December 22, 1913
Dear Auntie Eula, Uncle Benny, and Cousin Joy,
I hope this letter finds you in good health and safety, as I have sent this letter on the day of your departure in hopes it might meet you as you arrive.
Miss Annie May at school is helping me write this, she seems quite pleased that I’ve taken an interest in my studies. She’s a tall lady, stern, but smart. Momma says I should be grateful for her, seeing as it’s hard to find a teacher as good as her outside the city, but she really just seems like a know it all. The other students at school say she’s “thin and tall as a willow” and I guess I’d agree. She towers over nearly all the other teachers at school. What’s school like for you, Joy? I’m sure you’re fitting right in, you were always so popular here.
What’s life like up north? I’ve never even been out to the city, but I’d imagine it’s huge. Since you guys’ve left, Papa’s been on about me “pulling my weight” or whatever that means. But sure enough, ever since, I’ve been doing grocery runs and chores around the house. Just last week he sent me down to Uncle Smokey’s place to pick him up some cigarettes—he owns the corner store down the street. He’s kinda funny looking, what with his big ole shoes, ratty black and grey beard, and the big blue circle around his left eye. But he’s sweet, and every time I run an errand for Papa he throws in a lemon drop just for me.
Now, Uncle Smokey says that in the North there are whole towns of colored folk, just living it up. You know, like Tulsa or something. He says women up North run around with silly little hats that cover their eyes, skirts hiked up all the way to their knees, and their hair cut way up past their ears. Can you believe that? My jaw nearly fell straight off my face…but I’m sure it’s mostly nonsense. Uncle Smokey’s like a clock that way, he’s right about twice a day but aside from that he’s mostly good for making noise and looking at.
When I got home I tried telling Papa what I’d learned, but he damn near fell right out his chair, you know, the rickety old one in the living room. He shot up out that chair staring me down all the while. “Now Dorathy,” he said, his eyes all squinty and sharp like a cat. “Where do you get off spouting all that bull in this house of God?” Papa’s always on about Jesus this or the house of God that. I love him but sometimes he’s just too much. How was I supposed to respond to that? It’s not like I said it, I was just the messenger.
Needless to say Papa hasn’t sent me on any more errands to Uncle Smokey’s since then. And as replacement Papa’s decided to switch tracks by having me join on as a full time member of the church children’s choir . He says it’s to ”steer me back on the path of God” . And honestly, if “the path of God” is just singing and dancing then sign me up!
I miss you guys every day, and even though she doesn’t say it, I know Momma does too. Miss Annie May says me and Joy should be pen pals, and I think that’s just perfect, I’ll write again as soon as I can. This summer just won’t be the same without you all.
With all the love in my heart,
-Dorathy Anne Carver
———————————————————
I looked up at Miss Annie May, her shoulder length curls obscuring her expression, as her finger tracked along the well-worn pages of her book. “Have you been up North?” I asked, leaning my full body weight on to my folded arms.
” I guess you have, being from the city and all.” The chair beneath my knees wobbled as I tried to catch her attention. “What city? Chicago? No, Minneapolis! No way, Detroit? You know my Auntie and Cousin li—”
“Dora,” Miss Annie May said, catching the back of my chair as it wobbled. “You know better than to be hanging on these chairs like that.” Her dark almond eyes were sharp as flint. I sat, aggrieved. ” Come on, ” I said, dragging the ‘o’ ” you won’t even tell me a little? What are you even reading that’s got your attention like that?”
I just couldn’t understand, what’s so good about boring old books? You can’t eat them, or talk to them, and God forbid you play with them. So what’s the point? I sat all the way back in my chair and pulled my knees as tight to my chest as I could.
” Drifting,” she said, angling the book towards me so I could look “by Olivia Ward.” Miss Annie May let out a deep sigh, and rubbed her eyes. I got her. “Just one story and no more you hear?”
———————————————————
March 9, 1914
To My dearest Pen Pal Joy,
This town is a bore. The people, boring. Church choir is boring. And Math, especially Math, is boring.
Lately, I find your letters are my only break from this nauseating town. I’ve continued my studies with Miss Annie May and found that despite being a complete busybody she’s actually quite nice. She’s the only English and History teacher at our school so she hasn’t been able to help with my letters as much lately. But I think my writing’s been coming along pretty nicely even without the additional help, so I’ve limited myself to only asking her for help with difficult words and editing.
Momma has gotten in her head that I’m destined to be a mathematical genius and has since made an arrangement with Old Lady Adeline down the street to get me “properly educated”. She was a math teacher at our school before she lost her husband in the war. Apparently after he died she became the sole provider for their kids, and everyone knows Colored schools don’t pay well. She was mostly doing the job as a volunteer. She’s been working with my momma at her boutique downtown ever since. Now I get that she’s an elder, but at the end of the day she’s still a crotchety old meany and I would sooner be rid of her.
The people at church just don’t get me like you do, Joy. They push me around and call me names. They say I’ve got the devil’s eyes, a deep buggy black that “unsettles most sensible folk”. I wish I was up in Detroit with you. I’ve just gotta get outta here Joy. Everyone in this town wakes up and goes about their days going to church, getting married,
having kids like it’s just what they were made to do.
During his Christmas service, Papa introduced me to this boy Victor and his family earlier today. They’re from outta town so Papa’s been having me show him around. His family’s well off, not in the loud gaudy way, but in the way that his Mother’s scathing hazel eyes scanned the laymen in the pews as if seeing her features reflected in theirs could somehow steal away her ability to pass. I thought it was funny at first, but the more I think about it, it just seems like a sad way to live. To their credit Victor’s parents were never outright rude, but the way they hung around the edges of their seats death gripping their belongings said more than any words could’ve.
Victor’s sweet, or well he’s sweet in the way that any church boy is sweet, in front of his parents and not much more. At the very least he doesn’t pull at my hair like the other boys at church. As of late he’s taken to just ignoring me, and honestly I quite prefer it, not that he spoke much to begin with. He’s always been quiet, unfortunately on the rare occasion he decides to open his mouth it only serves to make me dislike him more. ‘Grab this Dorathy’, ‘Do that’, never in my life have I met a child as bossy as him, and I rather hope I never will again. Only my parents call me Dorathy, who does he think he is?
Since he’s shown up Momma’s taken to getting me to be more ladylike. Needling at me saying ” No decent man will marry you as you are, you’ve got to get your head on your shoulders”. It’s suffocating.
Momma says people live and die in this town, like it’s some sort of gift. But just because she’s ok rotting in this town, playing housewife to a man who couldn’t give less of a damn about her ‘sides cooking, cleaning, and children, doesn’t mean I am.
And I won’t.
I can’t stay here Joy, I just can’t. And I’ve got a plan. The last half of Lady Blues Southern tour is coming through town, and word says there’s gonna be an open call for singers. I’m sure my plan’ll work, otherwise Papa will lock me in my room until I’m old enough to marry if he gets even the slightest hint I’m going.
You’re always in my heart,
Dora
———————————————————
May 19, 1914
Dear Joy,
As the audition drew nearer I practiced day and night. I went back and forth with Miss Annie May to write my audition song, under the guise of it being a “Poem” for entry in the local newspaper. I managed to finish the accompaniment just in time.
On the day of the audition, I arrived bright and early just like Momma and Papa always taught me. There was already a line forming, not quite out the doors yet, but to the point of the line winding and turning like a mountain trail. I honestly couldn’t believe it, I was surrounded by people from town, people I thought I’d known all my life.
But, in that moment, it was like something hidden deep within them was finally brought to light. Teacher’s, choirmembers, classmates, people from the town over, and people I didn’t even think gave a single thought to music outside of Church had gathered here to grab ahold of their dreams. It blew the doors of my world right open. In that moment it was no longer just me. I was surrounded by people with life, and passion, and the bravery to do
something about it.
I was stunned, Joy. I swear I’ll remember this feeling forever.
The audition went off mostly without a hitch. A lighting issue here, an unprepared audition there, it was par for the course for an event like this. As I waited for my turn backstage, I tried to absorb as much information as possible from the crew. At first it was mostly backstage talks, of lighting, music, and timings, but the conversation began to take a turn when a member of the stage crew brought up Lady Blue’s absence. A deathly silence fell over the group. “It was bound to happen eventually, what with all these openers hopping on and off the tour,” One of them said, “someone was bound to butt heads with Lady Blue eventually”. From what I gathered, Lady Blue got into a heated argument with one of the openers that left the tour prior to the audition. Words were had, things were thrown, and aside from rehearsals no one’s seen or heard of Lady Blue since. Now the crew’s trying to figure out whether the show in town will have to be cancelled. I don’t mind much seeing as Papa’s had a mind to set curfew a few hours early while the troupe’s in town. I couldn’tve seen them anyways. But, I still wonder about what could’ve been. Maybe I’ll get a chance eventually, I just have to pass.
This is it Joy, my way out.
Dora Anne Carver
———————————————————
June 10, 1915
Joy, Joy, Joy, Joy, Joy, Joy! Joy my closest, most trustworthy, godsend of a friend Joy! You really do live up to your name.
It was your encouragement that made me audition for Lady Blue’s show when it came through town. Even though the performance was canceled, her manager called me over and asked me to tour with them. I’ll only be on the last leg of the tour, so I’ll be gone for at most a week. I’ve packed my bags and told my parents I’ll be staying with a
friend from school. Just a few more hours and I’m gone.
Dreams really do come true Joy.
Dora Anne Carver
———————————————————
June, 1915
When I first met Lady Blue, I felt as though I was being stared down by an abyss. I broke out in a cold sweat, each droplet down my neck and cheeks were nails, burrowing beneath my skin and dragging along my bones. Begging me to do something, anything, and run. It could’ve been seconds or hours that I stood there, frozen. Lady Blue was an unimaginable unknown.
On the surface her face remained passive, her shadowed droopy eyes pacing her band from over her shaded glasses. I was clearly interrupting something, the eerie silence that hung over the room like a guillotine was sign enough. I stood in the chasm between the door and the stage, watching helplessly as Lady Blue’s silhouetted figure trailed over the band as she grabbed the bassist’s spare. Throwing it to the ground in a single fluid movement, before bringing her foot down onto the instrument smashing it to pieces on the hardwood floor below. “If you can’t catch a beat don’t play bass,” She seethed, her tired black eyes finally falling closed as the tension fell from her shoulders “Don’t make me tell you again”. As she turned to walk off she locked eyes with me, her graceful curved figure damning as she towered above me. At that moment I remembered Miss Annie May, “It’s better to lie with the devil you know then die with the devil you don’t”. I couldn’t shake it. I wanted to tell someone, anyone. But what would Joy know of this, how could she? I wanted to go home.
That meeting followed me as we went from town to town, but dulled against the rush of new experiences that came over me. The tour mostly played at theaters or juke joints, neither of which I’d ever been to. The blinding lights of the stage, magnetic rush of the crowd, and fast paced lifestyle was exhilarating. It was like a dream come true.
As the tour went on I continued to observe Lady Blue. She had a sad air about her and despite her small frame her moods, violent as they were, seemed to permeate the very air around her. Papa would probably label her a witch, or at the very least a harlot on account of her skirt length. But Papa’s not here and won’t be for a good long while so I needn’t concern myself with his evaluations of the people I surrounded myself with.
Especially not now that I was getting my first taste of the big city.
Louisville was a dream and it wasn’t too long before cold reality caught up to me. Rehearsals were a laborious thing, and dragged on much longer than necessary; between the band and Lady Blue there were more arguments than music. She was a perfectionist with her sound, and often took off in a whirlwind of dramatics if she felt it wasn’t quite up to par. That night was no different.
After finishing my run through, I snuck back through the halls of the bar when I heard the now familiar tapping of Lady Blue’s pipe. Tap. Tap. Tap. Languid and slow her pipe tapped against the door of her light blue Model T. Her downturned eyes closed as her feet slung lazily over the front seat of her car. And as always, her blue and black churchwarden pipe sat lightly smoking in her open hand.
“What is that?” I ask casually, finally able to eye the pipe close up, “It’s definitely not tobacco.”. The smell was oddly familiar. Something about the floral herby twang of the smoke pulled at something in the back of my mind.
“Just a little lavender and mugwort,” she says between puffs.
“My Momma uses those, for oil, not for burning” I respond, finally able to place that nagging smell
“It’s nothin’ but a sleep aid darling,” she says, blowing a puff of smoke into my face, “s’good for when the road wears you down”.
I couldn’t believe I hadn’t guessed sooner, the smell was always strongest after Momma’d just finished a big project. She would stay up all night, organising and re-organizing the whole house, I suppose because she couldn’t sleep. I turned back to Lady Blue to ask her more questions, but she’d already drifted off. I quietly returned to practice, and went about the rest of my night as usual.
That night I fell ill. It was sharp, sudden, and unbelievably aggravating. When I finally worked up the nerve to drag myself to rehearsal, I was greeted by Charlie at the door. He was a manager under the tutelage of Lady Blues manager, a man of no name or face I could recall. “Damn kid, you’re sick as a dog,” Yelled one of the crew behind him “is your momma around or what??” I wanted to hurt him. I’m twelve, I can handle my damn self. Unfortunately, I could barely stay standing, much less swing on a man ten feet away. So I settled for just flipping him off.
“He’s right though, Dora. You look like hell” Charlie said, his straight white teeth flashing at me.
“Yea? I wouldn’tve guessed” I said trying to glare a hole through his head through sheer force of will. As I tried to push past him, I could see his blue eyes twitch out the side of my peripheral. But, he stood firm, grabbing my shoulders as he pushed me back in the direction of the hotel.
“I don’t wanna see you till you’re back in tip top shape, you hear?” He shouted after me as I trudged my way back to my room. I fell asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow.
In the next instant I was sitting up in my bed, dripping from head to toe in a frigid cold sweat. The fabric of my nightgown seemed to have frozen to my skin, leaving it to flake off in painful sheets as I tried to move. Dazed, I stumbled my way out of the hotel and onto the street below. My feet led me where my blurred mind could not. The lights of the city blurred past me like fairies in the wind, and as I tumbled through the streets, I began to dance. Once I regained my awareness I found myself on the porch of our venue for the night.
Had I walked? I could vaguely feel the sting of cuts and splinters beneath my feet. Before my eyes was the poster for our show that night, “Lady Blue performing at the Sweet Taffy Juke tonight!” Was spelled in bold letters across the sheet. I hadn’t gotten to see Lady Blue perform yet, given her absence at the audition, and my duties backstage most nights. The most I got was rehearsals, fleeting melodies, and the band. This was it, my only chance before the tour ended. I could hear the music blare from the crowd inside.
I stalked around the audience, catching familiar people in the audience with their faces mostly obscured by the smoke covering the small room. The joint was packed from wall to wall with body heat, dance and music. The crowd moved as a wave, pushing and pulling in time. Before I knew it my feet were off the ground, and my breath had left me. I could’ve been sinking or floating, but in that moment they were one in the same. It was euphoric, hysterical, and mad. And being there as part of the whole, I was too. The pulse of the music drew me forwards. I could feel it in the music and the crowd. At that moment we were one heart beating. I began to push my way through the mass, desperately trying to make my way to the stage, my heart quickened, my breath a prayer on my lips. The realization came all at once, I couldn’t breathe. My thoughts raced as I clawed for the lip of the platform, I could not breathe. As the smoke began to rise above my head I took one last look at the performance above me.
There crouched above me was the abyss, Lady Blue stood pitched on the edge of the stage staring me down. In the hazy light of the Juke joint her buggy black eyes reflected a bright inhuman blue.