Jordan blushed as she remembered the pride she’d expressed that their home had its own private outhouse. She realized that neither Sadie nor Lisbeth had given any indication that relieving themselves outside was an inconvenience. She shook off the memory. That was the past. She was heading to her new home, through the lovely afternoon toward the apartment Malcolm had arranged for them. Unlike Chicago, there was nothing sticky in this Oakland summer air.

  Naomi suddenly stopped. “Mama, it’s the Unitarian Church,” she declared. “Would you like to come on Sunday?”

  Jordan looked at Malcolm. He shrugged. “I’ve never attended. I go to the Fifteenth Street AME,” he stated. “When I’m in town . . . and not sleeping,” he clarified, looking sheepish.

  Jordan read the wayside pulpit and saw a familiar name: Rev. Eliza Tupper Wilkes. She had been a speaker at the women’s convention and the hall of religion at the Columbian Exposition.

  “We can go to both, Mama,” Naomi said. “The morning at AME and the seven-thirty here. It will be a good way to meet like-minded people.”

  Jordan nodded consent but had no actual enthusiasm at the prospect of going to either church. Just the thought of meeting new people tired her. She’d agreed Oakland would be a better home for Naomi and Malcolm but could not foresee that she would find joy in any new relationships.

  They continued along Castro Street, following the numbers downward. The brand-new neighborhood gave way to small, older dwellings, but they all had space around them and were well tended.

  Malcolm turned east when they arrived at Fifth Street and stopped in front of a nicely painted wooden building. Her mood was cheered by the look of her new home. Their trunks were waiting on the front porch—delivered by the same carriage that had brought them to Sadie and Lisbeth’s house.

  Malcolm led them through a low wrought-iron gate into a neatly tended front yard. A riot of unfamiliar flowers filled it.

  “As you can see, Mrs. King from upstairs enjoys her gardening,” Malcolm explained. “I told her you would want to add to it. She’s looking forward to meeting you. Her people are from Georgia.”

  Jordan smiled at hearing a word that was at once comforting and confusing. For fourteen years—after she ran, but before the Civil War—Mama had gone by the name Georgia to evade being captured under the Fugitive Slave Act. Jordan hadn’t even known it was a false name until Mama reverted back to Mattie when the war started. It had taken Jordan time to adjust to the change that came easily to Pops and Samuel since they’d known Mama as Mattie before.

  Malcolm opened the door to the small ground-floor unit. It cost nearly double what they had been paying in Chicago, but he assured her it was a fair price for Oakland. The living room had an archway to delineate a separate dining area. Behind it was a kitchen.

  “You have water with a tap now too, Mama,” Malcolm declared, as he turned the handles to make the water flow.

  “You sure we can afford this?” she asked.

  “Oakland is so new, just about every house has taps and flush toilets,” he said.

  Jordan’s heart flipped. “We have a flush toilet?”

  Malcolm stared at her, looking incredulous. “I told you there were flush toilets.”

  “You did?” she asked. She hadn’t remembered such a conversation.

  He nodded vigorously.

  “No more going out in the snow in the middle of the night?” Jordan wondered aloud.

  “Ma, I’ve told you . . . there will be no going out in the snow anytime in Oakland. It truly does not snow here. Ever.”

  Jordan laughed.

  “Well, then no going out in the cold in the middle of the night,” she said.

  “Brother,” Naomi declared, “you found us a nice home. Thank you.”

  “You are welcome, sister,” Malcolm said. “I think Oakland is going to be good for all of us.”

  Jordan was a jumble of conflicting emotions. Delight at a flush toilet mixed with sorrow that Mama wasn’t ever going to enjoy it. She looked at the bare walls and empty beds. Booker and Mama would never live here. Without them, would it ever be home for her?

  She was tired and just wanted to take a nap in her own bedroom, but she was never going to see her house again. Pressure built behind her eyes. Jordan sighed.

  Naomi and Malcolm exchanged a look.

  “Let’s get unpacked,” Naomi said.

  Malcolm nodded and fetched the trunks that held what was left of their lives.

  For a few weeks Jordan had felt too unsettled to attend church, but Naomi insisted it was time that they went. Malcolm was on his way back to Chicago, so Naomi and Jordan would attend church in Oakland without an escort. Jordan steeled herself for meeting strangers. It didn’t used to be a chore, but she just didn’t feel up to it.

  Naomi called, “We must leave or we will be late, making a poor introduction to a new congregation.”

  Jordan carefully considered between her two hats and chose the chapeau with netting instead of the boater. She pinned it on her head and rushed out the door.

  Malcolm had instructed them to wear layers, even in the summer. He warned that the chilly morning fog would be gone before noon, leaving her sweating if she wore a wool shirt to worship. As strange as it was to put on a wool coat over her thin cotton blouse in late summer, she was grateful for the warmth of it in the thick morning fog. Mist hung in the air, lending a surreal quality to their ten-block walk up Grove Street.

  They stopped in front of the compact church. Like most buildings she’d seen in Oakland, it was new wooden construction painted bright white with dark trim.

  A familiar voice exclaimed, “Mrs. Wallace. Miss Wallace. What a lovely surprise.”

  Jordan turned. Willie Smith grinned at her. He graciously nodded his head in greeting and offered a bent elbow.

  “May I accompany you into worship?” His light eyes sparkled with pleasure.

  Relieved to see a familiar face, Jordan gladly accepted his gesture despite her reservations about this man and his interest in her daughter. Apparently, he was truly able to walk both sides of the race line. She looped her arm through his and followed his lead into the sanctuary.

  He bent toward her as he spoke. “I’m going to seat you with Miss Flood if possible. She will help you with the connections you need to settle into Oakland society.”

  A central aisle intersected long wooden pews on each side. The white painted walls had glass windows, a few stained in brightly colored geometric shapes. The chancel was level to the floor with a simple lectern.

  Willie walked most of the way down the aisle and stopped at a pew three rows from the front. A young woman with dark skin and intense eyes sat on the bench. Her hair was pulled into a smart bun topped with a fashionable hat.

  He leaned over and said, “Miss Flood, I would like to introduce you to my family friend, who recently relocated from Chicago to Oakland. Like you, she is an advocate for women’s suffrage.” He looked at Jordan. “You attended the Columbian Exposition, correct?”

  Before she could reply, Naomi broke in from behind them. “She organized it.”

  Naomi sounded proud, but Jordan was less certain that she had accomplished anything of meaning.

  She corrected, “I was one of the many organizers for the Colored people’s section.”

  Miss Flood extended her hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. Please, sit with me so we can get better acquainted.” The woman slid over to make room in the pine pew.

  Willie tipped his hat and said, “I will leave you, then.”

  Jordan waited in the aisle, gesturing for Naomi to go ahead, but her daughter didn’t notice. Naomi was smiling at the handsome young man. Jordan’s heart rose up in protest. She glared at Naomi, wanting to chastise her for public flirtation; instead, she tapped her arm. Naomi nodded at Willie and slid into the pew without looking at Jordan.

  “Has your path crossed with Ida B. Wells?” Miss Flood asked, excitement filling her fresh face.

  Naomi inserted, “She and Mama worked together on the exposition.”

  “I admire her greatly,” Miss Flood declared. “I’m delighted that a woman with your political devotion has moved to Oakland.”

  “I’m afraid my enthusiasm for organizing has waned after that experience,” Jordan corrected. Before she could say any more, the pastor rose in front of the congregation.

  In the quiet of the prayers, a sudden longing for her mama jerked at Jordan’s chest. Her breath caught, and it was all she could do to keep from crying out. Tears pushed at her eyes. She tried holding them in, but the force was so strong that she surrendered and let them flow, missing her mama with a deep ache.

  Naomi took her hand and whispered into her ear, “I miss Grammy too. And Pops.”

  Jordan nodded. She let the tears flow. Miss Flood was kind enough to pretend she didn’t notice. As tears do, they eventually ran out. By the time the congregants sang the final hymn, her soul was more at peace.

  After the service Naomi asked Miss Flood, “Will we be welcomed at the Unitarian Church?”

  Miss Flood nodded slowly. She said, “I go on occasion. Very few Colored people attend, but there are not many of us in Oakland. They are not hostile in the slightest, and their philosophy is refreshing, but their singing does not stir my soul.” She laughed.

  Naomi explained, “Reverend Tupper Wilkes is preaching the seven-thirty evening sermon today. Mama saw her speak in Chicago, but I have never experienced a lady pastor.”

  “Nor have I. If you are going, then I shall too.” Miss Flood smiled.

  “We will welcome your company,” Jordan replied. And she meant it. Miss Flood had a cheerful yet unobtrusive personality.

  “I’ll see you this evening.” Miss Flood left them.

  “May I walk you home?” Willie was suddenly at her side. Naomi looked at her, pleading in her eyes. Not wanting to alienate their only connection to the Colored community, Jordan consented. His actions on the train had been very admirable. He might be a good friend to them, but she hoped nothing more would develop between him and Naomi. She would have to make that clear to her daughter.

  Willie extended both of his elbows this time. The mother and daughter each looped an arm through his. Naomi gestured with her head.

  “We are staying at 407 Grove Street,” she stated.

  “That is a lovely neighborhood. Close to the school and shopping district, as well as the train. It’s near where I stay when I’m in town.”

  They walked through the now-warm air. True to Malcolm’s warning, the fog had burned off, and Jordan was grateful to be carrying her coat and only wearing a light cotton shirt.

  Willie appeared to be ignoring Naomi, looking toward Jordan as he spoke, but she knew better than to believe his interest was in her.

  “I am glad you and Miss Flood are becoming friends. Her family have been great advocates for our people. They were founders of the church, and her mother was the first Negro teacher in the state of California. Thanks to her father, the schools in Oakland are not segregated.”

  “Truly?” Jordan asked.

  Willie shrugged. “I have not been to them, but that is my understanding. Perhaps you can find employment there.”

  Naomi’s head peered around Willie. “Mama, that would be a good use of your time, now that . . .”

  Jordan felt the emptiness of life without Mama with a sudden pang.

  “Perhaps.” She nodded with a forced smile, but she didn’t believe she would return to teaching. She no longer believed that any public institution would accord her respect. Page had been killed for believing the constitution of the United States was real. They had expected Chicago to be different from Virginia, but she lost her position as a teacher for joining in Miss Wells’s anti-lynching education campaign. She had no reason to believe that Oakland was any different from Richmond, Virginia, or Chicago, Illinois, despite Malcolm’s and Miss Flood’s and Willie’s assertions. They were young and as naïve as she had been so long ago. She did not intend to take on another Sisyphean task.

  Willie stopped in front of the wrought-iron fence that bordered their apartment.

  He said, “It was lovely to see you again. I hope you find Oakland to be as welcoming a home as I do.”

  “Thank you.” Jordan nodded at the handsome young man. His charm was disarming.

  He turned his focus to Naomi. “Goodbye, Miss Wallace,” he said. “May I call on you next time I am in town?”

  Naomi’s lips spread into a sweet smile, and her eyes lit up. She nodded. “I would like that.”

  “In ten days, then.” He grinned at her. “I will see you in ten days!”

  Gleeful longing on her face, Naomi watched Willie walk until he was out of sight. Jordan sighed audibly.

  “He is a very nice man, Mama,” Naomi responded.

  “Yes, he is. A nice man passing for White,” Jordan chastised. “Do you know how dangerous it is to play with that? He cannot move between the two worlds without consequences. You would be wise to stay away from his mess.”

  “He says it is different here,” Naomi explained.

  “He says?” Jordan exclaimed. “You have already spoken of such things?”

  Naomi nodded. “On the train. He understands that in Illinois he must be discreet, but he knows others who are settling down in Oakland and making a family in the Colored community without any dire consequences. The prejudices of the East and South do not have to dictate our lives in the West.”

  “You are both playing with fire. And being naïve.” Fury built inside Jordan. She suddenly felt foolish as she realized they had likely arranged to meet at church this morning. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and walked away before she said words to regret.

  The three women walked into the vestibule of the Unitarian Church. Five stained-glass windows had portraits of White men; she read the names under each image. William Ellery Channing was the only one she was familiar with. Reverend Tupper Wilkes shook their hands and welcomed them to the evening worship.

  The sanctuary was enormous, like she had imagined a cathedral must feel. Dark wooden beams curved to a line in a high ceiling. Elegant and breathtaking, it drew her spirit upward. Straight ahead, light wooden panels curved around the back of the large chancel. A large round stained-glass window filled the space over it. It was the Sower casting his seeds, his hand reaching out. Far in the background a small figure worked the plow; it could be a woman. Jordan smiled, feeling as if her mother were sending her a message: Be fertile soil for the word of God.

  Miss Flood led them to a row on the right. Individual wooden seats were separated by armrests. It felt more like a concert hall and less like a church. There was no cross or symbol of Christ.

  “As you said,” Naomi commented, “not many Colored people.”

  Jordan looked around. They were the only ones.

  “Only eight hundred of us were counted in the last census,” Miss Flood said. “In a city of about forty thousand.”

  “Oh,” Jordan replied, struck at the low number. “It doesn’t seem like so few from our neighborhood.”

  “We are concentrated near the station since the rail company requires their workers be close, and they are our best employer,” Miss Flood said.

  As Miss Flood predicted, the singing wasn’t lively. Nothing in this service moved her to aching for Mama. Instead, the words of the hymns were inspirational, and the sermon on society was a stirring call to action. Jordan’s mind appreciated Reverend Tupper Wilkes’s assertion that the sins of the world could be remedied by the touch of human love. She wanted to believe her actions could make a difference; she just didn’t. She had yet to find where to place her faith—in God, society, or even herself.

  As they parted, Naomi asked Miss Flood, “Will you come to tea soon? We would appreciate any guidance you can offer for us in our adopted city.”

  Miss Flood replied, “It would be my pleasure.”

  They seemed to have made their first friend in Oakland and, to her surprise, Jordan was looking forward to getting to know Miss Flood better.

  The next week, Miss Flood called on them for afternoon tea. Their home was still being put in order, but Miss Flood set them at ease. She commented on their lovely garden and the convenience of the location. Her admiration of their teacups felt genuine and made Jordan proud. The bone china with red roses had been a gift from Booker and Mama on her fiftieth birthday.

  Naomi peppered Miss Flood with questions that would have been rude to an elder, but Miss Flood happily shared personal details.

  “You were born in Oakland?” Naomi asked.

  “When I was born in 1862, Brooklyn was a separate town, but now it is an Oakland neighborhood, across Lake Merritt. The neighboring townships are clamoring to join this city. Macadamized roads, underground sewage, public water systems, and the railroad are modern conveniences that attract the nearby communities.”

  “Is it true you were the first Colored to go to school in Oakland?” Naomi asked.

  Miss Flood nodded. “I attended John Swett as soon as the school board declared it would be integrated.”

  “Was there a controversy?” Jordan asked.

  “My father convinced the school board there should be only one system of education for all children. He challenged the segregation laws using the Fourteenth and Fifteenth Amendments as evidence. The prejudices of the slave states are not enshrined here. We are hardly a threat in such small numbers. Have you been out of this neighborhood?”

  Jordan shook her head.

  “You must see more of this town. Would you like to have a picnic in the cemetery after church soon?” Miss Flood asked. “It is lovely and only a one-hour walk.”

  Jordan inquired, “We are allowed?”

  “Of course. You’ll see that all mixture of people are welcome there, in life and in death. We will stroll through the final resting place of paupers and millionaires. In the Civil War section, Negroes are buried right next to Whites. In other parts, Chinamen are laid to rest next to Italians. Only the Catholics have their own cemetery next door. This city does not separate the races and classes. We must fight for that to continue.”