Page 27 of Meet Me on Greenwood

I shrugged. "I guess."

"Well don’t worry, Dr. Whitaker will get to the bottom of it."

I hoped not. "Where is he?"

"He’s come and gone, I’m afraid. He spent the morning overseeing the renovations on the property. You might run into one of the crew if you end up walking the grounds, but he left about an hour ago to tend to patients in town."

"What kind of doctor is he?"

"The general kind I suppose. He mends broken bones, delivers babies, tuberculosis, nervous exhaustion, you name it. He is very talented."

I set my fork down, finally full. "It sounds like it."

"Well, I’ll leave you to it. Let me know when you’d like me to run you a bath. I set aside a few items in the trunk."

Lettie worked on changing the linens on the bed and clearing the room as I looked at the paper she put out. The Black Star was printed in big letters with sun rays sprouting from them. The first headline read: "Welcome National Negro Business Men! Oklahoma honored with the presence of the greatest living Negro, Booker T. Washington." I read on about how impressed Washington was with the world’s first Black Wall Street and how he encouraged Black businesses to spend their money in Tulsa. I remembered seeing Booker T. Washington in the history books. I’d even spent a year attending Booker T. Washington High School. He’d always been older, speaking of things we took for granted like the integration of schools and Black enterprise. In this picture, he was young, and dare I say, handsome. It was strange to see a Black paper dedicated to Black causes. I remembered reading my mother’s copies of Ebony magazine as a child, but Black-only media was a thing of the past, whereas here, it was just beginning.

Lettie showed me how to use the running water inside. She was very proud of it which told me that this was a luxury at this time. I donned a dark gray dress that was a tad too tight around my hips and chest, but it would do. Lettie promised to work on letting out the seams.

Feeling cooped up, I finally ventured onto the grounds. To call them grounds was appropriate. I couldn’t begin to picture where this house was located in modern Tulsa because I’d never seen a property with so much land. There had to be hundreds of acres. The "cottage" was also deceptive. It was a large brick mansion, and though it had seen better days. The roof needed tending, the bricks needed refinishing but no one could deny how grand it was.

The vibrant colors of the gardens made it a logical starting point to for wandering the grounds. I could feel how weary my body was, so I knew I’d have to pace myself. As I looked at the azalea bushes, and the tulips just beginning to bud, I could imagine that I was dreaming and I was still back in my time. But the sound of laborers slamming their hammers to break down limestone rock in their handmade trousers and old-fashioned caps told me otherwise. One man with umber skin turned in my direction, which made a dozen or so of them stop. I felt awkward and suddenly waved. One of them gave me a smile and waved back before a taller man came through and yelled for them to get back to work.

"I’m not paying you to gawk at pretty women!" he yelled making a beeline in my direction.

"It is nice to meet you ma’am," he said, pulling off his hat to reveal short dark hair. "I am the general contractor and architect. People call me Edmund." He held out his hand and I shook it. "How can I help you?"

"I was just walking. I’ve never wandered the grounds before. What are you working on?"

He followed my line of sight as the workers continued digging a deep hole.

"The plumbing is outdated ma’am. We got to get that going before we can get to the house."

"I see," I said, though it seemed implausible that a hole that wide and deep was necessary.

"Might I suggest," he began, "you walk the other side of the property. There is a pond and lots of deer and other wildlife to look at."

"Doesn’t this part of the property lead to the road?"

He paused. "Yes, ma’am, though you don’t want to walk that road without someone with you. You never know who is out there." He leaned over and whispered, "And might I suggest that if you see any white men, you hightail it out of there. They mean nothing but trouble for a woman like you."

His words were calm, but the meaning behind them hit their mark. He was telling me I wasn’t safe.

I swallowed. "And Dr. Whitaker?"

Edmund replaced his cap. "Nice enough. He is the only white man I know who would hire a Negro business to renovate his home for a fair wage. For that, I think he is decent enough, but… be careful. He has things going on you don’t want to be a part of."

I went to ask more but he turned to leave. "Have a good day, Miss."

I wasn’t one who liked being told what to do, but I decided not to fight it. I wanted to see the whole property anyway; I’d just take a different route. The pond was so large, it looked like a lake. There was a boat that hung on a rack and lily pads that lined areas where dragonflies swarmed by. I’d been so mesmerized by it; I nearly stepped on a small graveyard. I looked briefly at the headstones made from large rocks. The names and dates were etched into them haphazardly. Not all the stones had last names, and some just had initials, which I thought was a strange way to honor loved ones. Only one of the graves had a proper headstone, and it held the initials M.M Whitaker. Flowers lay nearby, maybe a few days old, and I wondered if they were from his wife, or his mother. There were several gravestones nearby that weren’t as well kept. One only read B. Monroe, and others were too obscured to see. I touched my throat, feeling the amulet warm against my skin as I moved through the plots.

Once part the graveyard, I found a bench to sit on, and I stayed there much longer than I’d meant to, contemplating what to do. Gripping the necklace my mother had left me, and wondered what it would mean if I couldn’t get back to my time. If something tragic befell me before I could find my way home? I thought about my life, my work—everything I’d sacrificed so that I could win the affection of my father. I’d obtained the degrees for him, but I’d built the ORI for my mother. That was the truth I didn't say out loud—not to investors, not to the board, and not to Maise who knew me better than anyone. I dressed it up in language about trauma recovery and therapeutic applications, and the liberation of human memory. It was all true, but underneath it, I was just seventeen, sitting with my mother's things after the funeral and thinking what it would mean if we could go back.

What if there was a technology that allowed people to go back in time and stand beside someone in the worst moment of their life and say, "I'm here. You are not alone in this. It gets better." What if I could give people that?

I looked out at the pond, at the lily pads moving in a wind I could barely feel. Somewhere on the other side of that tree line was the road Edmund had told me not to walk alone. Somewhere in this city, a community was thriving that would be nothing but ash in a year. Somewhere in my own time, I hoped Bri was safe, even if she was furious with me.

I had a company. I had a board and a team and a patent that had taken fifteen years of my life and I couldn’t remember the last time I had sat outside and watched the sunset.