Harlem Redux by Persia Walker Read Free Book Online Page A

baffled. He didn’t remember the door ever being locked. Running a hand through his hair, he tried to clear his thoughts.
    But, of course. I locked that door the day Daddy died. It’s been closed ever since.
    He closed his eyes. Suddenly, he was so tired. Here in this empty house, this house that was so full of ghosts and memories, how would he ever find rest? As in a daze, he spread his hands over the door panel and pressed his face against it. The polished dark wood felt cool and smooth. He let his mind drift back ... back through the years to the times when he and his sisters had been summoned to this office, to one particular afternoon in which he alone had been called.
    “You’re my heir and I expect great things! Great achievements!”
    Images from that afternoon flew toward him like slivers of a splintered mirror. He spun around and pressed his back against the door.
    “You’ve been given an edge in life. What’ve you done with it?”
    “I’ve done my best.”
    “Your best? Well, your best could’ve been better!”
    David clapped his hands over his ears, but the words echoed inside his head. It had been five years since his father’s death. Five years. Why hadn’t the old man’s voice died with him? Why did it live on to haunt him?
    You’ve been given an edge, an edge ... Your best could’ve been better!
    He tore away from the door with a cry and stumbled toward the stairs. On the third step, his strength left him and he sank down. He rested his head against the cool wood of the banisters and closed his eyes.
    A lot’s done happened, done happened, done happened ... A lot’s done happened since you been gone ...
    He drew himself up, staggered up the stairs, down the hallway, and into his room. He sagged down onto his bed, still fully clothed, and closed his eyes, exhausted.
    But sleep eluded him.
    He lay awake, his eyes burning in the dark, and the voices followed him. They came from either side, chanting in a rhythm that threatened to drive him insane.
    And always protect ... always protect ... always protect your sisters … And always (she suffered) … and always (she suffered) … (and always) She suffered a bad death … a bad death.
    With a groan, he turned over and punched the pillow. In the morning, he’d ask Annie to tell him the full story of what had gone on in the house.
     
    3.        Annie’s Tale
     
    “For a good part, the story of Miss Lilian is the story of Miss Gem. You never could mention one without the other. Diff’rent as day and night, but just as connected. Looking back, I sometimes wonder whether Miss Gem’s return marked the beginning of Miss Lilian’s end.”
    Annie placed cream and sugar on the kitchen table, but David decided not to use them. He needed coffee and he needed it black. His head hurt and his eyes were bleary. He hadn’t been able to touch the grits, biscuits, and sausages she’d made. He’d called himself seven kinds of fool upon waking. Going to Jolene’s had seemed like a good idea last night, but he was sure he’d never do it again. The price in pain was too damn high.
    She took a seat opposite him, added a little cream to her coffee, and stirred it with an even rhythm. Her voice, as quiet as a coming storm, slowly filled the room.
    “Lotsa folks say the trouble started when Miss Gem went back to Europe. I say it began a lot sooner: the moment she arrived. From the day that girl stepped foot in this house till the day she left, she ain’t meant nothing but trouble. Miss Gem come back for a purpose. I could see that the minute she walked in the door. She had that look in her eye. That look, if you know what I mean. I don’t know what she done all them years in Paris, but whatever it was, it sure left her looking lean and hungry.”
    Lean and hungry, David repeated to himself. Gem was always hungry. Somehow, we all were. Funny about that. Or maybe not so funny when you think about it. That we should be as rich as any colored family