“Sure, I can understand that,” Philip said, eagerly, glad that his favorite sister had not been intending to disgrace them after all. “Didn’t Harry say this morning that it was hard to tell this Starlun guy from a white fellow? Blanche was just taken in, that’s all.”
“’Course she was,” Mrs. Palmer affirmed.
“Well, I’m not sayin’ she wasn’t,” her father replied. “We’ll just keep tabs on her, anyway, an’ make sure of it.”
Blanche continued her meek explanations and protests of innocence, and her family gradually calmed down and resumed a surface quietness. She knew that the suspicions of her father and Harry were still smoldering, and that these two would probably shadow her for some time, or use some other means to become cognizant of her nightly destinations and companions. She noticed also the speculative looks that Mabel gave her now and then. Mabel was too expert a liar not to doubt her sister’s tale, and she determined to do a little “snooping around” herself. You never can tell about Blanche.
The remainder of the day and night held a nightmare to Blanche. She had to affect a nonchalant mien—they would doubt her again if she showed any sadness or depression—and the strain was infinite, like holding up a boulder. Visions of Eric’s lifeless body dodged in and out of her mind and made her shiver helplessly. Harry and his gangsters could “get” poor Eric without half trying, and it would be useless to attempt to flee with him now, since she would be under the severest of scrutinies, where any false move might bring misfortune. Still, wasn’t there another way out of it? Why couldn’t they remain scrupulously apart from each other for half a year, or even longer, and then, when all of the suspicions and spyings had completely vanished, suddenly run away together? By that time her family would certainly have forgotten the matter, and in the interim, she could go about with other men—somehow compelling herself—and outwardly maintain her normal ways. A wan approach to cheerfulness possessed her, and late that night, she sat up in bed and wrote to Eric:
My Dearest Boy:
My brother Harry saw us at Tony’s last night, and this morning they gave me hell. It was no use to argue with them and make them even nastier—just no use. They said they would kill you, dearest, and I know they were not fourflushing when they said it. They’re cruel and stupid, and to their way of thinking, I’d disgrace and humiliate them if I ever married you. It’s what they cling to when everything else shows them how small they are—this snarling, keep-off pride in being white.... I lied to them and said I hadn’t known that you were colored, and swore I’d never see you again. Please, please forgive me, Eric. They’d have killed you if I hadn’t lied. And please, Eric, you must do as I say. This is the plan I have. We won’t see each other for exactly six months, and then we’ll suddenly run away together. Everything will be quiet then, and before they know what’s happened, we’ll be hundreds of miles away. If we tried it now we wouldn’t have a chance. Please, dearest boy, write and tell me you’ll do as I say. I love you more than anything else in life, and you’re like a prince walking through some rose-bushes, and you fill all of my heart, and I’ll never give you up—never be afraid of that. Answer me at once and address the letter to Madame Jaurette’s. I’m sending you a thousand kisses, dearest boy.
Blanche.
After finishing the letter, she felt woebegonely relieved and slightly hopeful, and the mood stayed with her through the following day of work at the Beauty Shop. She had placed a special-delivery stamp on the letter, and he received it in a few hours. After he had read and reread it several times, with a touch of anger lurking in his numbness, he began to pace up and down in his room, as though striving to goad himself into life again. Was she really giving him up, and trying to hide the blow with promises of a future escape? Was she?... No, Blanche was too inhumanly honest for that—even if she had wanted to lie, she could never have induced herself to put the words on paper. If he were wrong in this belief, then he would lose all of his faith in his ability to peer into human beings, and would call himself a fool for the remainder of his life! Somehow, a tremor of simple sincerity seemed to run through her letter—he couldn’t be mistaken.
Well, what then? If he persisted in running off with Blanche now, it might lead to melodrama. White gangsters such as her brother would not hesitate about attempting to “croak him off.” He wasn’t afraid of actually fighting them, but any man was always defenseless against a sudden bullet or knife-thrust, and he certainly didn’t care to die that way. B-r-r, the thought brought a fine sweat to his temples. No, these whites were little better than rodents, when their angry pride was aroused, and you had to use some of their own tactics, or perish.