PROLOGUE
Ihave shed a thousand tears, yet the silence in my head screams at me to hang on. Just hang on. One moment longer. Don’t let go.
Debris and sand fill my nostrils and lodge between my fingers and toes. My back aches, and my body feels weak. Still, I cling to the mud-soaked earth, my arms hugging a jutting piece of limestone, preventing me from falling into the abyss.
I should have expected this—sensed the danger weeks ago, even months ago. But I am stubborn and naïve, and with a nature like mine, I don’t see what lingers in front of me—plain as day, dark as night, with a tortured gaze, sweat-drenched cheeks, and large, white teeth in a dazzling smile.
Christ. I can’t catch my breath. Do I even have breath?
Why didn’t I see it before?
Why did it elude me for so long?
What did the old woman say?
This is where the false gods dwell. Beware, or you might miss the true God when She comes calling.
A sudden peace surrounds me, quieting my raging thoughts. I pull myself up just enough to peer over the edge and, to my surprise, the old woman is wrong.
There are no false gods here.
PART ONE
THE PARTY: AUGUST 1935
CHAPTER 1
OTHELLA
State Street, Chicago, Illinois
The train from Chicago to Kenosha, Wisconsin, departs from the Northwestern Terminal at midnight. I’ve checked the schedule every day for the past two weeks, so I know I’m right. I also know I’ll be on that train by hook or by crook.
I just wish it were easier said than done.
My old man, Perry Merriweather, lies in bed next to me. He doesn’t know I plan to hightail it outta town and outta his life before the day is done. I can’t be saddled with no man, no matter how handsome or what promises he makes, not when I can be something more, someone else in a new town with a new name and a different occupation. There has to be more to me than gold-digging, picking pockets, and lying.
Rolling onto my side, I glance at the alarm clock on the nightstand. It’s four o’clock in the afternoon. For heaven’s sake. I wanted to be long gone by now. But Perry with his pockets full of stolen goods from our very late night out only got in bed an hour ago.
I shoulda set the alarm, I think, as I ease out of bed.
“What time is it, Othella?”
Damn it. Why I keep forgetting he’s a light sleeper? Then again, I usually ain’t awake before him.
“Four o’clock,” I reply.
He grabs the lace trim of my silk briefs. “Where you going? Why don’t you stay in bed with me for a spell?” He squeezes my bottom, wanting something he ain’t gonna get. There will be no last-minute roll in the hay for him. Not today—not ever again.
“Can’t a gal go to the bathroom when she wakes up?”
He turns onto his side, and I swear the mattress groans. One day, he’ll break those worn-out springs.
I’m halfway across the room when his heavy feet thud against the floor.
“If you ain’t coming back to bed, make me some coffee,” he snarls. “I got places to be.”
“Give me a minute.” I close the bathroom door and feel my legs buckle. Stumbling forward, I grasp both sides of the sink. How am I gonna get outta here with him up and moving about? I stare at my reflection in the bathroom mirror. Only nineteen, yet I feel like I’m forty-five. I close my eyes, take a deep breath, and urge my insides to calm down. I open my eyes. Okay. The truth is, I’m still a pretty girl with smooth brown skin and a curvy figure—and I can still get outta this house. I just have to use my wits.
