“Oh. So you just happen to know Lena and Theresa? From a church in Georgia?”
“Kind of. I don’t know them that well, although we did travel together to Asheville, North Carolina, in October of that same year.”
“Asheville, North Carolina—seems to be a popular town these days. In fact, that’s the place the private detective throws around whenever he leaves a message for me.” Memory reached down and picked up her glass of tea. She swirled the remaining amount around. “I’m sure you want me to believe you’re not working with this man now. But what if you’re merely stalling . . . trying to keep me here until he shows up?”
“Memory, trust me; if I was up to something like that, I sure wouldn’t be having this conversation with you now. We could have continued on with our little charade, and no one would have been the wiser. But there’s more to this story—so much more.”
“Then say what you have to say and be done. I’m a big girl. I can handle it.”
“It’s not whether or not you can handle it. It’s whether or not I should be the one telling it.”
“Look, Johnnie Mae, I appreciate you for having listened to me earlier today. And I especially appreciate you for having opened up your home to me like you did. But realistically, if you know Lena and Theresa and you were hanging out with them back in October of 2001, then I’m sure you know they consider me a thief.” Memory grabbed her purse and stood up. “So if you don’t mind, I think I’ll get my things and be on my way.”
Johnnie Mae struggled to get up off the couch. “Memory, I do know about the Alexandrite necklace, but I can’t let you leave yet.”
“You can’t keep me here against my will.” Memory started out of the room. “I’m going up those stairs, getting my suitcases, and getting out of here while the getting is good.”
“Memory, I’m not trying to keep you here. There’s something I need to tell you.”
Memory continued to walk hurriedly out of the room and toward the staircase.
Johnnie Mae walked as quickly as she could after her. “Memory, wait! There’s something I need to tell you! It’s important.”
Memory trotted up the stairs. Johnnie Mae turned around and looked back in the other direction. Landris was downstairs in the game room. She knew she could make her way to the intercom to call him, but it would take a few minutes for him to get upstairs. As Johnnie Mae started to go back in the den, Memory appeared at the top of the stairs with two pieces of her luggage. She set them down, turned around, and went back, returning shortly with the other two.
“Memory, please don’t try carrying those on your own. You might hurt yourself.” Johnnie Mae started up the stairs.
“You’re pregnant, Johnnie Mae.” She started down the steps with one of the suitcases. “Don’t do anything that might endanger you or your baby. Just let me pass, and I promise I’ll leave your home peaceably. All I want is to get out of here—that’s all. I’m not trying to cause you any trouble, and I would appreciate it if you’d extend me the same courtesy.”
“Where are you trying to go? You don’t even know where you are, so what are you planning to do if you leave here? Wander the streets?”
Memory struggled as she carried the heaviest piece of luggage down first. She huffed and puffed, her body wobbling with each step taken. “Is that why you brought me here? So I could become a prisoner in your home? Did you think I wouldn’t be paying attention enough not to know where I was?” She now stood face to face with Johnnie Mae. “Please let me pass. I don’t want you or your baby to get hurt, okay?”
“I’m not going to let you hurt either of us,” Johnnie Mae said as she moved closer to the side of the wall to be sure she was totally out of Memory’s way.
Memory reached the foyer, set the suitcase down near the door, and hurried back up the stairs to get another one. “In case you want to know,” she said, lifting up the second suitcase, “I do know the address here. You don’t honestly believe I’ve been doing this for this long and don’t know how to take care of myself any better than that, now, do you?” She set it down. “I know what street we’re on, and, yes, I noted the house’s address when you drove in.” Back up the stairs, she picked up the last two suitcases and took them down.
“Memory, please stop. If you’ll just allow me to finish what I’m trying to tell you, this will all make sense. After I finish, if you still want to leave, I’ll drive you wherever you’re trying to go myself. I promise.”
Memory laughed as she once again walked past Johnnie Mae, who had now made her way to the marbled-floor foyer and was standing next to Memory’s other two suitcases. “Yeah, I just bet you will.”
“Why won’t you trust anyone?” Johnnie Mae asked.
Memory set the two suitcases down, twisted her pocketbook from being pushed to her back, straightened up, then shoved her fists into her sides and said, “Because people somehow always manage to let me down, that’s why.”
Johnnie Mae reached out to touch her hand. “Please, I’m begging you. Give me five minutes and let me tell you what’s really going on. Five minutes. Can we please go back in the den and talk?” Johnnie Mae began pressing her hand against her stomach.
“You in pain?” Memory asked.
“No, just feeling a bit uncomfortable at the moment. But I really do need to sit down. I’m certain this will pass, but it’s important that I tell you something.” Johnnie Mae became tired . . . out of breath almost, as she spoke.
Outside, a horn honked twice.
“That’s my ride,” Memory said as she turned and opened the door. “They got here a lot faster than I thought they would. I guess they must have had one already in the vicinity.” A yellow taxi sat in the circular driveway. She beckoned for the driver to come up and help her as she pulled two of the suitcases outside using their rollers.
Johnnie Mae didn’t know what to do at this point. She looked around as though she was searching for something to stop Memory. Spinning back toward Memory, she quickly blurted out, “Mamie Patterson wasn’t your real mother!”
Memory stopped, turned around slowly, and began to frown at Johnnie Mae. “What did you just say?”
Johnnie Mae let out a sigh. “Mamie Patterson wasn’t your biological mother,” she said in a much calmer tone.
The taxi driver took the suitcases and headed for his cab.
“Sir, wait!” Memory called out to him. “Give me a minute, please.” She then looked hard into Johnnie Mae’s now-pleading eyes. “Okay,” Memory said to Johnnie Mae. “Start talking.”
Chapter 4
Rise up, ye women that are at ease; hear My voice, ye careless daughters; give ear unto My speech.
Isaiah 32:9
“Well? Does the cat have your tongue?” Memory asked as she patted her foot. “If you have something you want to say, then say it.”
“Memory, I really need to sit down. Honestly, I’m not feeling so well.”
“Maybe you should let Pastor Landris know so he can see about you,” Memory said, clutching her purse strap. “Look, the meter’s running. Tell you what. See ya.”
Johnnie Mae stood straighter. “Mamie Patterson is the woman you grew up believing was your mother. She wasn’t. There’s more to this story, but I can’t tell it standing here like this. I really need to sit down. Why don’t you come inside, and we can go to the den and talk about this in private?”
Memory turned to the taxi driver and told him she wouldn’t need him after all. He set the luggage back in the foyer. She paid him what she owed and came back inside.
Johnnie Mae contemplated, as she closed the door, whether she should go get Landris to come and help her tell Memory. Things were not going as she’d hoped at all.
Memory walked toward the den. “You want to come on so you can start explaining this nonsense you’re spouting off about Mamie not being my real mother?”
“Sure,” Johnnie Mae said, catching up. “Would you care for some more tea first?”
“From what you’re al
leging, I’m not sure tea will be strong enough.” Memory walked in and sat down. She held up her glass for Johnnie Mae to refill.
Johnnie Mae went to the kitchen and put crushed ice in both her and Memory’s empty glasses. She then pulled two cans out of the refrigerator and went back into the den area. “Here you go,” she said, handing Memory her glass of ice and one of the cans.
“What’s this?” Memory asked, looking at the yellow can with maroon letters.
“You said you may need something stronger. That’s Buffalo Rock. It’s a type of ginger ale, great for relieving stomach ailments and motion sickness. Personally, I enjoy its stronger-than-normal ginger taste. You have to be careful though; it really is strong.”
“So you believe I’m going to need something for motion sickness, huh? You suspecting it might get a bit turbulent around here?” Memory popped the tin on the cap, then poured the dark-colored liquid into her glass. She took a huge swallow in spite of Johnnie Mae’s previous warning. “Whoa!” she said, shaking her head a few times. “Oh, this ought to do the trick. It has a kick to it, that’s for sure!” She only sipped it this time.
Johnnie Mae rubbed her stomach as she poured the can of Buffalo Rock ginger ale into her glass. Taking only a sip, she shook her head as though she too was attempting to dislodge something inside of it. “Is it okay if I call you Memory?”
“It hasn’t stopped you so far. Memory . . . Elaine . . . Whatever suits you is fine with me. I’d just like for you to get on with it, though. Time’s a-ticking.” Memory pointed at the digital clock on the mantel.
Johnnie Mae took another sip before setting her glass down. “I’d rather this had been handled a different way. Let me begin by admitting that I don’t know everything—”
“Just tell me what you do know,” Memory said with a bit of agitation in her voice.
Johnnie Mae looked seriously at her. “It all started when I met this elderly woman in a nursing home back in 2000. She was living in Selma, Alabama, at the time, but she told me she had originated from Asheville, North Carolina.”
“That’s where I grew up.”
“Yes.” Johnnie Mae nodded as she rocked a little. “I know. Anyway, this woman ended up telling me a tale about how her family had been hiding her away for decades, which was why she happened to be in Alabama. She then asked for my help.”
“And let me guess. She told you she would tell you something important if you would only agree to help her escape that place?”
“Not exactly. She told me about a baby . . . her baby. How she believed her baby hadn’t died as she’d been told when the baby was born. It seems a few villainous members of her family were trying to make her out to be crazy, when, clearly, she was not.” Johnnie Mae leaned forward. “Memory, the woman’s name was Sarah Fleming.”
“I don’t know anybody by the name of Sarah Fleming. In fact, I don’t know anyone with the last name of Fleming at all.”
“Sarah Fleming had a friend named Mamie Patterson.”
“My mother. So she knew Mamie. So what? This Sarah woman knew my mother, and now she’s trying to say my mother wasn’t really my mother just so she can break out of some nursing home. And you fell for that?”
“Memory, Sarah Fleming really is your mother.”
Memory’s body began to shake as she started to laugh. “Yeah, okay. Mamie Patterson, who happened to have had twins, mind you—me and my brother—was not really my mother because some woman you met in an old folks’ home, crazy, but not really crazy according to her own diagnosis, says so.” Memory stood up. “Okay. I’ve given you more than five minutes here. You’ve said your piece. I heard you out. Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like for you or Pastor Landris to take me to the nearest bus station so I can get out of here before I end up going crazy.” She turned and started walking away.
“Memory, that Alexandrite necklace you took from Lena and Theresa. The one that was in the safe-deposit box at the bank—”
Memory stopped, spun around slowly, and stared at Johnnie Mae. She grinned. “Okay. So now we’re finally getting to the real reason that I’m here. There’s no Sarah Fleming. That’s just something you made up to get me confused and disoriented while you try to find out what happened to that necklace.” Feeling a little lightheaded, Memory sat down and began to rub her head. “All right. Let’s just do this and get it over with.”
“Memory, I’m only bringing up the necklace because I want you to see that it’s tied to the truth about your biological mother.”
“Right. And that would be Sarah Fleming.”
“Please, just listen. The necklace was in a box . . . a box with wings etched on it. In fact, the woman who brought it to Mamie . . . when you were younger, the box that housed the contents you believed belonged to you, that was Sarah’s mother—Grace.”
“Man, that private detective is good! So, what else did he tell you?”
“Memory, I haven’t spoken with a private detective. Your mother, Sarah Fleming, has been looking for you since she first learned for sure you were still alive in 2001.”
“Yeah? Let’s see. I’m almost seventy, and that would make her about . . . how old now?”
“I believe she turns ninety this year.”
“And this woman, this Sarah Fleming, who claims to be my mother, is still living?”
“Yes. In fact, I spoke with her a little while ago. She really wants to meet you.”
Memory stood up and walked around. “Sarah Fleming, you say, who is actually my mother, a mother I didn’t even know existed, wants to meet me?”
“I know this is hard, and it’s a lot to spring on you. Believe me, I really didn’t want to do it this way.” Johnnie Mae readjusted her body so it would be easier for her to keep up with Memory’s wanderings.
“And how exactly were you planning on telling me all of this if you hadn’t been forced to do it this way?”
Johnnie Mae relaxed a bit more. “Honestly, I wasn’t sure. I wish I could have just taken you to Asheville and let Sarah and Lena tell you everything.”
She stopped walking. “Lena knows?”
“Yes.”
“And she’s met this Sarah Fleming woman? What am I asking? Of course she’s met her.”
“We all went to Asheville together. That’s another story, but, yes, Lena and Theresa both have met Sarah. In fact, had you been there that day, it would have been five generations together in one place, along with your great-granddaughter.”
Memory came and sat down. “My great-granddaughter.” She smiled as she rubbed her sagging face with her hand. “And this Sarah lady is back in Asheville now? Not Selma?”
“Yes. She’s back in Asheville.”
“And you say you talked with her today?”
Johnnie Mae sat back against the sofa. “I called her this evening to let her know that I suspected you might be her daughter. I needed to know what she wanted me to do in case my suspicions turned out to be correct.”
Memory nodded. “Is she in a nursing home in Asheville?”
“No. She lives in her own house there. I’ve not seen her since 2001, but she’s a remarkable woman, Memory.” Johnnie Mae smiled as she tilted her head. “The two of you have the same gray eyes.” Johnnie Mae took a swallow of ginger ale. “I told her I’d bring you to see her tomorrow. We can drive up. It’s about a six-hour trip from here.”
Memory smiled. “And do I have any say-so about whether I meet her or not?”
“I’m sorry. Forgive me. Of course you do. You’re not a prisoner here. We’re not trying to keep you in order to turn you over to anybody. I would think, though, after learning this news, you’d want to meet the woman who gave birth to you. She certainly has been praying and waiting a long time to meet you.”
Memory took a swig of drink directly from the can this time. “Almost seventy years, according to my calculations. Well, I’ll have to think about this. Obviously, she’s had more time to get used to the idea than I have. But you say I’m not a prisoner he
re? And I can leave if I want to? So if I get up and walk out right now . . .”
“I’ll not physically try and stop you. I only thought it fair that you know the truth. If you decide to leave or that you don’t want to meet your biological mother, that’s your choice. I just can’t imagine you not wanting to at least meet her,” Johnnie Mae said.
“What if I’d prefer calling her first? Talk to her over the phone before we meet?”
“That would be great! I can give you her phone number.”
“I think I’d like to have it, if you don’t mind. I’m not sure I’ll call her, but if you would give me her phone number, I would appreciate it.”
Johnnie Mae nodded. “It’s upstairs.” She stood up. “I’ll get it for you.”
Johnnie Mae went and retrieved the number. She wrote it down, came back, and handed it to Memory. “I do wish you would call her. I know she’d love hearing your voice. You can talk to her tonight, and tomorrow, if you want, we can go up there so the two of you can meet. I realize I can’t force you to call or to meet her. But Memory, she’s an old woman and as sweet as she can be. She doesn’t have a lot of time left on this earth. I would think you’d want to spend as much of that time with her as possible, now that you know the truth. I know there’s so much more about all of this she can tell you.”
Memory took the number. “Yeah. There’s a lot I still don’t know or understand. I think I’d like to call her now. Is it possible for me to have some time here alone?”
Johnnie Mae touched her hand. “Of course. I’ll go down and see what Landris and Princess Rose are up to. What do you think? Twenty . . . thirty minutes?”
“Twenty’s enough. I don’t mean to put you out. And I’m still not sure what I’m going to do. If I call her, what do I say? But I do think calling is what I should do first.”
“It’s no problem. And you’re not putting me out. The phone’s right there.” Johnnie Mae pointed at the cordless phone. “Sarah will be ecstatic to hear from you.” Johnnie Mae smiled, then left Memory in the room alone.
If Memory Serves Page 3