and a sheet of paper with typed listings.
Not only was she grateful for the heat, but the apartment she’d been given was on the first floor.
Under another set of circumstances, she would’ve thanked Mrs. Crawford, but the intense enmity she harbored for the woman and her daughter ran too deep for gratitude or forgiveness.
Justine didn’t know why, how, or when, but there would come a time when she’d pay them back for what they had done to her.
She put the key in the lock and turned it smoothly. She pushed open the door, picked up her bags, and went inside. There was just enough light coming through the drapes on the windows for her to make out parquet floors.