Her hand covers my hand, and she pulls me closer, although I’m already too close. “My child found out. I hated her because Jeremiah left a letter lying around. I lost my temper and struck her down.” Her tongue flicks from between her teeth.
“Yes, sir,” she says in a gentle tone. “Every time I looked at my daughter, I thought about that goddamned Dewey Graves—and I hated him and hated her, too. I tried to let that hate go, but I never could. Still hate them both to this day, and that’s God’s truth.”
CHAPTER 46
HONOREE
Thursday, December 31, 1925
It was Honoree’s birthday and New Year’s Eve and she was busy packing. She had decided to leave town, and Bessie had agreed to join her.
In the kitchen with Bessie, she prepared a food basket for their journey, which meant leaving early on New Year’s Day (Capone’s party be damned). It was a journey Honoree had no choice but to take. There was nothing left for her in Chicago, not with men like Archie and Gallo believing she owed them something or that she was their property. Starting fresh in Harlem wouldn’t be too bad as long as her leg healed.
“The train ride to New York City takes two days,” Bessie said. “How much should we bring?”
Cans of pork and beans, a basket of fried chicken and cooked potatoes, and a container of boiled eggs were assembled on the kitchen table. There was also a can of Maxwell House coffee.
“If we find some way to boil water on the train without spending money,” Honoree began, “fresh coffee will tide us over.”
The front doorbell chimed.
“I haven’t heard that sound in a long time.”
“What is it?” Bessie asked.
“Someone’s at the front door, you silly.”
Bessie glanced anxiously toward the front of the house. “It’s not Ezekiel or Jeremiah. They wouldn’t use a doorbell.”
“Then we’ll just have to see who rang the doorbell, won’t we?” Her words carried courage, but her insides knotted.
“Is it Archie?” Bessie’s voice trembled as she trailed behind Honoree into the foyer.
“No, it’s not him,” Honoree said with confidence. “Archie wouldn’t ring the bell. He and his goons would break down the door.”
When Honoree opened the front door, the last person she expected stood with her blond hair freshly curled and dark red stain on her lips.
“Hello, Trudy.”
“Honoree? What a surprise to see you here.” Trudy strutted by her, peeling off elbow-length lambskin gloves. She wore a fur coat, a mink, which she didn’t take off.
“What do you want?” Honoree asked.
“I’ve never been inside Ezekiel’s house,” Trudy said, peeking around corners. “Though, it appears to be what I expected of the Baileys. Living mighty high on the hog.”
“I asked you a question,” Honoree repeated.
Trudy strolled toward the parlor. “I’m looking for Ezekiel.”
“He’s not here.”
Trudy peered over Honoree’s shoulder. “I see your friend, the ragamuffin, is here, too. Hi, Bessie. Sorry we missed the chance to do something with your hair. Pesky fires made a mess of our weekend plans.”
Bessie peeked around the corner. “Hi, Trudy.”
“Apologies for calling you a ragamuffin. But you told me your good friend, Honoree, called you that the first time you met. And I want to be your friend, too.”
“Is that why you’re here, to make friends with Bessie? I thought you wanted to see Ezekiel, who ain’t here, which means you can turn around and leave.”
