Unforgivable Love

by Sophfronia Scott

  “Are you sure, Sam?” Cecily asked quietly. But she already knew the answer. It must be why her cousin never responded to her messages.

  “Yes. But that’s why I brought the letters, so you can both read them all yourselves.” Sam dipped his hand into the box. “They’re her letters, in her handwriting. I also have some bank statements here. She’s been letting everyone believe she’s been giving all this money to the church anonymously, but it wasn’t her at all. That money came from Mr. Jackson.”

  Mama’s hand flew to her mouth. “Lord have mercy.”

  Cecily pulled a chair out for her and, with gentle pressure on her shoulder, guided her to sit. Then Cecily sat down next to her.

  Sam laid the letters and documents out on the table. They read and sorted through the papers for two hours. Cecily tried to read in what she thought was a calm, grown-up way, but her face burned when she saw how Mae had scoffed at her, had acted like her innocence was nothing but a pawn to be knocked off a chessboard. And she could barely hold her seat next to Mama when she read of how easily she had been taken, and the description of how Mae had pacified her at Mercylands. Her heart thumped in a way that sickened her and she tasted bile in her mouth. Worst of all, Mama didn’t seem surprised when they got to the information about her pregnancy.

  “Cecily, you should try to eat something,” Mama said when Gideon brought them a platter of sandwiches and set it in the middle of the table. “You’ll regret it later today if you don’t. I still remember what it’s like to be with child.”

  Cecily stared at the table. She wasn’t ready to look her in the eye. “Mama, did you already know I was pregnant?”

  Mama spread a large napkin onto her lap. “I suspected,” she said. She reached over and grasped Cecily’s hand and squeezed it. “You’re not showing much yet, but a body still changes. Like I said, I remember.”

  Cecily finally lifted her eyes and saw Mama’s face wasn’t twisted or blowing with anger. She looked placid and tired. “I didn’t say anything because I was waiting for the two of you to say something first.” She paused and sighed. “But now we know your baby’s daddy is dead.”

  Cecily nodded sadly. “Yes, ma’am.”

  Mama turned to Sam. His plate still sat empty.

  “Actually, Mrs. Vaughn, Mr. Jackson’s last words were about Cecily and the baby.”

  Cecily looked up and leaned closer to Sam across the table. “What did he say?”

  “First he warned me about Miss Malveaux. Then he said I shouldn’t be too proud to love you and your baby.”

  Suddenly he pushed back his chair, scraping it noisily over the floor. He rushed around the table to Cecily and dropped onto his knees next to her chair. He took her hands so she had to look at him and see the sad sincerity draped over his eyes.

  “I aim to take his advice and do that. I already love you, you know that. I can’t hold no grudge against a baby who knows nothing about all this. Is that all right, Cecily? Will you still have me?”

  She ran a hand over his head, and sighed. “Isn’t it strange how we’ve been through all this and now it all comes down to me answering a question I could have answered months ago? Here I’ve been depending on older people to tell me what to do,” she said. “And all the time they’re running around acting like children themselves.”

  She turned to Mama without letting go of Sam’s hand.

  “With all respect to you, Mama, I should have trusted what I knew would be best for me.”

  Tears welled up in Mama’s eyes and Cecily thought about how she and her mother both must look like chastened children. “I understand, honey. But you’re just a girl. You did what you could do.”

  Cecily shook her head. “No, Mama. I did what I could do here, up north, in Harlem and Westchester. This wouldn’t have happened if I had stayed in Anselm. This place makes no sense. It’s like a viper pit of people lying, people pretending, people just being out for all they can get. I know Westchester is fine, but here nothing grows and the streets are dirty.”

  She looked at the piles of paper on the table.

  “Everything is dirty.”

  Sam rubbed her arm. “What are you saying, Cecily?”

  She sat up straight and let go of his hands, then set hers on the table.

  “I’m saying I won’t raise my baby up here. I want to go back to Anselm.”

  Sam frowned and looked at Mama. But Cecily held up a hand to stop him—she didn’t want to hear any argument. “We can have a good life in Anselm.”

  She rubbed her belly again. “Mama, I’m going to call Mrs. Jarreau and talk to her. Val was her heir. I’m sure she will be willing to make some arrangements for the baby since it will be her relation too.”

  Mama crossed her arms and looked at her intently.

  “You’re right, Cecily. But we should all just get in the car and go see that poor woman. She’s going to be heartbroken. And she needs to know about all of this.” Mama shook her head. “It’s not going to make her feel any better, though.”

  Sam sat back on his heels then stood up. He looked uncertain. “We have to talk to Reverend Stiles too,” he said quietly.

  “Yes,” Cecily said. She got up and pulled Sam to her. She put her hands on his face and kissed him. “Sam, I love you. But this baby and I are going to Anselm. You can come with us or not. But if you come with us we’ll be all right, Sam. We’ll figure it out.”

  THAT AFTERNOON SAM held Cecily’s hand while they sat with Mama in Reverend Stiles’s office at the church. The preacher, his round wire-rimmed glasses perched on his nose, carefully read through sheet after sheet of the selection of papers they had brought to him. Then he picked up the small leather bankbook Sam had placed on his desk.

  “How did you get these, son?”

  “His butler, Sebastian, gave them to me.” Sam coughed and looked at the floor. Cecily reached to his back and rubbed it gently, encouraging him to go on. “He said Mr. Jackson wanted me to have them. I showed everything to Mrs. Vaughn first.”

  “That’s right, Reverend,” Mama said and dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief. “Because of Cecily and all.”

  Cecily felt the minister’s eyes on her and she met them.

  “Why tell me at all? I would have thought you’d keep all this quiet because of your daughter.”

  Cecily sat straight and tall, her feet crossed beneath her. “Reverend Stiles,” she said. “I’m not proud of what’s in these papers. But I’m grown enough to know more people could get hurt if we don’t say anything. And you should know where the church’s money is really coming from.”

  He nodded at her. “Well, all right then. You’re a mighty brave young woman.”

  “Thank you,” she said, but Cecily didn’t feel brave. Her insides quivered and she took Sam’s hand so Reverend Stiles wouldn’t see how much her own hand was shaking.

  He turned back to the bankbook. “And you say this account is in the church’s name?”

  “Yes,” said Sam. “The way Sebastian explained it, Mr. Jackson always maintained this separate account and all the funds he donated anonymously came from that. He paid for the addition with it and everything.”

  “He even made it a joint account with his name and the church’s. Imagine that.” Mama shook her head. “Now that he’s gone it all belongs to the church free and clear.”

  Cecily watched the reverend to see what he would say, what he would do. Carefully he removed his glasses and looked at the three of them. She could feel the sweat in Sam’s palm and was grateful she wasn’t the only one feeling nervous and scared.

  “Why do you think Sebastian gave you all of these things together?” Reverend Stiles asked. “There’s more here that concerns you all directly; it’s not just about church money.”

  “I think the bankbook was supposed to help support the truth of who Mr. Jackson really was, so we would believe him when it came to Miss Malveaux.” Sam shifted in his chair and dropped Cecily’s hand. He crossed his arms. “I know I didn’t w
ant to believe him at first.”

  Reverend Stiles nodded. “If I’m to understand what the truth is here, then you all—and Cecily here—have some troubles of your own.”

  “Yes, sir.” Sam looked at Mama, then at Cecily. He leaned toward Reverend Stiles. “But it’s nothing we can’t handle ourselves, with a little help from you.”

  He smiled and stood up from his chair. “Then let me go find my wife and we’ll have ourselves a wedding,” he said. “Is that all right with you, Cecily?”

  She looked at Sam. For the first time that day she saw some light in his face. He kissed her on the forehead and she felt hopeful. “Yes,” she told Reverend Stiles. “That would be just fine with me.”

  He moved toward the door, but then he paused as though something had occurred to him. He turned back and put a hand on Mama’s shoulder. “Gladys?”

  “Yes, Reverend?”

  “I know this is so quick on the heels of Mrs. Townsend’s homegoing, but after we get Sam and Cecily set to rights here, could you see your way clear to helping us organize a proper goodbye for Mr. Jackson?”

  Cecily was pleased to see how Mama lit up at the request. “I sure will,” she said. She lifted herself from her chair as easily as if she were a girl again. “I’d be happy to.” The change in her made Cecily want to remember—there would always be some small saving grace in having a job to do.

  CHAPTER 53

  Mae

  Harlem, Mid-October 1947

  Mae chose to wear to Val’s funeral a chocolate brown suit with a flared skirt and a fitted jacket. She put the lace veil of her matching hat tucked up and away from her face. She didn’t want to show signs of particular mourning—she and Val, to the rest of the world, were only acquaintances—but she knew to look respectful. She sat at her vanity mirror and waited for Lawrence to bring the Packard around. After staring at her reflection for several minutes, she clenched her hands into fists on the table in front of her. She took a deep breath and pushed away the tears threatening to well up in the back of her throat. She refused to grieve for Val Jackson. She’d intended to dispose of him and it was done. She grieved instead for what he’d been to her. She doubted she could find his equal—her equal.

  What perturbed her more was that the dominoes had fallen messily in ways she hadn’t expected. Sam should have killed Val. He was supposed to be sitting in jail at this very moment, according to her plan. But how could she have foreseen Elizabeth Townsend would take her own life and inspire Val to dispose of his own?

  Was this what love really did to people?

  Mae chuckled under her breath. If so then it was ridiculous and inconvenient. She was glad her affair with Sam hadn’t worked out. But where was he now?

  She heard a quiet knock on her door. Justice’s muffled voice found its way through to her.

  “Ma’am, Mr. Lawrence is downstairs with the car.”

  Mae stood, checked herself one last time in the full-length mirror by her bedroom door, and descended the stairs.

  THEY ARRIVED LATE. The service seemed to be much better attended than Mae had expected, and Lawrence had a hard time getting the car to the front of the church door. By the time she entered a sea of faces packed the sanctuary and the organist pumped out “Amazing Grace.” Six of Val’s friends, including Sebastian, bore his casket of polished mahogany down the aisle. This left her in the awkward position of walking behind the pallbearers. She sensed the glances made in her direction and, determined to ignore them, she faced strictly forward. When she made it to the front she tried to claim her usual seat.

  Gladys and Cecily were already seated there—and so was Sam Delany. Mae’s lower eyelid twitched to see them all together, but just as she decided to smile and greet them warmly, an usher grasped her elbow.

  “I’m sorry, Miss Malveaux,” he said. “This section is reserved for family.”

  “Oh.”

  She looked sharply at the trio in the front pew, all of them staring straight ahead without acknowledging her. That’s when Mae noticed Sam and Cecily holding hands, and the wide gold band encircling the third finger of Cecily’s left hand. She opened her mouth to say something, but the usher was already leading her away. Four rows back, he deposited her in a seat near the aisle.

  People were still filling the back pews and soon the doors stayed open so the ones who couldn’t find seats could spill into the street. The wait gave Mae time to think as she glared at the heads of Sam, Cecily, and Gladys. When did Sam and Cecily marry? And why didn’t Gladys tell her? Her anger paired with her disappointment. This would have been when she would have appreciated Val’s presence. Once upon a time, he would have shared her frustrations, and maybe even found a way for them to laugh at Sam and Cecily. He would have helped her topple them once again into the game she played so well. She tugged at her black gloves, and reminded herself she let go of Val long ago.

  Reverend Stiles stepped into the pulpit and the music and the murmuring died down. “We’re here to celebrate the homegoing of our own Valiant Jackson,” he said, “a young man of our faith gone too soon. He led a complicated life, I’ll tell you that right now.”

  Several people around her nodded and Mae wanted to scoff at them. No one knew Val like she did.

  “But I’m going to tell you a little story, a little story from the New Testament. I think it will help us understand what Val Jackson, and maybe some other persons, were about.”

  He took a breath, closed his eyes, and sighed, looking like he was offering a silent prayer of his own before he began.

  “There once was a man with two sons. He said to his first son, ‘Please go work in the vineyard.’ The son shook his head and said, ‘No.’ But the young man later thought better of it and he went to the vineyard to work.”

  People nodded again and many said, “Uh-huh. He sure did.”

  “The man then said to his second son, ‘Please go work in the vineyard.’ The son said, ‘Yes, of course.’ But he did not go. Which one did his father’s bidding?”

  A murmuring rose from the pews.

  “The first.”

  “The first, Lord Jesus.”

  “The first one!”

  “Yes, the first. And what does this story mean?”

  Reverend Stiles came out from behind the pulpit so he could put a hand on his hip and roll himself forward to point and to testify. He pointed the index finger of his other hand into the air.

  “That there are some who pretend to do God’s bidding, but don’t.”

  He bounced both of his hands to his hips, leaned forward, and looked straight at Mae. His sharp brown eyes seemed to pierce through his glasses and stab Mae in the face. She felt the hairs rise on her forearms. He kept going.

  “And there are others who, if we just look at them on the surface, look like they aren’t doing God’s work. But all along they are.”

  The reverend moved down the steps from the altar and placed a hand on Val’s casket.

  “I’m here to tell you today, that our brother Valiant Jackson was such a son. He was all the while, toiling for God, giving this church the money it needed, while disguising himself under a cloak of vanity and disinterest. But God always knew the difference, and we’re here to acknowledge that our eyes are now open and we see. We will make amends for seeing our poor brother too late. Can I have an amen?”

  “Amen!”

  “Hallelujah!”

  “Amen, Lord!”

  “And I thank the Good Lord that our eyes are now open. Because we can see!”

  Another cry from the crowd: “Yes! Thank you, Jesus!”

  “We can see so clearly,” said the reverend, bending backwards and raising his voice to the rafters above. “We can see!”

  “Yes, we can!”

  “You’re right!”

  “And what are we seeing, my brothers and sisters? What has God given our eyes to see here, right here, in the seat of our church, Jesus’s house?”

  “Tell us!” The congregation now buzzed. “You
tell us, Reverend!”

  He stood up straight and shook his head.

  “We can now see, my brothers and sisters, that we have a viper among us!”

  His gaze swung sharply back to Mae again. She jumped back in her seat and turned away from him. But, to her horror, every eye in the sanctuary was trained hotly on her.

  “A viper that has sown poison in our midst!”

  “Lord have mercy!” Mae heard some say, and heard too others cluck their tongues. Out of the corner of her eye she saw some shake their heads.

  “Who has sought to rend the sacred bonds of love between a husband and wife, between a mother and child. A viper of discord!”

  “Christ protect us!” people murmured in the crowd.

  “One who wore the face of virtue, while all the time flourishing in a hellhole of sin! Who did not hesitate to further that sin among us.”

  At this some women put their hands to their chests. “Oh my Lord!”

  “Have mercy!”

  “So I tell you again, brothers and sisters, there is poison running fast through the veins of this congregation. We must stop it before it makes it to the heart!”

  He raised his arm again.

  “Can I get an amen?”

  “Amen!” the congregation cried. “Preach, Reverend! Go on and preach!”

  Reverend Stiles stomped his foot in rhythm.

  “When there is poison in a body, what must we do?”

  He stomped a beat to each of his last four words.

  “Cut it out! Cut it out! Cut it out! Cut it out!”

  A woman behind Mae said the words so sharply Mae felt her spittle on the back of her neck. Mae cringed into the pew, singed by the heated anger focused on her.

  “Cut it out! Cut it out! Cut it out! Cut it out!”

  Now the congregants batted their paper fans and hands on the tops of the pews. Ugly, contorted mouths threw words into her face.

  “Jezebel!”

  “Sinner!”

  “Temptress! That’s what you are! A temptress!”

  “She’s a Judas! A woman Judas!”

  When she tried to face forward again, Mae saw Cecily. She was looking back at Mae, her hand on the pew, her chin on her hand. She didn’t smile or frown and she didn’t call out like everyone else was doing. Her expression was serene, almost expectant. She tilted her head as though waiting for Mae to do something.