The Sweetest Thing Read Free Page B

Don’t ask me how. I just know them. And from the moment that Mother (and eventually Father) insisted I leave for Atlanta—Atlanta! A southern town!—I knew that my life had just bifurcated in a way that would have repercussions for my whole family.
    At first I resisted, of course. I like to do things my way. “Aunt Josie means well,” I told my parents. “Certainly, there are benefits to a good education. Certainly, it can be a wise investment for the long term. But what about you? How can I leave both of you and Coobie and Frances up here in Chicago, wondering where the next meal will come from, while I gallivant around in Atlanta?”
    Father pronounced the words that always convinced me. “It is for the larger cause, Dobbs. You need this.”
    A larger cause! I loved causes, and especially the one Father referred to: propagation of the Word of God. So off I went on the train to Atlanta with one measly suitcase in my hand and my head swimming with ideas of adventure, possibilities, a whole new world to conquer! I was bursting with excitement inside over Mr. Roosevelt’s inauguration. I’d listened to his speech on the radio when I’d changed trains that morning—in fact the conductor had postponed our leaving so that everyone could hear it. So on the last leg of my two-day trip down to Atlanta, I kept thinking, Franklin D. Roosevelt is God’s man for such a time as this. He will help pull America out of this mess!
    Father always said we were in this mess—otherwise known as the Depression—because of man’s greed and God’s judgment and a whole bunch of other things mixed together. He was probably right, but with Roosevelt in office, America could mend her evil ways and start over again!
    So I stepped off the train with a big smile on my face, anticipating a new beginning for me and for America. Aunt Josie and her chauffeur met me at the station along with Mrs. Singleton and her daughter Perri.
    The first thing I felt was a stare of disapproval. Aunt Josie’s eyes said it first and then Mrs. Singleton’s and Perri’s too. Astonishment. Then pity. They recovered quickly, and we rode home in one of the fanciest cars I’d ever seen. Aunt Josie sat up front with her chauffeur—his name was Hosea—and I was in the back with Mrs. Singleton and Perri. I started rattling on, as I always do, to Aunt Josie, and she politely listened. I talked a lot, but I could tell pretty quickly what someone else was thinking, and Perri Singleton’s face told me that she didn’t like me one bit. Yet.
    Hosea turned the car into a long private drive, framed on either side with stone posts, which would have fit nicely in a Roman piazza, I imagined. Father had tried to prepare me for the Chandlers’ home, describing it to me and even showing me an old photo, but as Hosea drove around the bend, I stared, my mouth almost hanging open, at a sprawling—and imposing—white stucco house, something fit for English nobility.
    Hosea pulled the car under a covered driveway to the right of the house. My aunt called this the “porte cochere,” which I later realized was French, except she pronounced it in long, drawn-out syllables— po-wart co-share, which meant absolutely nothing to me.
    When we stopped, Perri almost jumped out of the car. Perhaps she thought I had lice or some other terrible ailment that came with poverty, but she got in their car with her mother, and they drove away without a glance back at me.
    I got out of the Pierce Arrow and followed Aunt Josie as she walked me in a circular tour around the property. Acres and acres of open land surrounded the house. To the left of the mansion were the garages for cars, and off behind the garages, a stable that Aunt Josie said was filled with horses as well as a cow and a pig, and farther out, in the fields behind, beautiful vegetable gardens, and the servants’ quarters off to the