The Color Of Love II

Andre hung from a rope tied to a tree's branch, a noose around his neck. His hands twitched spasmodically, a reflex reaction to the recent severing of his spinal cord. His otherwise limp, still body swayed to and fro in the slight breeze, his toes pointing downward. Several men on horseback rode around hooting and jeering, shaking their fists in exultation. I knew they were the same men who'd burned the cross in our front yard, although they hadn't even bothered to disguise themselves this time. Unable to move, nor even scream, I gasped in horror...

Opening my eyes, I found myself sitting in bed staring at the dark shadows flitting over the opposite wall, grasping the sheet desperately, sweat pouring from my body in rivulets. I sensed the presence of another person and, a moment later, felt Andre's arms around me.

"You had that dream again, didn't you?"

"Yeah." I rested my head on his shoulder as he comforted me, stroking and patting me until I grew drowsy enough to go back to sleep.

The next morning, I noticed we were almost out of milk and a few other things. Well into my pregnancy at the time, I found it more difficult to get around than I had before, yet craved chances to get out of the house, to escape the boredom and monotony of my day-to-day existence. It was Saturday, so Andre was off work and able to go with me and help.

We'd barely gotten started shopping when who did we run into but Bruce and Martha. Dismayed, I grabbed Andre's arm and tried to steer him to a different aisle, but it was too late, as Martha had already spied us and was hurrying our way.

"Oh, is there really a half nigger baby in there?" she squealed, rubbing my belly.

"Leave her alone!" Andre growled, taking a menacing step in her direction. She burst into tears and ran to Bruce, who embraced her while staring daggers at Andre and me.

We bought our groceries and left as quickly as we could.

I didn't think anything more about the incident until several days later, when Andre failed to come home from work.

At first I thought that perhaps he'd simply had car trouble, a flat tire or similar misfortune, but as it grew dark and he still hadn't arrived, I got worried. I rushed to the home of our next-door neighbors, a nice couple named Mack and Ruby, and asked them to drive me to Andre's job site. Fortunately, his boss, a large man named Clyde, was still there.

"The police come and take him away hours ago," Clyde told me when I asked if he knew where Andre was.

"But what did he do?"

"I dunno. All I saw was them puttin' cuffs on 'im and taking 'im to their car."

By the time I reached the jail, it was after ten o'clock.

"I'm Melinda Brisebois," I told the man at the front desk. "Could you please tell me if my husband Andre is here?"

The man checked a roster. "Yes, ma'am. He was brought in and booked at three thirty this evening."

"What was he charged with?"

"I wouldn't know, ma'am. You'd have to ask the arresting officer. It didn't happen on my shift."

"Well, can I please see him?"

"I'm sorry, but you'll have to wait until visiting hours tomorrow."

"They wouldn't let me see him," I told Mack and Ruby when I got back to their car. "They said I have to wait 'til visiting hours tomorrow."

If I had any more nightmares that night, there would be no one there to comfort me.

The next day I took the bus to the jail. I was allowed to talk to Andre for thirty minutes. A glass separated us, so that we couldn't touch each other.

"Darling!" I cried when I saw him. He'd been sitting on a cot, staring at the floor, but as soon as he heard my voice, he looked up and smiled.

"Lindy! How'd you find me?"

"Clyde told me what happened. What did they arrest you for?"

"Criminally assaultin' Martha, they said. But I didn't even touch her, Lindy! You know I didn't! You were there!"

"I know." I felt my shoulders slump. "So what's gonna happen now?"

"I have to stay here until my trial, unless you've got some way of comin' up with the three hundred dollar bail."

Neither of us said anything. We both knew I didn't.

The first day of Andre's trial finally arrived. I put on my white maternity dress with the tiny flower print. It was just about the only thing I owned that still fit me, and it was bursting at the seams as it was. My child weighed heavy inside me, its movements often vigorous enough to keep me awake at night.

"It's bound to be a boy," Andre had said with a big grin as I had told him this with heavy-lidded eyes after yet another restless night.

Too nervous to eat breakfast, I took the bus to the courthouse, arriving far ahead of almost everyone else. I was acutely embarrassed by the inordinate amount of attention paid to the evidence of my condition, as I assured the blue-uniformed men over and over again that I wasn't trying to smuggle anything inside.

I found a front seat in the large, all but empty courtroom, I sat quaking as, one by one, the others filed in. My bladder felt as if it was about to burst, but i didn't dare leave. Several of Andre's relatives arrived and sat near me. My parents and Bruce arrived, but they sat on the other side of the room, pretending I didn't exist.

At last the judge called for order, and the trial proceeded. Martha took the stand and immediately launched into a tirade of self-pity.

"I had just seen my sister-in-law and went over to say hello to her when suddenly I felt his hand on my breast," she began. "I was horrified and told him to leave me alone. That made him mad, and he pushed me so hard that I almost fell down."

In his turn, the public defender asked her a barrage of questions. Often, I saw her give panicked glances toward Bruce, as if silently asking him whether she'd answered the question correctly or not. I wondered how much of her ridiculous story she'd invented herself, and how much of it had been spoon-fed to her by Bruce.

The prosecution called several more witnesses, including Bruce, of course, and then it was Andre's turn to tell his side of the story. I was so proud of the way he held himself, the calm and dignified way in which he answered all the questions asked of him. How I longed to tell him how I felt! Yet I didn't know whether or not I'd get the chance.

Toward the end I suddenly felt nauseous, more so than I ever had before in my life. Desperately, my eyes searched for a place to be sick as I felt gut-wrenching cramps grip my entire lower body. After a few breathless seconds, I realized that they were not evidence of diarrhea, but labor contractions. My baby was on its way. Now!

The next few hours seemed to pass in a blur. Somehow I made it out of the courtroom and to a waiting ambulance, which took me to the nearest hospital. As soon as they carried me inside, a middle-aged woman whom I'd never seen before, dressed all in white and with bright red lipstick caked on her lips, began asking me question after question.

"What's your due date? When was the first day of your last period? Name and occupation of responsible party? Insurance number?"

I answered the questions to the best of my ability, my heart longing for my husband the entire time. Andre should be with me now...it isn't fair...it's all Bruce and Martha's fault...why, or why, couldn't they have just left us alone?

Finally they told me to undress completely and gave me a skimpy hospital gown that, if it covered one part of my body, left another exposed. After examining me, they left me alone and in pain for what seemed like hours.

They put some kind of medicine into my IV, and after that I don't remember much, only periods of partial lucidity, alternating with almost blinding pain. Eventually they examined me again and then moved me to a different room, where I was transferred to a small, hard table and my feet were put into metal stirrups.

Through a haze of agony, I could vaguely hear what seemed to be disembodied voices telling me to push. I did, with all my might, over and over, for what seemed like ages. At last there was a burning sensation, followed by a slapping sound and then the wails of a newborn.

"It's a girl!" someone announced.

It was sometime the following afternoon when he came to see me. I'd been watching TV and dozing off and on when he quietly entered my room. My heart leaped with joy when I saw him.

"They let you go!" I exclaimed.

He grinned. "They said there wasn't enough evidence to convict me of nothin.' Sheesh, I could a told 'em that that crazy gal was lyin.' Would a saved 'em all that trouble."

"Did you see her yet?"

He nodded. "She's the prettiest little girl in the whole wide world!"

"You ain't too disappointed, are ya?"

"Shucks, no! Why should I be? She's beautiful!"

I reached for him, and he hugged and kissed me.

"Was that your baby's father?" the nurse asked after Andre left.

"Yes, ma'am. That's my husband," I told her.

"Oh, mercy!" she exclaimed, dashing from my room.

"What is it?" I called after her.

"I'm gonna hafta move her to the negro nursery," she replied.

They have separate nurseries for negro and white babies?" I asked myself. But of course they would...

Several days later, we took baby Camille home. She had her father's black hair, but instead of tight curls like those of Andre and his mother, hers were loose ringlets. If not for her dark chocolate brown eyes and slightly full lips, no one would guess that part of her heritage was negro. I figured that she'd probably be allowed to go to a white school, when the time came for her to start.

The joys and challenges of new parenthood took our minds off of everything for a time, but when Camille was about two weeks old, I began to bleed very heavily. My discharge had a foul odor, and I ran a fever.

"Please send for my Mama," I told Andre. "She's been there to take care of me every time I've been sick. When I had mumps, measles..."

"You need to go to a doctor, Lindy." I'd never seen my husband look so worried.

"Please, Andre, I need my Mama!" I insisted.

He sighed. "All right. I'll be back as soon as I can."

I fell into a restless sleep, tossing and turning, waking in fits. I could hear voices, but they sounded far away, fuzzy and indistinct. I felt myself being moved, and then wasn't aware of anything for the longest time.

I awoke to find myself lying flat on my back, staring up at a white ceiling. I saw that a bottle containing clear fluid was hanging from a stand beside my bed. A tube ran from the bottle to a needle in my arm. A nurse stood beside my bed doing something with the bottle. Her eyes caught mine.

"Oh, good, you're awake," she said. "Your fever must have broken."

Icy fingers of fear trickled up and down my spine. "What happened?"

"The doctor will be in to see you shortly," she told me.

"Where's my baby?"

She just glanced at me and didn't say anything.

The doctor came in a few minutes later. He was slender and youngish-looking, with salt-and-pepper hair and a mustache. "You gave us quite a scare, young lady," he told me. "Your temperature was a hundred and four when you came in."

"I can't even remember that!"

"Of course you can't. You were delirious."

"What's wrong with me?"

"You have puerperal fever. A generation ago you probably would have died, but thanks to the antibiotics we have now, there's no reason you can't make a complete recovery."

"Oh my God! I really was sick, wasn't I?"

"Yes, you were."

"Where are my husband and baby?"

"From what I understand, your husband stopped by your neighbors, the Johnsons, and asked them to call an ambulance for you. He told them that you weren't in your right mind and asked them to watch the baby for him while he went to fetch your parents."

"So where is he now?"

"No one knows. We're still awaiting word from him."

"But how long have I been here?"

The doctor quickly examined the chart he held. "Two days."

"Two days? Oh, my God!" Andre, where in the world are you?"

Hours passed, and still there was no word from Andre. Mack and Ruby were told that I had awakened and came to visit me. They were very nice, assuring me that Camille was fine and was in her Aunt Jeanne's care, but they couldn't tell me anything about my husband.

The following day, I told the doctor that I wanted to be released from the hospital. "I have to find out what happened to Andre!" I insisted.

"To release you right now would be a very bad idea," the doctor replied. "The antibiotics have barely had the chance to start working. If I sent you home today, I could almost guarantee you'd be back within a couple of days, probably in even worse condition than you were in when you were admitted."

Later that day, I received a surprise visitor: Andre's brother, Bertrand. The look in his eyes almost made my heart stop.

"They found Andre." Gasping for breath, he wiped sweat from his brow."He's been hurt real bad, Lindy. He's got a bunch of broken bones, and his head's all bashed in. They don't even know whether or not he'll ever wake up again."

As soon as they allowed me to stand and walk around, I went to see Andre in the ICU. He lay in bed absolutely motionless, his head heavily bandaged, casts on his arms and legs, and wires and tubes running all over the place. It broke my heart to see the man I loved so badly injured. Would my little Camille ever know her father? If the unthinkable happened and I lost Andre, how could I ever go on living?

"How did it happen?" I asked Bertrand.

"Some folks found him lyin' in the woods close to your Mama's place. He must 'a been goin' to see her about somethin'. Doctor say he was pretty near dead when they brought him in a few hours ago. Somebody must 'a really had it in for him, I reckon."

"They don't have any idea who it was?" I sure did.

Bertrand shook his head. "Weren't no witnesses, unless he wakes up hisself and can tell us."

I took Andre's limp hand into my own and gazed down at his still form. At least he's not in any pain, I told myself.

As soon as I was able to leave the hospital, I went to Jeanne's to pick Camille up. "Oh, my baby!" I cried as I held her tight. "How's she been?" I asked Jeanne.

"She's been real good," Jeanne told me. "Hardly ever cries at all."

"Thank you so much for taking care of her," I told her.

"Weren't no problem at all, honey! We're family."

For the next couple of weeks, my life was split between caring for Camille and sitting with Andre at the hospital as much as I could. If it hadn't been for his family helping with Camille, I don't know what I would have done. His condition remained stable, neither improving nor worsening, until the day he finally awakened.

His eyes fluttered, then stayed open and met mine. "Andre! You're back!" I cried.

"Lindy." His voice was so weak I could barely hear it.

"You're gonna be all right now, Andre," I told him. "Everything's gonna be just fine."

His eyes widened in fear. 'Don't let them...hit me again..."

"Who, Andre?" I asked eagerly. "Who hit you?"

"Bruce." It seemed to take all my husband's effort to pronounce the name. "Him and...his friends..."

I knew it! Fury surged through my veins as I imagined Andre, my Andre, lying helpless on the ground while my brother and his thuggish friends beat him senseless.

"You're safe now, Andre," I told my husband. "You're in the hospital. They can't hurt you here."

"It was Bruce, Buck, and Billy Bob! I know it was!" I told Detective Grant. "Bruce was mad 'cause Andre didn't get convicted and sent to jail, so he got his friends to help him beat Andre up!"

"Mr. Brisebois has only just now regained consciousness," the detective replied. "He hasn't yet been examined to determine whether or not he's sustained permanent brain damage. I'll speak to him in a few days, when his mind's clearer and his memory can be more confidently trusted."

"Andre knows who did this to him!" I shouted, feeling my hands curl into fists, willing myself not to swing them at the man facing me. "He was there! He saw them! He ain't brain damaged or stupid or crazy, and if they're still runnin' loose when he gets out of the hospital, they'll probably kill him next time!"

"Mr. Brisebois won't be released from the hospital for quite some time yet." Detective Grant yawned. "By the time that happens, I'm sure we'll have made significant progress on this case.

Andre's recovery was gradual but steady. He could soon sit up in bed and feed himself, with considerable difficulty. I asked him what had happened.

"I was on my way to get your Mama, like you asked me to," he told me. "Bruce and his buddies jumped out in front of me, blockin' my way. 'Where you goin', nigger?' he asked me. I told him you was sick and askin' for your Mama. 'We don't want no niggers comin' 'round here,' he told me. I tried to walk past him, but the three of them surrounded me. 'Looks like we're gonna have to teach this here nigger a lesson, boys,' Bruce said. The three of them started hittin' and kickin' me. I tried to fight back, but they was just too strong for me. Next thing I knew, I was lyin' in this bed here lookin' up at you."

"All three of the young men in question have alibis," Detective Grant told me. "Your mother swore to me that all three of them were at her home when the incident happened."

"But Andre wouldn't lie!" I protested. "If he said he saw Bruce, then he saw Bruce!"

Detective Grant shook his head. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Brisebois, but with no additional witnesses, it's your mother's word against your husband's."

Would she really do that? I asked myself. Is her love for Bruce and her hatred for me so strong that she would actually lie in a situation like this?

I didn't really want to know the answer to that question.

One Year Later

Accordions played and wash-boards were strummed as couples danced, whirling energetically to the lively music. Even little Camille, barely over a year old now, responded to the joyous cadence, clapping her hands as her dark eyes twinkled with excitement.

"She's gonna be a real beauty when she grows up," said Andre, who sat beside me. "I'm gonna hafta really fight the boys off. I can see it right now."

His recovery from the savage beating had been a slow, arduous process. He'd had to relearn to walk, to tie his shoelaces, to perform many simple tasks he'd done for almost his entire life, all over again. He still walked with a slight limp and often had a difficult time remembering things.

My mother held fast to her story that Bruce and his friends had been at her house at the time Andre had been attacked, refusing to relent under even intense questioning. I knew in my heart that Andre had recognized his attackers, and I'd never forgive her for her betrayal. As soon as Andre had been well enough to travel, we'd returned to his home in Louisiana. His great uncle had recovered sufficiently that he no longer needed as much assistance as he had before, and besides, it was doubtful that Andre would ever be capable of the heavy manual labor he'd previously performed anyway. He was now in training to become a mechanic.

I loved living in Louisiana. Its culture seemed more varied and colorful than that of Alabama, and I enjoyed being introduced to new customs, styles of music, and food.

I was getting to know Andre's extended family on both sides. His grandfather on his mother's side told me many stories of how his own parents and grandparents had worked as slaves on the plantations of New Orleans and Baton Rouge, and of how he'd been one of the first generation of his family to be born free in 1870. His grandmother on his father's side told me stories of growing up in Nova Scotia, of how cold the winters were, much colder than the winters here, of how her ancestors had been fur traders with the Indians. She taught me how to prepare many delicious Creole meals. Gumbo became one of my favorite dishes.

After what had happened to Andre, and the outcome, I broke all ties with my family in Montgomery. Martha was pregnant at the time we moved away, but I never found out whether she'd had a boy or girl, nor did I care.

The one thing I did care about was my precious Camille. I wanted her to grow up in a world where people cared more about who she was on the inside than what she looked like on the outside, a world in which she could drink from any water fountain she wanted, eat at any lunch counter she wanted, ride any bus she wanted whenever she wanted, and go to any school she wanted to attend.

Andre and I both had faith that that day would come, if not in our own lifetimes, then in hers.