Other faces paraded through her mind. Black and white, scarred and smooth, old and young. Some, like Silvie and Dix, graced her life today. Others, like her grandparents and Harper, had already finished their course. But each of them had influenced her own path, helped direct her along the road she had walked.
Pearl’s journals, Silas’s healing touch, Booker’s faith. These were the first footpaths, the original legacy of the Noble name. Enoch’s dignity, Silvie’s faithfulness, and Harper’s love had led her further down the way. And now people like Dix and Bailey had come into her life, confirming the birthright of those early years and illuminating the passages that still lay before her.
Everything fit. When she turned and looked behind her, Amethyst could see the pattern, the winding roads and intersections of lives that had led her to this place and this time. Her grandparents’ bequest: Sincerity. Purity. Nobility.
Unconsciously, Amethyst’s hand went to her neck, and her throat tightened. The brooch was gone, but the heritage Silas and Pearl had left behind need not die.
Let the legacy live on, she prayed silently. Let what we do here, now and in the future, honor those who came before us and serve as an example for those who follow. . . .
A rustling around her caught Amethyst’s attention. She opened her eyes and looked up. The sermon had ended, and the organist had begun the opening strains of the offertory hymn.
When peace like a river attendeth my way,
When sorrows like sea billows roll.
Whatever my lot, Thou hast taught me to say,
It is well, it is well with my soul.
Silvie caught her eye and smiled at her, and Amethyst didn’t need to ask what Silvie was thinking. They had known peace like a river and sorrows like sea billows. They had endured inward struggles and outward conflicts. But they had come through it—together. They had grown. They had learned. They had found a place of belonging, and the love that comes from the deepest heart of God. It was well with their souls.
The offering plate came down the row, and Amethyst fumbled in her bag for her tithe. She frowned at Conrad, who was jiggling the brass plate in front of her and grinning. Couldn’t the boy be just a little patient with his old mother? Then she looked down.
Amid the crumpled bills and coins, she caught a flash of color. Something shiny, set in gold. Something purple. With trembling fingers she pushed the bills aside. Then she saw it.
An outline of tiny pearls. In the center—shimmering, vibrant, reflecting back the lights in the sanctuary and pulsing as if it had a life of its own—a radiant, heart-shaped brooch of deep amethyst.
And one of the pearls was missing.
45
Amethyst’s Heart
March 25, 1993
Little Am leaned forward eagerly, a glint of excitement illuminating her dark brown eyes. “So the amethyst heart returned to where it belonged. That’s so cool.” She grinned. “And even cooler that my grandfather beat the tar out of Dooley Layton for it.”
Amethyst held up a hand. “Maybe. I never found out exactly what happened, but that was my understanding as well. Although Conrad never told me, I assumed that Dooley was part of the Klan group that broke in and set fire to the house. Since he had lived there, he would have guessed where to look for anything of value.”
“But what happened to the missing pearl?”
“I’m not sure. I suppose it must have come loose when it was in Dooley’s possession.” Amethyst shrugged. “It’s appropriate, though, considering what my grandmother said about the brooch when Silas gave it to her.”
“Something about human nature, wasn’t it?”
“Yes. She said the missing pearl served as a reminder of the human condition—beautiful, yet flawed. Priceless, even in its incompleteness.”
“And you never had the pearl replaced.”
“No.” Amethyst shook her head. “It seemed fitting, somehow, to leave it as it was.”
“Did he ever apologize to you? Dooley, I mean.”
“No.” Amethyst shook her head. “That’s the sad part. He might have found a place of peace if he had just owned up to what he had done and asked forgiveness. I heard rumors some years later that he died in prison, but I don’t know for certain.”
“Yeah, but we know how my grandfather turned out.”
“Try not to be too hard on Conrad, child.” Amethyst sighed. “He had a difficult time, growing up without a father, and he’s made some questionable choices over the years. But I have to believe that deep down, he has a good heart. He’s just never let it take priority over his wallet.”
Little Am sat in silence for a moment. “I guess so,” she conceded at last. “Still, I don’t agree with his values.”
Amethyst gazed at her great-granddaughter, and a warm rush of love and pride coursed through her veins. This girl would do all right. In her own way, she would take up the family legacy and live out the principles Amethyst had tried to instill in Conrad. Sincerity, Purity, Nobility.
It was ironic, really. Less than two weeks ago, when the family had gathered for her ninety-third birthday, Amethyst had looked at the girl and seen a rebellious teenager. Now she saw the future of the Noble name. The mantle had fallen upon Little Am’s shoulders, and Amethyst could only release her to God and trust that the girl would find her path and live out the heritage she had been given.
She felt a little like Simeon in the temple, watching, waiting for years to see the coming of the promise. Maybe this was why the Lord had let her live so long.
“And so you married Dixon Lee Godwin,” Little Am was saying. “I wish I had known him.”
“I wish you had, too, child. He was a wonderful man, a godly and just man. Although I have to admit that I never really fit the role of a pastor’s wife.”
“Because you didn’t play the piano and teach Sunday school?” Little Am grinned.
Amethyst laughed. “Partly. But mostly because I couldn’t manage to keep my mouth shut.”
“You? Opinionated?” Little Am rolled her eyes. “I’m shocked, Grandam.”
“Actually, I have to give Dix credit. He never tried to force me into that mold. And to tell the truth, he didn’t fit most people’s idea of what a minister should be. He had a pastor’s heart, and he loved and cared for his congregation. But he also had a passion for justice, and he stepped on a lot of people’s toes.”
“But he never got fired?”
“Miraculously, no. I think the members of First Presbyterian—most of them, anyway—realized that change was inevitable, and were glad to have someone in leadership who could guide the church into a peaceful, Christ-centered response.”
“Seems to me that’s what the church should be,” Little Am declared solemnly. “But so far all I’ve seen of church is a bunch of rules and regulations, people putting on a religious act to impress each other.”
“I know,” Amethyst said. “It’s easy for a church to get caught up in numbers and buildings and rules. But there are churches out there that serve as agents of justice and truth in the world. Places where people are encouraged to find their own relationship with God, and live out that relationship in action. And sometimes you find church without a building, in connection with other people who share your faith and values.”
“You mean like what Grandma Pearl wrote in her journal: ‘To believe is to care. To care is to do.’”
“Exactly. You have been listening, child!” Amethyst smiled wryly. “I thought all teenagers had five-second attention spans.”
“Most of us will listen,” Little Am countered, “if we’re given something worth listening to.” She gave Amethyst a grin and a wink. “So, finish your story. Once you married Dix, you didn’t keep running the boarding house, did you?”
“Not officially. Once Bailey and Silvie married, they moved into Uncle Enoch’s house. Then, during the sixties, when the Civil Rights movement was in full swing, some of Bailey’s lawyer friends stayed at the house when they came to Mississippi. But b
y then, Dix and I didn’t really need the money, and the work had become too much for me. We kept the apartments and used them for what Dix called ’sanctuaries’—places for people to stay when they needed temporary housing. Over the years we took in five or six unwed mothers, as well as a number of battered women and their children. Helped a few homeless people find jobs and get on their feet again.” She paused, her mind drifting to those days. “A lot of laughter and tears. A lot of precious memories, and a few minor miracles.”
“Then it’s no wonder you don’t want to give this house up,” Little Am mused. “I can’t believe my grandfather wouldn’t understand that.”
“I believe he does understand it, on some level. But at the moment he can see nothing except his own financial problems, and the fact that I’m ninety-three and bound to go ahead and die sooner or later.”
“But he doesn’t have the right to—”
“We’re not sure yet what he has the right to do. That will be up to the judge when we meet with her tomorrow.”
Amethyst watched as Little Am’s jaw clenched and a determined look came into her eye. “Well,” she muttered fiercely, “we’ll just have to see about that, won’t we?”
March 26, 1993
At 4:45 on Friday afternoon, Conrad sat once more in Judge Dove’s chambers. The timing of this meeting could not have been worse. Everybody knew that judges became surly and uncooperative on Fridays, especially at five o’clock, when they wanted to be out of their robes and starting to relax for the weekend.
Her Honor probably did it deliberately, he mused. Setting him up for the kill.
Mimsy fidgeted in the chair next to him, and this time the office was a bit more crowded, with Mother and Little Am wedged into the extra chairs that had been brought in for the final showdown.
Con eyed his mother warily. She seemed calm, even a little complacent. Not at all ruffled to be appearing before the judge.
And his granddaughter! Much to his dismay, the girl had shown up looking not at all like a ghoulish figure out of a horror movie. She was wearing neat navy slacks with a bright fuchsia blouse, and had fixed her hair and put on subdued and tasteful makeup. Why couldn’t she have been her natural self and arrived looking like a freak?
He studied Little Am’s demeanor as she conversed quietly with her great-grandmother. The two of them were getting along like mashed potatoes and gravy, he thought sullenly. And the girl looked positively smug, as if she were privy to some fascinating secret.
A sudden thought struck him, and his stomach turned to lead. What if the two of them had cooked up some kind of plan to get on the judge’s good side? Mother had, after all, kept the girl to herself for nearly two weeks. Little Am might be bullheaded and independent, but two weeks was surely long enough for Am to be influenced by Mother’s brainwashing.
No. He pushed the thought aside. His granddaughter was just like every other teenager in the country—only interested in herself, or in malls and boys and television and computer games. You could dress her up, but that didn’t change her essential nature.
Judge Dove entered, smiling and nodding cordially at Little Am and Mother and Mimsy. When she turned to him, however, her countenance sobered and her eyes narrowed.
“Ah, Mr. Wainwright. We meet again.”
“Yes, Your Honor.”
She glanced pointedly at her watch and cleared her throat. “Well, let’s get on with it.”
Conrad winced. He knew it was a mistake, having this meeting on a Friday afternoon. But he hadn’t been given much choice in the matter.
“Mr. Wainwright, I’m waiting.”
Con snapped to attention and faced the judge. “Right. Well, Your Honor, as I told you before, my mother is ninety-three years old and lives alone. She is not an invalid, as you can see, but she is getting on in years. What if she fell and broke a hip, or left something cooking on the stove and set the house on fire? I’m only interested in what’s best for her.”
“And you think it’s best for your mother to be in an assisted-living facility.”
“For her own good, yes. I’ve already made arrangements at a state-of-the-art place near Memphis, where we would be close by and could keep an eye on her.”
The judge pulled her glasses down to the tip of her nose and peered over the frames. “You’ve made arrangements. Don’t you think that’s a bit premature, Mr. Wainwright? Or do you think I’m so senile that I already made my ruling and forgot what I decided?”
Conrad felt a cold sweat break out on his forehead, and he jerked a handkerchief from his pocket and blotted his brow. “It’s a—ah, a preliminary arrangement, Your Honor. Purely tentative. Nothing set in stone.”
“Ah. Well, it’s good to know I’m not losing my mind.” She gave him a chilly glance and turned to Little Am and his mother. “I’d like to hear from you, Miss Amethyst. You are, as your son has stated, ninety-three years old?”
She nodded. “I am.”
“I must say you don’t look ninety-three.”
“I’ll consider that a compliment, Your Honor.”
“All right, now—” Judge Dove looked down at the paperwork in front of her. “Mr. Wainwright here contends that you are no longer able to care for yourself. What do you have to say about that?”
Conrad held his breath. Please, he begged, please let her say something outrageous.
Amethyst watched out of the corner of her eye as Conrad fell silent and waited for her to speak. His face bore an expression of desperation, as if willing her to give the judge one reason, just one, to rule in his favor. If she did, Noble House would be gone forever. Con would have money in his pocket to pay off whatever debts he owed and live high on the hog for the rest of his days, and she would end up in a nursing home until she died of sheer boredom. A lot was riding on her answer to Judge Dove.
She felt a movement at her side as Little Am reached to squeeze her hand. It was all the encouragement she needed.
“Certainly, Your Honor, I believe I am still capable of caring for myself. As you can see, I haven’t yet killed myself, and I’m not completely addled—at least no more than I have a right to be at my age. But I’m sure most elderly people would say the same thing. I simply urge you not to put my future in my son’s hands simply because I’m old.”
“You’re not accusing me of age discrimination, I hope,” the judge said tersely.
“Not in the least.” Amethyst considered her next words carefully. “But you must admit that our society does prejudge the elderly. The universe revolves around youth, and often the wisdom and experience that can accompany gray hair and wrinkles are altogether ignored.”
“Your reputation has preceded you, Miss Amethyst,” Judge Dove interrupted. “You’re something of a crusader, I believe. But please spare me the agism rhetoric and let’s concentrate on the issue at hand.” She shuffled the papers and picked up a pen. “There are a few questions that need to be answered.”
Amethyst nodded.
“First, you are the sole owner of the property at 4236 Jefferson Davis Avenue, is that correct?”
“Yes.”
“Your legal name is Amethyst Noble Wainwright Godwin?”
“Yes.”
“Widowed?”
“Twice, Your Honor.”
“Conrad Wainwright is your only son and heir to the property?”
“Only son, yes. Heir? That remains to be seen.”
Judge Dove suppressed a smile. “Did you or did you not lock your doors and threaten your son with a shotgun?”
“I did. But it wasn’t much of a threat. The gun wasn’t loaded. I don’t even own any shells for it.”
The smile widened. “Do you have a mortgage?”
“No, Your Honor. The house has been in my family for more than a hundred years.”
The judge’s eyebrows went up. “Ah, yes. Your house is that grand old planter home, with green shutters and white columns.”
“That’s the one, Your Honor.”
“Hmmm. Yo
u’re to be commended for keeping it up so beautifully. Most of the other stately homes in the area have been taken over as law offices.” She slanted a scathing glance at Conrad. “Do you owe back taxes?”
“No, Your Honor. I always pay my bills on time.”
By now the judge was reading questions perfunctorily, checking off boxes on her list. “Ever been arrested, or convicted of a crime?”
“Yes, Your Honor.”
“Ever been—” Judge Dove stopped suddenly. “What did you say?”
“I said yes, I have been arrested. Several times.”
Out of the corner of her eye, Amethyst saw Conrad’s eyebrows shoot up into what was left of his hairline. His lips twitched, as if doing a little victory dance.
The judge laid down her pen and leaned back in her chair. “Let’s hear about that.”
“The charge, if I remember correctly, was disturbing the peace.” Amethyst took a deep breath.
“You?”
“I’m afraid so, Your Honor. I was arrested five—no, six times, I believe, between 1960 and 1965. Spent a few nights in jail, too.”
Conrad couldn’t restrain himself any longer. “I never knew about this, Mother. Why didn’t you tell me?”
She turned and leveled her gaze on him. “As I recall, you were too busy building your practice in Memphis to call your mother.”
This time the judge chuckled out loud, then sobered herself, made a few quick notes on her pad, and went on. “You were in your sixties at the time of the arrests?”
“That’s right.”
“What in heaven’s name did you do?”
“I parked myself on the courthouse steps and refused to budge. I participated in a sit-in at a lunch counter in Jackson. I protested in Birmingham, and marched in Selma and Washington, D.C.”
Judge Dove leaned forward. “Really? I was a junior in college in 1963, and I went to the Washington march, too. Were you there for the ’I Have a Dream’ speech?”
The Amethyst Heart Page 37