Chapter 40
VIVIAN JEAN
Tynesdale Estate, St. Elizabeth Parish, Week Nine
When we received Bernard Tynesdale’s invitation to join him for supper, Momma Hazel made a symbol with her thumb and forefinger and spat on the ground. I looked at Zinzi but received no sign that she understood why her mother had reacted in such a way. Or, if she did know, Zinzi kept it to herself.
Two days later, we pull up to the Tynesdale house in the cars he sent for the Dunham expedition.
It’s an impressive home—a two-story stone building covered in white stucco, with an expansive wraparound veranda, large, shuttered windows, and stone columns. The sheer size makes me a bit envious.
“Are you okay, Vivian Jean?” Tully asks as we pass through the archway into a lobby as spacious as the one in Mr. Abbott’s mansion.
He’s been very attentive since the letter from Maxi. “I’m fine,” I reply. “It’s a plantation, isn’t it? Probably hasn’t changed much since slavery. I’ve never seen one in the flesh.”
Just then, a dark-skinned man in a white jacket and well-pressed black pants approaches us.
“Welcome,” he says. “Please follow me this way.” He leads us down a grand hallway adorned with a series of paintings on the walls. The women in the portraits wear long, old-fashioned gowns embellished with lace and jewelry, while the old men sport high-collared suits and neckbeards.
We pause, and as I wait outside the dining hall, I hold my breath and finally understand what Momma Hazel meant when she spat after learning about the invitation. She may not know my father, but she sensed trouble.
Major Leonard Thomas stands with three others to welcome the Katherine Dunham expedition—the claimed reason for our invitation to Tynesdale Estates.
“Is that your father?” Katherine asks, her voice tinged with disbelief.
Tully exhales. “Yes, that’s him.”
Seeing my father for the first time since Maggotty and Maxi’s letter makes my stomach turn. “Tully, can we go?”
My husband moves close to me, his body protecting me in case my father does something unexpected. Or I do. “We can’t leave.” He touches my waist. “Byron’s father invited us to honor Katherine’s fieldwork in Accompong and we can’t abandon her.”
“I don’t believe the expedition is why we’re here,” I whisper, just before the major embraces me.
“I told Bernard to keep my presence a secret. I aimed to surprise you.”
“And you’ve done just that,” I respond.
“Katherine, it’s wonderful to see you as well.” He tries to hug her, but she greets him with a stiffly extended arm forcing him into a handshake. I regret not doing the same.
The other three men are introduced, but I barely catch their names as my anger consumes me.
As we enter the dining room, I discover there is a seating arrangement. I am to sit with my father on my left and one of the two white men on my right.
“Are you sure we can’t leave?” I ask no one in particular.
“No, you can’t,” Katherine says haughtily. “I want to see what these men are up to.”
“Did you catch the name of the other man?” I ask.
“Tony Schaefer.”
He is already seated and quickly begins downing a tumbler of rum. I assume it’s rum; after all, we’re on a sugarcane plantation with a rum distillery.
I sit and take a moment of silence to quell my anger. I notice the men—even my father—are stylishly attired in linen Panama suits with wide shoulders, long lapels, and high-waisted, pleated trousers tapered at the ankles. They look like members of a band or a street gang.
The rest of the party finds their spots at the dining table. Byron, Zinzi, Katherine, and Tully are seated across from Othella, my father, Tony, Robbie, and me. Mr. Tynesdale is at the head of the table, with his son to his right.
“So, Mrs. Hartfield, how are you finding Accompong?”
I glance at Tony Schaefer. His strong South Side Chicago accent makes him sound out of place. “How do you know Mr. Tynesdale?” Normally, I wouldn’t speak so bluntly to a white man, but something about Schaefer suggests my tone won’t matter.
“We’re business associates. I’m a partner in his rum enterprise.”
“Then how do you know my father?”
His lip curls in an unappealing manner. “He’s one of our partners, too.”
I glance frantically at Tully across the table. He’s looking at me, but I can’t tell if he caught what this man just said.
“Father, is this the business venture you have in Jamaica? Rum and sugarcane?”
“It’s not illegal, Vivi.”
The waiters pause our conversation as soup bowls are placed before the guests. There are more servers in the room than guests. After the soup is ladled into our bowls, I don’t bother to lift my spoon before I interrupt Tony’s slurping to ask him, “How long have you known my father?”
Tony looks past me and smiles at my father. “Shall I tell her, Lenny?”
“Go ahead, Tony. My daughter deserves the truth.” My father’s voice sounds resigned, almost defeated.
Tony wipes his mouth with his napkin. “We both worked for Mr. Tynesdale during Prohibition, smuggling rum into Chicago.”
I look across the table at Tully, who hasn’t touched his soup either. I don’t have to wonder if he heard Tony this time. I can see it on his face.
“Are you suggesting my father was a bootlegger?” I raise my voice so the entire table can hear.
“A former bootlegger,” Tony replies. “Prohibition is behind us. Now we’re legitimate businessmen. Isn’t that right, Mr. Tynesdale?”
“What are you talking about, Tony?” Bernard Tynesdale responds. “This gathering is meant to honor Miss Dunham and her work in Accompong.” He turns to Katherine. “You’ve been here for nearly two months, correct?”
Katherine begins talking about the people we’ve interviewed, the history we’ve recorded, and the dancing we’ve watched, learned, and notated.
The soup bowls are cleared away, and the next course—a salad—is set before me. Once again, I don’t pick up a utensil. I keep my voice low to ask Tony a question: “You sound proud of your partnership with my father.”
Schaefer laughs. “Your father is a clever man for a Negro. No offense.”
“No offense taken.”
“He’s not perfect. He cheated me out of some money. So I have a bone to pick with him. What better place to pick it than in front of his precious little girl?”
I dismiss the precious little girl remark. “Seems childish, because it sounds like you’re still in business with him.”
“I came to Jamaica to assist Mr. Tynesdale with a problem he’s having with his plantation workers—and my personal feelings about your father don’t necessarily interfere with making money.”
“Shut up, Tony,” Bernard Tynesdale says sharply from the head of the table. “We can discuss this subject later,” he says forcefully, glaring at Tony Schaefer.
Upon Bernard’s withering gaze, Tony raises a hand in apology. “I’m zipping my lips shut right now.”
The reaction is as I expected. Mr. Tynesdale is not only the host but also the boss of my father and Tony. I imagine him to be the boss of his son, too. Then again, Zinzi doesn’t strike me as a woman who would fall for any man who might be under another man’s thumb.
“You lied to me,” Byron says suddenly.
I can’t tell whether he’s addressing Schaefer or his father. Then he makes it clear: “Father, I thought this dinner was meant to honor Katherine and her friends, but that’s not the reality, is it?”
“Byron, maybe you shouldn’t …” Zinzi says, but he stops her with a gently raised hand.
“No, his pact with the other six plantations was bad enough, but bringing in a bully from Chicago to do what? Make you enough money to hire scabs?” He glares at Tony. “Schaefer? Is that how you’ll help my father with his plantation problem?”
“Byron, you are going too far. I warned you and that girl. You’d be very sorry if you go against the family in these matters.” Mr. Tynesdale’s face is an ugly shade of red.
I look down at my plate. What is it about children and their fathers? Are they ever the men you want them to be?
“Well, guess what, Father?” Byron says. “Tony Schaefer isn’t trustworthy. I’ve been giving him the schedules of your major rum shipments. He intends to sabotage one or more of your boats. He also has partnerships with plantation owners in Cuba, which I imagine neither you nor Major Thomas knows.
“He is going to bury the Tynesdale Estate. Your thirst for power and your misguided ideologies will destroy a centuries-old family business.”
Bernard Tynesdale’s face was like a mask. “Is my son telling me the truth, Tony?”
“I assure you, Bernard, I was not aware of any of this,” my father interjects.
“I’m not talking to you, Leonard, but there is no need for me to hear Tony’s response.” He signals to his waiters. “Let’s finish the meal. My cook has been working on it all day.”
The man sitting next to me curses under his breath. Byron’s speech didn’t sit well with him, but judging by Zinzi and Othella’s ear-to-ear grins, they are as happy as clams. On the other hand, my father has turned a shade of grayish-brown.
Dinner ends shortly after Byron’s outburst. I am surprised Tony Schaefer didn’t walk out with his head hanging before dessert. But he stayed, sipping on his rum, his narrow gaze full of hate and rage shifting from Byron to Zinzi, but mostly resting on Othella, for some strange reason.
When it’s time to leave, Katherine catches up to me as we head for our cars. “I told you there was something more going on here tonight.”
“Yes, you were right.”
“Are you okay? I mean about your father? It’s a lot to take in.”
I slip my arm through hers. “Oddly enough, I feel better than I’ve felt in a long while.”
Upon returning to Accompong, the group goes to their separate lodgings. Byron remains at his father’s place, but Zinzi stays with us. Robbie and Othella, walking hand in hand makes me smile. Katherine also says good night to us.
Now, the only thing on my mind is the sacred silk cotton tree.