A Treasure of Gold Read online

  First, he got the local doctor to come. Adam Morson came and stood over her with a grave look on his face. That high-toned, high-yellow Negro knew nothing. Jay would find a white doctor. A better one.

  He went to offices all over Pittsburgh and finally found one who was swayed by his large roll of cash, and the white doctor came to his house, the biggest one in the Hill District on the highest peak.

  Still, when the doctor came, he said exactly what Adam Morson had. Then, to punctuate it, he added, “You shouldn’t have waited so long to come and get me. I might have been able to help if you had come sooner.”

  All of which made him want to kick the doctor in his hindquarters as he left his large house. Why in the world did this doctor want to make him feel as if he didn’t care about his wife? It was the dark color of his skin, he knew, and it infuriated him that the white doctor just repeated what the Negro doctor had already told him.

  “Seek Jesus.” Clara’s voice filled with longing.

  “I’m tired of churches and God. I don’t want to.” He knew he sounded just like his little Goldie whenever she did not get her way, but he could not help it. The gray of death hovered in Clara’s oval fingernails and in the tips of her petite toes, and he hated it.

  “I want to go to the water,” Clara insisted.

  “One of the rivers?” He puzzled. Pittsburgh had three of them. If Clara wanted to go to one, he would take her himself, even if he had to carry her.

  “Revival time at Freedom Christian. Baptize.”

  He bristled. He did not want to be involved with those snob Negroes at that church. Clara went back and forth from there, insisting that she was comforted when she went, but Jay knew they looked down at him.

  Clara gripped at him with her gray fingertips filled with death. “Now.”

  So, that night, he loaded up his car with blankets and pillows and carried Clara’s wafer-thin body down to it. He directed his driver to drive his car slowly to the church full of snobs.

  Jay himself carried Clara toward the shouting and praising. It was revival time, and whenever it was, Negroes could be trusted to get loud and glad. That was when these elites could really let loose in true worship, and they did.

  However, when he came in the back door and down the aisleway with Clara in his arms, they stopped their hooting and hollering and got real quiet. It was the presence of pure sin in their midst. Yeah, he was good enough to play numbers with, but not to step foot in their precious, red-velvet-covered church.

  He’d show them a thing or two.

  He went right up to the front and put Clara into a pew. It pained him to see her reach out toward the cross with her scrawny hand. When he sat down next to his wife, he saw some strangers present for the revival. A big, fat man who was black, a skinnier woman who looked as if she was part Indian and Red Bone and a beautiful young woman with warm-toned, medium-brown skin, dressed in a long white robe, who turned to him and smiled.

  Balling his fists, he knew it wasn’t right to be in church next to his wife and feel emotionally stirred by this young woman with the swanlike neck and luminous black eyes that were mesmerizing.

  The two women came to Clara, and the older one laid a hand on her forehead. “God, help our sister in her time of need.”

  The younger woman kneeled down next to Clara and grasped her hand. She bowed her head and moving her lips, prayed as intensely as Jay had ever seen anyone pray. She lifted her head and started a song, something about help in times of travail, but never let go of Clara’s hand.

  The young woman’s voice hypnotized him and people quieted while they listened. The sound of her voice was so enthralling he almost didn’t notice Clara had stood next to the young woman and was taking halting steps. The tears coursed down his wife’s brown face, and the young woman put her arm around Clara and assisted her to the altar. They knelt at the altar for a while and prayed and then, in a very tender and caring way, the younger woman guided Clara back to her seat. The transfixing moment ended.

  The older woman started a louder song and began to shake a tambourine. The church responded, clapping. Even Clara showed more health and spirit than she had in weeks. She clapped along and sang.

  Jay fixed his gaze, which he knew to be intense, on the young woman who had withdrawn from them and gone back to a chair to sit down. She seemed spent and he wanted to thank her somehow, and acknowledge what she had done to make Clara want to clap and sing.

  Clara died that same night just hours after they got home.

  Jay opened his eyes.

  His intense gaze met the eyes of the young woman who had “healed” Clara two years ago. She hovered over him, beautiful and luminous as she was before, and she now stood there, whispering, and her lips moved in the same way as they had two years ago. A hot feeling charged up inside of his body and swallowed him whole, the pain at the bullet hole gone.

  Grasping the delicate wrist hovering over him, he trembled at the charge going up his arm when he touched her. His insides quaked all of a sudden—Jabez Evans, numbers kingpin, who wasn’t afraid of anything.

  He was now.

  This woman was the angel of death, if anything.

  “You,” he choked out, squeezing her wrist as hard as he could to stop the charge. Thinking of Goldie, he flung her from him with all the strength he could muster. “Stop praying over me.”

  “I just wanted to help you.”

  “I ain’t ready to die yet, Evil. Get away from me.”

  The beautiful black eyes met his in shock and horror. Backing up, she moved across the room and Jay fought hard to stand up to leave this dying place, looking all over for his jacket, something to cover him against the cold.

  A wave overwhelmed him and he slumped back down on the table.

  What kind of father was he? Why couldn’t he fight harder for the sake of his young daughter? She only had him left in the world.

  He would die at the hands of the demon woman and Goldie would become an orphan now.

  All because of his selfishness.

  Chapter Two

  Nettie grasped at her own wrist, making sure it was still whole because of his grip there.

  Why was the man so angry at her? His hazel eyes blazed and he struggled in an almost futile attempt to get up from the examination table where Adam had placed him.

  She backed up to the doorway. Why had he attacked her like that? Those things Adam said about him had seemed as if they couldn’t be true, but maybe—

  The door moved at her back and Adam came rushing into the room, with her petite sister right behind him.

  Now, she didn’t know whom to be more frightened of—the angry Jay Evans or her sister who was awake. However, Ruby put an arm around Nettie’s shoulder and gently guided her to a far corner of the room.

  “Here now,” Adam shouted. “We’re trying to help you.”

  Jay gestured with his good arm toward her. “Not her. I don’t want her in here. She’s a murderer.”

  A surge of fear welled up inside her. For him. Now the man was going to get it. Didn’t he know her sister well at all?

  Petite Ruby Morson, dressed only in her floor-length nightgown and nightcap, stepped forward, shaking her fist. “How dare you talk about my sister like that? She’s nothing but goodness and light in the Lord and you dare speak to her in that fashion. You’re lucky she saw fit to help your criminal self. My husband and I are going to treat your wound and you can just clear out of here.”

  “Good,” Jay raged. “Nothing would please me more.” He slumped against the table, vanquished by his pain.

  A wave of sympathy for the man came over her.

  “I got to stay alive for my girl.”

  Ruby guided her out of the room. “Go sit in the parlor, Net. Adam and I’ll take care of this. You don’t have to deal with the ravings of a mad man. We deal with this kind of t
hing all the time.”

  “What about the children?”

  “They sleep like rocks. They’ll be fine until we get that man some treatment and get him out of here. As soon as we do, we can eat and get ready for church.” Ruby guided her into the parlor and shut the sliding wooden doors behind her.

  This was no protection. It was a tomb that her sister put her in. Nettie sighed at the heavy oak surroundings of her sister’s parlor, all designed to show the gravity of the medical profession. Buried alive.

  Where was the light in here? She got up from the ottoman that Ruby had guided her to, and tried to lift a heavy sash and open a window. The small amount of dim light of the early morning was trying to break through the clouds, but it was an impossible task. This city was so overcast. Despite herself, she longed for the Georgia sunshine.

  She balled her fists, feeling just as Jay Evans must have.

  “I was fine until they came along. I knew what I was doing. I was on the road with Brother Carver and Sister Jane for two years, until Brother died. I know how to conduct myself. I’m a grown woman of twenty-three and they treat me as if I were their third child,” Nettie fumed.

  It felt good to get all of that out.

  Go to his daughter.

  The voice that she had relied on all of her life came to her clear as a bell. She should not have been surprised. Her instincts guided her to what was most important. Always.

  Of course. Going to see the man’s daughter was crucial. She did not know where Jay lived, but she knew how she could find out. Opening the sliding doors, she peered out into the hallway. All clear.

  Donning her coat with efficiency, she stepped around the door and walked out quietly.

  With purpose in her stride, she walked past the alleyway where she had discovered Jay Evans and up to another brownstone just down the block.

  She rapped on the door with purpose at her sister Mags’s house.

  Addie, Mags’s helper—at least for this month, opened the door. “Miss Nettie, what you doing out at this time of day?” She asked.

  “Adam is treating a man who was shot in the alley just down the way.” Nettie gestured.

  Addie peered out of the door, clearly afraid.

  “The man asked that his daughter be told about his condition, but he was indisposed at the time. Do you know where he lives?”

  “Who is it?”

  “Jay Evans.”

  Addie’s features relaxed into a smile. “Oh yeah, everyone know where the numbers man live. Except folk like you all what don’t play. 2346 Livingston Court. He got the biggest house up on the Hill. It’s not far. Too bad he got shot close to home.”

  The house was only three or four more blocks away, and thanking her, she continued on at a brisk pace to the place Addie had pointed out.

  Pittsburgh was certainly a hilly place and she was more than a bit winded when she climbed up the bluff that formed part of a solitary cul-de-sac. The sun was coming up behind her and from here, she was sure that if it were a clear day, you could see more of Pittsburgh. Not today though. After being here for just two weeks, she wondered if there were ever any clear days.

  Walking up to the front door of the house, she noted it was paneled in a lighter-colored wood. She touched it and it seemed familiar to her—Georgia pine.

  She rapped on the door with authority. The door opened and a little girl appeared there. The child was a medium-brown color with an undertone so yellow she could be called nothing but her name. This must be Goldie.

  The little girl stood there in a red-gingham robe covering her long nightgown. Brown-paper-bag endpapers were tied up in her crooked braids. The young child yawned and stretched her bare feet, waving the pad of paper in front of her own face. “No gaming on Sundays, lady, but I’ll take the number down for Daddy tomorrow. What is it? You dream it or something?”

  She didn’t know how to react. This child, who could be no more than six or seven, was used to answering the door and taking down numbers for her father. And he had the nerve to be angry at her? She swallowed then felt a calm overcome her. “You must be Goldie.” She bent down and looked into the girl’s eyes, which were hazel, just like her father’s.

  Now the little girl took a different posture. Backing away, the child stepped back and grasped the edge of the door. “You come back tomorrow. I’m all right.”

  “I’m here to take you to your father.”

  “You one of those social-work womens?”

  She shook her head. “Your Daddy got hurt, and he sent me to tell you. If you like, I will take you to him.”

  Goldie’s eyes were round. “He’s okay though, right?”

  “He will be. My brother-in-law is a doctor and he’s taking care of him.”

  “You mean Solomon’s pop?”

  She nodded at the child. “Yes, Solly’s my nephew.”

  “Okay, I’ll come with you.” Goldie waved her inside.

  Stepping into the large house, she could see the place was in desperate need of cleaning.

  “I thought you was one of those social-work ladies coming to take me away from my daddy. You wear those awful clothes like they do. But then again, you aren’t white, and the social-work ladies are all white ones.”

  Mercy. This child. How should she take insults from a child Solomon’s age? She smoothed down her gray traveling suit. Her clothes were neat and pressed. That was all that mattered. Still, the child’s words stung. “Were, I thought you were a social work lady,” she corrected. “Are you here alone?”

  “No. Eva’s on the couch. She had a late night and she’s tired.”

  Her eyes followed to where Goldie had waved and there was a fully dressed woman on the couch, who, even from her distant vantage point, reeked of cigarettes and alcohol. The woman had on something shiny and short, certainly much more fashionable than her own clothes, but not at all respectable.

  “You go on and get dressed, dear,” she told Goldie.

  Goldie obeyed, going up the stairs two at a time.

  She stood over the woman, not sure how to react at this turn of events. She nudged a stockinged foot with her toe and the woman shifted. “Eva?”

  “Mmph. What you want?”

  “Do you know what you’re doing here?”

  The woman opened her eyes, clearly reluctant to do so. “I’m here with Goldie.”

  Rage threatened to consume her, but she didn’t think it would do for the little girl to see her that way, so she calmed herself. “She said you had a late night. What could she have possibly meant by that?”

  “Are you the law?” Eva edged herself up in her evening gown, trying to stare her down with large dark eyes, but clearly afraid too.

  Say yes.

  “I am.” The lie made her uncomfortable, but what else could she do to get this woman away from the child she clearly hadn’t cared for? Clearly, helping this child was about assisting a higher moral authority.

  It worked, and Eva was on the run a bit after that.

  Good.

  “I wasn’t out that long.”

  “Gather your things, Eva,” she said, not even bothering to hide her disdain. “Leave at once.”

  “I don’t know who you think you is, but Mr. Jay didn’t give me no call to leave.”

  “Did you leave Goldie alone for any part of the night?” Nettie tried not to wrinkle her nose as the pungent woman shifted around.

  “How’s that any of your business?” Eva answered, but she was outmuscled.

  She had to refrain from rubbing her hands together at the sight of Eva picking up a pair of Mary Janes from the floor. Attractive shoes, but she herself could never imagine wearing something so slight and so dainty.

  “Goldie’s care and well-being are my concern.” As a child of God. As Jay’s daughter. She had to add that on in her mind’s eye. She didn’t l
ike to lie; it just happened. She seemed changed already, even in the way she fit so easily in a strange man’s house.

  “It was only for a little while. Don’t tell Mr. Jay.”

  “Just contact him tomorrow and I’m sure he’ll pay you what he owes you. I’ll take over from here.”

  Eva stood and donned her high-heeled Mary Janes, made her way to the door and left. With clear relief.

  To rid the room of the woman’s scent, she went to the window sashes, pushed them to the side and let the windows up, allowing in some of the fresher air from outside.

  The living room was nicely appointed, well positioned to let in a lot of light and split into two levels. The brownstones where her siblings lived were more grand, but the roominess in here was comfortable and she liked it.

  Small feet sounded on the steps and she turned to see Goldie, dressed to the nines in the latest Mary Janes, only with flat heels, and a lovely yellow frock of an appropriate short length. She made for such a beautiful little jonquil in springtime, perfect for early March.

  She stepped forward to wrest some of the brown-paper end wrappers from Goldie’s braids that the child had missed. Her heart ached. This little girl needed real attention, even if the Goldie’s clothes were of a better quality her own.

  “Where’s Eva?”

  “She had something else to do. Come along.” She took Goldie by the hand, and the girl came willingly, slipping her trusting hand inside of hers, and Nettie’s stomach warmed.

  Such a shock. It was the first time since she came to Pittsburgh that she felt really welcome.

  “It’s better if the bullet stays in,” Adam Morson told Jay in a crisp tone. “Of course, you’re always welcome to consult with a white doctor if it pleases you. You need to go back home to your daughter and relax so that you can heal.”

  The doctor made him sit up—a little too fast. He swallowed hard. No, not even the doc would see him go down like that. “Thank you.”