Effie
June, 1922
Sweat prickled from her skin and rolled down her spine slow and steady. Early June and already Atlanta was stifling. Her briar-rose colored summer weight suit, a mistake, no longer correctable. Motionless in the middle of Terminal Station, Effie summoned the courage to board the eight o’clock train to Milledgeville. Clutching the one-way first-class ticket purchased days earlier, she drew a breath to calm her jangling nerves. Her light complexion afforded her a possibility. A choice really. Colored or white? This choice had never been hers. Her family had always made it for her. Of all the decisions looming ahead, why should this one matter so much? By virtue of her purchase, she had already chosen. Now she faced a simple test. Was she bold enough to see it through? Not for a lifetime, she reminded herself, but for the simple ease of travel. Just for today. She was no Homer Plessy. In fact, Effie hoped to avoid attracting any attention at all, but she had been around enough to know that separate was never equal. The car for Coloreds was tightly packed, there was no place for bags, and the toilet rooms were plain nasty. On her way to something brand new, she was brimming with the untried, a longed-for metamorphosis. All she wanted was that the journey be civilized.
Why didn’t I just let Norris drive me? Sometimes, her tenacity was her undoing. After he returned from Harvard the previous year, her brother had stepped right into his Vice President of Atlanta Life shoes like they were custom made. Not only had he taken his place at their father’s side, running the family business, he had promoted himself to big boss of Effie’s life. Unnecessarily, she mused. Effie reveled in making her own choices, regardless of whether they ended in triumph or defeat. This trip meant everything to her. She wanted to experience every moment of it for herself, not tethered to her brother for safekeeping.
Effie’s decision to take a nursing position at the Georgia State Sanitarium was not made on a whim. It was the result of several months’ worth of plotting, planning, and sifting through options, since graduating from the Municipal Training School for Colored Nurses at Grady Hospital. The way she saw it, there were three alternatives. Choose one of the beaus Norris offered up and settle into a dull and lifeless marriage, continue as a private duty nurse—which wasn’t really nursing at all—or take a leap. So here she was now, leaping.
As her departure had neared, Effie felt like a cat on hot bricks. Did she know enough? Was she strong enough? Could she make it on her own? Too late to turn back now. Breathe. You are the daughter of Adrienne McNeil Herndon, correction—Anne DuBignon. Get on the damn train. Effie tipped the porter carrying her mother’s slightly worn, but still fashionable, olive-colored traveling bags, and swept rather theatrically across the platform. Arriving at coach number two, she let her eyes linger for a moment on the white metal sign posted near the train door. In bold, black letters, it proclaimed, “Reserved for white ladies and gentlemen.” Effie grabbed the handhold and lifted herself onto the train. Once boarded, she slid into the window seat and with trembling fingers, pulled a white linen handkerchief from her purse, dabbed her brow, took a few breaths, and remembered to relax her face. Composed, tranquil, she commanded. The stage directions her mother had so often used to correct her behaviors when she was a child remained useful and to some degree, they steadied her. To distract herself from the anticipated encounter with the train’s conductor and the potential humiliation of being forced to leave the car, she glanced around to discover who might be there serving witness to her fate.
Across the way, a woman and a young girl with long chestnut curls settled in for the journey. The gentleness that flowed between them as they readied themselves for the trip stirred something inside her. Effie tried not to stare. The woman smoothed her skirts. The girl copied the gesture. The mother laid her hand on the girl’s arm. Her daughter smiled, leaning her head on her mother’s shoulder.
A longing welled in Effie’s throat. Her own mother had died when Effie was eight. It was her mother’s voice that played out in her head when she gave herself a good talking to—often as of late.
“Madam, your ticket.”
Effie startled. Lost in her reverie, she had failed to notice the conductor’s approach. Meet his gaze, steady your hands,she directed. Recovering quickly, she handed the ticket over with just the right touch of mundaneness. The conductor raised his eyes to Effie’s perfectly composed face. A brief unblinking appraisal and with that the deed was done. The uniformed man turned to the passengers seated on the opposite aisle. The lump in her gut dissolving, Effie pursed her lips and blew out a long breath. Momentarily more confident, she turned to watch the realization of her liberation through the large glass window as they emerged from the dark station into the brilliant sunlit summer morning.
The hours ticked past and the gentle rocking, along with the summer heat, soothed her into a drowsy half-lucid state. She wondered about seeing Sallie Davis again, her mother’s old friend. She had no real memories of Sallie, only what she knew from stories told by her nursing school mentor, Ludie Andrews. The women had met at Atlanta University where Effie’s mother was a drama and elocution teacher. Dozens of young people had passed through her courses, benefiting from her particular brand of passion and performance. Mrs. Andrews trained to be a nurse and later founded the Municipal School at Grady. She had taken Effie under her wing and encouraged her to take up nursing as a profession. Mrs. Davis became a teacher and returned home to Milledgeville. The two of them had conspired to make this moment possible for Effie.
Everything was coming together. The new position at the sanitarium gave Effie hope that she could indeed take charge of her own future. She understood that the efforts made on her behalf were connected to the feelings the women had for her mother, but she had worked hard to earn this. Effie held fast to that claim. She had skills. She was a smart and diligent student. But more than that, Effie prided herself in keeping her calm in every situation. And she knew how to control her feelings, precisely arrange her features to convey emotions not entirely authentic, but necessary in certain circumstances. This particular skill, she believed, inherited from or taught by her mother, an actress and lover of the stage play.
Having taken inventory of her abilities, Effie fluttered her eyelids open. Not five inches from her stood the young girl who was seated opposite her. Now the two of them were frozen in a stare down.
“Do you have any secrets?” the girl asked.
“Pardon me?” Effie roused herself from her languid state.
“Do you have any secrets?” she demanded.
“Plenty,” Effie replied.
“Oh, do tell me one of them.”
Effie glanced at the girl’s sleeping mother. “If I told, they wouldn’t be secrets anymore.”
“I bet I could guess one,” the girl persisted.
“Give it a try,” Effie shot back.
Moving closer, she half whispered, “I bet you are black on the inside.”
Effie cleared her throat and tugged her suit coat’s sleeves over her wrists.
“You know how I know?”
Effie glanced out the window. Middle of nowhere. Would they really put me off here?
She shook her head and swallowed hard.
“Because I’m black on the inside. Everybody is because there isn’t any light in there,” the girl said earnestly, pointing to her belly.
Relax. Show your knowledge. Effie smiled. “Hmm. Well actually, people are pretty colorful on the inside.”
“How do you know that?”
“I’m a nurse. I’ve seen the insides of a few people. And every one I’ve seen is full of colors. Red, brown, yellow, white, practically a rainbow.”
“I don’t believe that.”
“Well you should. It isn’t a secret.”
“Charlotte, come back to your seat,” the girl’s mother directed. “I’m so sorry.”
“Not to worry,” Effie smiled. “She’s a perfectly lovely child.”
She stepped from the passenger car onto a shade-dappled platform. The magnolia-scented breeze ruffled her clothing. It’s not Auburn Avenue, Effie observed. Near the small red brick building stood a lovely, statuesque woman in a white dropped-waist dress and a wide-brimmed straw hat, dramatically angled to one side. She raised her hand. Effie moved toward her, unsure how familiar she should be with a woman she did not quite remember meeting so many years ago at her mother’s funeral.
“Welcome to Milledgeville, Effie,” she said, offering her hand. “Call me Sallie. We might not be contemporaries, but I know we’ll have an amicable relationship.”
“Thank you. And thank you for inviting me to visit.”
Sallie directed the porter to store Effie’s large bag at the station for the continuation of her journey. “It’s a short walk home. I imagine your legs need a good stretch.”
The houses were small and neat. A whiff of frying chicken and baking bread drifted past while children frisked about in the grass-covered yards. Nearing the intersection of Clarke and Washington, Sallie pointed to a pristine white house on the corner lot flanked by myrtle trees and gardenias. “There. Not quite the quarters you’re used to, but it’s home. My husband passed a few years back. I take on some boarders from time to time, but just now it’s you and me. That’s my church on the next block. Down the street, The Eddy School. This is where I live and work.”
“You’ll want to wash up and get out of that suit,” Sallie offered as she led Effie to a modest bedroom.
At the window overlooking the backyard, Effie pulled aside the lace curtain. A lush vegetable garden overwhelmed the space. A plum tree, birdhouses, and a couple of cast iron chairs tucked under a matching round table completed the bucolic setting. The flourishing bounty of it tugged at her memory and lifted something cumbersome from her insides. Out of her element in this small, sleepy town, Effie already felt the weight of her life in Atlanta somehow seemed lighter. She wasn’t quite sure about Sallie Davis yet. The woman hardly smiled. Not standoffish by any means, on the contrary, she was quite chatty, but somewhat efficient and matter of fact. Perhaps, Effie thought, that was the nature of teachers. They explained things and gave directions, expecting everyone to do as told. “Like Mama,” she whispered.
Effie peeled off her traveling clothes and slipped on a light summer shift. After washing her face and combing out her hair, she ventured toward the source of the delightful aroma wafting through the house and found Sallie at the stove.
“I’ve got tomatoes and okra simmering. Cornbread’s in the oven. There’s a pitcher of tea on the table. You can get some ice from the icebox.”
Effie followed directions.
Sallie cut her eyes at Effie, watching to see how comfortable she was in her kitchen. “The table needs setting, and there’s a basket on the counter for some berries.”
After supper, Effie and Sallie moved to the front porch with bowls of plump blackberries and fresh cream. They settled into two cane-backed rockers, savored the tart and sweet taste of summer in the South, and tuned into the night music floating across the sultry sweetness of gardenia blossoms. Piano chords hovered above the chirping and clicking of crickets and katydids. Families on other not too distant front porches laughed and talked.
“I expect you remember a good deal of your mother,” Sallie offered. “You were young when she passed, but not young enough to forget.”
Captivated by fireflies that zigged and zagged through low hanging branches, Effie nodded. “She’s been on my mind a lot today.”
“She was our teacher, but not much older than us. Almost like sisters instead of students. Don’t get me wrong, she expected a lot from us. She knew things we hadn’t discovered yet. Handed that knowledge over to us in a way that made us feel like she was giving us something powerful.”
Sallie paused for a moment, picking her words with care.
“Our lives were different from yours. Our folks lived through hell and came through on the other side. Most of them went through the Emancipation, but they didn’t understand how to be free. The white folks were mostly hostile. They didn’t know how to deal with us unfettered. Then all those schools started up, teachers and missionaries poured down from the North. My mama learned to read in the first colored school in our town. Education mattered to her. She made sure I got one. For a minute it looked like things were getting better. But it was hard for folks to get used to things being different. Now, I can’t tell if we’re moving frontward or backward. I’m afraid I know the answer, but I’m not willing to give up hope just yet.”
Effie offered nothing, so Sallie went on.
“I didn’t get to see too much of Addy after you were born. She took you and Norris up north for a while. When she came home, she was different, tempered somehow. Went back to the university, dreamed up that house you grew up in, and talked Alonzo into building it for her. And then she was gone.”
When someone shared their memories of her mother, Effie tried to drink every drop to quench a thirst that was never going to be satisfied. Sallie’s struck a new chord.
“What do you mean, tempered?”
Sallie shrugged. “I’m not sure. Can’t quite put my finger on it.”
“Did she confide something in you?”
“Nothing she said, just a feeling I had was all. Maybe it was me. She was too young to die. You and Norris no more than babies. There was so much she wanted to do.”
Effie didn’t feel comfortable pushing for more. She waited, but Sallie steered the conversation to other things.
“I thought we could see a bit of the town tomorrow so you can learn what’s what. Come Sunday afternoon, you’ll want to catch the train out to the sanitarium.”
“That would be nice,” Effie answered, promising herself to revisit the topic of her mother on other occasions. “I really appreciate everything you and Mrs. Andrews have done for me.”
“Well, I could say I owed it to your mother. But my debt to her isn’t one that could be satisfied by doing a few things for you. I know one thing, though. Addy would be pleased about this path you’re taking. Leaving Atlanta, coming here, starting a life on your own. She wanted more for you. I ‘spect you know that.”
Effie nodded and smiled. All day she had felt her mother hovering over her with her arms folded in front, head cocked to one side, nodding her approval.
Effie rose and gathered their dishes. “I’ll clean up and head off to bed.” At the door, she paused and hesitated before saying, “I’m more than a little bit nervous.”
Pale yellow light streaming through the window illuminated an almost imperceptible softening in Sallie’s face. “I expect that’s normal considering where you’re headed. There’s a lot of sick people out there. Sick and sad. People who don’t have any hope of getting any better. It’s hard to find any happiness out there. That’ll take some adjusting to.”
“I’m sure you’re right about that,” Effie offered.
Saturday’s stroll through town turned into a visitation with friends and neighbors and a history lesson. Sallie introduced her as a new nurse in town and Effie was consulted about numerous ailments and injuries. She tried her best to offer helpful advice and kind words. Everyone had a story to tell or a question for Sallie. What was obvious through their long and winding meander was that Sallie was a pillar of her community, a confidant, a teacher, and a trusted friend to all.
In front of the old Governor’s mansion, Effie tried to imagine General Sherman on his March to the Sea, sleeping on the floor for two nights because the house had been emptied of its contents ahead of his arrival. She was so enthralled by Sallie’s vivid retelling of Sherman’s visit and the American flag raised by soldiers atop the roof, that Effie almost believed Sallie must have borne witness. The walkabout did more than acquaint Effie with Milledgeville; it bridged a gap that she had imagined might exist between her and her mother’s old friend. During the brief time she spent with Sallie, she realized, that no matter what happened at the sanitarium, she had a refuge should one become necessary.
On Sunday afternoon, standing at the depot waiting for the conductor to signal boarding, Effie fidgeted with her handkerchief, working hard to contain her nerves.
Sallie tried to distract her. “Why don’t you come into town in a few weeks after you’ve gotten settled and have supper with me?”
Only half listening, Effie nodded. “I have no idea about my schedule.”
Passengers bound for the sanitarium milled around. Most seemed to be headed to their jobs, in their work clothes and uniforms, but some were likely newly arriving patients. They were easy to tell apart. The workers enjoyed their cigarettes, talked among themselves. Others stood anxious and alone. Effie tried to hold on to her inner quietude and prepare herself for what was to come. The only problem was that she was entirely unable to imagine what that might be. A sanitarium was a place for those with long-term illnesses. As Sallie said, people who were sick and sad. Effie clasped her hands to conceal their shaking.
“All aboard!”
Effie met Sallie’s eyes. “Thank you,” she managed.
Sallie nodded and smiled. “I’ll see you soon.”
“I’ll look forward to that,” Effie offered and climbed aboard.
As the train left the depot, Effie realized how little she knew about where she was headed. Originally christened the State Lunatic, Idiot, and Epileptic Asylum, the Georgia State Sanitarium had opened its doors in 1842. Some eighty years later, it was a sprawling two-thousand-acre institution spread over the rolling clay hills south of Milledgeville. With five-thousand residents, it was bigger than many small towns. She felt uneasy heading into the unknown but, in the same instant, powerfully motivated to be there. Effie had barely started the nursing program, when waves of illness hit Atlanta in the wake of the Great War. As the influenza pandemic swept the nation, she, and every other available nurse and nursing student, had been called in to care for the afflicted. Effie worked day and night, barely slept and seldom sat for a meal, as she tended to the needs of hundreds of sick people. Among the suffering and dying, she had never felt so alive.
After the illness subsided, life went back to normal and Effie finished her training. Opportunities for professional nurses, especially colored ones, were limited even in a city like Atlanta. Private duty work was practically the only option. Effie tried that and hated every minute of it. Taking care of well-to-do sick people made her feel like an addition to the household service staff. Not to mention the other obvious motivation to leave Atlanta. Norris kept trying to find her a suitable husband. In her work life Effie felt invisible. In her private life it was as though she were being auctioned off as a prize heifer to the highest bidder.
Her mentor at school, Ludie Andrews, encouraged her to consider the asylum. Despite the institution’s growth, there were very few professional nurses on staff and only one who was colored. When the state decided to add a new position for another, the timing was right. Effie wanted out of her Atlanta life. More than that, she wanted to do something that mattered. Her experiences during the pandemic made her realize that more than anything. This one-year assignment was the choice she had made. Her leap. Something entirely new, exactly what she was looking for. And now as the train slowed to a stop inside the sanitarium grounds, her heart pounded, her breaths grew short and shallow.
A young woman in a nursing uniform seated behind her leaned forward and asked, “You new here?”
“I am,” Effie answered over her shoulder. “I’m a n-n-nurse,” she stammered, so as not to be confused for a patient.
“Well it’s Sunday. It’s gonna be hard to find anybody to get you situated.” Pointing toward a columned white building in the distance, she added, “That’s the Powell Building. Start there. I’m sure Mrs. Carroll knows you’re coming. She’s in charge of nurses. Best of luck.”
Effie gathered her things and stepped out on the well-kept lawn of the sanitarium.
I made it, she thought and wondered at how few people who entered those grounds likely felt that same sense of gratification with their first step.
By all accounts it was a sleepy, summer Sunday afternoon in a small southern town. Voices raised in song drifted from some place nearby. People lounged about an impressive fountain in the shade of a large magnolia. Effie climbed the staircase and passed through the wide double doors. In contrast to the bright sunshine outside, the interior was dimly lit and seemingly deserted. Conversation from a hallway radiating off the central lobby led her to an office with a talk through window. Two women inside, dressed similarly in pale gray uniform dresses, were huddled in what seemed like a serious dialogue. Effie paused a moment. Shoulders back, chin up. She tapped the glass to call their attention. Reluctantly, the older woman rose, ambled over, and addressed Effie through the porthole opening.
“Yes?”
“I’m reporting for duty. I’m not sure where to go,” Effie explained.
“I’m not expecting any new arrivals today,” the woman answered, then after pointedly running her eyes over Effie several times, added, “The colored service building is across the west lawn.”
Effie straightened and replied, “I’m afraid you misunderstand. I’m a nurse. I was told to report here for my first shift tomorrow.”
The woman shared a certain look with her companion, then leaned in closer to the window opening. “No, I certainly don’t misunderstand. I understand perfectly. You’re a colored gal, right?”
Effie nodded slowly, daring to keep eye contact.
“Speak up. I asked you a question. You trying to fool me?”
“I’m sorry, I don’t understand,” Effie answered calmly.
“I said, you trying to fool me into thinkin’ that you’re a white girl?”
“Of course not,” Effie responded. “I’m Effie Herndon. I’m a new nurse. I’m reporting for duty.”
“You’re a colored nurse. And I am Mrs. Ruby Carroll. I’m the head nurse for the regular nurses and the matron of the Powell Building. As I said, the colored service building is across the west lawn.” She returned to her desk, leaving Effie at the window.
Effie hesitated only a moment, then headed for the exit. Looking across the large expanse of green, she assumed it was the west lawn and chose a large red brick structure in the distance as her next destination. On arrival, Effie circled the building. Rusted wire mesh cages covered the windows. Finding what seemed to be the main entryway, she pushed open a creaking door, badly in need of fresh paint. A breeze ripe with urine and the sweat of unwashed bodies streamed past. In the central hallway a low keening noise was coming from somewhere within the dank building. She wasn’t particularly inclined to walk toward it, until a loud crashing and the sound of running called her into the rear corridor. The hallway door stood open. Effie walked with purpose as a woman’s scream pierced the air and the muffled voices of others rose, offering comfort. Doors to what she assumed were patient rooms were mostly closed. Those that were open revealed themselves to be empty, practically bare. About halfway down the dreary hallway, two women clad in field work clothes came barreling through a door.
Running toward her, one called, “She’s bad off. We need some help in here.”
“I’m a nurse,” Effie announced, heading toward the room. “What’s wrong?”
“Thank the Lord,” the younger woman said, “you got your bag?”
“I just arrived,” Effie explained as the women cleared the doorway.
In a sweat-soaked nightdress, a young woman in well advanced labor was supported on a chair by two others. Another woman sat opposite, holding the young mother’s feet, giving her leverage to aid in the birth of her child.
“She’s a nurse,” the woman from the hallway reported.
“Something’s wrong here,” the woman supporting the expectant mother’s feet said. “I birthed lots a babies; this one’s turned wrong and Nell’s bleedin’ bad.”
“Where’s the doctor?” Effie asked. All heads swiveled in her direction.
“It’s Sunday,” the chorus responded.
“Nobody knows about this here,” a frail woman said, glancing at Nell. “Ain’t nobody but us know she’s got a baby inside.”
Effie had not moved from the door. “Is there any morphine?” she asked.
The foot holder said in disgust, “Go find Fern. This here nurse don’t know nothin’.” A younger woman pushed past Effie, jostling her.
Delirious, sweat poured from Nell’s body. Blood began to pool beneath her on the floor.
Effie assessed the primitive surroundings and took charge. “Let’s get Nell into bed. I need some scissors and a wash basin. And all the towels you can find. I have to get that baby out.”
Effie tugged off her suit coat and rolled up her sleeves. She had never delivered a baby on her own, had only read about it in a textbook. In obstetrics laboratory, a nurse demonstrated childbirth on a medical manikin. None of that prepared her for this moment, birthing a baby in crisis where the mother was bleeding to death. Effie probed the woman’s abdomen. The baby was breech, lodged high in the birth canal. Nell lost consciousness.
“She’s not big enough to birth that baby. I’ll have to help her,” Effie explained as she used the scissors to enlarge the opening to the mother’s vagina. Having no forceps, with only her hands to deliver the child, she took hold, and slowly wriggled him free. He emerged limp and blue, the cord wrapped tight around his tiny neck.
