“Well, I could just move in.” Ozzie ran his hand across her thigh.
“I don’t intend to share property with no man who ain’t my husband,” she whispered matter-of-factly.
“So, let’s get married.”
She sat up on the couch, and the thin blanket fell away from her breasts. “You gonna have to ask me a little better than that, Mr. Philips.”
Ozzie scratched his head as he pushed the thought of this similarmoment with Jelka to the back of his mind. That time his proposal had been duty, but this was Rita, his heart.
Gingerly, he knelt between Rita’s legs and took her hand. “Darling. I’ve adored you since I first landed eyes on you. You are my first love. Will you be my forever love? Will you marry me?”
Rita squealed. “Yes, yes, I will.”
CHAPTER 36Washington, D.C., July 1954
ETHEL
Dear Julia,
I hope this correspondence finds you well. We made it across the sea in one piece. After two weeks in god-awful temporary housing, we are finally settling into our brand-new four-bedroom home on Madison Street in Northwest D.C. You would love the house. It’s located on a beautiful tree-lined street with a fenced-in backyard big enough for the children to play. It has the most glorious fireplace, and the front porch is wide enough for a few rocking chairs, ideal for sipping iced tea.
As life would have it, Monika’s eighth birthday fell on move-in day, so we hardly had time to celebrate her. I did manage store-bought cupcakes, and after she blew out her candles, she told Bert that she had wished for him to build her a tree swing. Well honey, Bert has been walking around the yard, assessing which of the four trees could hold up her swing. That girl has him wrapped around her finger.
How are you faring without me? I must admit, it is odd to beback home, after three and a half years stationed in Germany, with eight children in tow. And you were wrong, by the way, there’s really no difference between four and eight kids, other than three dozen extra eggs, five chickens, and four more gallons of milk a week! I can’t help but chuckle as I put this on paper, but seriously, they love each other so much and play so well, were it not for the grocery bill and the extra laundry, I’d not notice the difference.
I do, however, miss the Officers’ Wives and the Negro Wives of Mannheim dearly. Yet and still, I know being in the States is an excellent opportunity for our children. They are already amazed at all the sights and sounds of America. During our first week here I took them to the National Zoo, and I couldn’t tear Mia and Anton away from the sea lions.
Next week I’m going to enroll Franz, Heinz, Leo, Monika, and Anke at the Nativity Catholic school on Georgia Avenue for the fall, and I’ll teach little Oti, Mia, and Anton at home until they are old enough to start kindergarten.
You won’t believe who called me. I would make you guess but you’d never get it. Lerone Bennett Jr. Yes, the writer fromEbonymagazine! He is coming to D.C. in two weeks and would like to do a two-page spread on our family. He has read my Brown Baby Plan articles, and he wants to do an in-depth interview, his words not mine on how Bert and I went from two kids to four and then returned to the States with eight adopted children to raise and love.
When we hung up the telephone, all I could think about was how you and I used to share ourEbonymagazines, fighting over who got to read first. Provided all goes well, we will be featured in the November issue, so keep your eyes peeled. Better yet, I’ll mail you a copy as soon as the issue hits the stands.
Dearest Julia, I miss you so much. In the month we’ve been apart, it has really made me realize that you are more than afriend to me. You are my sister. Please kiss the girls and write soon. Oh, and send some lebkuchen cookies for the children. I’ve tried to bake them myself but they are never as good. I’m enclosing a recipe for curried spaghetti that I found inGood Housekeeping.When I made it, Bert was practically licking his plate. See you later, alligator.
With love,
Ethel
CHAPTER 37Philadelphia, PA, September 1952
OZZIE
On the second Sunday of September, at Tasker Street Missionary Baptist Church, Ozzie stood at the altar adorned with pink and white carnations, dressed in his military uniform, holding Rita’s face, as he kissed her on the lips and sealed their commitment.
As bride and groom, they feasted on fried chicken, chitterlings, pigs’ feet, potato salad, collard greens, and corn pudding and then washed it down with cans of beer, jug wine, and Irish whiskey. The wedding reception had started in his mother’s living room but spilled out on the sounds of Muddy Waters into Ringgold Street. When the liquor was gone and the music stopped, Ozzie officially dragged his footlocker and two duffel bags across the street to his new home with Rita, where they consummated the marriage in her back bedroom and not the green sofa in the basement.
The next morning, Rita was still grinning when Ozzie shuffled into the kitchen in a T-shirt and pajama pants. The harsh ceiling strip light intensified the banging that he had woken up with in his head.
“Can you turn that light off?” He slumped into the wooden chair and closed his eyes. It had been nearly six months since he’d had adrink. But it had been his wedding day, and everywhere he turned, people were shoving a glass of something in his hand. At first he had tried to refuse, but the men of Ringgold Street were relentless.
“Drink this, it’ll help you stay up all night long.”
“What, the army done turned you into a pussy now? Boy, you better drink.”
“Welcome to the married club, son. Let’s all drink to the bride and groom.”
Drink, drink, drink.
