Novel Treatments / In the Hearts of Men - Ch 18

Chapter 18
Hope for a New Beginning
Johnson drove the little Model T down the dirt road, anxious to see his children. Thomas and Hettie ran out of the little shack of Charlie and Rachel’s, Hettie nearly 10 years old now and Thomas almost 3, toddling after her. Johnson worked at a cotton mill just outside of Gatlin, becoming a foreman in no time. There was a war brewing, and he had had to sign up in the draft, even though he was listed as a father. He hoped that would stop the government from calling him up for military duty. Life was changing rapidly all over the world; Johnson could feel the differences in the way people looked at each other, the changes in the weather and the overall mood of the earth.
At Charlie and Rachel’s, he jumped out and scooped up the children who rushed at him, having to brace himself a little for the weight of Hettie’s body compared to the lithe little Thomas. They both resembled their mother in facial features – fine thin nose, proud cheekbones of a Cherokee, perfect symmetry – but their eyes were the steel blue of the Hestons, and their skin was a slight tone darker than Johnson’s tan. And they both had nearly black hair that hung mostly straight, just slightly wavy, like Regina’s. Johnson enjoyed looking at them both, seeing Regina’s legacy live on in them.
No one ever questioned Johnson about his children, where the mother was from, why they were a little darker than most other children. They looked white enough to not be held as a curiosity. Johnson was a little relieved, especially after the Hell he and Regina had endured while living in Harrisburg. It had only taken one person’s perverse and unequal thoughts on what was just and good to destroy their life there, and he certainly didn’t want that for these precious children.
He stomped the mud off his boots before stepping into the little shack. Charlie was still at work at the cotton mill, he knew. Charlie typically worked a second shift when he could to get the extra money. Charlie didn’t get paid as much as Johnson, even though he’d been working there longer, but he never complained to Johnson. Johnson had often gone to the general manager to try to get wages increased for the workers, who were almost all Negro, and he had finally succeeded in getting Charlie and a few of the others a .25 per hour wage increase, which was pretty significant. Charlie was saving for a move out west, where the lumber industry had been booming, and it was said that wages were high.
Rachel walked into the living room from the kitchen, her hands covered in flour and enveloped by the smell of stew cooking.  She smiled a little at Johnson. Rachel’s belly was swollen with another child, their third, and she looked uncomfortable in the summer heat.
“You need a glass of water?” Johnson asked her with concern. She just smiled again, her dark skin glistening with the sweat that covered it.
“I’s aright, jus a little warm from bein’ in the kitchen all day,” she said a little breathlessly.  But Johnson could tell that Rachel was feeling more than just discomfort from the heat; he walked toward her, took her gently by the hand and led her back through the kitchen and out back into the yard, where the sun was creating a shadow from the house. It was significantly cooler back here. Johnson brought her straight to a large chair where she sat without protest, then went back to the kitchen for a glass of water. It was tepid, but it was better than nothing.
“Here, drink this,” he said placing the glass in Rachel’s hands. “Where’s Mama?”
Rachel drank deeply from the glass, seemingly grateful that Johnson had forced her to better care for herself.
“She took Little Charlie and Michael down t’ the creek to cool off,” she said finally. She looked better already, but Johnson was still a little worried. “Hettie and Thomas wanted to stay here and wait fo’ you.”
Johnson smiled at hearing that. The children meant the whole world to him, and it was gratifying that they felt the same about him. He hardly ever even had to scold either one of them, and he was grateful for that.
“I saw Miss Anna Jean this mornin’ down the lane,” Rachel murmured into her glass, trying to seem nonchalant. “She asked after ya, said she hope to see ya in church this Sunday.”
Johnson had attempted to ignore Rachel’s attempts at match-making since a suitable period of time had passed after Regina’s death. She had tried introducing him to several young women, most of them the daughters of the wealthier families in Gatlin who Rachel did sewing work for. Johnson had been polite but disinterested. He had no desire to marry a young woman who thought herself better because of her family’s money. He could tell in how they walked into Rachel and Charlie’s little shack: the ones who walked in trying to ignore their surroundings were the ones who felt guilty for being white, tried to accept the Negroes, but never really did except for when their services were convenient. Those who either refused to enter the house or walked about with a look of utter disdain on their faces were those who thought of Negroes as nothing more than slaves, or worse. Johnson would sit and watch them, usually amused, sometimes disgusted, as they all tried catching his eye. He was, after all, one of the more attractive men in Gatlin. His sandy hair was even more appealing in the summer with the streaks of gold highlighting the darkness of his skin, work and age filling his chest and shoulders in nicely, and a young single woman in Gatlin was a fool not to notice.              But Johnson knew that Anna Jean was different. She spoke to Rachel and her children as if they were equals, as if there were no differences between them. She insisted on paying Rachel compliments on how well she carried herself, what a good mother and wife she was, how well she kept house. She would say, “I only hope when I get married that I can keep my house and husband so well,” and she’d sigh as if it would never happen.
Anna Jean was not a ravishing beauty; she was simply pretty, her oval face peppered in freckles, her hair a light shade of strawberry blond. Her eyes, though, were a deep blue, almost black when she became angry or excited, and they were enchanting. She wore simple fashions that helped to give her tall, straight body a little enhancement. And she was sweet-natured. Johnson definitely had found himself wondering after her, as well. But he avoided going to church, guilt keeping him from seeking the companionship of another woman.
“Ya know that Regina be mighty angry wit’ ya ifn she saw ya ignorin’ the advances of so many girls worthy of ya,” Rachel said, looking now straight into Johnson’s eyes. “She never wanted ya t’be livin’ like this, Johnson. Think on it. Miss Anna Jean be a good wife fo’ ya.”
Johnson said nothing. He just looked out into the yard at the old willow, under which his wife was buried.  Was it true? Would Regina have wanted him to marry again? Yes. He knew it was true. Regina’s nature was so pure, she never would have wanted him to be living in the past, caring for their – her – children and nothing or nobody else.
“None of the girls you brought around were worthy, until …” Johnson didn’t finish the thought, but Rachel knew that Anna Jean was who he thought of as finally being worthy. She smiled at him, a little sad, knowing his heart was in turmoil.
Johnson checked Rachel’s pulse, which was slightly elevated. He went inside for a cool cloth to put on her neck and forehead to bring her temperature down. She smiled at him gratefully, thinking what a good husband he’d make for a gentle soul like Anna Jean, and how he needed someone like her to fill his life so that he could stop grieving over Regina.
After being satisfied that Rachel was feeling better, Johnson loaded Thomas and Hettie into the vehicle and headed to his small house on the other side of Gatlin. He had used the paychecks he had collected from his trip out West to purchase the little house with cash. It had three small bedrooms, a living room and small dining area, and a bathroom with indoor plumbing. It was smaller and more modest than any other house he had ever lived in before, but it didn’t remind him of Regina, and it was comfortable and homey. He had furnished it with various pieces of furniture that he purchased as he found them, an odd mixture of antique and new, all of it designed more for function than luxury. And, it had a natural spring in the corner of the backyard, which provided them with fresh water anytime they wanted it, as well as a spot for cooling off in the hot summer days. The backyard butted up against a tall stand of cotton trees that bled into a larger stand of Eastern Pines. The forest, it seemed, was right at their back door. And Johnson felt comforted by the closeness of the trees, where he had always been so at home when growing up.
He laughed one day when Percy came to visit, and looked around at the mismatched sofa, loveseat and high backed chairs with surprised disdain. Percy came to visit often, contrite and trying to make amends. He had a special affinity for Thomas, his son, whom he doted on. But Johnson didn’t correct him, knowing that one day he would need to tell the children of their birth fathers.
Percy’s turnabout with Johnson and the children had been nothing short of miraculous, and even Amanda had come around once in awhile to see her niece and nephew. She didn’t say much to Johnson, though, and that was fine with him. She often looked around the house, as if sorry that her brother had been reduced to such poverty, but never once offered to make life more comfortable for him and the children. Johnson was happy the offer had never been made, that way he had nothing to turn down. He wanted nothing from his father’s estate. It was better the way it was. He enjoyed seeing his youngest siblings who were brought to visit by either Percy or the governess, and were all significantly younger than himself and just a little older than Hettie. They would all play together in his tiny yard, Hettie squealing with delight at being able to play with her cousins.
Johnson sent the children to the yard to play and entered the tiny kitchen and began to prepare their supper. He looked through the tiny icebox that he had purchased with his last bonus. It was a luxury he had wanted since he bought the house. The half-portion of pork shoulder he had set at the front to thaw would do nicely, he thought to himself, and took it out to start roasting. Johnson had not cooked before his trip west, and those meals he cooked while on the trip were meager and over a camp stove. The meals he made now for himself and the children were more thought-out, more nutritious. He made a point of planting a small vegetable garden in the back where the sun hit the best, and he watered it with the chippings from the icebox. He wasted nothing, conserved everything. He had planted in phases so that harvesting could continue for longer periods of time. When he had larger harvests of anything, he shared or bartered with his neighbor, a matronly old widow, Mrs. Jennings, who often came by to check on him and the children. She had known his father and mother quite well, and was very fond of telling the children all about Mary Heston, whom she recalled with fondness. She never said much about Moses Heston.
Today he called Hettie in from the yard where she was playing in the mud with Thomas. “I need you to go get some potatoes and carrots, Hun,” he called to her. She flashed a huge, happy grin at him and went to fetch the vegetables.                                                                                                                       A knock at the door interrupted Johnson’s preparations of the pork. He had just peeled cloves of garlic to insert into the meat. His hands were covered in the sharp smell of the garlic, and he wiped them off on a dish towel as he walked through the living room to the front door. He was startled by his visitor.
“Uh, good afternoon, Mr. Heston,” stuttered the shy Anna Jean, who blushed uncharacteristically. She had a strong drawl about her speech, telling Johnson that she had been educated, but had not traveled much away from the Gatlin hills area. Anna Jean suddenly thrust out a bundle wrapped in a cheesecloth, still warm. The aroma told Johnson that it was a freshly baked loaf of bread, and he knew instantly who it had come from.
“Miss Rachel asked me to bring this by, said you forgot it when you came by to retrieve your children,” she explained almost apologetically as he simply stared at her, holding the loaf of bread in one huge hand.
She’s tall, Johnson was thinking to himself, noticing that Anna Jean stood almost to his shoulder. And he couldn’t help notice the way her lips were perfectly bowed, noticed the freckles across her face and found himself wondering if she was completely covered in them, then slowly his eyes came to rest in hers. He smiled at her, gently, inviting.
“Would you like to come in, Miss Anna Jean?” he asked, stepping aside slightly to allow her passage. She smiled back, a bit of the bashfulness leaving her at his obvious appreciation of her. He had never said more than just a handful of words to her, usually at church. Now he was obviously seeing her as more than just another eligible girl in the community who he tried to avoid. “I made up some fresh lemonade this morning, and I’m sure it will quench your thirst on this dreadfully hot day.”
“Thank you much, Mr. Heston,” she smiled at him, walking through the doorway. She observed the clean living room, the dust-free surfaces of the sofa table and end tables that didn’t match each other.

He indicated a seat to her, which she gratefully took after her stroll through town to his house.
“I was just getting dinner prepared,” he said, “I’ll be just another second.”
He walked back into the kitchen and hurriedly dusted the pork with a mélange of dried spices, and quickly threw it into the oven.  Hettie was just walking back into the back door of the kitchen with a bundle of potatoes and carrots in her arms.
“Hettie, sweet, please pour a glass of lemonade and take it to Miss Anna Jean,” he said over his shoulder to her. Hettie smiled.
“Miss Anna Jean’s here?”
“Yes, she’s out in the front room,” he said absently as he quickly washed up the vegetables.
“Oh, she’s such a nice lady,” Hettie said as she poured the lemonade into a tall glass and then added some chipped ice from the ice box. “I’m glad that Auntie Rachel got her to come over.”
Johnson laughed at her comment, knowing that Rachel must have made several comments to everyone about how much Johnson needed a wife, and how Anna Jean was the perfect choice.
Hettie went through the door to the living room, and Johnson could hear them talking, friendly chatter. He chopped up the carrots more quickly than he thought possible, keeping one ear open to the conversation in the living room. Thomas walked into the back door just then, dirty from head to toe from playing in the mud from the spring runoff.  Johnson looked over at him, instantly irritated, but when he saw the child’s hair sticking up in all directions, drying from the mud stuck in it, he laughed in spite of himself. Thomas sent him a huge grin, his teeth gleaming white inside of all the muddy mess, his bright blue eyes shining with amusement.                                                              “Thomas, go clean up for dinner, son,” he chuckled under his breath. Thomas smiled again and trotted back outside to wash up with the spring water. Johnson didn’t blame him a bit, it was so hot.
Johnson finished preparing dinner and went to check on Hettie and Anna Jean.
“Oh, Mr. Heston, your daughter is such a lovely and charming young thing,” Anna Jean gushed as he walked in to the living room. He could see the closeness between them, sitting close together, sharing space on the tiny loveseat. Johnson was proud of Hettie’s ability to charm adults, and he knew that Thomas would be just as good at it in a couple of years after his shyness wore off.
“Please, Anna Jean, call me Johnson,” he corrected her as he took a seat in one of the high-backed chairs near the fireplace. “Yes, Hettie is a little darling.” He smiled warmly at his daughter, who beamed under the praise of her father. She jumped up and ran to hug him.
“Hettie, sweet, please go help your brother get ready for dinner,” he said, giving her another squeeze.
“Yes daddy,” she said, kissing him lightly on the cheek then running off into the kitchen to fetch Thomas.
Johnson was a little stumped for words at first, feeling awkward at having a young lady in his living room, unaccompanied. He didn’t want her father to have any misgivings about their relationship, but even as he thought that, he was thinking about courting her.
“I hope you can join us for supper,” Johnson began, a little shyness creeping into his voice. He didn’t look directly at her, just looked down at his dirty boots and dungarees. He felt instantly self-conscious of his appearance, but knew there was nothing he could do to remedy it. He would not have normally changed his clothing before dinner, and he certainly didn’t want to give her the impression that his mannerisms were something different than they really were.                                She smiled at his hesitancy, and said, “I don’t know if Daddy would allow it, I’ve already been gone a little later than I was expectin’. Dinner smells delicious, though, so perhaps another time.”
Johnson looked at her, seeing the promise of what was to come. Another time, he thought, and smiled at her. Her dark blue eyes happily smiled back at him, excited that finally she was being shown some attention by the man she had been pursuing for months.
“I would welcome you to my home anytime, Miss Anna Jean,” he told her, a little more boldly than he meant, but she didn’t falter at his words, only smiled wider at him.
“I would like to come around and talk to your Daddy,” he said, following his line of thought out loud. “Would he permit me to court you?”
Anna Jean knew her father would happily accept one of the Hestons as a potential son-in-law, and nodded. She felt a little drunk, listening to this beautiful man confess his intentions to her. But their conversation was cut short by Johnson’s children talking animatedly about the frog Thomas had found near the spring, walking back through the house. Thomas was dripping wet, and Hettie was pulling him gently back into the house where she looked intent on getting him clean and dry for supper.
Anna Jean watched as Johnson’s attention swept over to his children, saw the softness overcome him as he looked on them adoringly, laughing at their antics and loud conversation. She knew the stories were most likely true about Johnson’s marriage to a Cherokee-Negress, could see the darker coloring of his children, but also knew that they could easily pass for Indian, and that suited her fine. She wasn’t bothered by the fact that Johnson had married a colored woman, but she didn’t want the stigma to reach the children. She had spent lots of time with Hettie and Thomas already, bringing little treats for them as well as to Rachel’s children every time she visited Rachel, and she had become very fond of them. Seeing what a good father Johnson was with them made her hopeful for more children with him.
Hettie finally led little Thomas down the hall toward their bedrooms, and the room became mostly quiet again.
“I should go,” Anna Jean said, sounding completely saddened by the fact. But she really did need to get home before her Daddy became suspicious and angry.
Johnson stood to see her off. He walked toward her, held a hand out to her which she took willingly, and helped her up off the loveseat. He kissed her hand, a little old-fashioned, but Anna Jean swooned with pleasure, her face lit up perfectly, happily.
“I’ll come around tomorrow to speak with your Daddy,” Johnson promised, their eyes mingling together. Johnson hadn’t felt so sure of anything since Regina.
Anna Jean didn’t want to tear her gaze away from his, and when she saw his eyes glance down to her perfectly bowed mouth, she willed him to kiss her. But he didn’t. Johnson wanted to make sure that he did not take advantage of Anna Jean’s youthful innocence.  He led her to the door and watched her walk away. She glanced over her shoulder at him, smiling a huge happy grin at him every time their eyes met.
“Forgive me, Regina,” he said out loud, his voice soft into the finally cooling night air. But he knew already as he said it that all was forgiven, and Regina would never have wanted him to be lonely, pining for her for the remainder of his days.