Beyond the Veil of Destiny

By Mary Elizabeth Trosper

Josie White, a young girl, who through no fault of her own, is born biracial into a world where intolerance, prejudice, cruelty. and a heartless humanity rule. Despite the many obstacles in her path and through her mothers faith, hard work, dedication, and devotion, Josie survives growing up a lonely, friendless, child who is treated harshly and cruelly by her peers. Josie, like her mother, has been gifted with a beautiful voice and a love of music. Josie is about to realize her dream (as well as her mothers) when, as a young woman on her own and miles away from her hometown, she is pursuing her future and her hope of singing opera in the great Metropolitan Opera House in New York City. When Josie finally finds herself on the brink of fame and a new life Fate steps in and tragedy ensues.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Aug 7, 2015
• ISBN: 9781491773840

Mary Elizabeth Trosper

Mary Elizabeth Trosper was born in Pineville, Kentucky, March 3, 1910, the second oldest of six children. The family then moved to Rockford, Illinois, where Mary graduated from the Rockford Central High School in nineteen thirty-one. After a brief stint as a kindergarten teacher, Mary went to work for the Illinois Bell Telephone Company in Rockford. She stayed there while caring for her mother and father until they passed away. After their passing the Bell Telephone Company transferred Mary to their telephone branch in California. During World War II Mary was a Charter Member of the Red Cross Nurses Aid Corps and WASP (Women’s Ambulance Safety Patrol) where she attained the rank of First Lieutenant. Mary spent her private life as an artist. She enjoyed pencil drawing, using water colors, and painting in oils. She also liked to decorate ostrich and duck eggs. Around 1968 Mary sold all her possessions and moved to France to study art and to learn the French language. Mary returned to Rockford, Illinois where she lived with her sister. She also owned and operated for twenty years a photography shop called “Trosper Studio.” Mary was also a charter member of the “Lens and Shutter” organization. In addition to her art endeavors and photography, Mary also enjoyed writing short stories and often submitted them to magazines. There is no evidence that any of her stories were published. Mary never married. She died February 23, 1999

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Beyond

the Veil of

Destiny

Mary Elizabeth Trosper

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BEYOND THE VEIL OF DESTINY

Copyright © 2015 Mary Elizabeth Trosper.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

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Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

ISBN: 978-1-4917-7383-3 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4917-7384-0 (e)

iUniverse rev. date: 08/06/2015

Contents

PART ONE

The Way It Was

Chapter One A Star Will Shine

Chapter Two House for Sale

Chapter Three Be It Ever So Humble

Chapter Four As the Twig Is Bent

Chapter Five Journey Launched

Chapter Six Sally Ann Plumquist

Chapter Seven ZDinah

Chapter Eight Reaching the First Stepping Stone

Chapter Nine The Question Arises

Chapter Ten The Answer Must Wait

Chapter Eleven Deep in the Valley

Chapter Twelve Winter’s Challenge

Chapter Thirteen Suffer Little Children

Chapter Fourteen Forsaken by God

Chapter Fifteen World of Make-Believe

Chapter Sixteen Josie Finds a Friend

Chapter Seventeen Little Simon Joe

Chapter Eighteen The Threshold of Womanhood

Chapter Nineteen Josie Lends a Helping Hand

Chapter Twenty The Time of Decision

PART TWO

A New Beginning

Chapter Twenty-One On Her Own

Chapter Twenty-Two True Love

Chapter Twenty-Three Triumph and Tragedy

Chapter Twenty-Four The Last Act

Prologue

My Aunt, Mary Elizabeth Trosper, was born in Pineville, Kentucky, March 3, 1910. She was the second oldest of six children. The family then moved to Rockford, Illinois, where Aunt Mary graduated from the Rockford Central High School in nineteen thirty-one.

After a brief stint as a kindergarten teacher, my Aunt Mary went to work for the Illinois Bell Telephone Company in Rockford. She stayed there while caring for my grandmother and grandfather until they passed away. After my grandparents’ passing the Bell Telephone Company transferred my aunt to their telephone branch in California.

During World War II Aunt Mary was a Charter Member of the Red Cross Nurses Aid Corps and WASP (Women’s Ambulance Safety Patrol) where she attained the rank of First Lieutenant.

My Aunt Mary spent her private life as an artist. She enjoyed pencil drawing, using water colors, and painting in oils. She also liked to decorate ostrich and duck eggs. Around 1968 she sold all her possessions and moved to Paris, France to study art and to learn the French language.

In 1972, my Aunt Mary returned to Rockford, Illinois where she lived with her sister, Rebecca, my mother. Aunt Mary owned and operated a photography shop for twenty years called Trosper Studio. She was also a charter member of the Lens and Shutter organization.

In addition to her art endeavors and photography, Aunt Mary also enjoyed writing short stories and often submitted them to magazines. There is no evidence that any of her stories were published.

Aunt Mary passed away February 23, 1999. Among the many things she left behind besides her many photographs and paintings, I found the rough draft of a novel that she had been working on and that she had hopes of publishing one day. After painstakingly putting the pages in order and numbering them, I read the manuscript and I understood why my Aunt Mary, who was very dear to me, wrote the story.

Aunt Mary lived at the time of her narrative. She witnessed first-hand the sorrows and tribulations that many folks experienced at that time because they were victims of prejudice—whether it had to do with their sex, race, religion, or national origin. The characters she created, she said, could be anybody, living anywhere in the world because hatred and bias was not limited to any one people or any one place on this planet of ours—adding that all hearts feel the same pain and bleed the same color blood.

In memory of my Aunt and what she believed as a human being, I decided to rescue what she had written rather than let time turn the pages to dust. I also wanted to present to the family in book form what she had written so that they could hold on to her legacy as a keepsake and, perhaps, pass it on to future generations.

And so I have.

Donald E. Clark

The echo of what we are lives on after us. That’s immortality. But only if we leave something tangible behind like our story, or stories. Otherwise we fade into oblivion, unremembered, and insignificant. SAS

PART ONE

The Way It Was

CHAPTER ONE

A Star Will Shine

There had been a flurry of gossiping tongues when Miranda suddenly appeared in Centerville after making her way for a number of years in New York City. She had not returned alone. Josie was with her.

All Centerville soon learned that Miranda White’s new baby was a half-breed. Neighbors didn’t drop in to tickle her baby under the chin, or leave behind a little something for the dear child.

Mother and child were shunned by the better colored folk of the community. Even Miranda’s own sharped-tongued sister, Bess, to whom she had returned to live with, continuously chided Miranda for her indiscretion. Bess considered the child’s taint of white blood a disgrace to the family.

Among the colored people who lived in Centerville at that time, miscegenation—the mixing of the races—was frowned upon. The child of such a union was treated as an outcast.

Miranda had also made no claims to marriage and because she maintained her silence her neighbors judged her harshly.

Miranda and her child lived in her sister Bess’ crowded house in Centerville for five long years. Miranda’s deepening love for her child fortified her against Bess’ constant vicious verbal attacks. However, those were not idle years for Miranda. Besides caring for Josie, Miranda helped Bess through three births, cared for her sister during illness; did most of the housework; and took charge of Bess’ oldest daughter, Dinah.

Big Jim, Bess husband and Miranda’s brother-in-law, worked as a miner. He had to labor long hours down in the damp, unventilated mines in order to provide for his ever-growing family. Big Jim’s meager paycheck was never sufficient enough for his own family never mind supporting Miranda’s little family and so Miranda had to address the question of supporting herself and her little girl.

Miranda did what she could to help lighten the family’s financial burden. She took in washing and advertised her business in the Journal, the local newspaper. Miranda soon developed a thriving business because of the extras she performed for her customers as needed—rips were mended, buttons replaced, and sometimes even collars were turned on well-worn shirts. Miranda did this extra work at no additional charge to her clientele. So clean, mended, and neatly-pressed were the laundered clothes that Miranda’s completely-satisfied customers recommended her to their friends. In no time Miranda had more business than she could handle—but handle it she did.

Because of the success of her laundry business Miranda was able to pay her own way at Bess’ house. She even managed to open up a savings account and earmarked the money she was saving for a little house that she hoped to buy one day for her and Josie. Miranda had no intention of raising her child in the sordid environment where they now lived, a neighborhood over-crowded with unpainted shacks, one leaning against the other with their rickety old outhouses smelling in the hot summer air—flea-infested dogs, cats, and chickens, as well as naked, dusty, black babies basking in the sun.

Miranda had returned to Centerville to live in the town only until she had raised her daughter. Not that there was less discrimination, less race intolerance, or less humiliating segregation in Centerville, but at least there was not more. Centerville had been Miranda’s home as she was growing up. She had survived despite the many harsh injustices that existed at that time. It seemed natural to Miranda that she should bring up her child in familiar territory where she would be free to develop her special plan—the one she had in mind for her daughter’s future.

After Bess’s ninth child was born, Miranda made her decision. It was time to look for a place to live so that she and little Josie could get away from the ever-increasingly overcrowded and noisy conditions in her sister’s house. Big Jim protested. He didn’t want them to leave. He told Miranda how much he appreciated all the help she had given him and Bess throughout the years that she and Josie had been living with them. He also told her that he would miss little Josie to whom he was as devoted as much as he was to his own children.

Big Jim, though often discouraged and fatigued, was always benevolent, kind, and gentle to his family. He was his children’s companion, friend, and confidant, someone to whom they could come with all their difficulties. Whenever the boys got into scrapes Big Jim helped them out, whether it was a broken window or a stolen melon. He did not lecture them. Instead he pointed out the consequences of their errors. As a result, Big Jim’s boys loved and respected him. They were ashamed whenever they betrayed their father’s confidence in them and so they tried very hard to avoid getting into trouble—more on their father’s account than their own.

There was often labor trouble at the mine and Big Jim would be out of work. During these times, Big Jim would get out his fishing gear and tackles, which also included willow poles for each of his boys. He would pile his sons into his old Model T and away they would go, laughing, and singing out loud over the rattling and knocking of the old engine. Often they would return home tired, hungry, and empty-handed—sheepishly grumbling that the fish were not biting at the Old Paper Mill that day.

To Bess this fishing expedition was a waste of valuable time. While Big Jim was out lying in the sun, asleep with a pole in his hand, Bess felt that he could have at least been fixing that broken cupboard in the kitchen that she had been asking him to repair over and over again, or he could have at least mowed the lot next to the old shed. Instead of helping her, Bess felt that Big Jim just wasted the day away out there in the woods like an overgrown boy.

Big Jim did not agree with his wife’s opinion of his outing with his sons. He believed that he was doing a job, a very important job, one that he was performing to the best of his ability: that of being a good father to a group of growing boys. Big Jim taught his boys how to fish, fight, wrestle, box, and to be strong, tough; and unafraid.

Big Jim also possessed a gentle touch when it came to his little girls. He was unabashed to be caught dressing their dolls for which he made all the clothes. He could sew as well as any woman and he taught his daughters how to cut dress patterns for their dolls and how to fashion clothing in the gayest fineries. Big Jim also made toy furniture for his daughters: small model pieces of furniture just like those displayed in the mail-order catalogues. For little Josie one Christmas, Big Jim made a huge dollhouse complete with furniture, and he wired the dollhouse with electric lights. Next to her mother, Big Jim came first in little Josie’s affections. Miranda felt deep gratitude for all the kindnesses Big Jim bestowed on her fatherless child.

Of course Miranda knew that little Josie would be lonely away from this big, kindly, man who had been like a father to her. But Miranda was thinking of the future now. Josie was five and not so little anymore. In another year she would be starting her education. In the district where they now lived Josie would have to attend a school where the majority of children were from the Negro families that had clustered together and had formed their own small community. Oh, there were whites in the school, too, children from the poor miners who had been unable to afford better dwellings in other sections of Centerville.

The school was a small, ill-heated, and badly-ventilated wooden structure with overcrowded classes and too few teachers for the number of pupils in attendance. In order to develop her plan for Josie’s future, Miranda knew it would be best if they could move to a better section of town where Josie could go to a school where she would have better educational advantages.

The housing shortage in Centerville was critical. There was little money in the community and even though the population had increased yearly no new houses had been constructed during the past ten years. Miranda found house-hunting a gigantic task—and humiliating in many instances. True, she could have found several weather-beaten shacks near the mouth of the old abandoned mine because many of the houses in that area lay long-deserted after a tragic cave-in had snuffed out the lives of the miners who had lived there. But Miranda, who had spent many years in the great metropolis up north, had experienced a small amount of success. With that, she had developed a desire for a higher standard of living, especially now that she had a child. So she shunned the small, gray, box-like dwellings that existed throughout the mining section of the town wanting something better. For that reason Miranda crossed the river and ran down every lead to every empty house in the area.

Miranda discovered a greater barrier to her search for a house other than the wide river that separated the mining district from the more enterprising businesses and the white residential sections of Centerville. The people that did have property for sale coldly denied her permission to even inspect their premises. Many even slammed their doors in her face. In discouraged desperation she resorted to using the firm of Obling, Bowman, and Johnson Realtors.

Sitting across from Jake Obling, the owner of the business, Miranda beseeched his aid in obtaining a house in a good neighborhood where she could give her daughter the advantages every parent desired to give their children. Miranda presented herself to Mr. Obling as the portrait of a refined woman whose cultured voice and gentile bearings belied the Caucasian theory that Miranda’s people did not possess the brain faculties, or the manners, equal to that of the white race. However, Jake Obling became irritated at Miranda’s audacious request for him to help her find a house for sale though he had to admit that other than her deep tan Miranda possessed all the esthetic qualities of a gentle, well-bred woman in appearance and bearing.

Obling cleared his throat and then drawled, Well now, I don’t see as I can do much for you, Mrs. What-chu-say yer name was? White, oh yes. Isn’t that rather an odd name for a-err-a colored woman?

Oblong floundered and turned a deep red. Miranda understood that he had caught himself just in the nick of time. She replied, That was my father’s name, sir.

Irritated by Oblong’s ungracious manner and vulgarism, Miranda added, I really fail to see anything odd about it.

Tut-tut, now let’s not quibble over a name, said Oblong. But, getting back to me findin’ a house for you, now, mind-chu, I ain’t got nothin’ against the darkies myself, but there’s a lot of folks who don’t like the idea of me sellin’ property rights to ‘em-m’ a nigger.

Oblong spat tobacco juice on the floor and cleared his voice. Now, if you want me to find you a reasonable little place on the other side of the river, I might be able to accommodate you quite nicely.

Thank you, Miranda said. I don’t need your help. Good Day!

Miranda rose to her full height thereby expressing her indignation, and proudly took her leave.

Once outside, Miranda was crestfallen. She feared she would fail miserably in her effort to give her daughter a start in life that would provide a good foundation, especially in education, that would insure the glorious future that Miranda had envisioned for her Josie. More than not having a good education, Miranda feared that her racial background would prove a greater harrier to her child’s future success than it had been for her. Miranda returned home to Bess’s house miserable in the thought that she might be unable, even with her nest-egg, to find a suitable haven for her and the little girl she loved so dearly.

The next morning with the sun beaming in through the window Miranda awoke. She stayed in her bed for a long time before getting up. She lay there thinking and trying to figure out how she might yet realize her dream of buying and owning a house. She knew she did not have enough money to buy a lot and then to also build. She also wondered where in all of Centerville she might find a home-owner who would be willing to sell his house to her. As these thoughts flitted about in her mind, Miranda looked over at the sleeping child nestled close to her side. Josie’s damp hair curled softly around her forehead and her little arms encircled Theodore, the stuffed teddy bear that she always took to bed with her.

I won’t spoil her day by fretting, resolved Miranda to herself as she planted a kiss on the child’s damp little cheek.

Josie opened her eyes and smiled as she reached up for a morning embrace from her mother. Miranda took the child in her arms and laughed with forced gaiety.

This is Sunday, Josie. What shall we do after we go to church? Would you like to go on a picnic, just you and Mummy, honey?

Oh, goody, goody, Mummy. I love picnics, squealed Josie as she bounced out of bed. Can I wear my new playsuit, can I, Mummy?

Miranda laughed. She corrected Josie’s English saying, You must say ‘may I’, Josie. May I wear my new playsuit, all right? But first we have to go to church and then to Sunday school, young lady. After that we’ll decide what to wear to the picnic. Come, I’ll help you with your bath.

After church Miranda prepared a picnic lunch that included sandwiches, pickles, and potato salad—all left-over from the night before. She then added a few hard-boiled eggs and some