Chapter 10
VIVIAN JEAN
Robert S. Abbott’s Mansion, Grand Boulevard, Chicago
A man in the crowd takes command. “What happened here? Are you women injured?” He addresses his questions to me, as if I were the one who was assaulted.
“This is the young girl who was attacked,” I clarify. “The man fled in that direction.” I gesture toward an exit.
“What did he look like? Have you seen him before?”
“Can you give us a moment to catch our breath?” I reply sharply. The girl is trembling like a leaf in a storm, and I’m not far behind. But I need to be of help. “He was big, broad, and tall.” It’s a feeble description, but the best I can offer. “He looked like a bull in a tuxedo.”
I turn to the girl and ask, “What’s your name, dear?”
“Othella. Othella Montgomery.”
“Were you named after Shakespeare’s tragedy?” Katherine asks.
“Yes,” the girl replies shakily.
“Of course you were. I imagine you’ve been asked that same question a thousand times. I’m sorry,” Katherine says nervously. She might be almost as traumatized as I am.
“Are you sure you’re not hurt?” I check Othella’s arms for bruises but don’t find any. “I’m sorry I took so long to speak up.” I squeeze her hand. “I shouldn’t have waited.”
“N-not your fault, ma’am,” the girl stammers, her head down, her lips trembling.
It’s no surprise she seems self-conscious and shaky. Too many curious onlookers surround us. We need room to breathe. I turn to the man in charge and say, “Othella mentioned he was a pickpocket, a thief, and he tried to steal—”
“My brooch,” the girl cuts in. “He attempted to steal my aunt’s brooch.”
The room buzzes with tension. Those nearby check their purses, wallets, and money clips. Questions arise from different voices, and the crowd’s anxiety washes over me like a wave.
I want to be somewhere else, anywhere but here.
“Let’s get out of this chaos. We need some fresh air.” Katherine’s words are my lifeline.
“Let’s go outside,” she insists, leading the way. I still hold Othella’s hand as I follow her toward the Abbotts’ garden.
Tall gas lamps atop wrought-iron balusters illuminate a stone path near a surprising patch of night-blooming jasmine. We stroll by hollyhocks, foxgloves, delphiniums, carnations, and columbines until we arrive at a three-tiered bronze fountain with a swan base spraying a cool mist.
Katherine directs us to a nearby iron bench. “Is there anyone we should call for you, Othella? Your parents?”
“I’m an orphan, ma’am,” Othella responds sweetly.
“I’m sorry,” Katherine and I say in unison.
“I live with Reverend Nathan and his wife at the AMC Fellowship Church on State Street.”
“I haven’t heard of that church,” I say.
“There are a thousand churches on State Street in Chicago, and you’ve only heard of the one you attend every other Sunday.”
“Yes, Katherine.” I smile. “That is true.”
“The 24th Street church is run by Reverend Nathan and his wife, Miss Lucille,” Othella explains.
“They manage an orphanage in the church basement. I have lived there since I was ten, when my momma passed away. She was a wonderful mother. Her name was Ella. Born in Jamaica, she came to this country in 1915. She always talked about returning to the island one day and bringing me to meet my relatives.”
“That’s the same year Maxi, my maid, arrived in Chicago,” I tell Othella.
“Maybe, they knew each other.” Othella smiles.
“I doubt it. Maxi doesn’t know anyone outside of my family and our friends. At least I’ve never met them.”
“Did you know that Vivian Jean and I are heading to Jamaica tomorrow?” Katherine says.
“Oh, ma’am. Can I come with you? I have excellent penmanship, keep excellent records, and I can cook, too,” she adds breathlessly.
“That sounds delightful, but our trip to Kingston is already booked,” Katherine responds.
Out of nowhere, a young man approaches, calling Othella’s name. “My goodness. Where have you been?” He kneels in front of her. “I heard about a girl being attacked and prayed it wasn’t you. But it was you. Are you okay? You look okay, but my God, how awful.”
It takes him a moment to notice Katherine and me.
“I didn’t mean to interrupt, ladies. Mrs. Hartfield, Mrs. Dunham, my name is Robbie Barnes. I’m an undergraduate student at the University of Chicago, working to become an anthropologist, like you. My particular interest is ecology and tropical plants.”
“I take it this young man is a friend of yours?” Katherine asks.
“He introduced me to Mrs. Hartfield’s father.”
“Oh, right, my father,” I respond. “So, you’re both acquainted with Major Thomas?”
Robbie chimes in. “He offered me a scholarship to the University of Chicago through the Bronzeville Federal Savings and Loan. Othella just met him, and she’s interested in a scholarship, too.”
“In that case, we should find my father—maybe I can help get your application in front of him and his committee.”
“Oh, ma’am. Thank you, but that’s okay. I don’t want to impose.”
“It’s the least I can do.”
“Honestly, it’s fine.”
“Well, while you two debate Vivian Jean’s offer—” Katherine stands up from the bench. “Let’s head back to the party. I want to enjoy more of the reception before we have to leave. We don’t want to miss our train.”
As we head back into the ballroom, I take a moment to speak with Katherine.
“Are you okay?” Her estranged husband, Jordis, had stomped into the party, trying to cause a scene.
Katherine managed to remain mostly unaffected by his blustering, but I couldn’t shake my concern for her.
She’s a determined woman who often forges ahead without seeking help, even when she deserves it.
I truly admire her independence, but sometimes accepting a helping hand is wise, even for a woman like Katherine, who believes herself capable of tackling any challenge on her own.
“I’m okay, Vivian Jean. Your father loved playing the hero, and after the day you both had, I’m pleased to have given him that chance.”
I smile. “Cut the sarcasm.”
“Is it sarcasm? Your father was like a knight in shining armor who came to my rescue.”
“I don’t understand why you sought him out—truthfully, we could have managed Jordis ourselves. He was tipsy.”
“We’re practically in ball gowns. Why must we deal with such unruly behavior ourselves?”
Katherine surrenders with a raise of her hand. “If you say so.”
In the ballroom, it takes a second for my eyes to adjust to the candlelight and electric chandeliers after the soft glow of gas lamps. I carefully place one foot in front of the other when suddenly, Katherine grabs my arm and points shakily at my chest.
“What are you doing?”
“Vivian Jean!” she exclaims, horror in her eyes, “Where’s your necklace, the pocket watch, your father’s gift?”
I reach up, expecting to grasp the gold chain and, if not that, the pocket watch itself, but there’s nothing to hold on to. “Oh my God! I’ve lost it—it’s gone!”
“Where were you when you last had it, Vivian Jean?” Katherine asks.
“Here. I’ve had it since we’ve been here.” I stare at her blankly, frozen, unable to think or move. I glance around Mr. Abbott’s grand ballroom and groan. “It could be anywhere. How could I lose it? I’m such a careless fool.”
“Is this what you’re looking for?” a voice interjects.
I shriek. It’s Othella, and she’s holding my pocket watch.
“I started searching for it as soon as Miss Katherine said it was missing. It was on the floor by the buffet table over there.” Othella glances at Katherine and Robbie, who stand with their mouths open in surprise.
“I bet the man who tried to steal my brooch took it from you and probably dropped it when he ran. I warned you he was a pickpocket.”
“My goodness, Othella, you’re a lifesaver.” I embrace her.
“I’m just relieved I found it,” Othella replies.
“I’m glad that thief wasted his trip to Hyde Park tonight,” Robbie enthusiastically adds.
“I’m just happy to have the pocket watch back.” I put my arm around Othella for another hug of gratitude. “Let’s celebrate Othella’s discovery with champagne, everyone.”
“Sounds lovely,” Katherine agrees.
“Can I join, too?” asks Robbie eagerly.
“Of course,” I reply.
Othella leans on my shoulder and says, “I love champagne.”
We share a glass of champagne and a few hors d’oeuvres before Katherine and I exchange a meaningful glance. “It’s time for us to leave,” I say.
“But not before one final toast.” Katherine raises her glass. “I apologize for cutting the celebration short, but we have a train to catch.”
I notice the sadness in Othella’s eyes. “Othella, may I give you a ride home?” I ask.
She shakes her head firmly.
“If you’re staying, can I rely on Robbie to get you home safely?”
Mr. Barnes steps up confidently, grinning. “It would be my pleasure to act as Miss Montgomery’s escort tonight,” he responds.
Othella’s eyes reflect disappointment.
I had thought she liked him. Youth is a paradox. Often full of joy and life, their feelings move like the wind and just as quickly fall into despair with as little prompting as a finger prick. I tell Othella, “Swear you’ll keep in touch.” I pull out my purse and give her my calling card.
“This is the phone number for Hartfield House. While I’m in Jamaica, you call this number and ask for my maid, Maxi, if you need anything. Call. Okay. We’ll be gone for at least a month or two,” I continue. “But Maxi will be here and knows how to reach me.”
Othella replies, “Okay.”
“I mean it, dear. Promise me you will keep in touch.”
“I promise,” she responds. “I will.”
Katherine and I make our way to the Abbotts’ to thank them for a fantastic evening. We even spend a few moments with Josephine Baker and her husband, the Count.
It takes a few more minutes than planned, but eventually, Katherine and I find ourselves in the foyer, waiting for my driver to pull up.
“Can I give you a lift home, Vivi?”
I turn to the sound of my father’s voice.
“I’d like to spend a few minutes with my daughter before she leaves for Jamaica,” he says.
I hug Katherine, promise to be at the train station on time, and take my father’s arm.
Grand Boulevard, Bronzeville, Chicago
Sitting beside Major Thomas in the limo, I stare straight ahead with my heart racing. “I was looking for you earlier this evening,” I say, “I wanted to talk about what happened before.”
I’ll begin with a quiet apology, but that takes confidence, so I just blurt out, “I should have told you sooner about the trust fund.”
Major Thomas looks at me sideways. “Yes, Vivian Jean, you should have. I’m disappointed you chose to keep it from me.” He pats my knee. “But it’s all water under the bridge.”
The use of inappropriate idioms must run in the family. It’s the same phrase that upset Tully when I said it, distasteful because of Clifford’s death. But the major lacks that level of insight or sensitivity.
He’s gone back to watching the scenery, content in the silence between us. But I’m in a confessional frame of mind.
“Father, there is something else.”
He turns slowly, smiling warmly. “Yes, go on.”
“There was a pickpocket at the party, and they took my pocket watch, but it was found by a young girl named Othella Montgomery.” I pull the pocket watch from my clutch bag. “It might’ve been lost if not for her.”
“I met Miss Montgomery, but it must’ve been before the incident. But I didn’t hear any grumbling about a thief,” he says, extending his hand. “Give it to me. I’ll have a new gold chain made. Next time you wear it, steer clear of con artists and pickpockets.”
Given his reaction to my apology about the trust fund and now this, I’m surprised. “You’re very understanding, Father.”
“Don’t worry, sweetheart. You have bigger fish to fry with this rushed trip to Jamaica.”
“When Tully and I return, we’ll all have dinner together, even Mother. Maybe we can arrange a family vacation.”
“Speaking of which …” He stuffs the watch into his vest pocket and takes my hand.
“I made a few phone calls this afternoon and hired one of the Bronzeville Federal Savings and Loan scholarship students to join your expedition as your assistant. There’s another young lady I met at the Abbotts’ who my student wants to bring along.
She’ll be helpful, too. I believe you met them both, Robbie Barnes and Othella Montgomery. ”
I crank down the passenger door window. A blast of hot air strikes me in the face. “Mr. Barnes and Othella Montgomery,” I whisper their names.
“I trust you and Tully,” he begins, “but this way, you’ll have help that won’t cost you anything. I’ve covered their expenses.”
Unbelievable. My father has hired two kids to spy on me.
They will send daily telegrams detailing my every action, word, deed, and failure.
How dare he? I am thirty years old. I don’t need his kind of help.
I can’t have them reporting back to him what I’m really going to Jamaica to do. I swallow and say, “Thank you, Father.”
“Now, don’t be too enthusiastic until you hear the rest of the surprise.” He smirks, sarcasm oozing from his lips. “I can’t spend the next month worrying about my only child living in Cockpit Country. So, I plan on paying you a visit.”
“What?” I must have misunderstood him. “Plan to visit me where?”
“In Jamaica, naturally.”
I can’t breathe.