The Book of Harlan. Bernice L. McFadden
Soon it was Christmas and then the champagne-popping welcoming of 1917.
* * *
On Friday, April 6, 1917, President Woodrow Wilson declared war on Germany, officially entering America into World War I.
In response, Reverend Tenant Robinson opened his church and announced that the next seventy-two hours would be dedicated to prayer for those soldiers called to defend life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. Faith-filled Maconites answered, arriving by the carriage load, on foot and bicycle. To shelter the overflow of people, tents were erected on the church lawn. From Friday midday straight until Sunday-morning service, the Cotton Way Baptist Church rang with prayer and song.
Emma, Sam, and Lucille went to the confectionary shop following the Sunday service. Ice cream in hand, they sat outside on the benches, shading their eyes from the sun.
Around them, worried faces hovered over the afternoon edition of the Macon Telegraph. And it was quiet, as if the thirty-seven million dead and wounded had already been prophesied, leaving Macon hush with anticipatory bereavement.
“I’m moving,” Lucille uttered beneath the lull.
Emma dragged her napkin over her lips. “What you say?”
Lucille’s voice climbed an octave: “I said I’m moving to Chicago.”
Emma’s mouth fell open.
“What’s in Chicago?” Sam asked casually.
Lucille blushed. “Bill.”
“What?” Emma chirped, wide-eyed.
“Oh, that your beau?” said Sam with a wink.
Lucille nodded and turned to Emma’s blank face. “He done asked me to marry him and I said yes.”
“What?” Emma echoed again as if she’d gone deaf.
“She said she’s getting married,” Sam laughed, nudging Emma in her waist. “Congratulations, Lucille.”
“Thanks.” Lucille dropped her eyes from Emma’s shattered gaze. “Well, ain’t you gonna say something, Em?”
Emma’s eyes closed and opened in a slow and deliberate blink. “What’s there to say?”
“Oh, Em, don’t be like that!”
“Like what?”
“Like that. Can’t you just be happy for me?”
A wide, leering smile rose on Emma’s lips. “See, Lucille,” she pressed the tip of her index finger to the corner of her mouth, “look how happy I am for you.”
Lucille stood. “Lord, Emma, can’t you think about someone other than yourself for once in your life? You’ve got every damn thing, can’t I have this?”
The patronizing grin vanished from Emma’s face. “What are trying to say, Lucille?”
“I think you know.”
Emma rose, propped her hand on her hip, and narrowed her eyes. “I think I don’t,” she stated pointedly. “Maybe you should tell me.”
“Now ladies . . .” Sam started, stepping between the friends.
“The only reason you’re even a tiny bit upset that I’m leaving is because of Sam. Without me, there’s no him.”
Not only had Lucille hit the nail on the head, but she had driven it deep into Emma’s core, and she erupted. “Well, I thank you very kindly for your assistance. I wouldn’t have asked if I knew you’d be throwing it back in my face like a filthy rag. A real friend wouldn’t stoop so low. Thank you for showing me your true colors!” And with that, Emma marched off, leaving Sam and Lucille blinking.
Lucille shook her head. “You sure she’s what you want, Sam?”
Not peeling his eyes from Emma’s retreating back, he replied, “I’ve never been more sure about anything in my entire life.”
Chapter 6
Sam convinced Lucille to make peace with Emma, and eventually she did.
The night before her best friend left Macon forever, Emma asked her parents if she could spend the night with Lucille. It was a risky request because, best friend or not, sleepovers were not allowed on weeknights.
If Louisa knew that the pleading in her daughter’s eyes had less to do with the heartbreak of losing her longtime friend to Chicago and everything to do with the ache and throb of blossoming love—Louisa would have turned Emma down flat. But Louisa didn’t know and so she agreed.
* * *
After dinner, the two friends closed themselves away in Lucille’s room, climbed into bed, folded their arms around each other, reminisced about what was, and swooned over what could be. Before long, it was midnight, time for Emma to leave.
“I’m gonna miss you so much,” Emma moaned, rubbing her wet eyes.
“Me too,” Lucille concurred.
“You’ll write, won’t you?”
“Of course I will, Emma.”
Emma climbed out of the bed, smoothed her dress, and finger-combed her hair back into place.
“How do I look?”
“Beautiful as always, Em.” Lucille raised herself up onto her elbow.
“I’ll stay here tonight if you want me to.”
“And hate me forever?” Lucille laughed. “No thank you.”
Emma rolled her eyes. “You promise to write?”
“As soon as I get there.”
Emma quietly opened the window and climbed out. She blew a kiss at Lucille and disappeared into the night.
Beneath a black sky strewn with stars, Emma hurried toward her destiny. When she reached the rooming house, Sam was on the porch waiting, just as he had promised.
In his bedroom, the flame of the kerosene lamp cast their shadows long and dark against the walls and lace curtains covering the window.
Sam thought sitting on the bed would seem suggestive or presumptuous so he offered Emma the only chair in the room, while he remained standing.
“I-I got us some Coca-Cola,” he said, pointing at the two bottles perspiring on the dresser.
“Oh, that’s nice,” Emma said, nervously wringing her hands.
Her eyes darted between Sam and the door, certain that at any moment her father would come bursting in, swinging his belt like a lasso.
Sensing her uneasiness, Sam said, “If you wanna go, I’ll understand.”
Emma shook her head and exhaled. “No, I want to stay.”
He handed Emma a bottle of Coke.
“So,” Sam started, shifting his weight from his right leg to his left, “is Lucille all packed?”
“Pretty much.”
“I guess you’re really going to miss her, huh?”
“Yeah,” Emma sighed.
Silence pulsed between them.
Sam finished his soda and set the empty bottle on the dresser. “Emma?”
She looked at him expectantly. “Yes, Sam?”
“I, um, I just want to say that I really, really like you.”
Emma’s face flushed. “I like you too, Sam.”
He took a measured step toward her. “I know you probably don’t think I’m good enough for you—”
“I