by John Grisham
Stella said, “I’m so tired of being strong.”
Joel said, “Why am I suddenly nervous?” He gulped some wine.
“We cut back on the pills a little so she will be more coherent, but she tires so easily.”
“Is she in pain?” Stella asked.
“Not much. Her heart is just slowly giving up. It’s so sad.”
Across the courtyard, a nurse came out of Florry’s room and nodded at Twyla, who said, “She’s awake now. You can go in.”
Florry was sitting in her bed, propped up by pillows and smiling when they entered and started hugging. She was wearing one of her many brightly colored robes, probably to mask the fact that she had lost so much weight. Her legs were under a blanket. For a few minutes she was a chatterbox, prattling on about Joel’s upcoming wedding and what she planned to wear. She seemed to have forgotten about his law school graduation in a couple of weeks.
A wave of fatigue hit hard, and she closed her eyes. Stella sat on the end of the bed and patted her feet. Joel eased into a chair close by the bed.
When she opened her eyes, she said, “There are some things you should know.”
* * *
—
“When Pete came back from the war, he was all banged up, casts on both legs, you remember. He spent three months at the hospital in Jackson, gaining strength. When he got to the farm he was walking with a cane, doing all sorts of exercises, and moving around more and more each day. It was early fall of 1945. The war was over and the country was trying to get things back to normal. He went through hell over there but never said a word about it. Evidently, your parents engaged in an active marital relationship, shall we say. Nineva once told Marietta, long before the war, that if she turned her back they were trying to sneak away to the bedroom.”
Joel said, “They had to get married, Florry. We know this. I’ve seen my birth certificate and I’ve seen their marriage license. We’re not stupid.”
“Didn’t imply that you are. I was suspicious but never knew for sure.”
“Dad pulled strings and got shipped to Germany before I was born. They were far away from home and the gossips never knew for sure.”
“Then that’s settled.” She closed her eyes and breathed deeply, as if fatigued. Joel and Stella exchanged nervous looks.
Florry opened her eyes, blinked and smiled, and asked, “Now where were we?”
“In Germany, a long time ago. Our parents had a rather lusty relationship.”
“You could say that. They enjoyed each other, and as soon as Pete was back home and able he was ready to go. But there was a problem. Liza had no interest. At first Pete thought it was because his body was scarred and ravaged by war, and not what it once was. But she wouldn’t respond. Finally, they had a big fight and she told a tale, the first of several. She concocted a story about having a miscarriage not long after he left home in 1941. She had three of them, you know.”
“Four,” Stella said.
“Okay, four, and by the time Pete left for war, they were convinced she could never have more children. Well, supposedly, she was pregnant when he left but they didn’t know it. When she realized it, she told no one because she was afraid of losing another baby and didn’t want to worry him. He was at Fort Riley, waiting to be shipped out. Then she miscarried, or so she said, and because of the miscarriage she had some lingering female problems. She had discharges that were unpleasant. She had seen doctors. She was taking medicines. Her body was doing things she couldn’t control, and she had lost the desire for sex. It embarrasses me to say that word in front of you two.”
“Come on, Aunt Florry. We know all about sex,” Joel said.
“Both of you?” she asked, looking at Stella.
“Yes, both of us.”
“Oh, dear.”
“Come on, Florry. We’re all adults here.”
“Okay. Sex, sex, sex. There, I’ve said it. So when she was never in the mood, he was upset. Think about it. Poor guy spent three years in the jungle half-dead dreaming of food and water, and also thinking a lot about his beautiful wife back home. Then Pete got suspicious. According to her story, they got pregnant right before he left for Fort Riley, early in October of 1941. But in late August of that year, Pete wrenched his back pulling a stump and was in terrible pain. Sex was out of the question.”
“I remember that,” Stella said. “When he left for Fort Riley he could hardly walk.”
“In fact, his back was so bad the doctors at Fort Riley almost discharged him for medical reasons. He was certain that there had been no sex in September because he thought about it a million times when he was a prisoner. Her story was that she got pregnant around early October, kept it quiet for a couple of months, and planned to tell Pete in a letter if she made it to three months. She didn’t. She miscarried in early December, two months in, and never told anyone. Pete knew that wasn’t true. If she indeed got pregnant, then it was in late August. His point was that she was more than three months along when she claimed to have miscarried. He studied the calendars and pieced together a timeline. Then he ambushed Nineva one day and asked her about the miscarriage. She knew nothing, which, as you know, was virtually impossible. She knew nothing about a miscarriage, nothing about a pregnancy. Pete knew that if Liza was three months along, then Nineva would know it. She delivered a hundred babies, including me and Pete. Once he was convinced Liza was lying about the miscarriage, thus the discharges, thus the total lack of interest in sex, he became really suspicious. She was fanatical about cleaning her own undergarments, and Nineva confirmed this. With time, he waited for the right chance and was able to confirm the discharges. There were small stains on her delicates. And she was taking a lot of pills that she was trying to hide. He wanted to talk to her doctors, but she flatly refused. Anyway, the clues were piling up, the lies were breaking down. Something was physically wrong with his wife and it wasn’t caused by a miscarriage. He’d been through three of them, remember?”
“Four,” Stella said.
“Right. Nineva had said some things about Dexter Bell and how much time he spent with Liza after the news that Pete was missing and presumed dead. We all remember how horrible that was, and Dexter was at the house a lot. Turns out that Pete had never really trusted Dexter, thought he had a roving eye. There was a rumor at church, one I never heard, about Dexter being too friendly with a young woman, I think she was twenty. Just a rumor, but Pete was suspicious.”
Florry exhaled and asked for a glass of water. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and breathed heavily for a moment or so. She closed her eyes and continued. “Anyway, Pete got very suspicious. He went to Memphis and hired a private detective, paid him a lot of money, gave him photos of Liza and Dexter Bell. At the time there were three doctors, if you call them doctors, I’m not sure really what they were, and they’re probably still in business, but, they, well, they, uh, did abortions.”
Stella nodded stoically. Joel took a deep breath. Florry kept her eyes closed and plowed on. “Sure enough, the private detective found a doctor who recognized them from the photos, but he wanted a big bribe. Pete had no choice. Paid the guy $2,000 in cash, and he confirmed that on September 29, 1943, he did the deed for Liza.”
Joel grunted, “Good God.”
Stella said, “Well, that explains Nineva’s story about the day Mom and Dexter spent in Memphis.”
“Yep.”
“I’m sorry, I don’t know that one,” Florry said.
“There are so many,” Stella said. “Keep going and we might circle back to it.”
“Okay. So, needless to say, Pete was devastated. He had the proof of her betrayal, and not just a little fooling around, but a full-blown pregnancy that got aborted in the back room of some low-end clinic in Memphis. He was furious, devastated, and felt thoroughly betrayed by the woman he had always adored.”
She
paused and wiped a tear. “This is so awful. I never wanted to tell this story, never.”
“You’re doing the right thing, Aunt Florry,” Stella said. “We can deal with the truth.”
“So he confronted her?” Joel asked.
“He did. He picked the right moment, and ambushed her with the proof. The result was a complete and total breakdown. Nervous breakdown, emotional breakdown, call it whatever the doctors want to call it. She admitted everything: the affair, the abortion, the infection that wouldn’t go away. She begged for forgiveness, again and again. In fact, she never stopped begging for forgiveness, and he never offered it. He never got over it. He’d come so close to death so many times, but he kept going because of her, and you. And to think that she was having fun with Dexter Bell was more than he could stand. He saw John Wilbanks. They went to the judge. She was committed to Whitfield, and she did not resist. She knew she needed help, and she had to get away from him. Once she was gone, he tried to go about his business, but he reached a point where that was not possible.”
“So he killed Dexter,” Stella said.
“Not a bad motive,” Joel said.
There was a long heavy silence in which all three tried to focus. Joel stood, opened the door, walked to the courtyard, poured a glass of wine, and brought the bottle back with him. “Anyone?” he asked. Stella shook her head no. Florry appeared to be sleeping.
He sat down and took a sip, then another. Finally, he said, “And I guess there’s more to the story.”
“A lot more,” Florry whispered with her eyes closed. She coughed and cleared her throat, propped herself up again. “We all knew Jupe, Nineva’s grandson. He worked around the house and the gardens.”
“We grew up together, Florry, and played together,” Joel said.
“Right, he left home young, went to Chicago, came back. Pete taught him how to drive, let him run errands in his truck, treated him special. Pete was very fond of Jupe.”
She swallowed hard, took another deep breath. “And so was your mother.”
“No,” Joel grunted, too stunned to say anything else.
“It can’t be,” Stella said.
“It was so. When your father confronted your mother with the proof of the abortion, he demanded to know if it was Dexter Bell. At that awful moment, she had to make a decision. A choice. The truth or a lie. And your mother lied. She could not bring herself to admit she had carried on with Jupe. It was unthinkable, unimaginable.”
“How did it happen?” Joel asked.
“Did he force himself?” Stella asked.
“He did not. The night your mom died, she obviously knew what she was about to do. I did not. I was with her and she was at the end. She talked and talked and told me everything. At times she seemed lucid, at times out of it, but she never stopped talking. She said that Nineva got sick with something and stayed at home for a week. Jupe was working around the house. One day he was in the house, alone with Liza, and it just happened. It was a year after the news of Pete, and something just came over her. It wasn’t planned. There was no seduction, no forcing, all consensual. It just happened. And it happened again.”
Joel closed his eyes and exhaled mightily. Stella stared at the floor, mouth open, stunned.
Florry plowed ahead. “Your mother has always hated driving, so Jupe became her driver, and to get away from Nineva they would go to town. They had some hiding places along the way, around the county. It became a game and Liza frankly admitted to enjoying herself. It’s not unheard of, kids, the races have been mixing from day one. Again, she considered herself a widow, she was single, she was just having a little harmless fun, or so she thought.”
“Impossible,” Joel grunted.
“It doesn’t seem harmless,” Stella said.
“It happened; we can’t change any of it. I’m just telling you what your mother told me. Sure, she was out of her mind that last night, but what could she gain by fabricating such a tale? She wanted someone to know before she went to the grave. That’s why she told me.”
“You were there and you were never suspicious?” Joel asked.
“Never, not for a minute. I never suspected Dexter Bell, never suspected anyone. All of us were trying to get on with our lives after Pete. It never crossed my mind that Liza was carrying on with anybody.”
“Can we get through the rest of this god-awful story?” Stella asked.
“You’ve always wanted the truth,” Florry said.
“Now I’m not so sure,” Joel said.
“Please continue.”
“Okay, I’m trying, kids. This is not easy. Anyway, the frolicking came to an end when Liza realized she was pregnant. For a month or so she was in denial, but then she started to show and realized Nineva or someone else would get suspicious. She was in a panic, as you might guess. Her first idea was to do what white women have always done when they get caught—scream rape. That puts the blame somewhere else and makes it easier to take care of the pregnancy. She was at her wit’s end when she decided to confide in Dexter Bell, a man she could trust. He never touched her in a bad way. He was always the kind, compassionate pastor who provided comfort. Dexter convinced her not to go through with the rape story, and in doing so saved Jupe’s life. They would’ve strung the boy up in a heartbeat. At about the same time, word got to Nineva and Amos about the grandson and the boss lady carrying on. They were terrified and got him out of town.”
Joel and Stella were speechless. The door opened a few inches and Twyla looked in. “How are we doing?”
“We’re fine,” Florry whispered, and the door closed. They were anything but fine.
Joel eventually stood with his glass of wine and walked to the small window overlooking the courtyard. He asked, “Did Nineva know she was pregnant?”
“Liza was convinced that she did not. No one knew, not even Jupe. They got him out of town about the time she realized she was pregnant.”
“How did Nineva know they were doing it?”
Florry closed her eyes again and breathed as if waiting for a surge of energy. Without opening them, she coughed and continued. “A colored boy was fishing down by the creek and saw something. He ran home to his momma and told her. Word eventually got to Nineva and Amos, and they were horrified and appreciated the danger. Jupe was on the next bus to Chicago. I think he’s still there.”
A long, heavy pause settled over the room. Minutes passed and nothing was said. Florry opened her eyes but avoided eye contact. Joel returned to his seat, put his wineglass on the table, and ran his fingers through his thick hair. Finally, he said, “So, I guess Pete killed the wrong man, right, Florry?”
She did not answer his question. Instead, she said, “I’ve often thought about Liza in that awful moment when she was confronted with her abortion. She had to make a choice, one that she had not had time to prepare for. Pete assumed it was Dexter Bell, and it was much easier for her to say yes than to stop and think for a moment. One choice, made under extreme duress and confusion, and look at the consequences.”
Stella said, “True, but if she’d had the time, she would never have admitted to the truth. No white woman in her position could do that.”
Florry said, “Don’t make your mother a whore. If she had believed that there was even the slimmest chance your father was alive, she would never have carried on so. She was a fine woman who loved your father endlessly. I was with her the night she died, and she ached and ached and ached for her sins. She begged forgiveness. She longed for her old life back with her family. She was so broken, so pathetic. You must remember her as a good, kind, loving mother.”
Joel stood and left the room without a word. He crossed the courtyard, said nothing to Miss Twyla in her wicker rocker, and left the town house. He drifted down Chartres Street to Jackson Square where he sat on the steps of the cathedral and watched the circus of street performers, musi
cians, hucksters, con men, artists, pickpockets, pimps, and tourists. Every black man was Jupe up to no good. Every painted white woman was his mother with desire. Everything was a blur; nothing made sense. His breathing was labored, his eyes out of focus.
And then he was on the levee, though he didn’t remember walking over. The barges were passing by and he was staring at them, staring at nothing. Damn the truth. He’d been much happier without it. Every day for the past three and a half years he had tortured himself with questions about why his father did what he did, and countless times he had conceded that he would never know. Well, now he knew, and he missed all those blissfully ignorant days.
For a long time, Joel sat lost in his own world, hardly moving, occasionally shaking his head slightly in disbelief. Then he realized his breathing had slowed, his senses were normal. He convinced himself that no one would ever know, other than himself, Stella, and Miss Twyla. Florry would soon be dead, and like all good Bannings she would take her secrets to her grave. He and Stella would eventually follow suit. A broken and disgraced family would not suffer further humiliation.
And what did it really matter? Neither he nor Stella, nor Florry, for that matter, would ever again live among those people in Ford County. Let the truth be buried there, at Old Sycamore. He wasn’t going back.
A hand touched his shoulder and Stella sat next to him, close. He put his arm around her shoulders and pulled her tight. There was no emotion. They were too stunned for any of that.
“How is she?” he asked.
“It won’t be long.”
“She’s all we have left.”
“No, Joel, we have each other, so please don’t die young.”
“I’ll try not to.”
“A question, Counselor,” she said. “If Mom had told the truth, what would Dad have done?”
“I’ve been thinking of nothing else. I’m sure he would have divorced her and run her out of the county. He would have sworn revenge against Jupe, but then he’s safe in Chicago. Different laws up north.”