Yesterday

by Fern Michaels

  “People always fight when someone dies,” Sela said sadly. “Pearl wouldn’t like the way we’re carrying on. God, I still can’t get it through my head that she wanted to die first so she’d be waiting for Callie. I need to stop thinking about it, but I don’t know how to. By not coming back here, I guess,” she assured herself.

  “Do you know what else I’m sick of hearing and thinking, Bode?” Brie hadn’t finished with him yet. “I’m sick of you playing the martyr. Pretty soon it’s going to be a new millennium. So what if you’re black, so what? It never mattered to us. We all know it mattered to Callie though, and you goddamn well sucked that up, too. You climbed into a mold and you stayed there. You’re still there. I defy you, Bode, to tell me I’m wrong.”

  “Old habits are hard to break. This is the South, as you well know.”

  “What would you do if a fairy godmother suddenly appeared and said, ‘Bode Jessup, I now pronounce you white?’ What would you do if that same fairy godmother said, ‘Bode Jessup, I grant you yesterday’?”

  “I’d bust my gut laughing,” Bode said.

  Brie heard Sela suck in her breath. She rummaged in her purse and withdrew the paper from Pearl’s string bag. “Well, Bowdey Jessup, I’m your fairy godmother, only because there’s no one else who cares for the job. I now pronounce you white, and yesterday is yours if you want it.”

  A long time later Brie said, “I don’t hear you laughing, Bowdey Jessup. I want to hear you laugh. So does Sela.”

  Sela yanked Brie to her feet. “Come on, we have to pack up Pearl’s things. I don’t think Bode wants us to hear him laugh. We can tell him the second installment when he’s finished laughing.”

  As they ran toward the house Sela said, “I had to get you away from there before you started crying. Don’t let him see how badly he’s hurt you,” she said fiercely. “I swear I’ll slap you if you start wailing.”

  “I handled it all wrong, Sela.”

  “You did what you had to do. I’m not faulting you one little bit. Come on now, take a deep breath, and let’s do what we have to do. Bode won’t be able to do it.”

  Sela stripped Pearl’s bed and carried the laundry out to the kitchen. She brought one of the pillowcases to her cheek to try one last time to smell Pearl’s scent. Tears scalded her eyes. How worn and patched the sheets were, how soft and silky to the touch. She poured detergent and Clorox into the hot water and closed the lid.

  In the pantry she gathered up four cartons that said KETCHUP on the side and carried them back to Pearl’s room.

  “I guess we should pack this up and put Callie’s name on the box. What do you think, Sela?”

  “That sounds good. I’d just like some little thing to . . . to remember her by. If you have no objections, I’d like to take her Bible.”

  “She carried that Bible every time she went to church, but she couldn’t really read or write, just a few words here and there,” Brie said sadly. “It’s okay for you to take it, Sela.”

  “She used to touch the pages. Look how tattered it is. Maybe it was her mother’s. What are you going to take?”

  “Well, the string bag should go to Callie or Bode. Do you think anyone will care if I take the three-holer?”

  “It’s yours. I said so. I’ll slam anyone who says you can’t have it,” Sela blustered.

  Pearl’s dresses, underwear, nightdresses, and shoes went into one carton. The string bag minus the three-holer was placed on top with her comb and brush. A jar of glycerin and rosewater was carried to the bathroom and placed on the shelf.

  “What do you suppose is in this chest?” Brie asked, rocking back on her heels.

  “The secrets of the universe,” Sela said, squatting down beside her.

  “I feel like a sneak going through it. I don’t think even Callie or Bode know what’s in here. I’m afraid to open it.”

  “I’ll open it,” Bode said quietly, appearing in the doorway. He dropped to his knees, and Sela and Brie inched out of the way. They gasped as Bode lifted the lid. “Mama Pearl’s treasures,” he said gruffly.

  “It’s our junk!” Brie exclaimed.

  “Look, there’s that macaroni box I made for her jewels,” Sela said, tears streaming down her face. “All my school pictures!”

  “Mine too,” Brie cried. “Here’s the jar I painted to hold her flower seeds. I wondered why she never planted them.”

  “Here’s the clothes I came here in,” Bode said, pulling out a pair of faded cotton knickers, “even my shoes.” His shoulders started to shake as great sobs ripped through the room. The girls put their arms around him and held him tight.

  “A secret to Pearl was absolutely sacred,” Brie comforted him. “She truly believed the devil would get her if she told. You can forgive her because she loved you with all her heart. What she did was wrong, but what was the alternative? Let it all go, Bode.”

  “What’s the second installment?” he asked a long time later.

  They told him.

  Bode’s head reeled sickeningly. He took a deep breath, and another, until his head cleared.

  “Callie’s parents came by the other day to pay their respects. They were nice people. I didn’t ask them their names. The Reverend knows. Arquette knows. Lazarus knew. The Judge knew; probably Miss Nela, too. The whole damn town knew, Bode. Everyone but you and us,” Brie said in a hushed voice.

  “Are you saying the whole town knows about Callie?” Bode asked, a stiffness in his voice the girls had never heard before.

  “I’m not sure about that, but Pearl’s people know. I hate calling Pearl’s friends ‘her people’—I don’t know why I do it.”

  “You do it because that’s what Pearl called them. We always deferred to Pearl,” Sela said. “Callie has a right to know her parents.”

  “Her parents have a right to know Callie, too, and to visit more than once a week if they want to. They’re her flesh and blood,” Brie said.

  “Callie could never handle that,” Bode said slowly.

  “And you know what? It’s your fault, Bode. You can deal with it. Sela and I are leaving.”

  “Yes, we’re leaving you with Princess Callie,” Sela said angrily.

  “Some friends you are,” Bode said, just as angrily. “Are you going to cut me out of your lives?”

  “That depends on you. We aren’t the ones who disappeared for months. We were here. Just out of curiosity, how does it feel to know you’re white?”

  “I feel the same way I did when I thought I was black. Nothing has changed. I am who I am.”

  “No, you’re Michael Clemson Harrold Parker,” Brie said quietly.

  “No, it’s you who doesn’t understand. That’s only a name. I am Bowdey Jessup. There is a difference. Whatever I am, I made it myself. I don’t need someone else’s name.”

  Brie felt like sending up a cheer. “You’re going to inherit the Harrold estate when you’re forty. All of this belongs to you, too. That should give you some pleasure.”

  “Why would you think that, Brie?” Bode asked curiously.

  “I don’t know. A whole new life. Money in the bank. Staring down people who didn’t accept you back then. A whole bunch of things.”

  “I’m past all that. I don’t want or need any of the above.”

  “I suppose you’re going to put it in trust for Callie or something stupid like that,” Sela said.

  “I refuse to dignify that comment with a response,” Bode said.

  “Then dignify yourself and carry all this stuff to the attic,” Brie said curtly. “I’ve done all I’m going to do.”

  “Why are you two so angry with me?” Bode asked.

  “Because you’re an asshole,” Sela shot back. “I hate martyrs.”

  “Me too,” Brie said.

  “Is that what you think I am?”

  “What makes me the angriest is I loved you. I threw myself at you so I guess I’m angry at myself. I wouldn’t take you now if they gift-wrapped you in pure gold. You’re not the pers
on I thought you were.”

  “Brie, I never pretended, never presented myself in any way except the way I am. I’ve lived my life by my own beliefs and what Pearl taught me.”

  “And look at what Pearl did,” Brie said gently.

  “It was all a lie. Look, we’re beating a dead horse here. Let’s just fold our tents and move on,” Sela said.

  “I’m going to make some coffee,” Brie told them. “We can eat the stuff in the picnic basket for supper. I think we should pack, Sela, and leave tomorrow. We can stop and see Callie and go on from there. What do you say?”

  “Sure.”

  “Bode?”

  He shrugged.

  In the kitchen Brie asked, “Were we too hard on him?”

  “Nope. I didn’t know he broke your heart, Brie.”

  “Well, he did. I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “Okay. I hate men,” Sela said.

  “I’ll drink to that,” Brie said, and pulled the remains of Lazarus’s wine from the cupboard. “There’s enough here to toast Pearl. For the three of us. We promised.”

  Later, Bode made the toast. “To Mama Pearl, may she rest in peace.”

  “Amen,” Brie and Sela said in unison.

  18

  He felt like a spy in a bad thriller, but he didn’t turn away from the living-room window. She was, after all, here to see him so why shouldn’t he feast his eyes on her for a few more moments?

  She was prettier than the first bloom in summer. He knew her cat green eyes (that she confessed were really contact lenses), were sad and probably full of tears. She’d come here so that he could make the sadness and tears go away.

  The little VW Beetle was green like a summer meadow, the old cracked leather top pushed back. A rainbow of flowers filled the space behind the front seats. He frowned when he saw the box of frizzly chickens on the front seat. Where was he supposed to sit?

  She tapped the horn, the sound ricocheting upward and through the closed windows. The car had a distinctive horn, a sound he didn’t care for: i-oooga, i-oooga.

  The sound was angry, impatient. They must have a timetable of sorts. He sprinted from the room not wanting to give the beautiful girl one more impatient moment. He smiled, but she didn’t smile back. Instead a tear rolled down her cheek. “Shall I follow you, darling? Or would you rather go in my car?” he asked.

  “I’ll never ride in your car, sweetheart. You almost killed me, don’t you remember? You ride with me.”

  “There’s no room. I’ll follow you.”

  “Are you afraid I’ll do the same thing to you, my darling? Don’t be afraid of me, Wynfield. I would never do anything to hurt you.”

  “Yes, you would. You told your friends you didn’t want to marry me. I wanted to die when I heard it.”

  “But you didn’t die. You left me to die instead. You lied. Your soul is going to go to hell. Bode is going to get you. He’ll make you pay for what you did to me. Bode loves me. Bode will make it all right. You just wait and see.”

  “Why did you come here?” Wyn gasped

  “To see if the spell is working. I’m going to Pearl’s funeral, and I need to be able to tell her you have pain and sorrow. You do have pain and sorrow, don’t you, Wyn?”

  “Ask her to take it away. Please, Callie, ask her to take it away.”

  She laughed, the sound eerie to his ears. “Pearl is dead; it’s too late. She wore herself out taking care of me. All because of you. That’s what all these frizzly chickens are for. I’m putting the feathers in her casket so she can continue to give you pain and sorrow till the end of your days. When I wake up I’m going to tell everyone what you did. Bode will come after you. You won’t be able to find a place to hide. Bode will kill you because he loves me.”

  “Do you love Bode? Tell me the truth, Callie. Do you?”

  “I’m not going to tell you. Good-bye, Wynfield.”

  “Don’t go, please don’t go!” he shouted. He turned and ran because one of the frizzly chickens was chasing him. He ran faster, the frizzly chicken squawking, its wings flapping angrily. He made it inside just as the chicken slammed against the door, its feathers shaking loose. He looked down to see a feather slide under the door. Petrified, he galloped up the stairs, the feather following him in the draft his body created.

  Wyn sat up in bed, drenched in his own sweat. The room was ice-cold, the air-conditioning set at sixty degrees. His heart was pounding so hard and fast he could hear it above the sound of the cooling unit. God Almighty, what a nightmare!

  The bourbon bottle beckoned. It was less than a quarter full, which meant he’d consumed the rest before falling asleep. He knew he’d become a borderline alcoholic. Maybe he was a full-fledged one and needed help. He snorted as he gulped at the fiery liquid. The only thing that could help him was clearing his conscience.

  He was sorry he’d listened to Kallum, sorry he hadn’t told the truth and taken his punishment. He was sorry about so many things. Sorry about Sela.

  Last week in a fit of guilty remorse he’d pressured the Judge for a court order to discontinue Callie’s nutrients. Since that day he’d been drinking and drinking. He’d drink, sleep, wake up, drink some more and fall asleep again. He’d gone on a binge and hadn’t showered for three full days. He hadn’t shaved either, much less eaten any food. He’d been sick, puking his guts out for hours, but he kept right on drinking.

  Everything was hitting him right between the eyes. He really cared for Sela and eventually asked her to marry him. When she didn’t say yes he’d tried harder, lavishing expensive gifts on her that she gave back, taking her to costly restaurants in Charleston, planning two-day luxurious getaways. For a while he’d lived, counted the hours until it was time for their lusty lovemaking. Until, like everything else, it all came crashing down around his head. The day he heard of Pearl’s illness and Bode’s homecoming, he’d gone into a funk that left him an emotional cripple. He’d called a locksmith and had security locks and an alarm system put in. Still fearful, he’d called the same security company and hired security guards to patrol the iron gates that led to his house. When two weeks passed and Bode didn’t show up he discharged the guards, but kept the doors locked at all times. He didn’t venture out past the electronic gates. He was a prisoner in his own home, thanks to his secret guilt.

  Wyn looked at the clock. God, he still had three more hours until the sun came up. Today was Pearl’s funeral. Should he go? Would he be welcome? Hardly. Did he dare put himself in the same vicinity as Bode Jessup? Would it make him a hypocrite to attend? Of course it would.

  He was on the verge of a nervous collapse, and he knew it. Time to get himself together and get on with his life. The best way he knew how to do that was to go to the police and confess and plead . . . what? Nothing. Only the truth. He’d do that and then he’d wait for the court order and free Callie at the same time. She deserved to die with dignity. He’d take all his punishment, even if it meant going to prison. Maybe he wouldn’t have to go to prison if Bode got hold of him before he made it to the police station. “You’re the better man, Bode,” Wyn said, uncorking a new bottle of bourbon. “Everyone says so, so it must be true.”

  Wyn held the glass aloft. “To Pearl, may she go straight to hell with all her curses and hexes.” He cried and blubbered and then, like the drunk he’d become, he slobbered and crawled back into bed with his nightmares.

  The day was bright, the early-morning sun warm and golden. Brie served breakfast on the back porch. A huge breakfast of scrambled eggs, the last of the ham, a small mountain of toast with a scoop of yellow butter and Pearl’s wild blackberry jam.

  They were on their second pot of coffee and had barely said more than “Pass me the salt, please,” to one another.

  “What are you going to do, Bode?” Sela asked quietly.

  “Take care of the paperwork, help Arquette shore up the front porch, mow the lawn, clean out the barn, have the utilities taken care of, visit Callie, and then I guess I’ll he
ad back to Santa Fe.”

  “You’ll go to the cemetery, won’t you?”

  “Every day,” Bode said.

  “Will you cut some flowers and take them? Pearl loves . . . loved flowers,” Sela said.

  “Absolutely.”

  “Anyone want more coffee?” Brie asked. They shook their heads. “Then I’m going to wash the dishes and clean up the kitchen. Sela and I packed last night. We’ll load our cars up and head out. We’re going to stop and see Callie one last time. Why don’t you come with us, Bode? It will be the four of us together. We’ve never all visited at one time. I think it might be nice.”

  “Okay. I don’t know if you want to hear this, but last night I called the Reverend and asked him what Callie’s parents’ names are. It’s Margaret and Edward Davis. They have ten children. Well, Callie would have made ten. Four of the children went to college, five if you count Callie. They have plans for the others to go, too. Mr. Davis is a plumber. Mrs. Davis cleans houses. I think maybe I’d like to find a way to do something for them—you know, make it possible for the other kids to go to college.”

  “That’s nice,” both girls said at the same time.

  “I’m seriously thinking about selling this place. Do either one of you have any objections?”

  Sela wanted to say, hell yes, she did have objections. When she’d thought maybe, in some way, she could take possession, it was with the idea of the three of them always having a home. Too much had happened, however, to have that dream become a reality now. She shrugged and looked away.

  “Everyone’s gotta do what they gotta do,” Brie said, gathering up the plates. “It’s going to be hot today. Bet it rains later on. What will you do with the money if you sell this place?”

  “I don’t know. If you need an answer right now, I’d probably say I’ll set up a bunch of scholarships in Mama Pearl’s name for kids that wouldn’t otherwise get a chance to go to college.”

  “African-American kids, right?” Sela said.