The Truth Is the Light

by Vanessa Davie Griggs

  Gramps leaned forward. “Yeah. That was the strangest thing. I still don’t know how she did what she did.”

  “What’s that?”

  “How she knew about it. All I can figure is that she must have gone through my trunk and seen it somehow, although I can’t for the life of me see how.”

  “Excuse me,” Johnnie Mae said with a frown.

  “Oh, it’s okay. I’m not upset or anything if that’s what she did. I know how things can be with folks, around this place especially,” Gramps said. “They wander around these halls. Get confused. End up in the wrong room. Think maybe it’s their room. They wonder what’s happened to all of their things since nothing in the room is familiar. Your mother may have seen that old trunk over there.” He made a sideways motion with his head toward the trunk. “She likely opened it to see if any of her things were in there. Saw the old wooden box. Only one other thing I can’t figure out, and that’s how she managed to open it without the key. You see, you need a special key to unlock it.”

  Having followed his nod toward the trunk with her eyes, Johnnie Mae said, “Gramps, would you mind if I saw that box?”

  He shrugged. “That’s no problem.” He went to the trunk and took out the box, which was not buried down as far now as it had been before. “I had it out when I was looking for something to give to my grandson. He got baptized this past Sunday night—”

  Johnnie Mae stood up almost in a daze and met him. “My goodness,” she said. “My mother was right. It is the Wings of Grace box. You really do have one.”

  “Are you saying you’ve seen this box before, too?”

  “Yes. It has wings on the inside of the lid . . . beautifully etched wings.” She touched the box gently as though she were approaching a scared puppy.

  “Wait a minute, now. What are you and your mother up to? You couldn’t have possibly seen this box before. This is handmade.” He shook his head. “Not possible. I know the person who made this here box. And I know that this box has never left his possession. I know this for a fact. So you couldn’t have possibly ever seen this box before.”

  “Gramps, if you don’t mind me asking, where did you get this box? Did you buy it from the man who made it? How long ago was it when you got it?” Johnnie Mae suddenly put a hand up to her mouth. “Oh, my goodness.” She started shaking her head slowly. “Ranny . . . Ranny. My mother calls you Ranny. Oh . . . my . . . goodness. Ranny is short for Ransom. You’re Ransom Perdue!”

  Chapter 10

  The fining pot is for silver, and the furnace for gold: but the Lord trieth the hearts.

  —Proverbs 17:3

  Johnnie Mae called Angela Gabriel Underwood. “Angel, I’m telling you, no one was more shocked than I was. It really is Ransom Perdue.”

  “My great-grandmother’s friend, Ransom Perdue?” Angela asked. “The one Great-granny mentioned in her journal more than once?”

  “Yes. The same one Pearl mentioned when I met her and she was telling me the story behind Sarah Fleming and Memory Patterson.”

  “Wow, that’s something.”

  “When I told him how I happened to know who he was, his face literally beamed as soon as I mentioned Pearl Black’s name.”

  “Oh, I would love to meet him,” Angela said. “What about Memory Patterson? That’s his daughter. Did you tell him about her?”

  Johnnie Mae smiled. “I told him a little. I don’t want to overstep my boundary. I’m trying to get in touch with Lena Jordan or Theresa Greene now. I left a message for both of them. I haven’t spoken with either of them in years.”

  Angela started laughing.

  “What’s so funny?” Johnnie Mae asked, thinking maybe she’d missed something.

  “Have you ever thought about starting your own PI business or something?”

  “Now what would make you say something like that?”

  “I’m starting to detect a pattern with you,” Angela said.

  Now it was Johnnie Mae’s turn to laugh. “You know, I hadn’t thought about that. But you’re right. Let’s see: I met Sarah Fleming when she was hidden away at a nursing home in Selma, Alabama. She believed her daughter hadn’t died when she was born. I admit I did think she was merely an old woman living in a stage of a senior’s confusion.”

  “But you soon learned, when you came to Asheville, North Carolina, she was not only in her right mind but telling the truth,” Angela said.

  “Thanks to Pearl and that Wings of Grace box, which incidentally is the reason I also figured this out about Ransom Perdue.”

  “The Wings of Grace box? What does it have to do with anything?”

  “My mother, bless her sweet heart, was telling me that her friend, Ranny as she calls him, had a Wings of Grace box. Well, of course I thought she was having one of her moments again. But I went to see Ranny, who prefers being called Gramps. And there in his possession, just as my mother had said, was the box.”

  “The same box?” Angela asked.

  “Not the exact same box. After Gramps got over the shock that my mother had been right when she’d told him she’d seen that box before, and my going to see him and acknowledging the same thing, we talked. I learned he’d made five of those boxes.”

  “Five?” Angela said. “Five is the Hebrew number for grace.”

  “Yeah,” Johnnie Mae said. “The first box was practice. He told me it was severely flawed so he trashed it. The second box was much better, but he believed he could still improve upon the etched wings. He did, and ended up making three boxes for Sarah and her mother. He decided to keep that first good box and put his odds and ends in it, not realizing the sentimental value the box would take on later in his aging years.”

  “So what happened to him? Where has he been, did he tell you? My great-grandmother thought a lot of him. I could see that much in the bits and pieces she penned about him in that journal she wrote. They were really close friends at one time for sure.”

  “Yes, he did tell me. Tears streamed down his face after I mentioned Pearl’s name. Then I told him Pearl’s great-granddaughter was also living here in Birmingham. I really believe it would mean a lot to him if he could see and talk to you.”

  “Mean the world to him? It would mean the world to me. To meet someone who knew Great-granny when she was young, absolutely it would. How old is he now?”

  “He’s ninety-nine. But let me tell you, he doesn’t look it at all. He looks a lot younger than someone turning one hundred in a few weeks. I don’t know what he does, but whatever he’s doing, he needs to package it and sell it. He would be rich! Ransom Perdue gets around very well. His mind is sharp.” Johnnie Mae’s call-waiting feature beeped. She looked at the phone display. “Angel, this is Lena. Let me call you back.”

  “Okay,” Angela said, then clicked off.

  “Hello,” Johnnie Mae said. She didn’t want to assume it was Lena, just in case it was someone other than she who was calling from that number.

  “Johnnie Mae?”

  “Yes, this is Johnnie Mae.”

  “This is Lena Jordan. I just got your message. It’s so good to hear from you. Richard and I were just talking about you all the other day, wondering how y’all were doing. It’s been ages since last we talked. Although we have been getting those beautiful Christmas cards y’all send every year. You have such a beautiful family.”

  “Thank you. Yes, it has been about three or four years since the last time we saw each other. I wasn’t sure if this number was still the right number to reach you.”

  “Oh, yes. It might take a while for me to get back to you, but we’re still kicking, although not as high here in Atlanta. Look at me,” Lena said with a detectable smile in her voice, “just taking over the conversation. I know you must have called for a reason.”

  “Lena, something happened today that I need to tell you about. I was at the nursing home visiting with my mother. And while I was there, I met another one of the residents there. A man. He says his name is Ransom Perdue.”

&nbs
p; “Ransom Perdue? Are you sure about that?”

  “Yes.”

  “Our Ransom Perdue? Maybe it’s just someone with the exact same name.”

  “I can’t be one hundred percent certain, but I will say that everything fits. He’s ninety-nine years old, so the age lines up. He says he’s from Asheville, North Carolina. And he remembers both Pearl Black and your grandmother, Sarah,” Johnnie Mae said.

  “I don’t believe it. I don’t believe it’s him.” Lena’s voice was shaking somewhat now. “Is it possible someone may have stolen Ransom Perdue’s identity? You know, it’s also possible this is all just a setup.”

  “Lena, in this day and age, anything is possible.” Johnnie Mae was silent as she thought a second, mulling over a few things. “I will admit: he looks much younger than the age he proclaims. Honestly, I wouldn’t have put him to be a day over seventy.”

  “See.” Lena’s voice seemed to have gotten stronger. “How much would you like to bet it’s someone who merely stole Ransom Perdue’s name and identity?”

  “But what about what he knows about Sarah . . . about Pearl . . . and about Memory?”

  Lena allowed a short pause before she said anything more. “He mentioned Memory?” Lena asked, referring to her mother, Memory Elaine Patterson Robertson.

  “Yes. When I told him who I was and the things I knew, he asked me if by chance I might happen to know anything about Memory. And if so, did I happen to know where he could find her.”

  Lena made a loud grunt. “Humph. Okay, that proves he’s an imposter. Ransom Perdue left before Memory was ever born. I happen to know that for a fact. And he never came back. My grandmother, Sarah, believed her half-brother, Heath, or possibly even her father had Ransom run out of town, or worse, killed. He never knew about Memory, so how would this guy, who is claiming to be Ransom, know to even ask about her by name?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “I’ll tell you how. This guy didn’t know about the real Ransom being tricked away from his family before Memory’s birth. He may have stolen Ransom’s identity, got enough information after the fact to know about Sarah, Pearl, and even Memory since anyone trying to get information later in life could have access to that information.”

  “Lena,” Johnnie Mae said, “I can see where you’re coming from. But there are things about what you’re saying that don’t make sense. Memory only learned the truth about Sarah being her real mother a few years ago herself. How would this man know about Memory and Sarah unless he was the real Ransom?”

  “You see, that’s what I’m trying to tell you. Because Sarah was hidden away in those homes for almost seventy years of her life, and Memory didn’t meet Sarah until a few years ago, the real Ransom wouldn’t have known any of this. Maybe this con artist just recently took on Ransom’s identity. Or maybe he met Ransom earlier in life, then after Ransom died, he knew he could become Ransom and it wouldn’t matter to anyone.”

  “Lena, why go to all of this trouble to fool someone? Especially now?” Johnnie Mae asked, a frown registering on her face. “When I met him today, he could have easily said he wasn’t the same Ransom Perdue I was referring to and that would have been the end of it.” Johnnie Mae became quiet. “Except . . . there was the Wings of Grace box.”

  “What Wings of Grace box?”

  “This Ransom Perdue has one of those boxes in his possession,” Johnnie Mae said. “One like the real Ransom used to make. He would have had to go to a whole lot of trouble if this is merely a scam.”

  “Yeah, but a lot of things aren’t adding up for me,” Lena said. “Aren’t you the least bit suspicious about how all of this is playing out?”

  Johnnie Mae pondered that thought. An elderly man named Ransom Perdue just happened to be at the same nursing home as her mother. And from what her mother and the nurses had indicated, he spent quite a lot of time with her mother. Then her mother just happens to see the Wings of Grace box and conveniently somehow remembers to tell her about it. When Johnnie Mae goes to check it out, it turns out to be true. That’s when she learns Gramps is actually Ransom Perdue.

  “But why would anyone go to this much trouble to make us think this Ransom Perdue is Sarah’s Ransom Perdue?” Johnnie Mae asked out loud, still trying to work through this puzzle. “It doesn’t make sense.”

  “If you ask me, I’d say it looks like it has Montgomery Powell the Second’s handprint all over it.” Lena was referring to Sarah’s grandnephew who had earlier worked hard to keep Sarah locked away and from returning to her rightful position in the Fleming family hierarchy, and thereby taking back her house he’d illegally confiscated. A home that—to Montgomery’s dismay since Sarah’s death—Memory now legally lived in.

  Johnnie Mae thought about it for a minute. She, of all people, knew how conniving and hateful Sarah’s grandnephew could be. A scenario like this would fit right in line with something he might do.

  “Well,” Lena said, “let me call Theresa and Memory and tell them what’s going on. It looks like we’ll be heading to Birmingham shortly. That’s a sure way for us to get to the bottom of this, once and for all. True silver and true gold will still be silver and gold after the heat and after the fire. Tell Ransom Perdue to guess who’s coming to dinner.”

  Chapter 11

  It is good that a man should both hope and quietly wait for the salvation of the Lord.

  —Lamentations 3:26

  “Zachary, you’re bringing who here, when?” Leslie Morgan said to her son.

  “My friend Gabrielle Mercedes in two weeks,” Zachary said.

  “It will be good to see you, but why are you bringing a woman with you? She’s not pregnant, is she? Oh, my goodness, please tell me you haven’t gotten someone pregnant. I told you some women will do whatever they can to get their hooks into a good-looking, successful man like yourself. Zachary, baby, I told you—”

  “Mom, Gabrielle is not pregnant. Gracious, you need to stop that. You just start flying all over the place with your thoughts.”

  “Well, what kind of a name is Gabrielle Mercedes anyway? It sounds like a stripper name to me. Please tell me you’re not bringing a stripper to my house.”

  Zachary paused for a moment. Gabrielle wasn’t a stripper, at least not anymore. And this was definitely not a conversation he wanted to have with his mother over the phone. The fact was that Gabrielle used to be an exotic dancer. But she’d given her life to Christ now, and that dancer life had become part of her past that had been pardoned by God and cast into the sea of forgetfulness. That’s how Pastor Landris had explained past sins of those who had given their lives to the Lord and had become new creatures in Him.

  “Mom, weren’t you the one who used to tell us not to judge or make fun of other people’s names? That was you, wasn’t it? It looked like you . . . sounded like you . . .”

  “Yeah, okay,” Leslie said. “But you call me out of the blue to tell me and your father about some young woman who used to know your aunt Esther. That was fine. Great news. But now the two of you are dating and you want to bring her here to meet us. Are you sure something’s not going on? Because you know how I am, Zachary. I don’t like to be sandbagged. If she’s pregnant or if there’s something I need to know about her, you need to tell me now . . . before she comes here. I hope you know that the truth is the light.”

  Zachary thought about the words his mother was saying. And he knew from more than a few personal experiences, his mother didn’t have a problem with embarrassing him in front of others.

  “Mama, I want Gabrielle to see Aunt Esther again. It’s like I just told Dad: it’s possible that seeing Gabrielle might help Aunt Esther in her recovery that’s been slow when it shouldn’t be. Aunt Esther taught Gabrielle how to dance. And Gabrielle is good, too. The two of them haven’t seen each other since before the accident some ten years ago.” Just saying the word accident in context with his aunt caused Zachary to want to change the subject. He didn’t want to talk or even think about it.

&n
bsp; Seeming to sense that Zachary might be beating himself up again, Leslie said, “Zachary, I’ve told you to let it go. Your aunt’s accident wasn’t your fault. It’s something that happened. No one but God knew it was going to happen. It could just as well have happened anywhere and at any time, so let it go. Okay?”

  “But if I hadn’t—”

  “Zach, sweetheart, it does no one any good to go back and try to relive what’s already done. No amount of ‘what if’s or ‘if only’s will change what did happen. Your aunt is doing the best she can to get better. Sure, it’s been a slow process. But she’s doing much better . . . better than when she first began. And you’ve made us all so proud with what you’ve done with your life—my son, the doctor.”

  “You’re right, Mom. But I want to do what I can. I owe Aunt Esther that much. And I know her heart is going to flip when she sees Gabrielle again. I told Gabrielle I also wanted her to come to Chicago to meet all of you. She’s excited about it.”

  “Just as long as you know there will be no sleeping together, in sin, under my roof. Not when you’re not married to each other,” Leslie said. “No shacking here. No.”

  “No problem,” Zachary said. “We’ll just get married before we get to your house and that will solve that problem.”

  “Boy, don’t play with me.” Her voice was stern. “You are nowhere near ready to get married. And you sure will not be marrying just anybody and bringing her here talking about being my daughter-in-law, the mother of my darling little grandchildren to come. That’s not going to happen. Not if I can help it. So, what does this woman . . . this Gabrielle Mercedes do for a living?”

  “Mom, will you please give it a rest? Gabrielle and I are in a relationship. I’m bringing her to see Aunt Esther and to meet all of you. That’s all. That’s the end of everything you really need to know right now.”

  “See, that’s the part you keep saying that I don’t get. Why do you keep emphasizing you’re bringing her to meet us? The only time you should be saying something like that is when you’re really, truly serious about a woman, and maybe . . . maybe you want us to meet your future bride. Otherwise, e-mail me pictures. I have an e-mail address now. And exactly how long have you known this woman?”