Belle’s guilt over missing church was smoothed some when Miss Martha told her she hadn’t yet found a church home, either. So on Wednesday afternoons, when Belle came to shop, the old lady put up the CLOSED sign. While the baby slept, the two women would have Bible study. Miss Martha picked the scripture, and then she and Belle would talk through the words. Such as, what did it mean when Isaiah spoke of “drawing water from the wells of salvation”？ That moved them into practical territory: both of them had grown up with pumps in their yards.
And five days a week, Belle rose early and cooked breakfast, sending her husband off to medical school with a full stomach and a sack lunch besides. Every day, Belle nursed her baby and touched her cheek and gave her love. While Lydia munched on the full breast, making cozy sounds, Belle told her that things would be different for girls when she grew up. Lydia would be a smart lady and accomplish greatness. She’d make her mama proud, and after Belle put her daughter down, she’d sit in the kitchen, drink her coffee, and read a library book. She rubbed the table’s edge. Sometimes Belle scolded herself. She had a good life, especially for a Negro woman. She didn’t have the right to want anything else, so she should stop feeling sorry for herself.
She shouldn’t hate the City, though it was full of strangers. It was her home now. She shouldn’t look to her door, waiting for her mother or Dear Pearl to walk through without knocking, assured of a country welcome. She’d despised that violation of privacy as a teenager, but now she longed for it. And she shouldn’t wake in the night and sit up, looking at the ghostly colored shoulder of Geoff, wondering how she’d gotten to this moment. Even Belle’s own baby didn’t look like her—that adored, tiny being that Belle would have died for, just to make sure Lydia was happy and safe and loved.
When the telephone rang one morning, Belle almost didn’t answer: her family contacted her infrequently, and Miss Martha never called, so Belle suspected the call was her mother-in-law. She ignored the sound until it stopped, but then the phone rang again.
“Belle, hi! It’s Diane!”
“Oh. Hey yourself.”
“How are you? How’s the baby?”
“She’s good. Crawling now.”
Diane chattered on, telling Belle that she and Lawrence had enrolled in graduate school at Mecca University, she in the psychology program, and Lawrence in English. Then she dropped the news.
“I guess you heard about Lawrence and me breaking up.”
“Really? I’m so sorry.” Belle hoped her insincerity didn’t show, for she already knew about the separation. The usually composed Claire Garfield had been upset, but Belle had been secretly pleased when her mother-in-law disclosed the news at Sunday dinner. Belle hadn’t liked Lawrence anyway: he’d never called her once to ask, did she and the baby need anything? Stuck-up yellow bastard.
“Yeah, it’s heavy,” Diane said, and Belle made an understanding noise, even though she didn’t know what that meant. “I have a studio near the campus now.”
“But that’s a Negro neighborhood.”
“No, it’s integrated, because I live there.”
“Diane, one white person in five city blocks does not mean integration. Who told you that? Lord, today!”
Belle heard her mother’s voice in her head: Diane seemed like good white folks, like Cordelia Rice down in Chicasetta. Give her a chance. It would be the Christian thing to befriend her, because this girl didn’t have one bit of sense. Clearly, she needed some people to look after her. Though Belle didn’t exactly want to be bothered, she asked Diane over to dinner.
“Oh, goodness! Really? You don’t need to ask Geoff?”
“Girl, I’m grown. And I run this house.”
“Then how wonderful! I can’t wait to see you! I hope this means we’re friends, because you can’t get rid of me now.”
Diane burst into giggles, for seemingly no reason, and Belle was surprised when her heart squeezed in response.
Some nights, her husband didn’t come in until late from the library, and she began inviting Diane over regularly. On those days that Diane wasn’t in classes, she took walks with Belle and the baby. It wasn’t hard for Belle anymore with someone to help. If the baby made an accident, Diane would sing made-up songs to her while her mother stripped off the soiled clothes.
Soon, Belle felt no shame telling Diane she’d “had” to get married, though she didn’t regret her baby. In turn, Diane offered her own secrets: she hadn’t known Lawrence was a Negro when they began dating. When he let out his secret after an entire semester, he gave the excuse that he hadn’t found the right moment. It hadn’t been an issue for Diane, though, and it hadn’t upset her parents when she took him home to meet her folks. Mr. Murphy had given a surprised grunt. He’d looked over at Mrs. Murphy, and when she’d nodded her approval, that was that.