“Honestly, Othella, I don’t know. You should ask Mr. Barnes. He’s our bug expert.”
Othella trots behind us. “I thought he liked plants.”
“If you like plants, you’ve got to know a thing or two about bugs.” I continue reading. “We’ll need lightweight field coats with deep pockets for storage, a few cotton scarves, and several pairs of gloves.” I hold up a bag of thick wool socks. “This is the last item on the list.”
“But what will we do with everything you bought?” Othella asks.
“I’ve already made arrangements,” Katherine replies. “The store manager will load our things into a steamer trunk for delivery directly to the dock in the morning.”
I sigh. “That sounds great. Now, can we go meet Edna Guy and get something to eat? I’m starving.”
CHAPTER 14
OTHELLA
The SSTalamanca, Bush Terminal Harbor, Brooklyn, Pier 3
I’m stacking up new friends like poker chips.
The night before, between the fried catfish and my second beer, I decided to tell Vivian Jean and Katherine Dunham the truth about me once we board the cruise ship. After I settle into my cabin, I’ll meet them on the Promenade Deck, where Katherine asked everyone to gather, and there, I’ll confess. Not everything. The stuff about Perry, I’ll keep that to myself just in case I did kill him, even accidentally. That might be too much for ladies like them to stomach.
I’ll just share how chaotic my life has been and how I plan to fix it. Katherine and Vivian Jean will be impressed and love me even more.
“The Dunham Expedition is like a dance group,” Katherine said at Smalls Paradise the night before, “We work side by side and sway to the same rhythms. From the moment we sail out of Bush Terminal Harbor for Jamaica, we are a family, but I’m the mother hen. The woman in charge. Understand?”
She said this after her second glass of wine, but her eyeswere bright and her words sounded genuine. I was so thrilled I could hear my heart pounding in my chest. And she didn’t stop there. What she said next changed everything. “I won’t hear any more Miss This, Miss That, or Miss Ma’am from you, Othella Montgomery. From now on, it’s Katherine and Vivian Jean.”
That made me so happy.
If I can call them by their first names, I should be able to confess the parts of my past that don’t sound that bad. It will seal the deal on the shift in our relationship. And from then on, these women will treat me as an equal, as a friend.
I pause to think about that for a moment. Perhaps the only story I should tell is about my mother. That evening Ella Montgomery left our kitchenette to buy a pint of whiskey and never returned. No note. No goodbye. She simply vanished. I searched for her every day for a week, alongside the cop who came to our kitchenette to tell me she was gone. That was when I first met Officer Richie. He delivered the sad news to my ten-year-old self. The police suspected that one of my mother’s tricks, whom she called boyfriends, had dumped her in the Chicago River. Officer Richie promised to find the man who killed her, but after a while, he either gave up or forgot.
Luggage handlers follow Robbie and me as we ascend the steep ramp of the gangway to board the steamship. Lost in thought, I reflect on a past I’m ready to leave behind. This is my fresh start, the next chapter of my life. I glance up at the enormous hull of the SSTalamanca.
“Come on, Othella. Don’t look so down,” Robbie says. “This is just as I told you it would be. We’re not here as tourists.”
“What do you mean?”
“You look worried.”
“I’m not worried,” I say. “Why do you keep staring at me?”
“I’m responsible for you.”
I ignore whatever he means by that. “How much do we have to do before we meet the Hartfields and Miss Katherine on the Promenade Deck?” I ask. “I haven’t been introduced to Mr. Hartfield, and I told you what she said. She wanted us to be—”
“Together,” Robbie interrupts. “I know, I know, but first, I need to make sure these porters deliver everything to the right places.”
Robbie has spent the morning directing the handlers on what to do with this box, that crate, and this streamer trunk as if he were a general in an army. My rambling, bumbling friend has turned into a bossy son of a gun. Equally annoying, he has also become an expert seafaring man.
“Welcome aboard the SSTalamanca,” Robbie announces a bit too loudly as we walk the gangway. “Did you know it’s one of six sister ships in the United Fruit Company’s Great White Fleet? They were the fastest steamships ever built,” he continues. “Oh, and this terminal is one of the few piers in New York where Negroes can board.”
Uninterested in these details, I shrug. My mind still grapples with whether I should share my truths with Katherine and Vivian Jean.
Robbie and I walk through the winding corridor and ascend a flight of stairs to reach the Saloon Deck. Each stateroom contains one upper and one lower berth, along with a couch. The rooms are small, and when I bounce on my cot, I discover the mattress is paper-thin. The women’s and men’s bathrooms are located across the hallway. Our staterooms are next door to each other but not directly connected.
I struggle to mask my disappointment that my stateroom isn’t larger or more glamorous. At least there’s a small porthole to gaze out at the sea, but the room’s size starkly contrasts with my expectations.
