Lily's Song

by Susan Gabriel

  I charge toward Melody like a bull after a red cape. When I stop inches from her face, she looks surprised, like I’ve performed a magic trick and appeared out of thin air. Instead of being scared, she smiles at me.

  “You will not destroy my family like your brother nearly did,” I say through gritted teeth.

  The smell of corn liquor makes my gut tighten. I want to run like Lily did the day before.

  “Looks like you and that teacher have already destroyed your family without any help from me,” she says, sounding almost lucid. “You think the dear people of Katy’s Ridge will have anything to do with you when they find this out?” She pauses. The look in her eye is one of wickedness. “I never would have taken you for one of the devil’s own,” she whispers. “No wonder my brother couldn’t keep his hands off you.”

  “Go home,” I say, my jaw clenched nearly shut.

  Not that I would want to go home either, considering where she’s living right now. Not even corn liquor could help that place feel like a home.

  “Does your girlfriend know how tough you are?” Melody smiles again. “Or maybe she likes you tough.”

  Her words knock the wind out of me, like when her brother tackled me to the ground. I try to get my bearings, and hope Mama’s hearing doesn’t all of a sudden get better.

  I point a finger in her face. “How dare you come here and says these things.”

  She slaps at my fingers but misses. “You’ve got a lot of nerve acting all holier than thou.” Her retort has a sneer in it and reminds me of Johnny. “That girl of yours looks just like her daddy. Now, who could that be?”

  Lily takes a step forward like she’s going to defend me, but I put up a hand to stop her. My secret sense tells me that Lily should get the hell away from Melody.

  “Lily, I don’t want you having anything to do with this woman,” I say.

  “We need to talk about what she told me yesterday,” Lily says.

  “I promise we will,” I say.

  I pivot back to Melody. “You need to leave,” I tell her.

  She takes another sip from the ball jar. “You know where I am if you have more questions,” she says to Lily. “We can talk about you coming to Kentucky, too.”

  “She won’t be going anywhere near Kentucky,” I say.

  She narrows her eyes at me. “I’d take those rumor mills seriously if I were you,” she says, before turning to walk away.

  Melody takes off down the hill again with an unsteady gait.

  Meanwhile, Mama goes back in the house like she’s had enough company for one day. I trust she hasn’t heard what Melody said or she would be yelling at me about finding another place to live.

  At the cemetery two days before, I felt that life was somehow on track, like a railway car with a clear destination. Safe. Secure. With no possibility of derailing. Yet does anything ever go according to human plans? Fourteen years after my life was forever changed, trouble has come looking for me again, and found me.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Lily

  “We need to talk, Lily, and I’m not taking no for an answer,” Mama says, all solemn.

  “Where we going this time?” I ask her. We both know that no serious talking can happen while Granny’s around.

  “The sawmill,” she says. “Unless you’ve got a better idea.”

  I tell her I don’t.

  We’ve had a year’s worth of big talks in less than a day. It turns out Mama isn’t who I thought she was. Turns out I barely know her at all.

  We follow the steady stream of visitors that have headed down the hill this morning. At the bottom, we get into Mama’s pickup and pull into the road. In the opposite direction, Melody weaves down the middle of the road toward her house.

  While driving, Mama doesn’t speak. Instead, she chews her bottom lip, her forehead creased. I feel like I’m being punished for something, but as far as I can tell I’m not the one who did anything wrong. Once we get to the mill, Mama unlocks the front door and we go inside. The smell of lumber meets us at the doorway as it always does, and the floor is littered with sawdust that feels like a carpet of moss. Silas, who saws the trees into lumber, doesn’t work on Saturdays so we have the place to ourselves.

  We stand in the main room where all the lumber is cut. The giant rough-toothed saw stands in the center like a silent witness. I wonder if Mama is avoiding her office because of what I saw happen in there.

  “What do you want to know?” she asks.

  Something about her willingness to finally speak about it makes me quiet.

  “Talk to me,” she says, and rests a hand on the long table next to the saw.

  I imagine she is alarmed about Melody’s threats, but can only deal with one thing at a time.

  “Were you ever going to tell me about Miss Blackstone?” I ask.

  “We went over that last night,” she says. “But if you need to talk about it again—”

  “No,” I say, remembering how emotional Mama got telling me about it. I don’t think I could take her tears right now.

  “What did Melody tell you?” she asks.

  I pause long enough for her to ask me again.

  “She told me that her brother, Johnny, was my father,” I begin, “and that he was as mean as a snake.”

  Calling someone a snake is about as insulting as you can get in these parts. I’ve never had anything against snakes. They serve an earthly purpose just like everything else. They keep the rat population down and that’s a good thing. But church people tie them to temptation and blame them for Eve eating apples in the Garden of Eden.

  Meanwhile, Mama is silent and stares at the sawdust like any words she might speak have spilled out of her mouth and landed at her feet.

  “Mama, are you okay?”

  “What else did she say?” she asks, looking up at me.

  “She said I looked just like him,” I say.

  “What else?”

  “That’s about it,” I say. “But then Granny told me that Johnny Monroe hurt you bad and that you didn’t have a choice.”

  Mama lowers herself to a nearby stool and the color leaves her face.

  “Is it true?” I ask. “I don’t want to hurt you, but I have to know. “

  “It’s not as simple as all that,” she says, her voice soft, almost weak.

  “What I want to know, is why you didn’t think you could tell me?” I ask.

  Mama doesn’t look up.

  “Didn’t you think I deserved to know?” I ask.

  She hesitates before lifting her head and looking me directly in the eyes. “Sometimes knowing the truth does more harm than good, Lily. Sometimes knowing the truth changes everything.”

  I remember seeing her and Miss Blackstone kiss, and agree that the truth can change everything.

  “How come Granny knows?” I ask.

  “About Johnny?”

  I nod.

  “Because she and Daniel found me that night,” Mama says, her voice heavy with history.

  “What about Aunt Jo?”

  “Everybody in Katy’s Ridge knows,” she says, sadness in her voice.

  “Everybody except me, you mean?”

  If I could turn into an insect at this moment, I’d choose a bee. I want to sting her, even if it means I die as a result.

  Mama takes a deep breath.

  “If it matters, I was going to tell you once you got older,” she says.

  I scoff. “I’m trying not to hate you right now,” I say, feeling snake-like.

  She looks disappointed, but then softens like she doesn’t blame me for hating her.

  “I know what it’s like to hate people,” she says. “I can’t say that it does much good. But sometimes it’s what you need to do.”

  Her understanding ignites my frustration. I would hurt her, if she wasn’t already doing such a good job of hurting herself.

  “You lied to me,” I say, but it comes out half-hearted. “You’ve lied to me for fourteen years.”

/>   “I kept the truth from you,” she says, as though this is different. “But I had my reasons,” she adds.

  “Just like you have your reasons for kissing Miss Blackstone?”

  She narrows her eyes at me, and I sip pleasure from the moment.

  “So you’re going to threaten me, like Melody?” she asks.

  “What if I am?” I sound like a puffed up bully, but I don’t even care. My whole life has been a lie.

  “Do what you want,” Mama says, as if she’s tired of worrying about it. “Just remember that everything has a cost, and not always the cost you think.”

  I put a hand on my hip, daring myself to stand up to her.

  “What did he do to you?” I ask Mama. But I’m not so sure I want to know anymore. Maybe Mama’s right. Maybe the truth is best left buried sometimes.

  She pauses for a long time, like she’s considering the cost of this one thing. She stands and reaches for the large push broom nearby.

  “I need to sweep,” she says.

  Like Granny, Mama sweeps when she needs to think. Sometimes she’ll sweep the entire house when she’s got something bothering her. Granny says we have the cleanest floors in Katy’s Ridge, on account of all the thinking she and Mama do.

  She begins to sweep the sawdust, creating small piles of powder that were once trees. I tap my foot, wishing I felt like singing or humming so I’d have something to do while I wait. Mama sweeps the piles of sawdust out the door, and then stops and looks over at me.

  “To answer your question, Lily, sometimes a woman doesn’t have a choice in life.”

  She sounds like Great Aunt Sadie. “What do you mean?” I ask, tapping my foot again.

  “I was younger than you are now when I had you,” she begins. “I imagine you’ve figured that out already, subtracting our ages. But I wasn’t a woman at all. I was still a girl. A girl forced into being a woman way too soon.”

  Even though part of me wants to run, my shoes feel nailed to the floor. Does every family have these kinds of secrets? Or is it just mine?

  “The crazy thing is, for the longest time I thought I deserved it,” Mama begins again. “That day, my secret sense warned me that something bad was going to happen, but I didn’t listen.”

  Mama has preached to me my whole life about how important it is to listen to your intuition. Great Aunt Sadie has said the same thing. Now I know why.

  “When I was thirteen,” she continues, “Johnny started bothering me and saying things to me that he shouldn’t have said. He was older than me. Daddy had died by then, so I told your Uncle Daniel about it. He went to talk to Johnny and Johnny’s father, who didn’t seem to care.”

  Mama puts away the push broom and sits on the stool again.

  “Melody Monroe was still living at the cabin then,” she says, her eyes thoughtful. “She was a sad little thing. Her sister Ruby had just died who was the same age as me in school.”

  She pauses, like the story is a river that could meander off course if she isn’t careful.

  “I was up at the cemetery for the one-year anniversary of your Granddaddy’s death, and Johnny followed me up there.”

  She stops and looks over at me. “Do you want me to keep going?”

  I nod and stand straighter. Bravery is called for when it comes to hearing the truth. But I need to know where I come from. I need to know who my people are, and not just the McAllister side of the family.

  “On the way back from the cemetery, Johnny attacked me,” she says.

  Even though I’d guessed what was coming, the words shock me. “He attacked you?” I ask.

  “He chased me and then tackled me to the ground,” she says.

  Tears come to her eyes again, and I fight the guilt of needing to know.

  “I fought back as hard as I could, but he was just too strong,” she continues. “Then at some point I passed out.”

  Mama looks at me as though the war she’s been fighting for years has been lost, and she has finally raised the white flag. I turn away, not wanting to see her surrender.

  Secrets are like genies in bottles, I decide. Once they come out, you can’t get them back in again. No matter how hard you try. Words can’t be unspoken. Nor can I ever undo seeing Mama and Miss Blackstone kiss. But maybe learning a painful truth is a necessary thing, too. When I look back at Mama the surrender has passed and she seems lighter, like she’s finally set down something heavy she was dragging around.

  “When did you know you were carrying me?” I ask.

  “Right away,” she says. “I just kind of knew, deep down, that something good was going to come out of it.”

  Mama stands. When she opens her arms, it’s like a magnet turns on and pulls me toward her, into her embrace.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Wildflower

  As Lily and I release our embrace, Daniel opens the door to the mill.

  “You two okay in here?” he asks. “Nell got worried. She came to the house. Said you just disappeared and she didn’t know where you’d gone.”

  It is just like Mama to send Daniel looking for us. He takes off his hat and steps inside, pulling his bum leg over the threshold. He waits at the door until I motion him in.

  “I just told Lily what happened with Johnny,” I say to him.

  He walks over to where we’re standing, and puts an arm around Lily, asking how she is.

  “Why didn’t anybody tell me?” she asks us.

  “We were trying to protect you,” I say. “But maybe we were wrong to do that. If we were, I’m sorry.”

  “Now I wish I’d just left well enough alone,” Lily says, although that wouldn’t be like her at all.

  “Anyone would have been curious,” Daniel tells her.

  My gratitude for Daniel at that moment is no surprise. If he hadn’t found me in the forest that night, I might have frozen to death, and Lily and I wouldn’t be here at all.

  “Does everybody know except me?” she asks. “Do the kids at school know?”

  “Probably not,” Daniel says. “It’s ancient history now.”

  But it wasn’t ancient history after it happened. I remember how people looked at me and how many friends I lost. It was like I had a contagious disease that everybody was afraid to catch. Bee was the only non-family member to stay by my side. None of us were equipped to handle it.

  The three of us stand in a small circle in the large room.

  “Tell me about what happened when you found Mama that night,” Lily says to Daniel.

  Daniel and I exchange looks, as though questioning the wisdom of telling more. My instinct is to pull Lily close and cover her ears, shielding her from the rest of the story. But Daniel takes a seat on the stool next to the biggest saw, and we pull up two more. I take a deep breath, readying myself.

  “When your granny and I found your mother she was beaten so badly we thought she was dead,” Daniel says to Lily. He studies his hands like they hold his memories. “Nell and I exchanged a look that night that I’ll never forget. We both thought we’d lost your mother.” Daniel looks over at me, his eyes soft.

  Hearing the story reminds me of the gold Mary. I didn’t want to leave her that day. She was going to take me to Daddy. But it wasn’t my time to go. I know that now.

  “It took her weeks to recover,” Daniel begins again. “Then at some point she discovered she was going to have you.” He pauses, studying his hands again. “After you were born, Wildflower never looked back. We all helped the best we could, but your mama raised you with an astonishing amount of love and care.” His voice cracks with emotion.

  For a long time, we are silent. I can’t imagine what it is like for Lily to hear some of the events surrounding the beginning of her life. At least she hasn’t run away.

  “We agreed as a family to keep what happened from you as long as we could,” Daniel begins again. “Or at least until you wanted to know. If we failed you in that way, I’m very sorry. But your mother is a brave woman, Lily, and trust me when I
say you are lucky to have her.”

  Again, it occurs to me how lucky we are to have Daniel here. He’s like the footbridge helping us get across this rough part of the path.

  “Lily, I know you’ve wanted to know for a long time now who your father was,” I say. “But I just didn’t know how to tell you.” I apologize again and she lowers her head. “Wounds heal,” I tell her. “And sometimes in the middle of a curse is a blessing. I got you out of it, after all, and you’ve been the brightest and best gift of my life.” My voice wavers, and I bite my bottom lip to keep from crying again.

  Lily’s brow is furrowed in that way she gets when she’s thinking hard about something, I can almost see her effort to make peace with it. Although, I know from personal experience, that peace takes a long time to come with things like this.

  Outside, the wind picks up, as if announcing a new direction. The boards of the old sawmill creak.

  “How do you not think of him when you see me?” Lily says finally.

  Her question causes me to pause, and I choose my words carefully. “The night you were born I knew you were mine and mine alone,” I begin. “I named you Lily because lilies are resurrection flowers. You see them on Easter because they promise to bring new life. Aunt Sadie says they are the flower most associated with Mary, Jesus’ mother. She holds them in those paintings of the Annunciation from a long time ago.”

  For the first time I realize Lily isn’t wearing the necklace I gave her. It was my way of giving her a piece of her story. But now isn’t the time to ask her about it. She gets quiet again, and Daniel and I exchange another look. I’m not convinced that knowing the reality of the situation is the best thing.

  I think about what Melody said in her drunken state. That people know about me and Bee.

  What people? I wanted to ask her.

  With the exception of yesterday, Bee and I had been so careful. It is hard to imagine how Melody might have found out.

  “How did my father die?” Lily asks, as though one question remains unanswered.

  Daniel looks at me, and I motion that I will tell her.