Dennis met her eyes. “Are you okay?”
“I’m just a little tired and I need to rest,” she lied smoothly. Precious had read everything she could about pregnancy—fatigue, weight gain, cravings, and mood swings, and she intended to become an award-winning actress in the role of expectant mother. A pseudo-pregnancy was what she needed to decline social gatherings, while lying in bed eating her favorite foods and catching up on her reading. She would also refuse to see visitors. The exception would be her parents. She didn’t have to concern herself with a private duty nurse, because her mother would assume that role.
Precious truly had to applaud Lillian Crawford for her ingenious machinations to ensure her status as a grandmother. So many of Lillian’s sorors were grandmothers and were constantly questioning why her daughter hadn’t given Dennis Boone a child. It had become a point of irritation for Lillian, who knew why Precious hadn’t been able to conceive, while she accepted the blame for her daughter’s condition.
Well, her plan had become foolproof once Lillian had gotten Dr. Raitt to go along with her ruse. Precious wasn’t aware of her mother’s relationship with the family doctor, but at this point, she didn’t want to think about it or question it. When it came to powers of persuasion, Lillian Crawford was the best. And if she had been a man, then she would’ve been perfect as the power broker pulling the proverbial strings behind the scenes for a politician seeking an elected office.
Dennis gave her the keys to his Cadillac, and Precious left the one-story building, walked to the parking lot, and got into the vehicle that still had a new car smell. Dennis could be counted on trading in and purchasing a new Cadillac every two years, because he claimed it was a testament to his success as a real estate mogul. Rockefeller had oil, J.P. Morganbanking, Ford automobiles, and Dennis Boone real estate, when he’d secured short-term bank loans to purchase foreclosed properties, renovate them, and then resell them at a profit while repaying the bank loans before their due date.
If Dennis concerned himself with bank loan due dates, it was now the same for Precious. Justine Russell was due to deliver at the end of June, and she prayed the girl wouldn’t do anything to harm the baby growing inside her. When she thought about it, Justine would also get something out of the deal. After graduating, she would be given an opportunity to acquire the skills needed to work in an office. Skills that would offer her paid employment, while she was guaranteed to live rent-free in an apartment while she attended night classes.
All Justine had to do was go along with what Precious and her mother had designed for her, and she would be able to continue her life as she’d planned. She would graduate college and become a schoolteacher.
CHAPTER5
The day Justine received the news that she’d passed the last two New York State Regents tests she needed to graduate high school, her joy was short-lived. She returned to the house in Mount Vernon and was told that her grandmother had died in her sleep. Dennis Boone had reassured her that he would take care of the funeral arrangements. Justine sent her mother a telegram with the news that Flora Russell had passed away and that her employer had scheduled for her to be interred at Woodlawn Cemetery in the Bronx.
Flora Russell was laid to rest on a raw, rainy day in late January with less than a dozen in attendance at the gravesite. Justine had come to the Bronx with Dennis, and once her grandmother’s casket was lowered into the ground she returned to Mount Vernon with him to pack for her move to a furnished apartment in New York City.
She’d had little interaction with her boss or his wife once she’d discovered she was carrying Dennis Boone’s baby. She’d continued to attend classes, despite experiencing an occasional bout of nausea. However, that paled in comparisonto the fatigue that plagued her whenever she needed to concentrate on her lessons.
Her appetite hadn’t changed—she didn’t feel the need to eat more than usual, and if not for the absence of her menses and the tenderness in her breasts, Justine might have believed she was experiencing a pseudopregnancy. She still wore the same size clothes she’d worn before she’d been with Dennis Boone.
Justine had filled two suitcases with all her worldly possessions and snapped them closed when Lillian Crawford entered her bedroom. “I’m sorry about your grandmother,” she said in a soft, controlled tone.
Justine glared at her. She wanted to tell the supercilious woman that she was so sorry that she didn’t have the time to attend the graveside service because she’d been too busy looking after her scheming daughter, who spent most of her time in bed eating copious amounts of food.
“Thank you, Mrs. Crawford.”
Lillian pointed to the suitcases. “If you’re finished here, I will have my man bring them upstairs. He’s been given directions where to take you. Once you’re in the apartment, he will give you an envelope with enough money to last you for several months. A midwife will check on you every month, and she will give you more money to take care of your personal needs. You don’t have to concern yourself with paying rent, electricity, gas, or for the telephone. I suggest you make the best of whatever you’re given, because a year to the day after you give birth, you’ll be on your own.”
Never had Justine wanted to hit someone and continue hitting them until they ceased to breathe. “You and your daughter are going to hell for what you’ve done to me,” she threatened softly.
Much to her chagrin, Lillian smiled. “I may be going to hell, but if you ever tell anyone that you’re carrying Dennis Boone’s baby, Iwillmake certain you end up in jail for a very long time.”
Something snapped inside Justine at the same time a rush of rage seared her brain. “I curse you, this house, and everyone in it. And I also curse this evil thing I carry inside me, because it was conceived in sin.”
Lillian recoiled as if she’d been slapped across the face. “Get out! Now!”
Reaching for her coat, Justine slipped her arms into the sleeves, picked up her suitcases, turned on her heels, and left the small space that had been her sanctuary since she first moved in. She stood outside in the bitter cold, waiting for the man who would drive her away from a house where she’d been surrounded by people who thought nothing of committing one or more of the seven deadly sins. Mrs. Crawford and her daughter didn’t know they’d done her a favor sending her away where she wouldn’t be contaminated with their evil. The two women weren’t the only ones who’d done terrible things.
Dennis Boone believed paying for her grandmother’s funeral had absolved him of the fact that he’d become involved in criminal activity before reinventing himself as a law-abiding businessman. He had purposely ignored rumors that despite his outward appearance, he was still a criminal who lived in a big house with live-in help and had been fortunate enough to marry well. Folks knew that if it hadn’t been for his wife, he would’ve been refused entrance even through the back doors of the homes of most educated Black folks, because he couldn’t be trusted. Most of them were doctors, educators, and entrepreneurs, influential people who had attended elite schools while belonging to exclusive social organizations, all achievements Dennis Boone could barely imagine.
Justine did not understand why he drank every night before going to bed with his wife. Was it to dull his senses before he was able to have sex with her? Or perhaps he drank to forget the demons who continued to haunt him for what he’d done in a past life.
Thankfully, she didn’t have to wait long for the driver, as aFord woody station wagon came up the driveway. Her fingertips were becoming numb despite her wool gloves. The driver came to a stop, got out, picked up her suitcases, and stored them on the rear seats.
“Well, what are you standing there for? Get in the car!” he ordered, holding the door open for her.
Justine got in, sitting behind the front passenger seat, and seconds later the driver slammed the door so hard the vehicle shook. She sat motionless, staring at the rolls of fat on the back of his neck when he hoisted his bulk behind the steering wheel. He was breathing heavily, and she prayed he wouldn’t expire until after he’d taken her where she had to be.
Mrs. Crawford had hinted she would live in Manhattan. But where? It would be the second time she would travel to the borough, one of five that made up New York City, but there were so many neighborhoods and Justine hoped she wouldn’t be forced to live in a broken-down tenement building with rampant crime.
She shook her head to dispel the possibility. There was no way Precious and her mother would set her up in a less than desirable or dangerous neighborhood and risk her safety, because they wanted the child she carried. It would stand to reason that if they were paying a midwife to monitor her pregnancy, they would want to make certain she would not only carry to term, but also deliver a healthy baby.
Justine felt her eyelids drooping. She didn’t know if it was because of her condition, or the heat inside the vehicle, but she was beginning to feel overheated. She shrugged out of the wool coat, unbuttoned her sweater, and then rested her head on one of the suitcases and closed her eyes. The motion of the car over smooth surfaces had lulled her to sleep, but whenever the tires hit a bump or a pothole on the roadway, she was jerked awake.
Sitting up, Justine decided taking a nap, even a brief one, was impossible. She stared out the side window, seeing trees, buildings, and other cars zip past as her driver increased hisspeed. That’s when she noticed it was beginning to snow; she wanted to get wherever the driver was taking her before the snow made driving hazardous.
