The Color Of Love

It was the cacophony, the loud whooping and jeering, that awakened me. It was then I saw the glowing yellow light through the curtains. I pushed them aside and gasped when I realized its origin - a wooden cross had been set ablaze.

There were four or five men on horseback in our front yard. They all wore white sheets with holes cut out for eyes like trick-or-treating ghosts.

Andre was standing right behind me, peering over my shoulder at the men and the blazing message they had delivered. "I'm going out there," he said through gritted teeth.

"No, Andre! They'll rip you from limb to limb!"

But he was already sprinting toward the door, jaw set in determination. I followed, but he hooked me behind him. "Get back! They'll see you!" he whispered.

"I'm not letting you go out there alone!" I insisted. He pushed me away again and snatched open the door, but the men were already riding away, hooting and cackling and shouting obscenities.

I collapsed into the nearest chair, sobbing. A moment later I felt Andre's arms around me, holding me. "Lindy, my Lindy, please don't cry. It's all right."

I knew the charred remains of the cross would still be there in the morning, mute testimony that the events of tonight hadn't been a mere nightmare.

To me it was as memorable as was the day I was a little girl and Mama told me the war was over. Japan had finally surrendered. I asked how many people had been killed by the bombs, but she didn't want to talk about it. I remember going into our bathroom and looking at myself in the mirror and pulling the edges of my eyes up with my fingertips and wondering what it would be like to be on the other side of the world, where so many people had just perished.

I met him at the department store I'd begun working at after graduating high school a few months previously. I was standing on a ladder stocking glasses on a shelf when one slipped out of my hand and fell. Never hearing the expected crash, I looked and saw that he'd caught it. The deeply tanned, but not quite brown, color of his skin, his tight black curls, dark chocolate-colored eyes, and full lips told me right away that he was one of 'them.' This notion passed into my brain and then right back out again, supplanted by the knowledge that the price of the broken glass would have been deducted from my wages.

"Thank you," I said as he handed the glass back to me.

"I'm Andre." When he smiled, his teeth looked very white against his dark skin.

"It's nice to meet you. I'm Melinda."

"Say, what time do you get off?"

"Five. My Mom usually picks me up, but our car's in the shop right now, so I'll have to take the bus."

"I could pick you up," he suggested.

As many times as I'd been warned about accepting rides from strangers, something instinctively told me that I could trust him. "All right."

"So, have you lived here your entire life?" he asked on the way home.

"Yeah. Kind of boring, huh?" I laughed, and he joined in. "So where are you from?"

"Louisiana. My father was from Nova Scotia. He had family connections down here. My mother's people were freedmen, mostly sharecroppers. They met at a Fais do-do, a dance."

"So how did you end up here in Montgomery?"

"My mother's Uncle Hiram had a stroke, and a few of us came east to help him out. My family, we always look out for each other."

I couldn't believe we'd already reached my home.

"Thanks for the ride, Andre," I told him as I got out of his Chevrolet Bel Air.

"No problem. Anytime," he replied before driving away.

I didn't realize that my mother had witnessed the entire exchange from the kitchen window.

"Andre isn't a negro!" I protested. "His father's French Canadian. He's just as white as I am!" It was after dinner, and my mother and I were in the living room discussing, or rather, arguing about, my transportation home from work that day.

"If it looks like a negro, then it's a negro," my mother said. "And I don't never want to see you ridin' in a car with one again. What would folks around here say?"

"Andre gave me a ride home to save me bus fare," I said. "What's wrong with that?"

"What's wrong with it is that if anybody seen you, folks are gonna start talkin.'"

"So let them talk!" I retorted. "I don't care what they say!"

"Honey, you got a rep'rtation to pr'tect," she protested. "I sure don't want nobody sayin' my Lindy's turned into a nigger lover."

Just then my brother Bruce strode by, reeking of tobacco. "Sounds like Lindy here's done gone and got herself a boyfriend!" He cackled loudly as he passed me. I was so angry that I went straight to my room and slammed the door shut behind me.

The next day, I wondered all day long whether or not he'd come for me after work as he had the previous day. He did.

"You don't have to drive me all the way to the house today, Andre," I told him in a voice that I hoped sounded generous. "You can just drop me off at the corner. I'll walk the rest of the way."

He looked at me with eyes full of surprise and hurt. "You're ashamed to be seen with me, aren't you?"

"Oh, no, it ain't that at all!" I protested quickly. "It's just that..."

But he'd already turned and walked away.

A few days after that, I walked into a rather nasty situation at work. My boss, Mr. Peterson, was holding a colored girl roughly by one arm. She was crying, scared out of her wits. She couldn't have been more than fourteen or fifteen at the most.

"You stole it!" Mr. Peterson shouted at her. "This mornin' there were four bottles of perfume on that shelf, and now there are only three, and since I ain't sold no perfume all day long, that means somebody stole one. You're the only nigger I seen in here all day, so it must a' been you." He glanced my way. "B'sides, Melinda here saw you take it, didn't you, Melinda?" He glared at me, challenging me to contradict him.

"Oh, no, sir, I didn't see nothin' at all. I just got here." I tried hard to keep my voice steady.

He turned back to the colored girl. "Either you pay for that perfume right now, or I'm callin' the cops!"

Big tears were rolling down the girl's face. I knew she didn't have the money to pay for the perfume.

"I'll pay for it," I said. Mr. Peterson's mouth dropped open. "It don't cost that much. It ain't worth callin' the cops over," I continued, reaching into my purse for my wallet. Mr. Peterson was so surprised that he let go of the girl's arm, and she looked at me gratefully and ran from the store.

It wasn't until later that I learned that Andre had been standing right behind me and had witnessed the entire episode.

It as pouring down rain when I got off work that day. I was standing by the door waiting for it to ease up enough that I could make a dash for it when someone lightly touched my elbow. I turned to see Andre holding a folded umbrella out to me.

"Here. I think you're gonna need this," he said.

"Thanks!" I said as I took the umbrella from him and headed for the bus stop.

"I'm parked this way," he told me, heading in the opposite direction. Silently I turned to follow him, and when we reached his car, he held the passenger-side open for me.

"I saw what you done back there," he said as we rode along.

"Well, he had no proof that she took it," I replied. "I knew he was accusin' her just because..."

"You act different from other white folks," he said thoughtfully.

"How so?" I asked.

He shrugged. "I dunno. Just different."

At last, we arrived at my home. I thanked him once again before I got out of the car and dashed into the house. He waved and drove away.

Andre and I saw a lot of each other after that. Bruce made a few more snide remarks, and my Ma cluck-clucked disapprovingly, but after awhile they gave up and stopped.

One day Andre and I were walking along when we came to two side-by-side water fountains, identical except that one was labeled 'white' and the other was labeled 'colored.' Suddenly feeling mischievous, I skipped to the fountain labeled 'colored' and took a sip from it. Right behind me, Andre took a sip from the fountain labeled 'white.' Then we both walked away giggling like a couple of school kids who'd just pulled a silly prank. Then he turned to me and kissed my lips for the first time.

It was in church the following Sunday morning when things came to a head once again. The preacher had been ranting about Elvis Presley and the obscene way he gyrated his hips on stage and how it was just another sign that God was turning His back on our nation, paving the way for the Communists to take over, when he launched into a new subject. "And as for those of y'all who think it's all right to mix with the coloreds, to marry them and have babies, I'm tellin' y'all right now, it's a sin and a disgrace! God don't intend for that to happen; they got their place, and we got ours! They don't belong in our schools, and they sure don't belong in our houses! I'm tellin' ya right now, judgement's comin' soon if we don't repent and change our ways!"

My face was burning, and I could feel every pair of eyes in the church boring into me. I wanted to sink right through the floor.

"That there was some mighty good preachin'," my father remarked on the way home.

"That's right," Mama agreed. "And certain members of this family would do well to pay heed to it."

Bruce snickered. I glared bullets at him.

"What kinds of things do they talk about at your church, Andre?" I asked him the next time I saw him.

He looked surprised. "Well, just that God's our heavenly Father and that He loves us and wants us to be happy. That He's ready and willin' to give us all we need, and all we have to do is ask. That it's important to help those in need, since Jesus said, 'As you have done to the least of these little ones, so have you done to me.'"

"Is that all?"

"Well, our minister also likes to tell the story of how Moses led the children of Israel out of slavery, about how we should never take our freedom for granted, that we should always remember what our ancestors had to go through and be grateful to folks like Abraham Lincoln. And how even though things might be rough right now, brighter days are comin' where justice will prevail."

"He never says anything about how God made the races to be separate and how everybody should stick with their own kind?"

"No." He frowned. "What is it, Lindy? Did somethin' happen at your church?"

I shook my head quickly, unable to speak because of the lump in my throat. A moment later, I felt him gently touch my cheek and looked up at him.

"Hey, Lindy, have you ever heard zydeco music?"

"I don't think so. What is it?"

He grinned. "Aw, Lindy, you don't know what you've been missin'! It's played on accordion at places like the fais do-do I told you about. My dad's real good at it, and he taught me how to play it, too. Maybe someday you can come over and I'll play it for you."

I'm not sure exactly when I first realized that I loved Andre. It must have been sometime during a clandestine walk together along deserted streets, or while sitting together in the back row of a darkened theater we'd entered separately, or on one of a million other occasions. But when it happened, I knew that it was real.

It was at about the same time that Bruce started dating a girl named Martha. She was a tiny, petite, blonde, fluff-headed thing with a high-pitched giggle. The kind of girl who squeals if she sees a mouse. Exactly the type of girl I always knew he'd end up with.

One night Mama had Martha over for supper and fixed her special meal of fried chicken, mashed potatoes, turnip greens, and corn bread, with peach cobbler for dessert.

"This is my sister, Melinda," Bruce told Martha. "You'll never in a million years guess who she's sweet on." He whispered something into her ear, and she giggled that high-pitched giggle.

"Say, Lindy, has that nigger kissed you yet?"

"That's none of your business!" I snapped. He guffawed.

In a way, I was glad that Bruce had found Martha, as it meant that he had less time to hang around his loud, boisterous, tobacco-chewing, good-for-nothing friends, Buck and Billy Bob. With their noisy, raucous laughter, there was never any mistaking when they were around. I'd always tried my best to be polite to them, and they'd always been courteous to me, on a surface level, at least. I always suspected that it was more because of Bruce's presence than any real desire on their part to be nice.

I told Andre about Bruce and his friends, and about Martha. I didn't tell him what Bruce had asked me about him.

"I bet your Mama does some fine cookin'," he said.

"She does. I wish I could invite you over for supper sometime." He only snorted in reply.

In conversation, I discovered that the foods his family ate were many of the same ones my family ate, plus some extra ones, such as something he called 'chitlins.' He brought me some he'd sneaked out of his house wrapped in a napkin once, and to my surprise, I found them to be quite tasty.

"I really miss the food in New Orleans," he told me one day. "Craw fish, gumbo, jambalaya, shrimp etouflee...man, it makes my mouth water just to think about it!"

One day Andre and I were walking in the woods near the motley assortment of shacks that housed his family and their neighbors when I noticed that he seemed quieter than usual.

"Is something wrong?" I asked him.

He shook his head. "Hey, Lindy, you ever been in love before?"

"No, I just been out on dates a few times. Nothin' serious. Have you?"

He laughed. "I been with girls, if that's what you mean, but I ain't never felt about none of them the way I feel about you." Suddenly he looked very serious. "I love you, Lindy."

"I love you too, Andre."

We had to get married in Andre's church, of course. Marrying in mine would have been out of the question. To me it felt a bit awkward at first, but I quickly got over that. I finally got to meet Andre's family: his father, Jean-Claude, his mother, Essie, his sisters, Jeanne and Giselle, and his brother, Bertrand. Jean-Claude was a swarthy man who was of smaller stature than Andre and wore a beret. He seemed very open and friendly, constantly smiling and chatting with people in both English and French. Essie's skin was much darker than that of Andre and his siblings, but the same tight black curls covered her head. After the ceremony, she smiled sweetly and embraced me.

"Welcome to the family, darlin'," she told me.

"Thank you." I felt a lump in my throat as I imagined the kind of welcome Andre would have received from my mother if the situation had been reversed.

I finally got to hear some real zydeco music. Jean-Claude played the accordion, and Bertrand accompanied him on the wash-board. There was also a ceremony in which Andre and I held hands and jumped over a broom together. I didn't understand it, but the entire wedding was very joyous. In the midst of so much celebration, I could almost, but not quite, forget that not a single member of my own family was present.

"I know it ain't much, but it's the best I could do." Andre sounded apologetic as he led me through the small house.

"I like it," I told him. "It looks snug and cozy." I knew that as a day laborer, he'd have to put aside a substantial amount from his meager salary to make the payments, and that realization filled me with new appreciation of his devotion and determination.

The house was made of wood and painted white. A small porch led to the back door, which opened onto the living room, which contained a fireplace. Beyond the living room was the dining room, and beyond that was a kitchen, which the front door opened into. The larger bedroom was connected to the dining room by a door, and the smaller bedroom was connected to the kitchen by another door.

"It's all ours," Andre said proudly, pulling me to him. "And hopefully we'll be fillin' that second bedroom soon."

A shiver of delicious excitement went through me as he took my hand and led me into the larger bedroom, in which the bed's covers had already been turned down. I had the general idea of what went on between women and men, although I was unfamiliar with the specifics. They'd been carefully concealed from me, as their knowledge would surely have led to me compromising my virtue to the first man who came along. As I understood it, Mama was supposed to have revealed them all to me the night before my wedding day, which of course never happened.

"You ain't never been with a man before, have you, Lindy?" Andre asked me.

I shook my head.

"I'll be gentle," he promised me, leaning in for a kiss. Our arms went around one another as the kiss deepened and intensified. Ever so gently, he lay me back onto the bed, removing first my clothing, and then his own.

It was quite painful in the beginning. Although I knew Andre was being as gentle as he could, it was quite some time before I started to feel anything even faintly resembling pleasure.

"I hope I didn't hurt you too much," Andre said as we lay cuddling together afterwards.

"That's OK," I told him. "Next time's bound to be better."

"And who knows." Andre grinned and patted my belly. "I might a' just got you in the family way."

"You really want a baby, don't you, Andre?"

"'Course I do! Don't you?"

"Well, yeah, sure. That would be nice."

"Hey, maybe we'll even have two. A boy for me and a girl for you."

"I'd be happy with whatever we get, as long as it's healthy."

"Yeah, me too."

The first few months of our marriage were reasonably happy, considering that my family had all but disowned me. Whenever I happened to run into Mama in the grocery store, she'd turn her head and pretend not to see me. I also saw Bruce and Martha together from time to time. Martha always got this disgusted look on her face while Bruce sneered.

Through the grapevine, I heard they were engaged.

Most of the time, Andre could read my moods, and one day when I felt particularly down, he said, "you miss your folks, don't you?"

"Sometimes." I could hardly speak because of the lump in my throat.

He came to me and embraced me tenderly. "I'm sorry, Lindy."

"Ain't no reason for you to be sorry," I told him. "It ain't your fault. It's theirs."

We'd been married about six months when I missed my period and started throwing up in the mornings. I was sleepy practically all the time, and the aroma of certain foods, especially meats, made me feel queasy.

"What's been ailin' you, Lindy?" Andre asked me one evening when he returned from his job as a field laborer. "You just ain't been yourself lately. Are you sick?"

"I think I'm pregnant, Andre."

He looked startled at first, and then he grinned from ear to ear as he picked me up and gave me a big hug. "Well, how 'bout that!"

"I need to see a doctor," I told him. "I can't go back to my old one. He knows...well, he knows..."

Andre nodded in understanding. "I'll talk to Dr. Fountain. He's been takin' care of all of us since we was babies. I'm sure he'd be willin' to see you."

Dr. Fountain turned out to be a slight, soft-spoken man of about sixty with very dark black skin and short, curly white hair. After the first few awkward moments, I felt quite comfortable with him. He confirmed what I already knew and set a date for me to return in a month's time. Andre paid him and we left.

"This calls for a celebration!" Andre exclaimed.

"Where we gonna celebrate?" I asked.

"We'll make our own party," he told me. We bought deli sandwiches and potato chips and lemonade and fruit and took them to an isolated spot in the woods beside a stream. It was a gorgeous, sunshiny day, with chirping birds and chattering insects. We spread our quilt underneath a big shade tree and laid out the food.

We ate our fill, and I lay back on the quilt and closed my eyes. After what seemed like only a few moments, I felt Andre shaking my arm and opened my eyes to look into his laughing face.

"You gonna sleep all day?" he asked me.

I looked at the setting sun and gasped in surprise. Hurriedly, we gathered up the remnants of our picnic and headed home. We almost made it before the rain started.