A Promise of Eternity

A Promise of Eternity

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  This is a work of fiction. Any characters, names, incidents, or otherwise are the sole work of imagination. If a resemblance to a person should occur, living or dead, then it is purely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. This work should not be reproduced or transmitted through any means without the permission of Stephanie Campbell.

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  A Promise of Eternity

  Stephanie Campbell

  Copyright Stephanie Campbell 2011

  A Promise of Eternity

  By Stephanie Campbell

  Alison Howard sat by the front window and looked down at the streets below. It was cold inside, and the frail skin on her arms was pebbled with goose bumps. Downstairs, the smell of fresh bread wafted up to her, and she could practically taste the hot food in her mouth. Yet she did not move. She waited for someone, and she didn't care if her fingers froze off and the maid found her stuck to the window.

  As she waited, the sound of footsteps on the stairs caused her to turn from the pane for just a moment. The maid, Emily, walked in, an African American woman with black hair that was tied up in a bun. She was full-figured, with breasts so large that they strained her blouse. In her arms, she carried a tray full of food. There was a hunk of the bread that Alison had smelled, still steaming. There was a cube of fast melting butter on top of it. There was also a large bowl of seafood stew that was made from tomato base with hunks full of fresh caught cod floating in it. Yet all of that food, the smell so thick in the air that it made her stomach rumble, meant nothing to her.

  "I'm not hungry," she said, turning away as Emily placed the tray on the table.

  Emily did not leave. Emily knew that Alison would never scold her because she did not deem herself worthy to. After all, Alison had shamed her father in the ultimate way—she had fallen in love with a black man, Ted Ferguson. Her father had, in all his "mercy," sent her lover to fight in World War I by the power of suggestion. Tears formed in Alison's eyes as she remembered the day that Ted had approached her father two years ago.

  The day was a cold one. Alison wore her new mittens that Ted had worked six weeks to pay for, and they were still poorer than anything she owned. The smell of roasting lamb was thick in the air. Her father, Owen, sat studying the table, his balding head glowing in the lamp light. When she and Ted entered, he did not look up and continued to stare at the mahogany wood. After Alison grabbed Ted's hand, however, squeezing his rough, work-worn fingers between her own, her father had no choice. He glanced up, his mouth tight, his dark green eyes bulging out of his head like eggs. His hands clenched on the table, yet there was something sinister about his eyes—something that suggested that he had known all along that the two of them had been sneaking out together.

  "Sir, I wish to talk to you," Ted said.

  Alison felt the sweat on Ted's palm and knew how nervous he was. That was rare. Ted was always steadfast and calm. It was one of the reasons why she loved him so much. Turning, she studied his face and saw the black dusting of day-old growth on his jaw. There was a small line of soot across his cheek that could only be seen up close, from his days of working at the coal mill. His clothes were worn and had holes in them. It was surprising that he had not frozen to death with his lack of proper attire. And it was a wonder that her father had not already thrown him out into the snow.

  As if reading her mind, her father stood up, old and stooped, and turned and walked over to the stove. He did not glance in Ted's direction again, but Alison saw the way that he sucked his teeth as he gripped the teakettle and poured himself a cup. His shaking hand caused liquid to pour over the side, and he swore as his hand became fiery red. Alison gasped.

  "Emily. Emily, get down here," Owen yelled, his eyes glowing with pain and anger. Anger that was probably more aimed at her than Emily. "Where is that servant when you need her? What do I pay her for?"

  Still, Emily did not come. And still, her father did not answer Ted. Alison felt frustration build in her belly, like the flames in the fireplace

  "Daddy," Alison said, stepping forward, "Ted said that he had something to talk to you about."

  Ted whispered her name in warning, but she continued to step forward, toward her father. She bit down on her tongue and the metallic taste of blood filled her mouth. Blood. What a befitting flavor for such a bad situation. She began to grip Ted's fingers so tight in her own that she felt the bones of his fingers rub together beneath the skin, and yet he did not pull away, did not call out in pain or grimace.

  Her father moved to leave the room, escape his only defense mechanism, and Alison released Ted's hand and stopped her father's progress through the double doors by leaping in front of him. She now faced her father and Ted. She looked over her father's shoulder and looked into Ted's dark brown eyes, as deep as the richest chocolate. Sometimes she swore that she could taste a cube of fine candy in her mouth even when she just looked into them. But that was not the case now. Now, Ted's eyes smoldered with passion. They were burning. It was the same burn that had attracted her to him the day in the park when they had first met two years ago.

  "Sir, I said I needed to speak with you," Ted said, his frustration leaking into his voice. "Please, at least give me the respect to have a proper discussion with me."

  Whirling around, her father approached Ted. Alison could tell, even from behind, that her father had reached his breaking point, even if nothing had been said. His back was tense and his fists were clenched into fine balls. He approached Ted and straightened up, his back cracking. Even though Ted was six foot five and built like a train, her father still did not back down.

  "How dare somebody like you tell me about respect in my own household, black man," Owen said. "Get out of my sight."

  "Daddy, stop it." Alison threw herself at her father and grabbed his arm. "We need to talk to you. You're always perfectly reasonable except for now. I—"

  Before she had time to even blink, she felt the stinging sensation of a slap across her cheek and once again tasted iron in her mouth. Tears of pain filled her eyes as she took a step back and held onto her hot, swollen cheek. Her father faced her now, not Ted, and she had no idea how he had moved so fast. She backed against the wall, trembling. Her father had never hurt her before. Then again, she had never done anything this wrong before. Yet she still knew that she couldn't let her father manipulate her. She loved Ted. Love was pure. If people wanted to judge her on it, then they could eat a ball full of burning charcoal. She narrowed her eyes at her father, now more set in her resolve than ever.

  Her father took one more step toward her and raised his hand again. She shut her eyes and guarded her face with her hands. Nothing happened. She heard the sound of heavy panting, and when she opened her eyes, she saw that Ted had her father in a backward arm lock. Ted held her father's wrists and dangled him in the air as easily as if he was nothing more than a piece of holly. Her father let out a grunt.

  "I'll call the police," her father said. "Unhand me, you nigger."

  "Don't call him that," Alison said.

  "I can call him whatever I wish." Her father stared at her with a tight mouth. "He has earned that name. Don't you think that I've known what you two have been doing? That you have snuck out together, that you have spread your legs for a colored man like the lowest sort of whore?"

  A gasp left her lungs. She could taste sour vomit in her mouth, like lemon juice, and once again choked down another sob. Her father had known. Of course he had. The two of them had been together in bed, but that was nobody's fault but her fat
her's. She and Ted would have been properly married, but they were both too frightened of him to ask him to allow the match. Now, she almost wished that she had agreed to Ted's proposition, to run away with him and forget about her father. Yet even with the burning of his slap across her cheek, Alison still loved her father. He had been the only one there for her after her mother had died.

  As memories of her father filled her mind, she began to choke on sobs. She knew that she was letting him down, but yet her love for Ted filled her and made her burn on the inside. There was no other man, black or white, that could make her feel that alive. It was like she had been born again. Everything, from the sweet smell of his skin to the taste of his lips, made her shiver with want. She could not back down, and she was not against begging—which she was now forced to do for the first time in her life.

  "Father," she said, falling to her knees before him. Ted finally released her father from his grip. "Father, I'm begging you, please. Let us get married. You know that if you do not, then I will run away with him."

  She stared at the floor, at her father's proper leather shoes. Her father shifted positions as he said, "If that is the case, Alison, then why did you bother to ask me at all? Go. Go and put your mother's memory to shame."

  Pain seared through her heart. She choked on another sob and looked up, frightened of the frustration that she would see upon her father's face. She was not disappointed. One look at him and she felt as if her heart had been torn out. Yet when she looked at Ted, his face brimming with concern, she knew that she had to be strong. Ted was putting his neck on the line for her. Blacks had been sentenced to death for lesser things than marrying an upper class white woman.

  She shuddered and stood up. It felt like she attempted to stand in an earthquake. "I love him. I love Ted more than I have loved anyone in my entire life."

  Her father scoffed. "And you know what will become of you now? If you marry this black man, then you'll be the same as him. I'm not sure you understand what you are giving up—you are looking at a life of being treated as a servant. You are a Howard, a powerful woman. If you married the right man, you could be in the lap of luxury your whole life. You'd really throw that all away for a black man? He doesn't even have proper clothes."

  Her jaw tightened. She knew what she was giving up—the chocolates from Europe filled with liquor that melted on the tongue in sweet delicacy, her silk gowns, the mansion filled with furniture imported from all over the world. She would even have to give up Emily. When she and Ted married, she would likely be the servant. Yet the idea of living without him, of not being by his side, made her feel so sick that it was like a kick in the stomach. She reached out, grabbed Ted's arm, and pulled him over to her. Her father's mouth dropped open and his eyes bulged out.

  "No life would be complete without him in it," she said.

  Ted looked at her, running his hand down the back of her dress. The number of times that the two of them had argued about this very topic was dizzying. Yet the same was true during those arguments as they were now with her father. She would rather spend every day with Ted working as a servant than one year in the lap of luxury without him. Nobody else could fill her up, connect with her, in the way that Ted did. Her father would have to understand that, and if he didn't…She gritted her teeth at the thought.

  "I see that there is no use reasoning with you," her father finally said, his voice sounding delicate and tired now more than angry. "If you know what you're doing, then I will give my permission if you agree to something in return."

  Her heart leapt with shock and joy. She hadn't believed that her father would actually give permission. She had just wanted to try. She reached down and seized Ted's hand, and he squeezed it, grinning.

  "I want Ted to join the war cause. If he survives—" Her father looked at Ted coldly. "—and I doubt that he will, then you may marry with my blessing."

  No, Alison thought, feeling as if she had just swallowed an ice cube. She shivered as Ted stepped forward, extending his hand to her father. A grim smile was on his face. The taste of iron in her mouth increased tenfold, but this time it was a reminder of what she was losing. The army did not treat the blacks fairly. He would be in the front lines, which meant that he would be the first to die.

  And her father knew that.

  A hand grasping her arm drew her out of her memory, and she blinked, gasping when she saw that a spoon filled with deep red broth and cod was in her face. The spoon was shoved into her mouth, and she tasted tomato and cod and choked it down. She began to cough and then blinked tears of pain from her eyes. She glared at Emily once the clouds had cleared.

  "You could have warned me," she said. "And I told you that I wasn't hungry."

  Emily regarded her with a frown. "You need to eat. It won't do much good if Ted comes home to marry you like he promised, only you die from self-starvation."

  "I'm starting to doubt whether he really will come home," Alison whispered, turning to stare out the window at the busy street below. A sigh escaped her throat.