Page 30 of Meet Me on Greenwood

She ushered me back to my room. "Sit, I’ll make you some tea and then it is off to bed with you."

"I don’t think I can stay here. I need to go home," I said.

Lettie poured water into the kettle and placed it on the stove. "Well, as soon as you tell us where home is, I’m sure Dr. Whitaker will take you."

"Do you have any recollection?" Houston asked.

I shook my head no. The room was quiet until the sound of the whistling kettle filled the room. Lettie poured the water into tiny cups filled with tea bags.

"You running from someone, baby?" Lettie asked with genuine concern.

"No," I said quickly. "It is nothing like that." She handed me a cup of tea, and I took a sip.

Lettie shrugged. "You must have had some reason for saying it."

Houston watched in silence from the corner of the room.

How could I explain it to them without sounding crazy? I didn't belong here, in this time, during Jim Crow where my life was in danger.

I turned to him. "You think I could stay at the boarding house moving forward? I don’t think I can stay here." Some small, exhausted part of me believed that if I could just get away, I might find my way back to the life I recognized.

"No." The word was flat, final. His eyes met mine from across the room. "At a boarding house you'd be expected to work for your keep before you're ready. You'll stay here until you are."

"You’ve been kind, both of you, but I have been here long enough. I should be on my way."

"And where is that?" When I could not answer, he went on, "I hear what you are saying, but this is as good as it gets until your memory returns. People in town are nice enough. They’ll look after you, but that does not mean you are safe."

Lettie sighed loudly. "I think it is time we all get to bed. Will you be driving back tonight, Dr. Whitaker?"

The look they gave each other was intense—like they were having an entire conversation without words.

"Yes," he said finally. "After I help my patient to bed.""That won’t be nece—" I began.

"I insist," he said.

He offered his arm and I took it. His sleeve was rolled up to the elbow, and I was acutely aware of his warmth as he walked me the few steps back to the bed and pulled back the cover.

He crouched down in front of me as I sat on the edge of the bed, checking my eyes, my color, the pulse at my wrist.

"How is the arm?" he asked.

"Fine."

He gave me a look that said he didn't believe me, but he wasn't going to argue about it at this hour. Houston straightened the pillow behind me, and I swung my legs up, letting him pull up the blanket and tuck me in so tight, I felt immobile.

"You know how to do a thorough job with sheets," I joked, feeling slightly off kilter by his attentions. "Is it to keep me from leaving?"

"I have many talents, Gema. Mending is one of them, and you are sabotaging my attempts every time you wander around before you are ready." He stood to go, looking down at me. "And if you are in need of a weapon better than a letter opener, use a gun. I have plenty for you to choose from."

When he got to the door, I said, "You should be thankful all I had was that letter opener. I’m a pretty good shot."

"I’d like to see that. Goodnight, Gema." He smiled, tipping his head before closing the door.

14

Gema

Another Lynching in Oklahoma