by Nancy Moser
Millie was alive?
One of the reporters asked, “But why would you fake your death and live under an assumed name for over forty years?”
Millie looked at the man next to her, who’d been introduced as her husband. They held hands. “David was a good man, but he was obsessive, insisting on having a say about every tiny aspect of my life from what perfume I wore to how I spent my free time. Though I loved him at first, I found myself being smothered by him.”
“Then why not just call the marriage off?”
“You don’t understand… David worked for my father. They became close and my father, Ray Reynolds, who has also been interviewed lately, was intent on handing his business down to David. After all, I was unworthy of the task—being female and all. The best way to do that was to have David marry me.”
“So the marriage was arranged for a business connection?”
“It certainly wasn’t a love connection. Not on my part, and though he’d never admit it, not on David’s part either. Obsession and possession do not equal love. The point was, with my father and David showing a united front… and considering the limited power of women in 1958, I felt I had no choice but to take drastic action.”
“Would you do it again?”
She did not hesitate. “Yes, yes, I would.”
“What are you going to do if David Stancowsky comes back?”
Dina wondered the same thing.
Millie looked at her mother, then her husband. “I will let him live his life and hope that he will give me the same courtesy.” She turned right to the camera. “Now, if you’ll excuse us, we’d appreciate your leaving us alone.”
Dina turned off the set and sank onto the couch. Millie was alive. She’d said she didn’t want any contact with David, yet… if he came back… What Millie said was correct. David was obsessed. He’d insist on making contact. She would become his focus now as she was then.
Which meant Dina didn’t have a chance.
She shook a fist at the television. “It’s not fair! Why did you have to come forward?”
Then she remembered that she was scheduled to be interviewed tomorrow to clear up the Yardley Pruitt allegations.
But why should I?
It was a good question. She sank lower into the cushions, raked her hands through her hair, and let them sit on top of her head. She didn’t owe David anything beyond being a good employee. She didn’t need to go this extra mile for him, defending his reputation—especially when everyone else seemed intent on cutting him down.
Especially when he was going to come home, find Millie alive, and have tunnel vision in her direction. He wouldn’t even notice Dina. What chances she’d had were used up. Over. Gone.
Was it really time to move on and let him go?
She laughed at herself. At age seventy-four she was finally realizing this? How pitiful was that?
She sat upright. “I won’t go to the interview. Let David deal with it. I don’t owe him anything.”
It sounded good. But Dina, more than anyone, knew that old habits died hard.
Thirteen
Listen to advice and accept instruction,
and in the end you will be wise.
Many are the plans in a man’s heart,
but it is the LORD’s purpose that prevails.
Proverbs 19:20-21
Atlanta—1976
Vanessa’s plan was to get up very early, sneak out of her father’s house, and head back to campus so they couldn’t argue anymore. So he wouldn’t be able to yell at her for being insubordinate in front of their dinner guest, Mr. Stancowsky. But her plans were ruined when her father woke her at eight.
“We’ll be leaving for church in a half hour, Vanessa. Hurry up.”
She turned onto her back. Great. If only she hadn’t overslept.
You could still leave.
She shook her head. To leave now would be a blatant, walk-the-plank mutiny.
“Vanessa? Did you hear?”
“I heard.” She sat up and swung her legs over the side of the bed.
He opened the door. “We can’t be late. My name’s going to be in the bulletin as one of the top three benefactors of the new wing, and I need you to be there with me.”
To hear the accolades. To play the part of the proud daughter.
“Gimme a half—” She was suddenly overcome by morning sickness and bolted past him toward the bathroom down the hall. She barely made it.
He appeared in the doorway. “Aren’t you glad that tomorrow you’ll be done with that?”
A second wave took her body captive.
“How long does it usually last?”
She sat back on her heels and pulled a towel off the rack to wipe her mouth. “An hour or so. Crackers sometimes help.”
“Good. You can grab some on our way out.”
And he was gone. And she was alone.
So be it.
Vanessa did not want to be in the car with her father all the way to church, so she made the excuse that she needed to drive separately so she could go back to school right after the service. She lied and said she had a test to study for. Hey, life was a test. She just hoped she didn’t fail.
She stood by her father in the narthex, looking pretty and proud while he accepted the accolades of some of the elders and deacons. One man with a shock of Elvis hair and an awful avocado tie, slapped her father on the back but winked at her. “Yes indeed, this church owes a lot to your father, Vanessa.”
“I know.” Then, out of nowhere, she was assaulted with a new bout of queasiness.
Elvis’s wife touched her arm. “Are you all right? You look a bit pale.”
Her father flipped a hand. “She’s fine. She’s just—”
“Pregnant. If you’ll excuse me.”
She ran to the restroom.
When Vanessa came out of the restroom, her father was not in the narthex. Obviously, the truth of her condition was not an appropriate topic of conversation when Yardley Pruitt held court.
She looked toward the exit. Now would be an excellent time to leave. He had to be furious. Today’s faux pas, added to yesterday’s rebellion…
As the prelude sounded on the organ, she walked toward the door but was intercepted by Reverend Mennard, ready to make his entrance. “Vanessa?”
“Good morning, Reverend.”
He looked into the sanctuary. “I see your father’s already inside. Go ahead and join him. I’ll wait.”
With Reverend Mennard blocking her escape, she slipped into the pew beside her father. He did not even look at her but kept his face forward. His jaw was set, his arms crossed.
A sure sign that she’d pay. Dearly.
Vanessa went through the service by rote. She stood when it was time to stand, read aloud when it was time to read aloud. She heard little and felt nothing.
Nothing in regard to church, that is.
Her heart ached. Her mind throbbed. Her stomach churned. In the past few days, she had systematically chopped away at the one piece of stability she had in her life. Daddy. Father.
And there had been a change in his title. Just as she’d progressed to calling her mother “Mom,” Yardley Pruitt no longer deserved the “Daddy” title of endearment. He was Father now. Yet oddly, it wasn’t because of anything new he’d done. The change in his status had occurred solely because of something new inside herself.
But what was this new something? What was different in her now that hadn’t been there a few days previous?
Suddenly, Reverend Mennard’s voice broke into her thoughts. “Our Scripture reading today is from Galatians 5:1. ‘It is for freedom that Christ has set us free. Stand firm, then, and do not let yourselves be burdened again by a yoke of slavery’”
Freedom!
That was it! That’s what she was feeling. Ever since her mother had re-entered her life, she’d been teased with the offer of freedom. Not from her troubles—she still had many at the moment—but from the burden of thinking she didn’t have a choice. The truth was, she didn’t have to do things her father’s way. She could think for herself. She should think for herself.
The organ was playing again, and Vanessa noticed ushers in the aisles, passing collection plates. Out of habit, her hand found her purse on the pew. But then, unbidden, it found a new purpose, one that shocked her so much she rested her wrist on top of the purse a moment to let the thought fully form.
No, I couldn’t…
Oh yes. You can. You must!
She must.
She opened her purse and pulled out some specific bills, so neatly folded in half. She kept them hidden in her palm. Her father glanced her way but couldn’t see. No indeed, he couldn’t see what she was doing. Not until it was done.
The offering plate approached from her right. She took the folded bills and placed them on top. The hundred-dollar bills nodded at her decision.
She passed the plate to her father.
He saw them.
He touched them, then looked at her.
Her heart pounded and she wanted to look away, but she forced herself to meet his gaze. Yes, Father. It’s exactly what you think. And I dare you to snatch that money out of the offering plate in front of the world. I dare you.
He suddenly glanced to his left. The woman on his other side had her arm extended, ready. He put his own offering envelope on top and passed the plate along. Away.
The money was gone. Vanessa was free of it. Free of the decision the money bought.
Free of him.
Almost.
When the congregation stood for the doxology, she sidled out of the pew and left the church—and all that was inside.
Vanessa didn’t drive to her mother’s house in Decatur; she coasted on adrenaline. The contrast between yesterday’s trip toward her father’s world and this trip away from it was the difference between hiking a mountain trail with a forty-pound pack and running barefoot through a field of wildflowers. How long had she been carrying that pack? Five years? Or even longer? At least the weight of it hadn’t permanently stooped her shoulders.
It was 10:05. Hadn’t Harry said their church service started at 10:30? She hoped they hadn’t left yet, because she had no idea which church was theirs. Please, make them still be there.
As soon as she turned onto the right street, she craned her neck to see if her mother’s Volkswagen was in the driveway. It was.
She pulled behind it, cutting over the curb. The front door was open and she caught a glimpse of red pass by. Then a face in the window. Then the door pulled wide just for her.
“Nessa! You’re here!”
She put a hand to her belly. “We’re both here.”
Before her mother could respond, Vanessa ran into her arms. They rocked, right there on the stoop. Sentences were exchanged without a word, and five years evaporated into the all-important moment of now.
It was just as she’d imagined: sitting in a pew, her mother on one side and Lewis on the other. It was as if she’d come home.
And Lewis’s voice… it was everything her mother had said it was. When they stood to sing the hymns, she had to force herself not to stare at him. They shared a hymnal, yet he never looked at the page. His face was raised and his eyes were closed. It was as if he was singing for an audience of One. And Vanessa knew—she knew—that God heard his voice and was pleased. Though her own voice was more curdle than cream, she gave an extra effort because of her seatmate. Did God appreciate her song, too?
The minister was the opposite of Reverend Mennard at her father’s church. Pastor Bill smiled. He made people laugh. And when he read verses from the Bible, his eyes got all excited like he’d burst if he didn’t share this very cool thing he’d just discovered. Reverend Mennard preached at them. Pastor Bill spoke with them.
And he wasn’t the only one talking. The first time the old lady at the end of the row said, “Amen!” Vanessa looked at her mother, embarrassed, only to find her mother nodding as if she could easily say it out loud, too. As things got going there was an “Alleluia,” three “Praise the Lords,” and even a few soft calls of “Thank You, Jesus!” No one, but no one would dare interrupt Reverend Mennard s monologue with such comments, no matter how heartfelt.
But that was the point. Vanessa couldn’t imagine anyone who heard her father’s preacher being moved to exclaim anything—except maybe a muffled “Thank heaven, that’s over” when the benediction was finally pronounced.
The clincher was that Vanessa found herself nodding a few times when Pastor Bill talked about people feeling helpless and hopeless as they dealt with complicated lives. He said Jesus was the way through all that. Jesus was the answer. Vanessa didn’t know about that but was willing to listen. What could it hurt?
However, the highlight of the service was not the sermon or even the music. It happened during the singing of the final hymn, “Holy, Holy, Holy.” It happened when Lewis wrapped his arm around her shoulders and pulled her close. Vanessa noticed that with their hands sharing the hymnal, their bodies created a circle. Unbroken. She heard a song in her head. The Nitty Gritty Dirt Band singing, “Will the circle be unbroken? By and by, Lord, by and by…”
The thing was she didn’t want this circle to be broken. Not ever.
At that moment, Lewis turned his head and looked at her.
His smile was her amen.
“You’re practically glowing. What happened?”
This question was posed by both Vanessa’s mother and Lewis after church—and at various times throughout lunch. And though she would have liked to explain it to them, she couldn’t. Because she couldn’t explain it to herself.
Her transition from wimpy child to free woman had been swift, yet it had been brought about by so many different emotions and incidents intertwining that it was hard to pinpoint event from sentiment. Action from reaction.
And as the day wore on and she spent more time with these two wonderful people, she realized that maybe knowing the why and how wasn’t essential to enjoying her new self. As the day wore on, she realized it was okay to just accept the changes as real and good. On faith.
Amen. Alleluia. Thank You, Jesus!
Dawson—1987
By the time Lane and Brandy got back to school from their outing to Olson’s Ice Cream Shoppe, it was lunchtime. The halls were busy, and no hall more so than the one in front of the drama room.
Lane pulled up short. “We’re too late. The list is up.”
She heard Melissa Peterson squeal. “I got it!”
From the faces of some of those grouped around the list, it was clear not many thought this was good news.
Melissa spotted Lane and hurried toward her. Lane was appalled when Melissa actually took her hand. “Oh, Lane, I’m so sorry you didn’t try out.”
Lane didn’t know what to say.
Brandy did. She pushed Melissa’s hand away. “Get away from her, you witch.”
The group moved closer to the real drama being acted out right in front of them. It was surreal and all Lane could think was, No, this isn’t happening.
But it was.
Melissa pushed Brandy so she nearly fell. “Don’t call me names, you frizzy freak.”
Brandy attacked with a push of her own. Within seconds Lane was engulfed by the crowd—who loudly egged them on. How had this happened?
Mr. Dobbins burst out of his classroom and broke it up. He finally stood between the two girls, his arms holding them apart. “Talk to me, girls.”
Melissa pointed a finger at Lane. “She’s jealous because I got the part of Juliet.”
Mr. Dobbins
’s bushy eyebrows dipped. “I don’t see Lane fighting.”
Brandy rallied her entire five-foot-two frame. “I’m fighting for her.”
Lane hated being on the receiving end of Mr. Dobbins’s disappointed look. She put a hand to her chest. “I’m okay about Melissa getting the part. Really. I didn’t even try out.”
Mr. Dobbins opened his mouth to say one thing but seemed to change his mind and say something else. “All right people, move on. Get to class, lunch, wherever you’re supposed to be. This show’s over.”
The hall emptied of all but the three girls and the teacher.
Mr. Dobbins looked at Melissa, then at Brandy. “Shall we go to the principal’s office?”
Right on cue, Melissa started to cry. “Please no, Mr. Dobbins. My parents will kill me. I’m sorry. I blew it.” She looked imploringly at Brandy. “Can’t we just forget this ever happened?”
Brandy’s mouth was in its aghast mode. Then she rolled her eyes and applauded. “Bravo! There’s Oscar written all over that performance.”
Melissa’s torso flinched, as if she wanted to pounce.
Mr. Dobbins sighed. “Go on. Get outta here. And behave yourself.”
Lane started to leave, but Mr. Dobbins said, “Lane? Got a minute?”
“Sure.” She and Brandy exchanged a glance, then Lane followed her teacher through the drama room, into his cluttered office. He moved a pile of scripts from a chair, and she sat across from his desk.
He fell into his own chair and ran a hand through his hair, which was as frizzy as Brandy’s.
“I’m really sorry, Mr. Dobbins. I never asked Brandy to defend—”
He raised a hand, dismissing her comments. “I take it your audition in Minneapolis went well?”
It took her a moment to change mental gears. “Uh… I didn’t go.”
He gave her an extended blink. “When you didn’t try out for Juliet, I assumed your movie audition had gone well.”
Lane let her backpack slip to the floor. Right then she felt her energy level drop. She leaned forward on her thighs, covering her face with her hands. “I’ve really blown it. All around.”