The Secret of St Claire

by Robin Alexander

  The quiet dispersal of the crowd spoke loudly that Christmas Eve. Though some did follow Mary, most stayed behind. Many verbally expressed their support for Lindsay and her family while others simply smiled and nodded.

  *******

  Nicole’s gaze fell upon a pair of tear-filled eyes. Alexis stood with her arms wrapped around herself for a moment and darted off toward the playground. Nicole stood stunned, unsure of whether to follow or tell Lindsay what she’d seen.

  “Go to her.” Rose squeezed Nicole’s arm. “This is where you become a parent.”

  Nicole looked at Lindsay, who Ruby had by the shoulders. The conversation looked intense.

  “I will take care of my baby, and I need you to take care of my grandbaby.” Rose gave Nicole a shake and a shove. “Right now.”

  Nicole sprinted across the street. Everything in the playground was covered with strings of white lights, illuminating every fixture, but Alexis was nowhere in sight. Nicole scanned the edges of the park looking for a familiar small form. The sleeve of a white jacket dipped behind a large oak. Nicole ran toward it and slowed as she heard Alexis’s soft sobbing.

  Nicole moved slowly around the tree. “Can we talk?”

  “Why are people so mean?” Alexis looked up with a tear-streaked face.

  Nicole took off her jacket and spread it on the ground. She took a seat and held out her arms. Without hesitation, Alexis climbed into her embrace. “For attention, I suppose.”

  Alexis buried her face in Nicole’s shirt. “I’m so mad,” she said with a hiccup. “I wanted to hit Mrs. Mary right in the mouth. Aren’t you mad, too?”

  Nicole rested her head atop Alexis’s. “I’m furious.”

  Alexis pulled away and looked up at her. It was obviously not the response she was expecting. “You are?”

  Nicole nodded. “Yes.” She wiped some of the tears that hadn’t been caught by her sweater from Alexis’s face. “Yes, I am, and I wanted to knock Mary on her butt when she made your mother cry. But, honey, we both know that’s not right. We can’t backhand or punch anyone who makes us mad. You know why?”

  “Because we’re not supposed to use our fists?” Alexis asked with a sniff.

  “No. What Mary did with her words tonight was basically the same thing. The things she said were like a slap in the face. For whatever reasons she may have, she’s always angry. She said those ugly things to us because she wanted us to hurt just like her.” Nicole pulled Alexis snugly against her. “There’s lots of angry, mean people in this world, and if we let them, if we listen to their words, they’ll make us sad and angry just like them. The best thing we can do is be happy being who we are and let them go on being miserable by themselves.”

  “So you’re not going to punch Mary in the mouth?” Alexis asked with disappointment in her voice.

  Nicole couldn’t help but laugh as she pulled back and looked into Alexis’s eyes. “You are very intelligent. You understood exactly what I just said.”

  Alexis shot her a toothless grin. “Yeth, ma’am.” She burrowed back into Nicole. “Do you love Momma like Daddy did?”

  Nicole tried not to tense as the question hit her right between the eyes. “Yes, I do. Does that make you uncomfortable?”

  Alexis hesitated before responding. “No, ma’am. Will you come to live with us and share Momma’s room?”

  Nicole wanted to see Alexis’s face for this part of the conversation, but she burrowed in deeper to Nicole’s chest. When Mary said everyone in town knew, she hit the nail on the head because Alexis certainly seemed to have already figured them out with everyone else. “Would that be okay with you?”

  Alexis nodded. “Will Bieber and Bounce come, too?”

  “Yes, but Peepers is going to need lots of love and attention. He isn’t going to like kittens in his house at first.” Nicole shifted and put her finger beneath Alexis’s chin. As their eyes met, she asked, “Lexi, I need you to be very honest with me right now. I’ll still love you even if you tell me something you think will hurt my feelings.”

  Like her mother, Alexis chewed at her bottom lip. “I don’t want anyone to make my mom cry again. I don’t want them to say mean things to her.”

  Nicole inhaled and let it out slowly. “They might, baby. People are always going to say and do what they want to. This is all new to your mom, and after some time, it’s going to get much easier for her to handle. I can’t promise you that she’s not going to get her feelings hurt. But the people who will always love her will be there to make her feel better.”

  “Me, Grams, and you?”

  Nicole nodded. “If you’ll give me a chance.”

  “I will.”

  “I’ll be there for you, too, ya know.” The admission made Nicole’s eyes tear. “I love you so much, little kid.”

  Alexis seemed surprised by the emotion, then grinned. “I love you, too.”

  Nicole hugged her tight and held on for a moment as she regained control of herself. “We need to go find your mom and Grams.”

  *******

  Hand in hand, Nicole and Alexis crossed the street. A crowd comprised of mostly women stood where Ruby had delivered her speech. In the center were Lindsay, Ruby, and Rose. Tiffany Stanton and Clarice, Alexis’s principal, were there with them, all smiles and showing their solidarity. Nicole breathed a sigh of relief. When Lindsay saw them coming, she rushed over and threw her arms around Alexis.

  “You scared me, kiddo.” She knelt and buried her face in Alexis’s hair.

  “I was with…” Alexis looked up at Nicole. “Can I call you Nikki? I’m tired of spitting every time I say Mith.”

  *******

  “It was like a receiving line at a wedding,” Lindsay said later as Rose helped Alexis with her bath. “A lot of people were coming up and congratulating me and throwing their support. I don’t think any of them are ready to see us strolling the block hand in hand, but they seemed comfortable enough to acknowledge us as a couple.” Lindsay grinned. “I guess they’re all scared of Ruby Crantz and her secrets.”

  Nicole laughed softly. “I think it’s more than that,” Nicole said seriously. “Maybe we should give them some credit. Not everyone wants to string up the LGBT community, especially after they’ve gotten to know us as individuals.”

  Lindsay chewed her bottom lip. “I’ll mull that for a while. I’m making a Mary Berthalot voodoo doll.”

  “What was Ruby saying to you when she had you by the shoulders?”

  Lindsay laughed. “These are her exact words: ‘You need to nut up and stand up. People walk all over a doormat because it just lays there. Mary’s old nasty shoeprints are all over your face.”’

  Nicole snorted with laughter. “Nut up?”

  Lindsay laughed along with her. “She also confessed to watching a lot of MTV, said it ‘keeps her in touch with the young world.’”

  “Clean body, clean teeth,” Rose announced as she and Alexis came down the stairs.

  Alexis raced up to Nicole and Lindsay. She directed her question to them both. “There’s a Christmas cartoon marathon on TV tonight. Can I stay up and watch some of it, please? I don’t have to go to school tomorrow.” She looked at Nicole beseechingly.

  “It’s okay with me if it’s okay with your mom.” Nicole looked at Lindsay with a smile.

  “Sounds great.” Lindsay picked up the remote and looked at Rose. “Mom, will you stay for a little while?”

  “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.” Rose squeezed in next to Lindsay while Alexis took a seat on Nicole’s and Lindsay’s laps.

  “How the Grinch Stole Christmas, my favorite,” Nicole said.

  And the four enjoyed a warm, peaceful silent night while Peepers chewed the corner of Lindsay’s gift to Nicole—a pair of diamond earrings cut similarly to the engagement ring that Nicole had given her. Later, he’d chew the gift that Nicole had given Lindsay—the same pair of earrings.

  About the Author

  Robin Alexander is the author of the Goldie Award-w
inning Gloria’s Secret and eleven other novels for Intaglio Publications—Gloria’s Inn, Gift of Time, The Taking of Eden, Love’s Someday, Pitifully Ugly, Undeniable, A Devil in Disguise, Half to Death, Gloria’s Legacy, and A Kiss Doesn’t Lie.

  Robin spends her days working with the staff of Intaglio and her nights with her own writings. She still manages to find time to spend with her, partner, Becky, and their three dogs and four cats.

  You can reach her at robinalex65@yahoo.com. You can visit her website at www.robinalexanderbooks.com and find her on Facebook.

  You may also enjoy Robin’s fellow Intaglio author...

  Sisters’ Treasure

  by Mary Jane Russell

  ISBN: 978-1-935216-35-3

  Available at Amazon, and on Amazon Kindle

  Excert:

  “That’s my girl.” Tracey Stephens raised her can of Coke in a salute to the television screen. She was a creature of habit—as soon as she entered her apartment after a day’s work, she turned on the television for background noise and went to the refrigerator for an ice-cold Coca-Cola. She was fortunate that her metabolism was such that she burned off the sugar and caffeine with no ill effects to her weight or ability to sleep. She still wore the same size jeans as when a senior in high school seven years earlier. It didn’t hurt that she played golf every weekend unless there was drenching rain falling or snow on the ground.

  She set the can on the end table next to the sofa and pulled her hair back in a ponytail using a wide elastic band from an ashtray that had never been used for smoking. Her hair stayed a light blond year-round, thanks to her time outside playing golf, and reached midway down her back. She faced the sofa and pushed aside the pile of laundry that needed folding. If clean clothes stayed on the sofa too long, Tracey simply washed them again.

  She purposely kept the living room furniture to a minimum so there was no interference with the treadmill set against the back of the kitchen cabinets that divided the room or the golf clubs and water skis propped against the front wall. Her nonfiction books were in stacks on the floor of what was intended to be a second bedroom that had two folding tables piled high with papers instead of a bed. She considered herself a historically minded jock. She settled onto the sofa to watch the local evening news. Once the news ended, she’d switch to Netflix and her obsession with BBC programs. She tolerated cable television for The Weather Channel and ESPN. She refused to pay for premium channels yet hated sitting through commercials. She was halfway through Doc Martin, fascinated by how obtuse the main character was as she crushed on the schoolteacher. A typical winter evening was spent glancing at the television while reading a book or cataloging documents from the previous two centuries, or both.

  Ginny Daniels stood with microphone in hand, leaning toward Alese Walthall with genuine deference that emphasized a stark contrast of different generations of black women. Ginny was twenty-three, slim, and not born in Virginia. Alese was seventy, plump, and a native of Danville.

  “You’re a retired schoolteacher who now works at Southside Museum and volunteers at local historical sites?” Ginny asked. She nodded attentively during Alese’s summary of her careers and current activities.

  “You’ve no idea.” Tracey shook her head and sipped her drink, waiting.

  Mrs. Walthall had been one of Tracey’s elementary school teachers. She’d retired after three-and-a-half decades of teaching. Retirement bored her, so she joined the Southside Museum at its inception as its first museum educator. She’d been an excellent teacher, more so for riding out the first wave of soft integration in Virginia. She’d also been the first black professional woman Tracey’s mother had experienced when placed in her classroom in 1965. Alese survived the system to be Tracey’s teacher thirty years later. She was a gentle taskmaster who made her pupils work for the knowledge that lasted them a lifetime.

  Tracey credited Alese with her decision to be a history major. Tracey’s mother teased her that the only surprise was when Tracey decided not to follow her mentor’s footsteps and become a teacher. Tracey had been thrilled to reunite with Alese at the museum when she was hired as its curator three years earlier.

  “I hope you did your homework, girlfriend.” Tracey felt herself tensing as she sensed that Ginny was about to make the point of the interview—Black History Month justifiably came across as a double-edged sword in the South. Especially poignant was the impending anniversary of the start of the Civil War. So far, Virginia was the only state to appropriate funds for commemorative events. The NAACP was already cautioning members and organizing demonstrations against celebrating slavery.

  Ginny was an anomaly to the area and Tracey’s life. She was born and raised in Ohio with a strong family and upper middle-class neighborhood support structure. Her childhood friends were a mixed bag of Toledo’s population where no one paid much attention to last names. Both her parents had earned doctorates.

  Tracey lived in the shadow of generations of tobacco farmers who passed land but not money to the next generation. Danville had briefly served as the Confederate capital during the closing days of the Civil War. It was a city strongly rooted in country music, tobacco auctions, textile production, and its adjoining county’s annual cantaloupe festival. Tracey’s parents had been the first generation not to attend racially separated schools.

  Tracey had never had a black girlfriend. She’d been too shy during high school to be anything more than friends with anyone and had watched the girls she grew up with move away for college and careers. Tracey had been too focused on her golf scholarship and college curriculum to seriously date anyone, knowing her parents couldn’t afford the cost of another daughter’s undergraduate education.

  Once home and employed by the museum, Tracey concentrated on work. She’d been interviewed a little over a year before by Ginny and hadn’t been able to get her off her mind since. She’d thanked Ginny for the increased foot traffic to the textile exhibit by taking her to dinner and been delighted to discover that Ginny had an ulterior motive for the interview that had begun with a nudge from a mutual friend who thought they needed to meet. They’d been a couple ever since, traveling to North Carolina’s nearby metro areas for concerts and women’s basketball.

  “Was there Underground Railroad activity in this area in the decades before the Civil War?” Ginny held the microphone toward Alese.

  “None that has been documented this far inland. The Tidewater area had churches linked to steamship routes.” Alese folded one hand over the other, clearly displeased that research was lacking or she was being manipulated.

  “My ancestors fled Virginia in the eighteen fifties and served the North during the war. Yet here you are, a native, working on the preparations for theone hundred fiftieth celebration of the beginning of the Civil War as part of Danville’s tourism effort.” Ginny held up a recent brochure from the state office of tourism.

  Tracey groaned.

  Alese stiffened. “I’m a guide at the National Cemetery where the federal soldiers from Danville’s Confederate prisons were buried and at the Freedman’s Cemetery that once was part of Green Hill Cemetery. I work at the museum to bring to light the wealth of African-American artifacts hidden amongst family collections. We’ve commemorated the pain and suffering of the labor force, as well as the strides made since the time of Abraham Lincoln. Some of us stayed here to make it easier for successive generations rather than being lured away from our heritage by anonymity and paychecks in Northern factories.”

  “Danville—a contradiction to itself.” Ginny walked with the camera as the adjoining cemeteries were panned. The newscast went to commercial break.

  “She did not just say that.” A man’s voice was raised to be heard through the dividing wall of the duplex.

  “Oh, yes, she did.” Tracey went to the refrigerator for two more Cokes, then dashed from her front door to the adjoining unit without a jacket to ward off February’s chill.

  Adam Bruffy held the door open. His apartment was as sparse as
Tracey’s was cluttered. He resisted all urges to decorate after his divorce other than adding a bar in the corner of the living room to display his beer bottle collection. It also served to hide empty liquor bottles en route to recycling. He’d amassed a collection of bean bag chairs that he piled together in the middle of the living room. His bed was a mattress thrown on the carpet of the master bedroom. His one furniture purchase had been a race car bed for the second bedroom. Adam lived for his visitation rights with his son.

  Tracey handed off the cold Coke to Adam, continuing into his kitchen to transfer groceries from bags to cabinets. He was as bad about food as she was clothing, often leaving plastic bags along the wall until the contents were used. Tracey made it a habit to check the contents—laundry didn’t spoil.

  “Wonder how many people are watching this.” Adam directed his voice to the kitchen while his eyes focused on the screen. “I haven’t seen that look on Mrs. Walthall’s face since I mooned the audience of the sixth-grade play.”

  Tracey chuckled. “I forgot she was your teacher also. I just remember you being the star high school quarterback that most of the girls, including my big sister, had a huge crush on. I was so jealous.”

  “Who’d have ever thought I’d end up as the divorced land surveyor who drinks too much?” Adam set the Coke aside in favor of the bottle of beer he was half through. “Thanks for reminding me that I’m older and of the same romantic persuasion as you.”

  “I wonder how many people are looking for the parent station’s telephone number in Lynchburg. Ginny’s days as a one-woman affiliate may be numbered.” Tracey held up one of the cans of chili. “I’m assuming you don’t have any hot dates in your future.”