by Francis Ray
She’d always remember Minnie Crawford’s reply: “Doesn’t matter about your mailing list. I meant in your heart. Now, how much is this hat gonna cost me?”
Befuddled, Lilly had rung up the sale, thinking that was the last of it. It francis ray wasn’t. Minnie Crawford kept stopping by, and before Lilly was sure how it had happened they were having lunch at the deli in the mall, then supper at Minnie’s home.
Lilly had gone to church with Mother Crawford, as she liked to be called, out of respect for her and their growing friendship. Lilly went back because of the peace she’d found there—and because of Myron.
The first time she’d seen him, handsome and tall, in his black suit, his Bible clasped to his wide chest, her heart had beaten a mile a minute. She had been so nervous, she’d had trouble getting her words out. For the first time she had been conscious of people whispering about her and hadn’t cared.
Myron had taken her home after Sunday dinner at Mother Crawford’s and after prayer meeting that following Wednesday night. He and Lilly easily fell into a routine of him picking her up for church services and seeing her home. Always he was respectful and nice.
After a month of Lilly and Myron being seen together, people no longer whispered or speculated if she was as free with her body as her mother. They nodded cordially. Lilly could look people in the eye, hold her head up. Each time she was with Myron, she fell in love a little more and dared to dream that he loved her in return.
Thirty-six-year-old Myron Crawford was everything her naive twenty-year-old heart had wished for. He represented all the things she had never had: love, respectability, a family, and security.
Stepping out of the tub, Lilly grabbed a towel and rubbed it briskly over her body. She’d been starved enough for affection to believe he loved her, believe he wanted to share his life with her, believe he’d give her the children that, having been a neglected child, she’d always wanted.
Hanging up the towel, she stepped into her plain white cotton underwear and hooked her bra. If Myron had felt any love for her it had disappeared fast. He’d wanted her as a caretaker for his children and a convenient bedmate. Pulling the slip over her head, she shot her arms through the shirtwaist dress. All her praying hadn’t helped them to grow closer. Then Mother Crawford had suffered a stroke a year after their marriage and come to live with them.
That had been five years ago. Lilly had been trapped by her devotion and respect for the woman she had come to love dearly, a woman who had become her surrogate mother. Trapped by the two lost children who didn’t understand why their mother had to die in a senseless automobile accident on her way to a meeting at the church. Trapped by her dream.
Making her way to the kitchen, she put on the coffee. Arms folded, she stared out the window at the red roses climbing the Cyclone fence in the backyard. She and Rafe had worked an entire morning on the project as a birthday surprise for Mother Crawford. Rafe, intelligent, proud, and determined to butt heads with his overbearing, tyrannical father at every turn. Rafe, the son that Myron now refused to acknowledge. The son Myron had tried to beat and cower into submission.
Rafe had stayed because Lilly begged him to finish high school, but he had never come back to the dinner she had prepared after his valedictorian speech. His leaving had broken her heart. They were too close in age for her to think of him as her son, but he was the younger brother she never had. She wished she could have done more to shield him from Myron’s anger.
She’d thought many times of leaving and taking Rafe with her before Mother Crawford’s stroke, but since Lilly wasn’t his legal guardian, it would have been considered kidnapping. Mother Crawford might have helped, but she had a weak heart and the doctors had already warned them that too much excitement wasn’t good for her.
The first light heart attack Mother Crawford ever had was caused when Rafe and Myron’s argument became physical shortly after he and Lilly married. Lilly had never seen that side of Myron, mean and hateful, spewing foul words meant to hurt as much as the belt in his hand. But Rafe had refused to bow down to his father’s whipping because he hadn’t mowed the lawn the way Myron liked. Mother Crawford’s sudden illness had stopped that argument, but others followed.
Lilly did her best to protect Rafe, and when she failed it was as if her soul were being wrenched from her body. Before long Myron’s meanness killed any love and respect she had for him. She couldn’t leave Rafe, no more than she could leave Mother Crawford after Rafe left home.
Lilly understood Rafe’s leaving; she just missed his easy smile, his laughter, in a house that had seen too much misery and hate. He’d been back several times in the four years since his graduation to see Mother Crawford, but he’d always called first to make sure Myron wasn’t there. Lilly understood that as well. After Rafe left, Myron had turned his anger against Lilly. Just hearing the sound of his voice sent fear and loathing churning through her. She tried to hide her feelings, but apparently she wasn’t always successful.
Mother Crawford wasn’t blind to Myron’s temper, but she was powerless to do anything about it. Lilly could see in her sad eyes the pain her son’s behavior caused, but it was never discussed between them. Yet whenever she heard Mother Crawford praying and asking God to touch his heart, Lilly instinctively knew she meant Myron.
Although Mother Crawford never lost faith in God’s power, she made sure Lilly went to the junior college in Little Elm to further her education. Myron hadn’t liked it, but in that Mother Crawford had held firm. She’d known she wouldn’t be around much longer and wanted Lilly to be able to care for herself. Mother Crawford had loved her son, but she had also loved Lilly.
Just as Lilly had loved her like a mother.
Hearing the coffee dripping, Lilly opened the cabinet for a cup. She didn’t know how to contact Rafe to tell him about his grandmother. Somehow she felt he knew. The two had had a way of silent communication that had been as powerful as it was beautiful. Mother Crawford would say more than once, “Rafe’s gonna call,” and the words would barely be out of her mouth before the telephone would ring.
Their connection was something Lilly envied. She’d never been that close to her mother, a woman who was seldom home unless she was expecting one of her men friends. Lilly had never known the father who had walked out when she was six months old and never returned.
Sipping her coffee, Lilly stared back out the window, watched a bluebird light on the fence, then fly away. Wistfully, her gaze followed. Freedom. What a wonderful thing that must be.
Lilly was at the stove tending the bacon and sausages when Myron came into the kitchen. Immediately she went to pour him a cup of coffee. “Morning.”
He rubbed his large hand over his unshaven face, then sipped his coffee, syrupy with sugar and enriched with condensed canned milk. “Morning. Anyone else up?”
“David came in a few minutes earlier. Shayla’s hungry,” she told him. “They’re staying over another couple more days.” Slowly she shook her head. “I’m so tired from caring for Mother Crawford. I wish I could just rest.” The words were out of her mouth before she realized it.
He was across the kitchen and on her before she knew it, his large frame looming over her. “This was Shayla’s house before it was yours. If she’s hungry, you better cook her breakfast or anything else she wants.”
“Good morning, Mr. Crawford,” David greeted Myron from the kitchen door.
Myron swung around with a quickness that belied his six-feet-two height and 200 pounds, his posture relaxing as he did so. “Morning, David,” Myron greeted him cordially. “I understand Shayla’s hungry.”
“Yes, sir,” David said, worry in his voice and on his clean-shaven face. “She didn’t eat much yesterday. I don’t want her getting sick.”
“Me, neither. Tell her to stay in bed today and Lilly will bring all her meals today on a tray,” Myron told him.
“Thank you, sir.”
Myron didn’t move until David left. He turned and stared at Lill
y with dark narrowed eyes. “Don’t make Shayla wait too long for her breakfast. You know what she likes. Cook it fresh. You know she don’t like leftovers.” Her orders given, he marched away.
Lilly was at the stove before he was out of sight. Removing the bacon and sausages, she placed them on paper towels to drain.
Rage almost choked her. Rage toward Myron, but also toward herself. She had been stupid and careless.
Rafe might have been his mother’s and grandmother’s favorite, but Shayla was her father’s. Lilly had never understood why he felt that way unless it was because his daughter expertly played on Myron’s need to feel important. He never seemed to realize that when Shayla fussed over him the most, she always wanted a new dress, a new pair of shoes, or money. Unlike her self-sufficient and loving brother, Shayla was usually out for Shayla. If it didn’t benefit her, she wasn’t interested.
Shaking her head, Lilly took down the plates. She had to remember Myron doted on his younger child and be more careful. She had to be as smart as Rafe until she left. And as God was her witness, now that Mother Crawford was gone, Lilly was leaving Myron.
“That will be three hundred and fifty dollars.”
Lilly’s jaw dropped. She stared in disbelief across the neat wooden desk at the lawyer she had hoped would take her case. Tied and tucked in her purse was all the money she possessed in the world…$394.33. “I thought it would be less.”
His back straight in his leather chair, Kent Powell’s expression didn’t change. His long-fingered hands remained loosely interlocked on top of a manila folder with Lilly’s name printed on it in neat black letters. “That’s my fee. If you wish to seek another attorney for counsel, you’re free to do so.”
Lilly’s flagging spirits sank lower. She had chosen Kenneth Powell because he was fresh out of law school and new in town. She’d hoped he would be hungry for business and charge less. She’d seen his sign hanging in front of the once-vacant house and memorized his phone number. Although his fee was twenty-five dollars less than the two other lawyers she’d contacted, it was more than she had allotted.
She moistened dry lips. “Can I pay half now and send you the rest?”
“You can, but I won’t start proceeding with your case until I have the full retainer.”
Hands clamped around the edge of her patent-leather purse, Lilly’s stomach knotted. She had to leave today. As soon as Myron had left for work that morning, she’d thrown a few clothes in Mother Crawford’s old suitcase, packed some food, and paced until ten minutes before Kent Powell’s law office opened.
“I don’t want to go back.” Her voice sounded high-pitched and frightened to her own ears.
“A restraining order doesn’t cost anything.”
Her head snapped up. “It would be his word against mine. The pain and scars are on the inside.”
“Don’t you have a friend or relative you could stay with?” he asked, leaning forward in his seat.
Lilly shook her head. Five years ago her mother had finally hit it rich with a man who owned a furniture store in Dallas. Lilly hadn’t seen her since she had stopped by her house briefly to show off her diamond ring and the Mercedes he had bought her. Lilly hadn’t been invited to the wedding or to their home. As for the people at church, they were Myron’s friends before they were hers.
“I don’t want to be here when he’s served,” she finally said.
“Then pay half and send the rest when you find a job.”
That would be the sensible thing, but Lilly was already opening her purse and picking loose the knot in the handkerchief. She didn’t want to be married to Myron one day longer than she had to be. Counting out the full amount of money, she laid it on the desk. “I want my freedom.”
Powell barely glanced at the crumpled bills. “If he contests the divorce, the cost will go higher.”
Despite the fear and worry, she said, “I’m getting a job as soon as I reach New Orleans.”
For the first time a flicker of doubt ran across the lawyer’s young face. “New Orleans can be a difficult place for people unfamiliar with it.”
“My stepson is there.” At least that was the last place Rafe had said he lived. The telephone operator hadn’t found a listing in the phone book. But New Orleans was as good a place as any to stay until her divorce was final. Myron would never think to search for her there. And look he would. Not because he cared, but because he saw her as a possession, just like the house or his dogs.
Standing, she held out her trembling hand. “Thank you.”
“You have my card to keep in touch.” The handshake was brief.
“I’ll call you when I’m settled.”
Lilly walked from his office and got inside her car. Fear and uncertainty dogged each step.
Forty-four dollars and thirty-three cents wasn’t much to reach New Orleans and start a new life, but it was all she had. Worse, finding a job to earn more would be tough. Myron had never wanted her to work after they were married. Initially he’d used the excuse that he wanted her to stay at home to get Shayla off to school and be there when she came home. In reality, he’d used it as a way of controlling Lilly and keeping her dependent on him.
Lilly had been blinded by his true nature, a nature he hid so well from others that they believed he was just a proud man. What he was, was manipulative and possessive.
But she hadn’t seen that. She’d only seen that finally she had a family she could love and who would love her in return.
She had been determined to show her appreciation for Myron’s faith in marrying her, to show the people of Little Elm she was a decent woman. She had succeeded in gaining respectability but failed in her marriage. She’d stayed these last miserable years because she hadn’t wanted Mother Crawford to spend her last days in a nursing home.
Starting the car, Lilly put it into gear. There was one last stop she had to make.
After parking on the shoulder, she wove her way through the stone markers to the fresh mound of black dirt. A double granite marker was already in place. Minnie Faye Crawford, beloved wife and mother, would rest forever beside her husband, Effraim.
Kneeling down, Lilly placed her hand on the withered gladiolus.
“I’m sorry, Mother Crawford. I tried to make the marriage work, but I couldn’t. I know you understood and tried to help me and Rafe. That terrible fight between Myron and Rafe brought on your stroke. I wish I could have spared you that heartache and pain.” Tears welled in Lilly’s eyes, trickled down her cheeks.
“I’m going now, but I’ll never forget you. I promise, just like I promise to always love you and never forget you were the first person to love me.”
Standing, she walked to her car and drove away fighting tears, fighting fear.
Chapter Two
The car died without warning.
Over the faded grayish-blue dashboard that had once been an electric, eye-popping blue, Lilly’s brown eyes widened in alarm as a thin spiral of gray smoke curled from beneath the battered hood. Clutching the steering wheel, she wrestled the aged Ford onto the short-cropping of weeds beside the two-lane blacktop on the outskirts of Shreveport, Louisiana.
Her heart thumping, she watched in growing fear as the smoke blossomed into a thick black cloud. This couldn’t be happening to her. It couldn’t.
Damp work-worn hands clamped and unclamped around the steering wheel. Why did her life always have more misery than luck? She tried to do right. She was a good person.
In despair, she slumped back against the seat. She was still a good six-hour drive away from New Orleans. She didn’t have money to fix the car. After paying the lawyer she barely had enough money to buy food and gas. Closing her eyes, she dropped her forehead onto the back of her clutched hands and fought against panic and the useless tears forming behind her lids.
No matter what, she had to stay strong. She only had herself to depend on. “You can do this, Lilly. You can do this.”
Opening her eyes, she lifted her head and br
ushed the heel of her hand against the outer corner of her eyes. Bone-dry. Feeling steadier and a bit more in control of herself, if not the situation, she got out of the car. There was no use opening the dented hood to look at the engine; she knew next to nothing about cars.
Shielding her eyes against the hot midday sun, Lilly stared ahead of her and behind. All she saw was the black winding two-lane road bordered by dense green trees, tangled weeds among waist-high bushes, and a creek filled with murky green water that snaked beside the road.
Reaching through the open window, she took out the three-state map that connected Texas, Louisiana, and Arkansas and studied it. The blunt tip of her unpainted nail raked over Shreveport, Louisiana, then paused. Obviously she’d taken the wrong exit off the freeway for New Orleans, but she had no idea how close she was to another town.
She bit her lower lip. Reading maps was something else she wasn’t good at.
“I always told you you were worth next to nothing.”
Myron’s often-spoken words came out of nowhere, seeping into her brain, shaking her newly emerging confidence. For a long moment, as she had always done, she drew into herself, bowing her head, accepting her husband’s accusations.
A gentle breeze tugged the map in her hand, reminding her of her promise to never let him dictate to her again. Her head lifted; determination instead of defeat shone in her narrowed brown eyes. Tomorrow or the next day he’d be served with the divorce papers and she’d be one step further to having her freedom from him.
“You’re wrong, Myron.”
Lilly spoke aloud the words she never could say before. There had to be something in this world she was good at. God gave everyone a special gift; she just hadn’t found hers yet.
So, she’d taken a wrong turn off the freeway and ended up on some back road with her car now smoking like a freight train. She was a grown woman, wasn’t she? She could figure out what to do.