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I was reading on the porch that summer Saturday morning when Mr. George arrived unexpectedly. �Mr. Royce say that shed door needs fixin�,� he said from the steps where he stood, hat in hand.
�Yes, the door is falling off its hinges for some reason. Papa tried to fix it, but he said you�d do it better.�
Mr. George smiled. �Yes�m, I reckon I will. Shouldn�t take long.�
�You know where everything is,� I called after him as he headed around back. �If you need me to hold anything. . .�
�Reckon I can take care of it, Miss Kate.� He disappeared from view, and it was then I looked toward the curb where his wagon stood. On the seat, sitting stiff as boards, were two girls�his daughters Letty and Louise, who were just younger than me. Though Mrs. Ella kept us informed about their progress in school, and Mother made sure my very best dresses, outgrown so quickly they were almost new, went to them, we�d never met. In 1896, an accepted, invisible line between black and white still separated people into two worlds in Nashville and everywhere in the South.
Impulsively, I put down my book and went down the sidewalk. �Hello!� I called. �I�m Kate. You must be Louise and Letty.�
Their faces turned toward me as one, but they didn�t speak. I tried again. �It�s awfully hot out here. Won�t you come up on the porch to wait for your father?�
The taller girl answered. �No, ma�am, thank you.�
�Please,� I said. �I�ll get some lemonade for us.�
They looked at each other for a long moment.
�And it looks like you�re all dressed up to go somewhere, too! You�ll wilt like summer roses in this heat! That�s what my mother always says to me.�
The other girl giggled softly until her sister elbowed her sharply. The mask returned.
�I wish you would,� I said, feeling rather discouraged. �I�ve heard so much about you from your mother that I feel I know you.�
There was more silence, but finally they both climbed down and followed me to the porch. �Just make yourselves comfortable,� I said. �I�ll be right back.�
This was Mother�s morning to volunteer at the day nursery that Eugene�s wife had started, but our housekeeper, Mrs. Bonds, was busy in the kitchen.
�George is out back,� she said as I came in.
�Yes, I know. Papa asked him to fix the shed door. Mrs. Bonds, have we some lemonade?�
�I�ll pour you a glass.�
�No, I want to fix a tray,� I said quickly. �Mr. George�s daughters are waiting for him, and I thought we�d have lemonade and cookies and get acquainted. You know they. . .�
Her face flushed. �You invited them inside?�
�We�re sitting on the porch. It�s cooler there.�
�You should know better than that!�
It struck me then what she meant. My brother Nick was always saying that I was stubborn like Mother, and he was right. I lifted my chin in that haughty way that Mother was always chastising me about. �I�ll fix the tray, Mrs. Bonds.�
I set about doing just that. It was the first time I could remember that she�d ever criticized me, and I was truly wounded. Even when she caught me in the very act of being naughty, she insisted that wings were sprouting from my shoulder blades.
I used Mother�s company glasses and added a plate of cookies. �I�ll wash up afterwards, Mrs. Bonds,� I said as I sailed out, tray in hand.
Letty and Louise�I didn�t know which was which yet�were sitting on the very edge of the wicker chairs looking very uncomfortable. Suddenly I wondered if I�d made a mistake�not because of Mrs. Bonds but because I�d just assumed they�d want to visit with me�and maybe they didn�t.
�Here we are,� I said nervously, setting the tray down on a wicker table. I sat down across from them, so flustered by now that I forgot to pour the lemonade into the glasses. Finally, the taller girl leaned forward and picked up the pitcher. Then she filled each glass as elegantly as I�d ever seen Mother do it herself.
�Thank you,� I said, accepting the first glass. �You�re twins, aren�t you, but you don�t look exactly alike.�
�We�re fraternal twins. I�m Louise, and this is my sister Leticia--Letty.�
�My sister is almost twenty years older than I am. I�ve always thought it would be nice to have a sister near my own age. You�re finishing school next year, aren�t you? I finished this year. I�m going to Vanderbilt in the fall.� I realized I was babbling.
�Yes, we finish next spring.�
�What are you going to do then�I mean, for college?�
They glanced at each other. �I�m going to Meharry Medical College, and Letty plans to teach. She�ll attend Tuskeegee.�
�A doctor? You�re going to be a doctor? So am I! But it seems a long way off.� I nibbled a cookie. �Where�where is Meharry College? I haven�t heard of it.�
Louise looked at me from under her long, thick eyelashes. �Right here in Nashville. It�s a colored school.�
I felt myself blushing. �Oh.�
�The money for it was given by a white man who�d been helped by a slave family.� She seemed to be watching carefully for my reaction.
�Oh.� Then I remembered Letty. �And you�re going to Tuskeegee? Then you�ll meet Dr. Carver! I�ve read all about him. Papa says he�s a true genius�and also a fine Christian man.�
Letty smiled, showing the dimples I hadn�t noticed. In fact, I was just beginning to really see them, and they were both more than a little pretty. �I�ve read about him, too.�
�You�re all dressed up this morning,� I said, beginning to relax a little.
�Papa�s taking us over to Honeywell to see about some schoolbooks for next year,� Louise said.
I frowned. �But why do you have to go way over there?�
They glanced at each other again, and I wondered if they could read each other�s minds. Louise took another sip of lemonade. �There aren�t enough books to go around at school. There�s a place in Honeywell that will sell to us.�
�Used books�for the price of new,� Letty said, but she didn�t sound really mad.
�Oh�oh, I see.� I set down my glass. �No, I don�t see. It�s not fair. All schools should have good books.�
Louise studied my face for a moment. �Yes, they should, but they don�t. Not colored schools anyway.�
�I had to buy all my books at Miss Beauville�s, so I still have them. Maybe there�s something you could use�I mean, if you want to look at them.�
Letty showed her dimples again. �We don�t mind wearing your clothes, and we wouldn�t mind using your books.�
Louise turned on her. �Letty!�
Letty giggled, and so did I. �When I was little, Papa used to bring home dolls. I ended up with forty-one! Anyway, when I got too big for dolls, he brought home dresses, and Mother said there were enough clothes in my wardrobe to open a store. Some of them I only wore once before they were too small.�
�They�re lovely. We�ve enjoyed having them.�
�Letty!�
�Oh, Louise, stop it! Mamma says your pride�s going to get you into real trouble one of these days!�
�I�my sister was so much older. I couldn�t wear her things�but I always wanted to.� I swallowed hard. �And the dresses�Mother only picked out the very best to send to you. She was very careful about that.�
Letty smiled at me. �Don�t mind Louise.�
I jumped up. �Do you want to look at the books? They�re still on the shelf in my room.�
Letty�s smile faded as I opened the door and waited. �No.�
Then I saw Mrs. Bonds standing, arms crossed and face like a thundercloud, in the hall.
�I�ll bring them out then,� I said quickly.
�Are you finished?� Mrs. Bonds asked as I passed her.
�No, Mrs. Bonds, not yet, thank you. I�ll bring in the tray and wash up.�
She turned around and walked off. �Mrs. Wardell won�t like it,� I heard her say.
It took two trips to bring the books, and we had our heads buried in them when I heard Mother returning. She was smiling as she came up the walk.
�Good morning, girls!�
They stood up. �Good morning, Mrs. Wardell,� they said in unison.
Mother kissed my cheek. �You�ve been occupied this morning, I see, Kate.�
�Yes, Mother. Mr. George is fixing the shed door, and Letty and Louise came along because they were going to Honeywell to see about schoolbooks, and I thought of mine from Miss Beauville�s, and. .. .�
Mother laughed. �Slow down, darling. Lemonade? Is there any left?�
�I�ll get you a glass, Mother!�
Letty and Louise were sitting down when I returned�and they were actually smiling. I poured Mother�s lemonade and perched on the arm of her chair. �Louise is going to be a doctor�like me. And Letty�s going to Tuskeegee. She�ll meet Dr. Carver!�
�Kate�s quite a fan of Dr. Carver ever since she happened on a newspaper article about his work.� Mother leaned forward and looked through the books. �Will you be able to use any of these?�
�They�d make a wonderful library for the school. Ours isn�t much,� Letty said.
�Letty!�
�I�m speaking the plain truth, Louise.�
�Then you must have them. Kate has no use for them anymore.�
�We really shouldn�t. . .� Louise began, but Letty interrupted her.
�Thank you very much, Mrs. Wardell.�
�Kate, run around back and find a crate for these. I think there�s one in the small shed. If you have to empty one, take out the jelly jars�we didn�t use all of them this year.�
***
As their wagon pulled away later, Mother slipped her arm around me. �I hope I didn�t embarrass them, Mother�asking them to come up on the porch�but it just seemed the thing to do. I mean, I couldn�t very well get to know them standing here on the curb, could I?�
�A lady always invites guests to sit down and offers some refreshment.�
�I�I suppose they weren�t really guests. They didn�t come to see me, but they were here, and it was too hot for them to wait in the wagon, and. . .�
Mother laughed and kissed my cheek.
�Mrs. Bonds didn�t like it, and she said you wouldn�t either.�
�You must respect her right to her own opinion, Kate, but she hardly speaks for me. Letty and Louise are very well-brought-up young ladies.�
That was Mother�s highest compliment, one she�d never applied to my friend Amanda Cummings.
�I think so, too,� I said, beginning to feel better.
�Unfortunately, their race will preclude them from many opportunities that they should have.�
�That�s not fair.�
�No, it�s not. But perhaps your generation will make a difference, Kate�and your children and grandchildren.�
I sighed. �I told Mrs. Bonds I�d wash up.�
�I�ll help you, Kate darling.�
That night after dinner, I told Papa what Letty had said about their school library and the condition of their school books. �I was thinking, Papa�all of the girls who finished with me have no use for their books anymore either. Do you suppose I might ask for them to be donated?�
Papa looked thoughtful. �Some people don�t think colored children should have an education.�
�So they�d just let their books mold rather than give them to colored children?�
�I�m afraid so, Kate.�
�But you wouldn�t mind if I asked?�
�I�d be disappointed if you didn�t.�
�A lot of the girls still aren�t speaking to me�because of India.�
�How important were they to you?�
�Well�I�d known them for years.�
�How important is India to you?�
�She�s almost like a sister now.�
He smiled. �A small loss for a great gain.�
He reached for a cigar, and Mother rose immediately to light it for him. �Thank you, my love.� She touched his hair lightly and returned to her chair.
�As for the books, Kate, by all means ask. I�ll make some inquiries at my business, too. There are a few enlightened people there. If they have no books, they�ll contribute monetarily, I�m sure. I believe we can remedy the situation for the children.�
�Mother said I wasn�t wrong to invite Letty and Louise up onto the porch for lemonade, but I think�I think maybe I made them uncomfortable�at first anyway. I didn�t mean to.�
�It�s difficult for people to step out of roles they�ve come to accept. You may face that, too, Kate precious, when you enter medical school. Women aren�t really accepted in that profession.�
�I don�t care. They�ll just have to accept me.�
Papa laughed. �I don�t think they�ll have any choice.�
Mother nodded. �None at all. Our Kate will certainly make them see the error of their thinking�and heaven help anyone who gets in her way!�
Part II
(Teddy Emerson, also a doctor, was Kate�s husband and died during the flu pandemic in 1918.)
From the journal of Dr. Katherine Barkley Wardell:
We collected enough books to make a respectable library for the school at the edge of town. It was years later that I learned about the dozen or so crates of new textbooks which were delivered just before school opened in September. The person responsible for their purchase chose to remain anonymous�but I knew it had to have been Papa, because at his death, I heard that the regular deliveries of updated texts stopped.
Mr. George and Mrs. Ella died during the flu pandemic after the World War. Louise, a highly respected doctor in North Carolina, and Letty, a college professor at Tuskeegee, came home to bury them. When they heard about Teddy, they came to the house to pay their respects. Even then, they came to the back door. They left, however, through the front.
When I wrote to thank them for their call, I included in Louise�s letter the information that I�d discovered I was pregnant with our long-wanted second child, a child that Teddy would never know. She replied with words of congratulations and encouragement.
I was a month away from my expected confinement when Louise returned to Nashville for a medical convention. It was almost unheard of for a Negro doctor to be invited, but she�d written two books on her research in communicable diseases, and the organizing committee had extended an invitation for her to speak.
The night she arrived, she came to the house�this time to the front door�and told me bluntly that she could not find a hotel open to her. �We haven�t made much of a difference, it seems,� I said as I installed her in the large guestroom. �Mother said that perhaps our generation would.�
�The difference will be made,� she said, �but not by us�and maybe not even by our children�but it will be made.�
I couldn�t go to the convention, of course, but Louise filled me in on every detail over dinner in the evenings. Thankfully, Mrs. Bonds had retired, and my new live-in housekeeper, a dour woman of Cherokee and African heritage, made no comment.
Nine-year-old John was shy with her at first. He was still grieving for his father, and while he was delighted at the prospect of a sibling, I knew he was worried about losing me, too. Louise sensed that and somehow put him at ease.
The day she was to go home, there was an ice storm, and all transportation was halted. That night, I went into early labor. We had a telephone, but it, too, was out when she tried to call our family physician, Dr. Bratcher.
�Well,� I said, �we�re both doctors. Two doctors should be able to deliver one baby between them.�
Louise bundled up John and escorted him to our next-door neighbor. It took almost an hour to walk there and back because of the treacherous ice. I felt better with him out of the house. At least if I made any noise, he wouldn�t hear it.
The baby wasn�t yet in the birth position, and Louise said she�d have to turn it eventually.
�Can you do that?� I asked anxiously.
�I�ve done it successfully several times.�
�I haven�t,� I admitted.
The storm raged on outside�and in. I despaired of delivering my baby. �I�ve never lost a mother and baby,� she finally said, �and I don�t intend to lose either of you. I�ve had much worse situations.�
�Nothing could be worse,� I moaned.
�If I tell you I�ve seen worse, I have.� She bathed my face with cool water. �I�m not going to let anything happen to you or your baby�trust me on that.�
It was a long, agonizing day and night, but at last, in the early hours of the next morning, her capable hands eased new life from my exhausted body. �You have a daughter,� she murmured. �A beautiful, healthy little girl.� The baby�s wail confirmed her words, but all I wanted to do was sleep.
She brought John home to meet his little sister and to have supper in my room. He was fascinated with the small bundle sleeping beside me. �Anne Victoria,� he whispered, touching her soft cheek. �That�s what we decided to name her if she was a girl, Dr. West. For the mother that had my mother and my Grandmother Victoria.�
�I think we�ll give her another name, too,� I said. �Anne Victoria Louise�for the doctor�no, for the good friend who brought her into the world.�
John�s face lit up. �It�s like a queen�s name!� he enthused. �It�s beautiful!�
Louise nodded. �I like it, too.�
I reached a hand to her. �Thank you for my daughter�and my life.�
********
Dr. Louise West�s reputation as a researcher, writer, and speaker grew to almost monumental proportions despite the prevailing prejudices of our time. Though we remained in touch, her busy schedule didn�t allow much time to visit. She did, however, make time to attend Vicky�s graduation from high school and again from college, always sure of her welcome in our home.
Though I retired at the age of seventy, she did not. She only slowed down enough to establish a family practice in a small North Carolina town, something that, for a long time, she�d wanted more than her other pursuits. She opened a free clinic and treated both black and white with equal compassion and skill.
Then, in 1955, she was felled by a virulent form of cancer. The private hospital which had the research-based treatment that might have extended her shining life a few more years, refused to admit her. We all knew why. She died a few months later.
Letty asked me if I would speak at her memorial service. John and Vicky accompanied me to Raleigh. I was more angry than sad. Louise had lived a long, productive life, and if anyone was ready to go, she was. But it shouldn�t have been that way. She shouldn�t have died because of ignorance�and that�s what killed her. Ignorance, not cancer.
My eulogy was reprinted in several newspapers. As John said, �Everyone knows the truth, Mother, thanks to you. The thing is, most people don�t want to accept it.�
Letty made the decision to bury her sister in the small town where she�d made her last home. As the crowd began to dissipate, we stood arm-in-arm beside the grave. �She had her reward,�Letty said.
�Yes, she received many honors,� I began.
�No�no, I don�t mean that, Kate. I mean that she finally knew who she was and what she was supposed to do. Mamma used to tell her she was too full of pride�prideful, Mamma called it. And she was. She had to fight it all her life. But in the end, she knew who she was and learned to be proud�not prideful.�
�And what about you, Letty? You�ve made a huge success of your life, too.�
�Well, but I always knew who I was. My race never mattered to me the way it did to Louise. Did she ever tell you what she said after we left your house that day you�d served us lemonade on the porch? She called you that �uppity white girl who thinks we should be grateful for the crumbs she scatters our way.��
�She didn�t!�
�She did, too. Papa was so mad! He told her if she didn�t know the difference between honesty and hypocrisy, she wouldn�t be very successful at anything!�
�Well, maybe she was right. I can�t deny that I was a child of privilege.�
�Raised by Royce and Victoria Wardell. That made all the difference.�
John came up behind us. �It�s too cold for you two to be standing out here.� He guided us back to the road and opened the car door.
As we drove away, I thought of what Letty had said, but she hadn�t gone far enough. Mother and Papa raised me, but so did Jarrod, Nick, Heath, Audra, and Eugene. And Silas. Perhaps he more than anyone had taught me about life: acceptance, contentment, love, forgiveness�and being part of the larger family of humankind with no reservations or judgment.
�What are you smiling about, Mother?� Vicky asked as she turned around to look at me.
�I was just thinking about Mr. Silas�and Dr. Carver.�
�What?� Vicky frowned, not understanding.
Beside me, Letty chuckled. She knew about Silas. �I can imagine that they�re still talking.�
�Yes�I�m sure they are. I�m quite sure they are.�
Letty reached over and patted my hand. �How about some lemonade?�
I began to laugh�and then to cry.
THE END