After a couple inches of moonshine, Geoff announced that it was the best wedding reception he’d ever been to, and he sure was glad it was his. Everybody laughed and talked their country talk with him, and he talked it right on back, in a cadence that was familiar, but that Belle hadn’t known he possessed. Halfway through the evening, she saw him go around back to the outhouse, but she decided not to worry about his getting disgusted at the smell; they were legally man and wife.
Geoff even won her mother over, telling Miss Rose that she definitely knew how to fry some chicken, that it couldn’t be beat by any restaurant, not even Paschal’s in Atlanta. Miss Rose turned to her daughter and said it looked like Belle had herself a good husband. Make sure she did right by the man.
Don’t Let Me Lose This Dream
After their hasty marriage, Belle and Geoff returned to campus as if nothing had happened, though he smiled broadly when he showed up to the dormitory to walk her to meals in the refectory. He drove her to their spot out in the field three to four times a week, and they made love with abandon. The worst had happened; why not take their pleasure?
There was graduation in May, and Belle walked across the stage as salutatorian, grateful that she still wasn’t showing. Then they moved in with her parents at the farm. She spent two weeks sleeping with her new husband in her single bed at night, and during the day, listening to him showering her mother with compliments about her cooking, her kindness, her beauty, his gratitude to be part of this wonderful family. Miss Rose forgot her suspicion of proper-talking yellow boys; for fourteen days, she beamed and killed many chickens.
Then it was time for the newlyweds to leave for the City. Before he allowed Geoff to take his great-niece on their northbound journey, Uncle Root gave him a copy of The Negro Motorist Green Book, so they could find diners, hotels, and boardinghouses that would serve them, once they traveled out of family territory. Cut the journey into two or even three days, and only drive during daylight, Uncle Root ordered. Stay well under the speed limit, and Belle should sit in the back of Geoff’s Seville. Mixed marriages were illegal below the Mason-Dixon line. If stopped by police, Belle should pretend to be a maid, because her husband looked white, and, well, obviously she did not.
When they arrived in the City, the young couple moved into a furnished two-bedroom in a neighborhood with one short tree per block. No trash in the streets, but there was a gritty, unclean feel to the area. No matter how hard Belle scrubbed the windows of the apartment, they stayed dingy. The glass made a vague outline of the sun, which already seemed fainter. Geoff’s father had mailed him the address and key and paid six months’ rent, but the young man didn’t seem eager to see his own folks. It took three weeks to visit the elder Garfields, on a Saturday morning when the sun shined through rain. An omen of the Devil beating his wife.
Geoff wore a blue suit and tie, and Belle wore a white linen dress that skimmed over her midsection. A lady in a black dress and an apron answered the door, and Belle, surprised but pleased by the woman’s dark brown skin, stuck out her hand.
“Hello, Mrs. Garfield! It’s wonderful to meet you!”
The lady shook her head, but when she turned, Geoff was still back some paces.
“Baby, no. That’s Delores. She’s our maid.”
In the living room, the pale, gray-eyed Claire Garfield chided her son for waiting to visit right before she was due to travel to the Vineyard. Minutes of that, then she pushed her nose right into their bedroom. Had Belle talked to her obstetrician about birth control, for after the baby? What had he advised? Belle tried to deflect with humor. When that didn’t work, she turned to her husband, but he looked at his shoes.
It was the father who stopped the assault. He was a handsome, urbane man.
“Please excuse my wife,” he said. “She doesn’t realize that you aren’t here for a medical visit.” Zachary Garfield was as pale as his wife, only with brown eyes. His hair was trimmed neatly with silver at the temples. But though the elder Garfields were stylishly attired—Zachary wore a light, summer-weight suit with no tie, and Claire’s pink silk shift came only to the knees, revealing shapely legs—they sat on opposite sides of the room. And unlike Belle’s parents, there was no connecting vibration between her in-laws. They didn’t throw each other secret smiles or exchange any significant glances. There was a chilly unfriendliness between them, which made Belle hopeful. It seemed they weren’t united in their disapproval of her. Claire Garfield was on her own.