The Oyster Bar
By: Paula Sue Bryant
Tags: Historical Fiction, Race, Black History, Fiction, Romance

“Baked oysters wrapped in bacon? Is it delicious, Henry? As delicious as seeing you again?”

The Oyster Bar

XIII. Life has melody and rhythm when Mimi and Henry meet again in a tantalizing setting, but how long will their new happiness last before trouble enter?

You’re reading the thirteenth installment of Paula Sue Bryant’s novel, Angels on Horseback, the story of a singer and a painter who follow their art. If you missed them, check out the first installment and the note to readers.

Philadelphia, 1888. “I dream of Jeannie with the light brown hair, floating like a vapor on the soft summer air.”

Mimi rippled the lyrics of the popular song, her clear soprano chiming through the restaurant. The owner, a rectangular-faced fellow sharpening his knife behind the bar, turned to wink at her.

She folded her hands at her breast and kept singing. It wasn’t opera, but it was something. And folks turned her way. A little girl kicked her feet in time.

Mimi felt free and easy. She had left poor Robert behind and moved in with Hallie Jones, her childhood singing partner. And Hallie, in scarlet feathers across from her, had just agreed to quit the street life and teach music with her.

Life had melody and rhythm again.

Of course, it hurt to realize society saw her as damaged goods. She’d wanted to become the next Jenny Lind. Instead, she was a rumpled songbird fallen from the nest, straight into the dirty snow of the Tenderloin.

She was homesick for the Meadows, but she’d been sleepwalking back home. Here, her eyes were open.

The melody flowed from her. Hallie hummed along in counterpoint. But Mimi broke off mid-chorus when a tall, lean young man with ochre skin and wavy dark hair jingled the door open.

He Was Good Looking, and She Knew Him

He approached their table, his wire-rimmed spectacles glinting across his deep brown eyes. He was good looking, and she knew him.

Henry stared at Mimi. He had never forgotten her. A tingling stirred his fingers. He wanted to capture the proud angle of her chin, the long curve of her throat, the light that lit her from within.

She was the changeable, sparkling girl he’d met at the Meadows, but something more. She carried herself with a steadier, softer air. From the flickering candle flame in her gaze, he saw she’d suffered and how it had strengthened her.

“Mimi.” He didn’t say her full name, nor preface it with a social “Miss.” It was how he always thought of her, how he had spoken to her in his dreams: Mimi.

Her voice lilted. “Henry? As I live and breathe!” She held out her hand, hidden in a woman’s glove.

In his eagerness to grasp it, he crunched across spilled oyster shells, but he didn’t mind at all. He took her hand and beamed at her.

He Looked at Mimi as Though She Were His Mirror

Hallie stiffened her back and nodded at Henry. “Cousin.”

Henry nodded, not knowing how to greet his wayward relative.

“Glad to see you safe and sound, Hallie. We’ve been worried sick, back home.” Henry took Hallie’s hand and bowed.

Mimi was touched by his courtesy toward his cousin turned working girl. For all he knew Hallie was still working the streets, yet he accepted her.

“Join us, Henry.” Mimi patted the seat next to her and challenged him with her eyes.

Henry sat down and looked at Mimi as though she were his mirror. He straightened his lapels and smoothed his goatee with thumb and forefinger.

For her part, Mimi tipped her chin and searched for her reflection in his lenses. Of course, the knotted lace at her throat was worn thin, the hollows under her cheekbones deeper. And she knew she wasn’t fooling him by playing the lady.

He leaned toward her. “Always said I’d paint you in a canary-yellow dress. And here you are.”

He opened his menu. “Ladies, allow me to suggest the angels on horseback.”

“Whatever’s that?” Mimi leaned over, and he pointed to the place on the menu. Her sleeve fluttered against his wrist. His skin gave off a faint scent of honey, and her mouth watered. She was famished.

“Baked oysters wrapped in bacon? Is it delicious, Henry? As delicious as seeing you again?”

Hallie rolled her eyes. She gathered her skirts and stood up. “I’ll take my leave of you. Things to attend to.”

Mimi Manages

Mimi felt knocked off balance. She wasn’t sure she could trust herself alone with Henry. Would she perch in his lap and run her fingers through his hair? She certainly hoped not.

Hallie grinned and left Mimi to manage.

The owner wiped his hands on his apron as he came toward them. “What’ll it be, Sir? And do sing again anytime, Miss. Right nice to hear you.”

The man’s long red face was grooved with vertical lines, and his neck swelled against his collar. He was built like a boxer, Mimi thought. Her little song had touched him, without her even trying. She felt her own power to do good.

She dimpled and inclined her head.

When the owner left, Henry leaned back. “I feel at home in this place. That fellow seems all right. Called us Sir and Miss, even though we don’t match.”

“Our races, you mean? Some folks won’t like you and me sitting at the same table alone. I can’t for the life of me understand why not.”

“I think you understand why not, Mimi. There’s no justice for Black folk yet, a generation after the War. White folk still kicking us down to keep their place at the top. Times are hard, and no one wants to go hungry.”

“You’re right, Henry. Of course I understand.” She shivered. “And I certainly know what hunger feels like.”

He stroked his lip. “How bad has it been?”

“Before or after Robbie died?” She tried to force a laugh, but a sob broke forth.

He reached across the table and held her hands in his. “I heard the consumption finally took him, Mimi. A crying shame.”

You Have to Fly if You Want to Sing

She loosed one of her hands to dab at her eyes. “I blame myself for leaving him. But he just never heard me. I got booted from the chorus when the regular girl came back. The money dried up. His gambling debts piled up. And Robert just stared at the wall all day. I was frantic. And so lonesome, Henry.”

He caught her hand and squeezed it. “You gave yourself to your Robert, body and soul. I admire your generosity of spirit. But you have to fly if you want to sing, ain’t that right?”

She nodded, smiled a little.

He winked at her. “People like me and you, we have to follow our art. Sometimes it leads us to some mighty unexpected places.”

She had to laugh. “And here we are, in Mawhinney’s Oyster Saloon, a singer and a painter, following… How did you put it? Following our art.”

An Old Intimate

She felt a sudden rush of strength, even though she was weak with hunger. “I’ll never let them make a caged bird of me. I just won’t. You always understood that in me, Henry.”

He chuckled. She was so easy to talk to, just like the old days when they’d first met. He held up his palms to show he had no secrets, no snares. “No cages for you, Mimi. Not even gilded ones. I hear you, and I’ll take note of it.”

She felt herself blush. She marveled that she could be so frank with him, as if he were an old intimate. In a way, he was.

Mimi had never forgotten the night they met. The summer she was sixteen, he’d come to Amelia County from Philadelphia to visit Hallie and her mother Jensie, who worked in the kitchen at the Meadows. After sundown, Mimi wandered from her music stand out to the sleeping porch, a narrow balcony that clung to the old house like a babe to its mother, feeling something new quicken the air.

She leaned over the railing and peered through the wavering poplars into the garden, inhaling the perfume of night-blooming jasmine. The moon touched each white flower, turned it silver. She gazed at the blossoms just beyond her grasp.

Then she saw Henry, a slim young man of seventeen, emerge from his aunt’s cottage, put his hands in his pockets, and stroll across the wet grass. Once she thought she saw him glance up at the sleeping porch, spectacles glinting, but it was only a trick of the moonlight.

Lightning Bugs and Jasmine

She ducked back inside the house, soundlessly descended the stairs. She was a ghost in a tale by Mr. Poe, a phantom who walked the night in silent fury that, having died young, she’d never even had the chance to live. Most likely she would die of boredom before she reached fifteen. She opened the front door and stepped out onto the moon-soaked veranda.

Henry was there, waiting at the bottom of the steps. She motioned to him. They sat on the porch swing, looking out across the lawn and the fields beyond. Crickets quizzed each other, too stubborn to let up, even with an eavesdropping audience of two.

“Lightning bugs.” She pointed, taking credit.

First a lone yellow glimmer blinked then disappeared, then reappeared further on, as if a pen charged with light traced the spokes of an invisible web. A companion spark danced a moment before disappearing too.

The night had peopled itself with a crowd of winking lights. If she could only have read the message written on the summer breeze, she could have told her future, she’d felt sure of it.

Henry had given a low whistle at the sight. They turned toward each other in delight. The wind breathed jasmine across their faces. Their foreheads nearly touched. Only the merest membrane of ether came between them.

If her mother or his father had known how closed they’d come to kissing, there would have been hell to pay.

Did Henry remember?

Angels on Horseback

Mimi came to herself when the owner brought their steaming, fragrant plates of baked oysters wrapped in smoky, charred bacon and spritzed with lemon juice.

“Angels on horseback.” She made a song of it, she was so happy to see it arrive, to share this experience with him.

Henry winked again. “Name reminds me of you. An angel galloping into the future.”

“I’m surprised at you, Henry.”

He looked worried, and she grinned at him. “To think you see me for what I am, a fallen woman, yet you still call me an angel.”

He ducked his head and tucked his fork into his food, but he couldn’t stop grinning. Did she want him the way he wanted her, or was he just being a fool? He didn’t feel foolish.

Mimi wanted to press her hungry lips to his handsome mouth. She pierced a an oyster with her fork and savored it, tangy and salty and satisfying.

He put down his fork. “Remember the lightning bugs, Mimi? And the night-blooming jasmine?”

Her face quivered like a flower opening. She touched her own cheek, wishing she were touching his. “I remember how dashing you were, how confident.”

He shrugged. “I was terrified of you.” Then he frowned, as if a shadow had fallen between them. “I reckon you’ve heard what happened here.”

She nodded. She knew about the hoodlums tying him to his easel. About his bravery in reporting the grave robbings.

“And what did you think of me?” He tensed his jaw.

She told him the truth. “My heart broke for you, Henry. But I’m right proud I know you.”

He sat taller and picked up his fork.

Trouble

The door jingled and a scarlet flash ducked inside, darted to their table. It was Hallie, back again, panting for breath. “Henry! Watch your back!”

Two forks clattered at once. “What is it?” But he knew.

“Heard it on the corner. That lowdown skunk Larrabee’s out on bail. Doc Forbes sprang him.”

Henry made a show of wiping his mouth with his napkin. “Calm yourself, Hallie. We all saw that coming. What’s the fuss?”

Mimi saw his fear, understood he wanted to look brave in front of her. “What else, Hallie?”

Hallie’s outrage turned her eyes to stones. She looked between them, out the window, into the twilit street.

“They say Larrabee’s hired two strong arms to lay into you, get revenge. Name of Joe and Dave.”

Mimi gasped and sprang to her feet. The bullies who took her pay envelope and threatened her and Robbie.

They stared at her open-mouthed.

Hallie nudged Henry. “Told you it was trouble.”

Henry took off his spectacles and wiped them. “I’ll handle it.”

In the next installment, Mimi and Hallie join forces and Henry confronts a familiar enemy. Chapters publish Tuesdays and Saturdays (and sometimes Thursdays). Let me know you’re reading by responding on Medium or directly by email: psbonilla@gmail.com. Thanks for following!