by Ashley Clark
“Mama,” Millie called. “They’re here.”
Mama hurried over from the kitchen and lifted the curtain of the opposite window to watch as Aunt Bea stepped out of Uncle Clyde’s automobile.
“Oh, Lord have mercy,” Mama murmured. “They’ve done brought the whole show.”
Millie laughed. Aunt Bea carried a huge sweetgrass basket-in-progress on her hip as if it were a baby, and Uncle Clyde carried his old guitar. She hadn’t heard him play in ages, but he could strum the blues like no other. They both wore their Sunday best, Uncle Clyde in his crisp suit and Aunt Bea with a wide-brimmed hat that might not fit through the door.
“Don’t you worry now.” Mama ruffled the front of Franklin’s hair. “They may talk tough, but they’ll love you. How could they not?”
Millie caught a glimpse of Juliet playing behind them, and her heart tugged with nostalgia—not for the past, but for all the future memories they wouldn’t have together.
Rosie should be here.
How could something that hadn’t happened, that wouldn’t happen, feel as weighty as regret? Millie’s next breath was heavy. She needed to get her head on straight before her aunt and uncle came through that door.
It was the first time she’d had the courage to invite them over while she was visiting Mama. They’d never met Franklin or either of the girls, and Millie didn’t know much of what was happening in their lives except for what they sent in postcards.
She had no idea what to expect.
Millie scooped up Juliet from the path of the doorway, and the toddler let out a shriek and kicked her little legs like a frog scuttling along. If Rosie were here, she would’ve just stared at the reaction, like she’d done to Juliet all weekend long. Funny how two girls born at the same hour could react in such different ways.
The door opened then, and Aunt Bea had to duck her head to fit herself and her hat and that basket through the door, just as Millie had predicted. Uncle Clyde held his guitar upright in front of him and dipped his own news cap as he caught sight of them. His smile widened.
Juliet stopped her wailing as she studied the strangers in the room, but her legs kept to kickin’. Millie held onto her, laughing. “Well, if that isn’t a welcome, I don’t know what is.”
Aunt Bea took several purposeful steps toward Franklin. He held out his hand, and she shook it.
“Ma’am.” He lowered his chin to pay her respect and raised his other hand to cover her own. “I’m Franklin. Pleasure to meet you.”
Aunt Bea let him hold her hand a hot minute as she cradled that basket against her hip with her other hand.
Franklin tapped the toe of his oxfords almost imperceptibly. So subtle was the movement that anyone else would’ve missed it. Anyone but Millie.
And she did worry for him because Aunt Bea had a way of speaking her mind, and Millie had no idea what the woman might say. But regardless of all that, it was important to Millie that they know Franklin, all of them. Even if their marriage was unconventional. After all, through it all, she loved him.
Uncle Clyde stepped forward, and Aunt Bea pulled back her hand to carry the sweetgrass basket over toward the sofa where she settled in.
“Son, you just call me Clyde, ya hear?”
Franklin nodded and enthusiastically shook his hand. He couldn’t hide his grin, and his joy made Millie smile too. At least she could count on her uncle to play nice.
“So, Millie. Seems congratulations are in order.” Aunt Bea took the long stalk of sweetgrass and jabbed it into the next portion of the basket, sewing the strands together as she talked. Millie couldn’t tell from her tone if she approved or disapproved, but one thing was clear from all that fidgeting. Aunt Bea was keeping something to herself. Because the woman never fidgeted unless she was holding something back.
Millie set Juliet down. She decided the best course of action would be to keep the conversation moving forward. “Thank you, Aunt Bea.” Millie glanced at Franklin, then toward their daughter. Indeed, she found herself both heartbroken and fully alive, and she didn’t know how to explain that except to say thanks in reply.
“Y’all excuse me,” Mama cut in. “I gotta get to the kitchen to stir the macaroni before it sticks to the pan.”
“Glad to hear it,” Uncle Clyde teased. “After last Christmas, nobody wanted to eat your macaroni again.”
“Oh, hush it.” Mama dismissed him with a wave of her hand, but Millie saw her smile as she disappeared down the hall.
At the mention of last Christmas, it was all Millie could do not to cry. Because she’d missed last Christmas. And she missed her mama. And even being here right now with Franklin and Juliet . . . well, they had to be discreet because if the wrong neighbors saw, that might be dangerous for them all.
“Your mama tells me you and your husband run a boardinghouse.” Aunt Bea pulled the stalk of sweetgrass tighter, sewing a pattern of color into the basket.
“That’s right. On the bay there in Fairhope, Alabama.”
Clyde sat down beside Aunt Bea, stretching his arm along the top of the sofa so his frame suddenly seemed larger than life. “Sounds real nice.”
“It is, sir,” Franklin added. Millie held back a chuckle at the thought of Clyde being a sir. She wished Franklin would feel more comfortable, but maybe that would come in time.
“What’s your story, Franklin? How’d you end up in Alabama, married to my niece?”
“If I said the luckiest day of my life, would you believe that?” Franklin grinned at Millie, and she was glad to see him loosening up a little. Juliet handed him the doll, and he wiggled the arms so it appeared to reach out and hug her. Franklin looked back up toward Aunt Bea and Uncle Clyde. “Actually, when I was just a kid, we’d fallen on real hard times, and so my mother and I took to train hopping. One day, she fell off. So I had to find a way to send money back to her here in Charleston while she recovered. Train jumping and looking for temporary jobs seemed as good a way as any.” He shrugged. “Kept saying I was going to stop and settle down like everyone else. But I got so used to it, so good at it, the truth is I didn’t know if I’d be good at anything else or brave enough to try, until I met your niece. Sir.”
Millie blinked in surprise. He’d never told her that part of the story before. In fact, he’d seemed plenty brave enough from where she stood. Always had.
She stood beside him and slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow. He planted a kiss on the top of her head.
“Well, girl, I’m glad you found yourself somebody who sees you for who you are.” Clyde cleared his throat. “It’s good seeing you happy. Isn’t it, Bea?”
But Aunt Bea’s weaving grew increasingly agitated until finally she set the basket down and wiped the little remnants of sweetgrass from her hands. “I’m sorry. I just can’t do this.” She shook her head and stood upright, her hands on her hips. “I can’t pretend.”
Millie squeezed Franklin’s elbow, frowning. “Pretend what?” That she liked Franklin? Was excited to meet Juliet?
Aunt Bea blew out an exaggerated breath, looking Millie straight in the eyes. “Isn’t it obvious, child?”
Millie shook her head.
“Why, you act as if you’re ashamed of us all. You weren’t raised like this.” Aunt Bea’s throat warbled as she swallowed. “You’re Gullah, girl. And you have every reason to be proud.”
“Ashamed?” Millie’s voice was a hush, so in shock was she to hear the accusation. How dare Aunt Bea say such a hurtful thing? Didn’t she know how it tortured Millie to hide? To hide half her heritage—half her future and half her past?
“Where is your pride for our family? For all we’ve been through and all we’ve overcome? If you have any pride left, you sure haven’t shown it to nobody. And all for what?” Aunt Bea straightened the sweetgrass basket with her hands so it wouldn’t fall. “You ever even get that dress shop?”
Millie’s eyes widened. “I—” Her voice caught, just as Mama reentered the room.
Mama smile
d and rubbed her palms against her pale-blue dress. “What’d I miss?” Slowly, her countenance fell. She must have noticed the tears pooling in Millie’s eyes.
Aunt Bea watched Millie, waiting for her to finish the sentiment. She must’a imagined Millie didn’t have an answer. That she was right and Millie was ashamed and couldn’t defend herself.
Oh my, how she was wrong.
“That’s what I thought.” Aunt Bea hitched the basket back up on her hip, then reached over to tussle Juliet’s hair. She glared at Uncle Clyde to hurry up and stand, so he grabbed the guitar he hadn’t even played yet. Franklin and Juliet would’ve loved to hear him. Millie just knew it.
“You do have a beautiful family, Millie, and I am glad to see you happy. I just wish you didn’t have to leave us behind for them and your so-called dreams.” She turned to Millie’s uncle. “Come on, Clyde.”
But before he followed Bea out, Clyde walked over to Millie and hugged her with those long arms of his—arms that as a kid, she once thought could shelter her from anything. Had she been wrong? “Give her some time. She’ll come around.” He stepped back, righted his hat. “You gotta admit, it’s a lot for all of us to process.”
Millie nodded as the tears welling in her eyes began falling down.
“Don’t you believe for a minute she doesn’t love you, or Franklin, or the babies—or that she isn’t proud of you, girl.”
“You promise?” The desperation in Millie’s voice was pathetic. But she needed her uncle’s reassurance right now.
“Sure.” Clyde nodded. “She just needs to know you’re still proud of her back, is all.”
How could she ever doubt that?
He reached out to shake Franklin’s hand again, and the two nodded at one another before he headed out the door.
The four of them, even Juliet, stood in silence for a moment that seemed to stretch with expectation and deflate with disappointment, as the reality of what had just happened hit home.
Mama put her arm around her daughter, the gesture bringing a welcome comfort for which Millie was more grateful than Mama might ever know. No matter how she aged, no matter where she moved, Millie always had a sense of belonging here with her mama.
“Who wants some macaroni and cheese?” Mama smiled.
THIRTY-NINE
Charleston, Modern Day
Harper had spent last night waiting for dawn. She kept wondering about Millie’s hidden past and why all the secrets from Peter. Then she began to consider all she already knew about Millie, particularly how long the woman had been waiting for her dream of owning a dress shop. And as Harper sat in the little living space of their loft last night, dunking her tea bag in and out of her cup, she stared at the door leading to Millie’s bedroom and discovered a determination she hadn’t met in Savannah.
Come hell or high water, she would make the dress store a success. Oh, she’d been committed to her own dreams and to SCAD. She’d given it her all. But when her all emptied out and she still met resistance . . . well, that was a different story.
But this time, she would not give up. She would fail repeatedly if she had to, then would press in and work harder. She would get on Pinterest and browse Hobby Lobby for inspirational quotes. She’d play Taylor Swift in the car.
She would hustle as much as it took to keep this whole store afloat for Millie, even if she never found her own Jubilee tide.
Harper checked the clock above the register and frowned, glancing at the glass door. Lucy was five minutes late, and Lucy never missed an appointment.
Was everything okay?
She’d give her friend a little bit longer before texting to check in. Maybe Lucy was just stuck in traffic, trying to find a good parking spot.
Harper stepped out from behind the register and decided to start pulling sample bridesmaid gowns that might match the color Lucy had texted her earlier.
After a few minutes, the bell above the door chimed. With her own arms full of dresses, Harper looked up to see Lucy huffing through the entryway.
Harper laughed. “What in the world?”
“Thank goodness for your kind face.” Lucy stepped over and engulfed her in a hug, dresses and all. “You’re never going to believe who I just ran into.”
Harper shook her head. “Reese Witherspoon?”
“Declan.” Lucy massaged her temples. “That man is exhausting.”
Harper held back a half grin. “Exhausting, huh?”
“Yes, exhausting.” Lucy crossed her arms over her chest as if the reiteration of the word should make it final. “Why did you ask like that?”
“Like what?”
Lucy tapped her shoe against the heart-of-pine slats of the floor. “You think I’m into him.”
Harper sidestepped to hang the dresses up on a separate rack. “I didn’t say that.”
“You might as well have.” Lucy let out a big sigh, then made a face and quietly moved her mouth like she was imitating someone.
Harper gently lifted the hems of the gowns so the fabric would seamlessly float into place. “You’re repeating the conversation to yourself, aren’t you?”
“Maybe.” Lucy took several steps toward the dresses. “These gowns you picked out are gorgeous. How am I going to choose?”
“We’ll try them on as soon as you tell me what happened.”
Finally, Lucy made eye contact. “He stole my parking spot because he’s an entitled jerk.”
“Wow. Well, did you have your blinker on?”
“Very funny.” Lucy rolled her eyes. “Do you know me at all? Of course I had my blinker on.”
Harper took one of the dresses she’d gathered for Lucy and held it up to her friend’s shoulders to get a better idea how it might look on her frame. “You want to tell me why you’re talking about him like the time you went to New York and got off on the wrong subway stop and missed that sample sale?”
“Harper, all of the good dresses were gone by the time I got there. It was infuriating. So much potential.”
“My point exactly.” Harper set the dress back on the rack and reached for a different one. “Is this the color your sister wants? It looked like a match from my phone, but you know how it’s hard to tell with screens.”
Lucy removed a swatch of fabric from her purse and held it up to the dress. “Perfect match.” She put the swatch back inside. “So we went on that date, you know? And it turns out, there’s history between us.”
“History, hmm?” Harper teased.
“Not that kind of history.” Lucy reached out to touch the dress. “Actual history. Between our families.”
“No way.” Harper stretched the fabric around Lucy’s waistline. This dress looked to be about the right size and wouldn’t require many alterations. “What are the odds?”
“Right? It all goes back to this thing . . .” Lucy talked with her hands. “My ancestors and his ancestors feuding over missing silver back in the Civil War. No one ever found it.”
“Ever?” Harper draped the gown over her arm and started toward the dressing rooms.
Lucy followed. “That’s right. My family always blamed his family, and apparently his family did the same to mine.”
“This is all sounding remarkably like a Shakespearean tragedy.” Harper swept open the curtain of the dressing room with her free arm, then hung the gown inside. “Try this one on.”
“How did you know which was my favorite of the stack? I didn’t even tell you yet.”
“It’s what I do.” Well, for the time being. Harper grinned.
They spent the next hour trying on a whole host of other dresses, but none compared to the first one Harper picked out. She carried it up to the antique register for Lucy and scanned the price tag.
“Thanks for letting me vent about Declan.” Lucy pulled out her debit card.
“What are friends for?” Harper shimmied a garment bag over the dress to keep it safe in transit. The words Dresses by Millie were scripted along the front, and Harper smiled seeing Millie�
��s name on the bag. She handed it to Lucy. “But just to be clear—are you or are you not into him?”
Several hours later, Millie peered out the window of Harper’s car and read each street sign they passed. “Ann Street. Harper, turn!” This sudden notification of their whereabouts was as startling as Harper’s favorite messaging app and nearly caused its own sort of disastrous crash.
Harper barely made the turn. The car behind them honked.
Millie grabbed hold of the passenger-side door frame. “Are you trying to kill me, driving such a way? You know, when I was your age, women didn’t drive. And though I’m usually the first one to advocate for women having equal opportunities, every time I get in your car I wonder if you might need a few more lessons.”
Harper laughed. “I like how you’re implying your navigational skills have nothing to do with it.”
Millie straightened her cloche and raised her chin. “I don’t know what you could possibly mean.” She pointed to a large brick building that looked like some kind of warehouse. “That’s the place, so keep a lookout for parking and try to avoid slingshotting us around the car again, would you?”
Harper noticed clusters of mothers gripping the wrists of young children, and she squinted to read the sign, “Children’s Museum of the Lowcountry.” She turned her attention back to the road before Millie could offer another quip. “You’re taking me to a children’s museum?”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” Millie settled back into her seat. “I’m taking you to see a replica of the first steam engine in America to pull a train of cars.”
“Yes, that makes a lot more sense.” Harper grinned. She noticed an empty spot where she could parallel-park, so she flipped on her blinker and reached her arm behind Millie’s seat to look back at traffic.
Together they walked into the train museum adjacent to the children’s area and looked up at the train. A toddler still unsteady on his feet ambled around back and forth beside them, clearly mesmerized by the size and vivid colors of the locomotive.
Harper read several of the signs posted about the train’s history, waiting for Millie to explain why she’d requested to come here, of all places.