“Oh my, wonderful, just wonderful,” she said reaching out and hugging Stevenson. Arm around her, the other woman said into the house, “Charles, your daughter is here.” She walked away with Stevenson, leaving Henson on the doorstep. But she hadn’t closed the door on him, so he stepped inside, too, and followed them into a book-lined study. On a cherry-wood table was a small stack of magazines including the Survey Graphic and The Messenger.
“Destiny,” a man said. He was medium height in a paisley vest and white shirt. The man modulated his usual stentorian tone. His naturally straight hair was combed back from a smooth forehead.
“Father,” she said, allowing him to embrace her.
“I was worried sick.”
“I know.” The daughter looked past her father’s shoulder at Henson. “But thankfully your lummox here sure knew what he was doing.”
“I’m Miriam McNair,” said the older woman, hand out to Hanson.
“Pleased to meet you,” he said, shaking it. He’d heard of her. She’d been an early investor in Madam C.J. Walker’s haircare products for black women. The profits had resulted in her owning this brownstone, he surmised. He knew she was active with various negro self-betterment efforts in Harlem and elsewhere. She also conducted salons from time to time at this building under the auspices of her womens’ group called the Bronze Orchids. These were gatherings of intellectuals, writers, poets, and the likes—personnel of equal rights organizations who discussed various topics of interest.
“This calls for libations,” McNair said. “Destiny, are you of age? Your skin is flawless, I’m so jealous.”
“You mean hooch?” she grinned.
“My supplier only gets the best. Is that okay, Charles?”
Her father waved his hand. “Considering what she’s been through, I’m sure her late mother would understand.” His nails were long for a man’s and an ornate silver or gold ring was on his fingers on either hand. His given name was Charles Theodore Toliver, but many knew him as Daddy Paradise, the well-known spiritual leader.
McNair excused herself and Stevenson sat on the couch. The two men remained standing.
Toliver put a hand on Henson’s shoulder. “I can’t thank you enough for what you’ve done, Matthew. Let me add, it’s a damn shame you aren’t recognized more for the brave and unflinching man you are. I intend to do what I can to undo the disservice that Peary and Washington have done to you.”
“That’s not necessary, Charles. I prefer the life I have now. History may yet prove to be the arbiter of the truth. But I see no need to rush it.”
“Do you ever take off the cloth of humbleness, Mr. Henson?” Stevenson said, crossing her legs.
“Maybe I spend too much time with my own counsel,” he admitted. Among his travels years ago he’d studied martial arts not only in China, but also Zen teachings with the Buddhist abbot, the hunchbacked Master Hiroki Kodama in Japan. He was quite content to be alone.
“Growing up on the seas will do that, it seems,” Toliver said. He sat near his daughter. “But now that my baby is returned, and I’m taking steps to ensure her continued safety, what can stand in my way?” He made a flourish with his ringed fingers.
McNair returned with a tray with a bottle and cylindrical glasses. She sat the refreshments on a sideboard and began pouring the drinks. The label proclaimed the bottle to be Canadian whiskey. Not the bathtub swill that often masqueraded as the real stuff, Henson noted. Taste would tell.
“Ladies first,” she said, handing a glass to the younger woman who remained seated. Once everyone had a drink, McNair raised hers.
“Here’s to success in all our ventures—and the progress of our people.”
“Hear, hear,” Toliver said, clinking his glass against hers.
Toliver, standing again, set his glass aside after taking a small sip. “Matthew, I know you’re something of a freebooter, but I would like to keep you on a retainer, if you will. Helping keep tabs on the apple of my eye as well as checking in on my well-being while I’m in town. It wouldn’t have to be around the clock, as I said, I’ll take steps in that vein. But a man of your talents looking in on her now and then would ease my palpitations. Be assured I will compensate you as befits a man of your station.”
Taking a sideways glance at his pretty daughter who was staring into her whiskey, Henson said, “That’s quite the proposition, but just how long would this job take?”
“Oh, I’m a burden, am I?” Stevenson smiled at the explorer.
“Until Tolliver delivers his message,” McNair piped in. She was already pouring herself another round. She held up the bottle and the others begged off.
“Message?” his daughter said.
Toliver bowed slightly toward McNair. “Miriam embellishes to make me blush. It’s merely a speech.”
“At Liberty Hall, which you will fill to the rafters,” a joyous McNair added.
“What’s it to be about?” asked Stevenson.
“Our freedom, of course.” Toliver answered. “What do you say Brother Henson? The event is in less than two weeks’ time.”
Since he’d been approached through a mutual friend to meet with a tearful Daddy Paradise less than a handful of days ago, Henson had been wondering exactly why Dutch Schultz had put the grab on the man’s daughter.
He hadn’t pressed, as the advance was substantial and Toliver
