Mallie stumbled out the back door to the hammock, the special place she had discovered hidden in the oak trees behind the White House. She needed to be alone before she and Helen Brady went into town for dinner. She felt as if she had been kicked in the stomach, that same devastated sense of fear and inadequacy and failure that had been her shadow through her life. She was still in the cage. She sat on the edge of the hammock, letting her body sink into the ropey center, lifting her feet off the ground. What now? The familiar critical voice began a familiar inner dialogue. You have been kidding yourself to believe that you have really learned a new way. You are in the same old trap of being threatened by letting an important man in your life tell you what to do. Are you going to let James Preston undermine all that you have learned at the center? He obviously accused you of learning nothing. But Mallie knew that was not the whole truth. She knew her mind had been opened in ways she could never have imagined. Still, she had felt like a butterfly pinned to a board when he spoke to her. He seemed to be looking at her with a laser, seeing things inside that she had not seen herself. She had not come to this place and spent the past four days struggling so hard to accept and forgive her past for one man to undermine her success.
The anger she felt at his question slowly turned in her mind. The more she thought about it, the more she knew in her heart that his question was valid. She had suffered many losses in her life—acknowledging them in front of her counselor had initially felt liberating, but she had more work to do. The vacuum left by saying goodbye to all of those people in her life would produce another form of loss. If she went home without knowing how to fill that loss, she might be tempted to go back to Tom Matthews. Or to jump into another relationship that could be equally destructive. How would she fill the inevitable emptiness when she got home? That was the real question James Preston was asking. That was her challenge. She had one more day at The Center to figure it out.
Chapter Fifty-three
At dinner that night, Helen told Mallie she had had a remarkable day: she had been through a Gestalt exercise with her unborn child. Mallie could see that Helen’s eyes, so dark and forlorn at the beginning of the week, had come alive. She couldn’t talk about it, she said. She wasn’t sure she understood how it happened—but she was filled with gratitude for the baby. She felt a new sense that her husband had not left her and that he, too, was grateful for the baby. Mallie was genuinely happy for Helen.
Mallie chose not to talk about her day. She needed to keep it to herself, to think about her encounter with James, to resolve the challenge he had given her. As she fell asleep, his voice echoed in her mind: “I trust that you will.”
Dawn could not come fast enough. As soon as the clock reached seven thirty and Helen stirred in her bed, Mallie jumped up and dressed. “I’ve got to see James,” she said. “I’ll meet you later for breakfast.”
She knew James came in early every day to spend time alone in his office.
The White House was unlocked. She raced up the stairs and hesitated before she knocked on his door. The whole building, normally bustling with people, felt like it might still be sleeping. With her heart pounding, she knocked and called to him, “James?”
“Who is it?” he asked. His voice was soft, distant, as if he had been in meditation.
“It’s Mallie Vose,” she said. “I need to speak with you.”
He opened the door quickly. “What is it? Are you all right?”
“I have the answer to your question about filling the losses in my life,” she said.
“Come in,” James said. He reached for her hand and guided her toward the sofa in his office. “Tell me.”
Mallie barely sat down before she began her story. “I woke in the night with a vision. It explained a dream I had when I felt extreme panic that my marriage was over. I knew the dream was important, even prophetic, but I didn’t really understand its true meaning at the time.”
She could feel James actively listening to her. His expression was entirely different from the day before. There was no accusation in his eyes, only curiosity and compassion.
“All these months I thought the dream was mainly about a tidal wave that hit the little sailboat I was on with my husband. It was terrifying. I was certain I was going to drown. When I was washed up on the beach and realized I was alive—I felt a sweep of gratitude. At the same time, I knew I had to climb a rugged cliff in front of me. When I got to the top, there was an old woman sitting on a rock with a baby in her arms. She held the baby out to me and said, ‘Take this child. Care for her and you will be fine.’”
Mallie barely stopped to breathe. “The next morning when I woke up, I focused on the tidal wave and the cliff. I saw the tidal wave as a perfect metaphor for what had happened—my life, like the boat, had been splintered. To survive, I would have to climb the cliff in front of me. I was never really clear about the old woman and the baby.”
James nodded, a tacit sign for her to continue.
Mallie momentarily paused and closed her eyes, as if to recreate the vision in her mind. “Last night in the dark of my room, the old woman came back to me. She stood at the foot of my bed as plain as day. Once again she reached out and offered the baby to me. This time she did not have to say a word. I knew.”
From Saralynn’s explanation of the Jungian theory that all the individuals who appear in dreams represent a part of the dreamer, Mallie knew the meaning of the gift. She felt tears in her eyes as she spoke. “I knew what that child represented in my life.”
James waited silently for her to finish her story.
“The child is my soul,” Mallie said. “It’s the core of my being, my connection to my deepest self, to God and to all living things. The old woman is also a part of me—the wise and caring Mother I’ve neglected to listen to for so long. She came to give me the gift of my creative self, my spiritual self. Caring for her will fill any emptiness in my life.”
“Yes,” James said. “Yes.” His blue eyes radiated warmth and approval. He reached over and took both of Mallie’s hands in his. “There’s no substitute for all the work you’ve done this week. All that you’ve been taught and all that you’ve learned will serve you well. They’re valuable tools to understand your responsibility for the decisions you’ve made in the past and those you’ll continue to make in the future. The truth is that to really live your life fully, you will need to go beyond knowledge and your rational understanding. No one can teach you who you are as a spiritual, creative being. To know that comes from within. It’s the gift of grace, something beyond all reason.” He squeezed her hands. “I’m happy for you.”
Mallie felt as if James had given her a benediction, a final blessing. She was grateful, but at the same time she knew that she did not need it. She was assured in herself that she had been given what she needed within herself. No man, no person, could add to her gift of grace—or ever take it away.
She floated through breakfast and into her last session with Saralynn. When she finished telling her counselor about her vision, Saralynn smiled and said, “Congratulations, Mallie. You’ve got a new life.” Then, she leaned forward and said, “How do you plan to keep it?”
At another time, that question might have troubled her. But she knew the answer. She told Saralynn that like her mountaintop experience at Faith at Work, she knew the euphoria of the moment at the center would fade. But her gift of grace would not leave her. She had accepted it and it was hers to keep.
“You might think about doing something that would clearly signify you’ve made a major change,” Saralynn said. “Cut your hair—or maybe dye it red.” She laughed when Mallie looked puzzled. “I’m serious,” she added. “Do something tangible as a reminder that your decision to change has had real consequences.”
Mallie had been thinking periodically throughout her time at the center about her drawing class and wondering if her art would change because of her new insights, her sense of freedom.
In Saralynn’s office that morning it occurred to her th
at during her last class at the Art Academy, she had been so surprised when the substitute teacher called her Valeria—her legal name, as it was written on her application. Unlike the experiences of childhood when the sound of her name made her feel uncomfortable and different from all the other girls, she liked the way it sounded. She liked the idea that she was different.
Suppose she took back the name that she had been given at birth: Valeria. Her real name. How would it feel to give up the name “Mallie,” a nickname offered to her in fourth grade by a boy whose name she could not even remember? Choosing to be called Valeria Vose would certainly be a tangible reminder of a major change in her life. Once the divorce was final, she would no longer be Mrs. Lawrence Vose, her married name. She could go back to her maiden name: Valeria Malcolm—but that name did not feel like the person she had become. For half of her life, as a wife and a mother of three sons, Vose had been her legal family name. Surely it was hers to keep. How would she feel to be Valeria Vose, the artist, the woman with a new life? It was a place to start.
Acknowledgments
Gratitude for the encouragement to write and publish this book has its genesis in the late 1990s with my introduction to Joan Zabarsky, the founder of the Literature Forum and the Wordsmith program in Boca Grande, Florida. She took me under her wing and convinced me I was a born southern writer with a story to tell. And to Roxana Robinson, whose fiction class at the Wesleyan Writers Conference in June of 1995 has remained an inspiration.
Of vital importance in the process was my introduction to Sena Jeter Naslund by our mutual friend, fellow writer, and brilliant editor, Lucinda Sullivan. Sena’s description of founding a low-residency MFA in Writing program at Spalding University in 2001 lit a fire in my heart. Her willingness to accept me into her program in my sixties without a college degree opened doors of creativity and opportunity I had barely dreamed possible. The teachers and mentors in her unique mandate of nurture and critical challenge were each a priceless gift: Dianne April, Robert Finch, Cathleen Medwick, Roy Hoffman, Elaine Orr, Crystal Wilkinson, the incomparable Molly Peacock, my critical and creative thesis advisor, and Robin Lippincott, my friend and perceptive editor, without whom Valeria Vose would not have been born.
So much gratitude to the thoughtful and supportive manuscript readers: Penny Schmidt, Lila Saunders, Dede Reed, Tamara Lloyd, Judy Gardner, Erin Reed, Sandy Lohnes, Deborah Begel, Kim Hume, Margot Finley, Mary Beth Schneider, Phoebe Megna and Mary Vickers. More than a reader, Candy Hooper has continued to inject invaluable positive energy and advice. Special thanks to wonderful Lee Smith and to Eleanor Morse, Elizabeth Stuckey-French, and Bill Roorbach for their generous blurbs. Deep appreciation to my life-saving counselor friends Marion Sue and John DeFoore and to my theological reader/advisors in the Episcopal Church: The Rev. Buddy Stallings, The Rev. Susan Flanders, The Rev. Lyn Brakeman, and especially The Rt. Rev. Chilton Knudsen.
Also from the beginning, the wisdom and support of Patricia Reis, author and therapist, has been essential. Her introduction to Brooke Warner and She Writes Press based upon the success of her memoir Motherlines paved the way for this publication. The whole team at She Writes Press from Brooke, Samantha Strom, Crystal Patriarche and Taylor Brightwell to Julie Metz, the masterful cover designer, Maggie Ruf, the creative web designer to Jennifer Caven, the meticulous copyeditor—professional, caring and exceptional individuals, each one. They have changed my world as they are changing the publishing world.
Last but never least, my heartfelt gratitude to my family: my mother Alice Berry Condon Hoguet and my husband Aubrey Gorman, both of whom have left this world but have never left me. I hear their voices of conviction and support. My sisters and my brother—Kate, Louisa, Dodie, and Martin—are always with me. My cousin Connie, the best and most gracious proofreader in the world. Most of all, I am forever indebted to my beloved children: Eleanor and Tom Mallory, Grace and Michael Ott, and Charles Bingham, each of them, along with my six amazing grandchildren—Mike, Daniel, Louis, Miles, Curtis, and Bliss—have believed in me and inspired me to follow my dreams.
About the Author
Photo credit: Patricia Christakos
Alice Bingham Gorman is a writer of fiction, nonfiction and poetry. She earned an MFA in Writing from Spalding University in 2005 and received an Honorary PhD in Fine Arts from the Memphis College of Art. Her writing has been published in Vogue, O, the Oprah Magazine, O’s Little Book of Love and Friendship, The Louisville Review and countless regional periodicals and art publications. Born and raised in Memphis, Tennessee, she divides her time between Maine and Florida. Valeria Vose is her first novel.
SELECTED TITLES FROM SHE WRITES PRESS
She Writes Press is an independent publishing
company founded to serve women writers everywhere.
Visit us at www.shewritespress.com.
Fire & Water by Betsy Graziani Fasbinder. $16.95, 978-1-938314-14-8. Kate Murphy has always played by the rules—but when she meets charismatic artist Jake Bloom, she’s forced to navigate the treacherous territory of passionate love, friendship, and family devotion.
Play for Me by Céline Keating. $16.95, 978-1-63152-972-6. Middle-aged Lily impulsively joins a touring folk-rock band, leaving her job and marriage behind in an attempt to find a second chance at life, passion, and art.
The Wiregrass by Pam Webber. $16.95, 978-1-63152-943-6. A story about a summer of discontent, change, and dangerous mysteries in a small Southern Wiregrass town.
What is Found, What is Lost by Anne Leigh Parrish. $16.95, 978-1-938314-95-7. After her husband passes away, a series of family crises forces Freddie, a woman raised on religion, to confront long-held questions about her faith.
Appetite by Sheila Grinell. $16.95, 978-1-63152-022-8. When twenty-five-year-old Jenn Adler brings home a guru fiancé from Bangalore, her parents must come to grips with the impending marriage—and its effect on their own relationship.
A Tight Grip: A Novel about Golf, Love Affairs, and Women of a Certain Age by Kay Rae Chomic. $16.95, 978-1-938314-76-6. As forty-six-year-old golfer Jane “Par” Parker prepares for her next tournament, she experiences a chain of events that force her to reevaluate her life.
Valeria Vose Page 25