Page 18 of Where the Rivers Merge

Jim Crow laws were state and local laws introduced in the Southern United States in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries that enforced racial segregation. The racist laws remained on the books until 1965.

1988

My water glass was empty. The food was congealing on the plates. I looked at the women sitting at the table and saw they were, amazingly, patient. Still wide-eyed and attentive.

Norah leaned forward, her brows furrowed in thought. “Your story takes place around 1915, right?”

When I nodded, she continued. “You were either very brave or very na?ve. Was a friendship between a white girl and a Black girl at that time, well . . . even legal?”

“You’re quite right,”

I replied. “This all happened so long ago, I forget how hideous Jim Crow laws were during that time. Interracial friendships were very rare and definitely frowned upon, even openly scorned. Discrimination and segregation were deeply ingrained in us all. No, we were not na?ve. Especially not my mother. Covey and I accepted new parameters around our relationship. Covey had to live in the servants’ quarters. We couldn’t go out of the house together as friends. Or even behave as such in front of the other servants. It would be hard for me. Harder yet for her. But we both understood what was at stake.”

“Where did Granny Covey go to school? She couldn’t go to the school you went to.”

“No, of course not,”

I conceded. “Schools for Black students were limited at that time, true, but Covey was accepted into the Avery Normal Institute, one of the most prominent schools in Charleston.”

I smiled, remembering Covey’s joy at the news. “She loved that school. It provided her with an excellent education, cultural events, and an introduction to Black society in the city. Most of all, she could continue her dream of becoming a teacher.”

“That all makes sense now. Grandma used to tell me how schools such as Avery made all the difference for young Black students, like her, during that time. But honestly, this is the first time I’ve heard how it all happened. How she got there and where she lived. How she made her dreams come true.”

Norah pursed her lips. “It seems you were both very brave.”

“Truth be told, Covey saved me every bit as much as I saved her.”

I smiled. “Isn’t that what best friends do?”

* * *

I returned to the dining room a few hours later. The crystal chandelier created a prism of color on the walls as the sun set. I smiled to see the table set with the family china and silver. Red and white roses from the garden clustered in crystal vases. The mouthwatering scents of garlic and rosemary emanated from the platter of roast lamb and potatoes and filled the room. Savannah and Norah had been busy, I thought, pleased to see them getting along so well. Savannah’s youth was evident in the jeans and white T-shirt, and her long hair was pulled back into a ponytail as she placed thick damask napkins at each setting. Norah had changed into casual white linen pants and a flowing shirt. A small diamond sparkled at her neckline. Their chatter and laughter brought back, with stirring clarity, memories of other dinners at this table. Other voices . . . other years.

“Here we all are,”

I exclaimed, entering.

Norah hurried to the side table to grasp the bottle of red wine. “Would you like a glass?”

“Yes, please,”

I replied, settling into my chair.

Norah poured the wine and we all sat to enjoy the delicious lamb, a crisp salad, fruit, and cheese.

“Now, where did I leave off?” I asked.

Norah answered, “Covey said she’d go to Charleston with you.”

“Ah, yes,”

I said, looking up at the mural. “Look there, just to the right of the window.”

I pointed to a mural depicting a large carriage riding along the allée of oaks. “Do you see the scene of the carriage?”

“The one with all the people in it?”

asked Norah.

“Yes, that’s it. If you look closely you’ll see the people inside are Mama, Lesesne, Covey, and me.”

Savannah rose and walked closer, then bent to peer at the scene. “It is! All these years I’ve seen these murals, and I never knew they were stories of us.”

She leaned forward, squinting at a scene. “But . . . what happened to Uncle Heyward? I don’t see him there. Didn’t he go to Charleston too? And Hugh?”

“Heyward and Hugh went separately to Porter. By train.”

Memories flooded my mind and once again I saw their faces: Covey’s so beautiful, Heyward’s chiseled features, Lesesne’s urbane smile, Tripp’s freckled sincerity, and Hugh’s brilliant blue eyes.

“The mass exodus from Mayfield to Charleston was scheduled for August tenth,” I began.

Part Three

The Charleston Years

A door just opened on a street—

I, lost, was passing by—

An instant’s width of warmth disclosed,

And wealth, and company.

The door as sudden shut, and I,

I, lost, was passing by,—

Lost doubly, but by contrast most,

Informing misery.

—Emily Dickinson