The Sinner in Mississippi

by D L Lane

“Yes.” Striding over to where I sat, he took a knee beside my chair, carefully placing his palm over the small bump of my tummy. “I’ve been thinking about the future and what that means for you.”

  “I try not to think on it,” I said, face twisting into disgust.

  “Be that as it may, pretending something isn’t going to happen will not stop it from happening.”

  I closed my eyes. “I don’t want to have this discussion.”

  “Mississippi,” he said, “look at me.”

  “Nut-ah.”

  I’d been doing so well with my grammar, focusing hard on every single word, and with this one conversation, I was blowing all the progress I’d made.

  “Please.”

  Hesitantly, I peeked at the man.

  “Thank you. Now stay with me.” Reaching, he swiped some hair from my cheek, fingertips whispering along my skin, sending familiar waves of chills across my warm body. “We can’t keep ignoring the facts, Mississippi.”

  “And just what are those?”

  “You will be giving birth in a few months, and you have no way of taking care of—”

  “Don’t!”

  Thayer shook his head. “How do you intend to support yourself, let alone a little one?”

  “I don’t know,” I huffed, pulling back in the chair.

  “Exactly.”

  “I could return to working for you.”

  “Not happening. I’ve told you, working here was only temporary.”

  “But you just finished tellin’ me I had no way of takin’ care of myself.”

  “Marry me,” he demanded.

  My eyes widened, not sure if I heard him right. “What?”

  “If you marry me, you will have the protections that affords. It could fix a lot of things, and your baby would be raised as my own.”

  For a split second, joy pinged around in my chest, until the underlying meaning of what he was saying struck—a jolting bolt causing me to jerk. “Instead of the bastard, the thing will be considered?”

  “It’s not a thing. It’s a baby. Your baby, Mississippi, and he or she can be my baby, too.”

  I stood to my feet, seething. “It could never be yours, and you know it!”

  “No one else would have to know it isn’t.” Rising, he stood in front of me, slipping his hand into the front pocket of his trousers.

  “Plenty of people know the truth.”

  “Plenty of people don’t,” he countered.

  “So instead of tongues waggling ’bout me, you want them to waggle ’bout you, too?” I placed my hand on my hip, shaking my head. “Poor Mr. King got caught by that piece of trash, Sippi, and had to marry the wicked girl.”

  He scowled. “Do you truly believe I care what gossipmongers think or say?”

  “You will when your daddy gets wind of it.”

  “What happens between the two of us is none of my father’s business.”

  “I’m sure he’ll make it his business right quick.”

  “Look”—he rubbed his pinched brow—“marrying me makes sense and will—”

  “I know. ‘Fix things’.”

  My mind raced to what Thayer had said once. “Marrying Catherine Carrington is like the merger of two wealthy companies. It was a sensible business decision, not one made from the heart...”

  I wasn’t one of those girls who spent her time dreaming of getting married, or even considered the concept of love, but I figured if I ever did marry, it would be something more than a sensible arrangement.

  Turning, I walked away, pausing at the parlor door. “Tell me. Was this a decision Thayer came to using his heart or one that made perfect sense to the powerful Mr. King?”

  ***

  March 20, 1937

  The sweet song of singing birds brought on the first day of spring, and I decided I would leave the house on my own, something I hadn’t done since well...before. That’s how I viewed my life, split into halves—before and after, with an interlude in-between where the surviving part of me went missing.

  Glancing at myself in the bathroom mirror, I took in the physical changes—soul-deep anger slithering beneath my skin still my ever-present friend, and it showed, just as my belly did. But, I supposed, there wasn’t a way to get back to before; all I could do was attempt to manage the after, and I’ll admit, I wasn’t doing an outstanding job.

  I blew out a breath. The aching started minutes after Thayer blurted out, “Marry me,” continuing to wage its own kind of war. Confusion, hurt, disappointment, longing...they were all mixing around with the other pain I housed. I wanted something, anything to ease any one of the emotions I couldn’t rid myself of.

  “Mr. King was right,” I told my reflection, “you should have accepted his sensible offer.”

  There had been no more discussion of marriage, and while Thayer continued to check on me often, making time to read something to me from Mama’s Bible every morning after breakfast, something in him had changed. I could feel it when we were together, and see it in his eyes, but I didn’t know what to do about it or how to fix whatever it was—anger, disappointment, or resentment of his own? I sincerely wished I were wrong, but I knew if those were the emotions he was battling, they were due to me.

  ***

  Sitting on the blanket I’d brought with me, having spread it out on the bank in the same spot when Mr. King, Ms. Bauman, and I took that picnic lunch long, long ago, I enjoyed the breeze as it fluttered strands of my hair. If peace and contentment were to be found, it would have been there, watching the shadow patterns play on the water as the sun trickled through the dancing leaves.

  The thing was, no matter the tranquility surrounding me, I still had an underlying need to get up and run screaming at the top of my lungs, and I considered that one of my better days.

  I’m not sure how long I stayed, watching nature's picture show, only knowing something—an awareness—urged.

  Look behind you, Sippi.

  Turning, Thayer was strolling up, looking just as handsome as you please, and I couldn’t breathe. I’d been struck, or some evil force was squeezing the air out of my lungs. It took a second to think.

  Why does this always happen to me?

  And then he smiled, flipping an unknown switch. I understood one of the things that had been eluding me. I love him. The acknowledgment came as a shock, and yet not a surprise at all. Though I’d never loved anyone, well, except my mama. Even my daddy, and the boys, I couldn’t rightly say I loved. I had to accept them as my family; there wasn’t any other choice, but love? Sadly, I don’t think so. I guessed it best to say, if there had been love in our family, it died when Mama did. But I loved Mr. King. It was that simple and that complicated, contributing to part of the war within me, the disappointment I’d felt when he’d ordered more than asked me to marry him. He’d done so in such a way, as not to say he wanted to marry me because he loved me.

  I rubbed the discomfort in my chest.

  But the ugly old truth of the matter boiled down to this; how could he ever love someone like me? I had nothing to offer before, and even less after, and this broke the little sliver of Mississippi that remained.

  “May I join you?” Thayer asked, glancing down with those sky-blue eyes.

  “Of course,” I righted myself. “Have a seat.”

  Beside me, he sat, the two of us remaining silent for uncountable minutes, the only movement happening when Thayer gently took hold of my hand. He was so careful with me as if I were made of spun glass—breakable. And in reality, I was. The surprising thing for me was, I wasn’t repulsed when he touched me. If it were any other man, though, I would have been repelled when his skin met mine.

  “I want to ask you something, Mississippi.” He glanced down to where our fingers entwined.

  “Okay.”

  “That day, when you left me the letter, you mentioned having a plan.”

  I swallowed, not sure I wanted to talk about that. “Yeah.”

  “What exactly was it, and how d
id you end up at your father’s house?” He paused, lifting my hand in his and brushing his warm lips over my knuckles. “It’s something that’s been bothering me, and I cannot seem to let it go.”

  “Danny Joe.” I cleared the lump in my throat. “He threatened to burn down your home if I didn’t steal some jewelry from one of your guests. I don’t know how, but he’d seen your mama and that other woman,” I said, dislike in my tone, “and told me it would be easy to steal from them.”

  Glancing over, I stared at his too-perfect face. “He would have followed through with his threats, and I had to do something, so I planned to clean out what I had in the bank and hopefully sweeten the pot.”

  His brow furrowed. “Sweeten it, how?”

  “I only own three things,” I said, “and one of them is my grandmama’s wedding ring, so I was going to get it and hand it over to Danny Joe, hoping it would be enough to give me more time to come up with something else because he’d want more, eventually.”

  “And the ring was at your father’s house,” he stated.

  “Under a floorboard in my bedroom, alongside one of my mama’s English perfumes, and a ratty old dictionary where I hid them.” I heaved a heavy breath. “Where they’ll stay hidden, I suppose.”

  “Why?”

  “Ain’t no way I’m going back there.”

  Letting go of my hand to cup my cheek, Thayer looked into my eyes, and it was as if he could see deep enough that he glimpsed my battered soul. “I’ll go and get them for you.”

  “You will?”

  “Certainly. I promise you, Mississippi, you will never need to step foot back in that house.”

  I nodded as he leaned in and placed a gentle kiss on my forehead.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  A mighty flood

  April 2, 1937

  Day after day, Thayer came to me, my mama’s Bible in his hand, and read some of the verses she’d marked. Some were in John, others in Mathew, several from the Psalms, and little by little, something happened. I didn’t realize it at the time, but looking back, I know what it was—God’s love. It started small, pushing against the walls I’d built around me, until one day they cracked and a trickle ran down them, then a drip, drip, drip. But it wasn’t until he read:

  “Fear thou not; for I am with thee: be not dismayed; for I am thy God: I will strengthen thee; yea, I will help thee; yea, I will uphold thee with the right hand of my righteousness.”

  Hearing Isaiah Forty-One, ten, those reinforced walls that had been fracturing, crumbled. One-by-one they came crashing down from a mighty flood, and I cried. I cried for the girl I’d been. For the girl I lost. I cried because a tiny part of the numbing anger had left, and I felt something different. Something indescribable.

  ***

  April 3, 1937

  “Ms. Bauman,” I called, knocking on the half-open door to her room. “May I come in?”

  “Of course,” came her reply.

  Being as quiet as I could, although I don’t know why, I stepped inside.

  Seated in a winged-backed chair, needlepoint in her lap, she asked, “Are you all right?”

  I shook my head. “No.”

  Placing her sowing aside, she rose and came to me, concern in her big, brown eyes as she took hold of both of my hands. “Tell me. What’s wrong, Mississippi?”

  “I owe you an apology,” I said, unable to stop the tears from flowing. For months I didn’t have any to shed, but that had changed. “I’ve been so horrible to you. And you haven’t deserved it. Please forgive me.”

  “Oh...” She wrapped her arms around my neck and hugged me tightly. “You don’t need to ask for forgiveness; I understand how hard things have been.”

  As she rubbed my back, I patted hers. “I do. I’m truly sorry for how I’ve treated you, Virginia. You have never been anything but kind to me, and I consider you a friend.”

  “Thank you,” she said as we let each other go. “I appreciate hearing that. And I consider you a friend as well.”

  Taking the hankie, she kept secured in her sleeve; she started wiping my cheeks. “Let’s go down and have a snack. I think Cook was making her famous apple pie.”

  “Okay,” I said, smiling, one burden weighing me down having lifted. “Pie sounds good.”

  ***

  “Mr. LaCroix,” I said, approaching the man crouched in the garden that afternoon, picking weeds.

  Getting up, he wiped his dirty hands on his pant legs and smiled. “What’s-you need, Boo?”

  “I was wondering if it would be okay to pick some flowers to put in the vase on the table in the foyer? A little color to greet people as they come in would be nice, don’t you think?”

  “Sure, go on. Everyone will enjoy seeing ’em.”

  “Would you mind if I borrow your clippers?”

  “Naw.” Bending down to the toolbox he had with him most days, he plucked up a small pair and then handed them over. “Be mindful, now. Those are sharp.”

  “Thank you,” I said before making my way over to a beautiful clump of purple Irises.

  Snip, snip, snip...

  “Mississippi?” Thayer called, drawing my attention.

  “Over here!” I yelled, waving the newly clipped flowers in my hand.

  Striding over with purpose, deep grooves taking over his forehead, my smile faded. Something was wrong.

  “What’s going on?” I asked, squinting up at him.

  “Let’s go inside.”

  “Why?”

  “It would be the best place for us to speak.”

  “About what?”

  Pinching the bridge of his nose, he muttered, “Has anyone ever said you’d test the patience of Job?”

  “Nope.”

  Lips twitching, he met my gaze. “Well, now they have.”

  “So, you’re saying I’m annoying?”

  “I didn’t say that.” He took hold of my arm and helped me straighten. “Come on. We need to go inside.”

  “But the flowers,” I said, pursing my lips.

  “Bring them.”

  We were several steps away when I remembered, “Wait.”

  “What now?”

  “I still have these.” I held up Mr. LaCroix’s clippers.

  “Rene,” he called, “would you mind?” Taking the tool from my hand, he walked back to his gardener and handed it over. “Thank you for allowing Mississippi to use them.”

  “Any time, sir,” he said.

  And with that, Thayer and I were on our way inside.

  ***

  “Ms. Bonny?” I called, from where I stood, Thayer at my side, poised at the bottom of the stairs.

  “Yeah?” Turning from dusting the railing, she glanced down.

  “Could you please put these in some water for me?” I held up the bouquet.

  “Of course, Ms. Singleton.”

  “Mississippi,” I said as she started toward us.

  “Those are lovely.”

  “I thought so,” I said, handing them over. “I was thinking of putting them in a vase and set them on the entry table in the foyer.”

  “Oh, that would be so pretty.” She nodded. “I’ll do that.”

  I went to hug her, catching her off guard. “Thank you.”

  Wrapping her arm around me, she patted my shoulder blade. “You’re welcome, Mississippi.”

  I remembered her sitting by my bed when I was lost in the interlude, nonresponsive, and dead to the world—her voice shaky as she told me about Catherine’s threat to her father. I listened to her tearful plea, saying she was sorry, believing she was to blame for my condition because she didn’t speak up sooner.

  “It’s not your fault,” I whispered. “What happened to me, wasn’t your doing.”

  When I stepped back, she had tears in her eyes, but she smiled. “You’re kind for saying that.”

  “It’s true, Geraldine.” I reached for her hand and gave it a squeeze, which she returned.

  “Mississippi,” Thayer said, “I don�
�t want to break the moment here, but I’m afraid I must. We need to speak.”

  “Right,” I said, straightening my spine. “Let’s go talk.”

  ***

  “I’m afraid I have some news,” Thayer said, shutting his office door behind him.

  “Clearly.” I walked over to the window.

  “Perhaps you should have a seat.”

  I spun around. “Whatever it is, just say it.”

  “James Henry has been apprehended and taken into custody.”

  He’d been right. I should have taken a seat since it felt as though someone had hit the back of my knees.

  “Mississippi!” Thayer bounded to me, catching me before I fell, helping me over to sit in the chair. “Are you all right?”

  Head spinning, I managed, “I think so.”

  “Your face is so pale,” he said, leaving me to ring the house bell.

  A few seconds later came the knock at the door, Ms. Bonny on the other side once Thayer opened it. “Will you please bring something cool to drink for Mississippi, and perhaps a few of Inga’s cookies?”

  “Right away, sir.”

  “Thank you.”

  Leaving the door open, he returned to me, knelt and clasped my hands. “Is everything okay”—his blue eyes shifted, glancing at my belly—“with the baby?”

  Placing my palm on the protrusion, I nodded. “Fine, I think.”

  “Can you tell me how you are feeling?”

  “Lightheaded.”

  “Just breathe,” he said, and for once, I didn’t argue.

  ***

  April 6, 1937

  “Mama,” I said, kneeling to take a seat on her grave, after placing some flowers on Danny Joe’s. “I know I should have come sooner, but so much has happened. Some good—some awful. And I’ll admit it. The awful knocked the life from me for a time.”

  Sniffling, I batted at the tears dripping off my chin. “First, I’m not living with Daddy any longer. It’s a story I don’t want to go into. Just know, a nice man named Thayer Drayton King took me in, doing so many kind things for me, I can’t name them all. He’s even done nice things for you and Danny Joe.”

  I glanced at the new headstones he bought and paid for, then held up the Bible in my hand. “He somehow found this and gave it to me. I’m sorry to tell you, but Daddy Bruce took it, and I never knew what he did with it for sure. I still don’t know, but I have it back now, so I’m going to take good care of it for you.”