Four of a Kind: A women's historical fiction

by Russell, Vanessa

  Jeremiah? That is twice she called him that. Jere. Jeremiah. Jerry. This is all the same man?

  Shocked I watch Jere back away and cup my mama’s aged face like he’s holding a trophy he’d won unexpectedly. She looks like a stranger to me, her hands on the waist of another man besides Papa, gazing up into this man’s eyes as if they’ve picked up where they left off.

  Jere’s cheekbones protrude more than I remember, his skin wrinkles and sags some in places, his thick hair is white as snow and there’s deep lines around his eyes and mouth that become more pronounced as he smiles at her. But his eyes remain vibrant and he still has that aura – that word used these days to describe such a strong presence.

  Katy and others walk away from such a private scene but I stay in place, waiting with questions. I give a second-glance to Katy. She’s actually allowing the long-time doting Mr. Dodds to put his arm around her shoulders. Jesi would be so pleased. Let’s get it on, I can hear Jesi say. I shake my head at past and future.

  “I can’t believe you’re standing here in front of me,” Jere is saying to Mama, his voice threaded with emotion. “Flesh and blood, living and breathing, letting me know I’m not dreaming. Your eyes are as blue as when you were a young girl.”

  “Blue as the Blue Ridge, Mr. Jeremiah Bluemountain?”

  “My God, I haven’t been called that for fifty years. I’d forgotten how much I like hearing it. I shouldn’t have listened to my wife and changed it back to my daddy’s name, Phillips. I reckon she didn’t want to go around with my mommy’s Indian name to be made fun of.”

  We begin to walk slowly back to the parking lot.

  “Your wife …”

  “Died many years ago.”

  “Children?”

  “Thought you might have met my oldest girl when Bess looked after her up here. You didn’t meet Mary Sue?”

  Mama freezes. That confused glazed look she wore earlier returns and I fear we have lost her again. We can only watch as she struggles in a helpless silence.

  She finally shakes her head “How can that be, Jeremiah? Mary Sue’s father was Bess’s first husband.”

  Yes, I want to cry, you remember!

  Jere – Jeremiah - cocks his head to the side, naturally missing the point. “Yes, I’m Mary Sue’s father.” His silver eyebrows raise at what this implies. He would have to explain and this might put Mama back into a bad condition. How sad her day has clouded so quickly.

  But her eyes don’t become remote at all. No, they turn on me with such a storm of accusation, betrayal and hurt, I feel defensive.

  “Mama, I can explain.”

  “You were married to Jeremiah?”

  Jeremiah steps back as if too close to the fire.

  “Yes. Do you remember when Thom—”

  “And you didn’t tell me?”

  “I didn’t know he was Jeremiah, Mama. I only knew him as Jere Phillips.”

  Why am I being defensive? I fold my arms in my customary debate way and state, “As a matter of fact, I asked you back in those days if you knew him and you denied it. I thought you were lying to me.”

  “I didn’t know he was Jere Phillips.” She suddenly looks hurt. “You’ve been thinking all this time that I lied to you? Your own mama?”

  “Well, I thought you had reason to, being in love with a man not my papa.”

  “If you thought I was in love with him, then why’d you marry him?”

  “Because I didn’t put two and two together until after we married and went to Jere’s cabin. I saw the carved dove and the lavender bushes. He didn’t deny that I reminded him of you. That’s the only reason why he married me.”

  She turns on him like an angry mother bear. “You married my daughter? How could you use her that way?”

  “I didn’t know she was your daughter.” His eyes dart between us, looking as if he’s stepped into an ambush. He takes us each by the elbow. “Let’s walk,” he says.

  We reach the parking lot and finally he sighs deeply as if in surrender. He leans heavily against his truck frame, folding his arms across his chest. He stares down at his boots. “Well, I didn’t know for sure anyway. That would seem too good to be true.” He gives Mama his sincerely blue eyes. “To marry someone who looked like you and talked like you used to about women’s rights. I thought you were gone forever and that Bess dropped in as a proxy.”

  “A proxy? Thanks so much, Jere,” I say, my face flushing at the insult.

  He raises his hand, still in surrender mode. “I’m sorry, Bess, I’m just trying to explain.” He returns his blue gaze to Mama. “You should know that nothing happened between us – like what would happen between a man and his wife. Bess is a smart gal and caught on real quick. She high-tailed it out of there after one night. I can’t say that I blame her, even if my male pride suffered some.”

  For the next few moments we listen to the distant murmur of folks saying goodbye and driving away, as we all absorb these revelations about each other.

  “You grow lavender?” Mama finally asks, her eyes softening in acceptance.

  “Yes, ma’am, and I wish now I’d brought you a bunch and a carved dove to go with it.”

  “I still have your last dove,” she says, taking one step toward him.

  He regains his composure as he sees he’s in safe territory again. “You do?” He gives her a side-long glance. “But I gave you two doves.”

  “The other one I dropped into Cady’s coffin – that last night we spoke in the gazebo.”

  “No wonder we stayed apart all these years, Ruby. You separated the pair.”

  “I thought it best at the time. I had to do what was right by my family. I had children to raise – and a husband.”

  “How is he?” he asks, sounding obligatory.

  “He died twenty-two years ago. Mary Sue was there at the time.”

  I could almost hear a squeaky door opening.

  “I’m sorry.” He doesn’t look sorry to me. He’s searching her face for signs of life, not death. Nor do any of us want to hash over the past regarding Mary Sue, I’m certain.

  She nods. “I tried to look you up once but it doesn’t matter now. We have some catching up to do.”

  Tears come to me and it isn’t for sentimental reasons. I have become overwhelmed with regret and sadness. All those years wasted in unsuccessful ERA battles, when Mama should’ve been with Jere. Yet they do find their own happy ending as if it’s all meant to be. I don’t know how to find mine. It is mind-blowing, Jesi, I murmur as I look back and watch them lower the coffin down under. I feel like another crying jag is coming on in losing the point of it all.

  Out of the blue Jere places his hand on my shoulder. “Bess, I want to thank you for taking on Mary Sue the way you did. I’m sorry I wasn’t more appreciative with what you had done but, well, I had given up hope for her for awhile. She lost a husband and two sons to the coal mine and the hard knocks sure brought her a long way. Not only did she teach her brothers and sisters how to read and write and whip ‘em right through high school, but she’s become a school teacher and well-known activist in bringing in schools in the Blue Ridge Mountains. In a speech last week, she gave you all the credit. I never thought I’d say it but I’m right proud of her.”

  Mama isn’t listening. She’s walked a few steps closer to where the gravediggers begin the task of hiding Jesi from us forever. Mama’s crying openly now, her handkerchief in hand quivering. I feel the loss too and with only the three of us remaining, I sing along to the saddest tune in the world.

  Suddenly Mama subsides, wipes her eyes and nose, and puts her handkerchief back into her sleeve. “We’ll just go with the flow. That’s what Jesi wants us to do.” Jere joins her and she tucks her arm into his. “Let’s all go to the Lighthouse. I want to have a nice chat with Jesi’s young man, Isaac. Jeremiah, you come too. We have tons of food everybody brought in and I don’t want to lose sight of you just yet. Cady’s funeral was the last I saw you. I don’t want to lose Bess next,
before we meet again. She’s as healthy as a horse.”

  Annan Newspaper, July 2, 1964:

  History is forever altered today in the landmark passage of the Civil Rights Act, signed by President Johnson. This act outlaws racial segregation in schools, public places, and employment. The bill was introduced last year by then President, our deceased John F. Kennedy, when he asked for legislation “giving all Americans the right to be served in facilities which are open to the public … and greater protection for the right to vote.”

  In an interesting twist of fate, after 57 days in a filibuster, a weakened Act included “sex” in its title VII, added by its strong opposition, Howard W. Smith, as a means to defeat the bill by inserting objectionable amendments. However, Smith claims his sincerity and is reportedly close to women’s rights activist, Alice Paul. The National Woman’s Party had been actively promoting the amendment. The prohibition against discrimination based on sex was added at the last hour and quickly passed as amended.

  An open-air celebration is planned at City Hall Park, with our own women’s libber and soon-to-be published author, Mrs. Bess Wright-Pickering, as key-note speaker.