by Lisa Patton
“I seriously doubt that,” I say, my chin on her shoulder. “Mothers don’t abandon their children if they really love them.” The way she’s hugging me makes tears well up in my eyes. It feels good to be held by her. So much so, I imagine for a moment she’s my mother.
Although I’m not ready for her to do so, Miss Pearl lets go and looks me in the eye. “Cali. I’ma tell you something I don’t tell very often. There are only a few people living who know this about me.” After a really long pause, she says, “I gave my baby girl up for adoption.”
My mouth falls open.
Now Miss Pearl’s eyes are pooling with tears. “When I was exactly your age.”
“Eighteen?”
She reaches for a Kleenex behind her, dabs her eyes. “I was in my second month here at Ole Miss—on a full scholarship—when she was born. I had big plans. Wasn’t sure what I wanted to be yet, but I was determined to make a name for myself. I would have been the first woman in my family to graduate from college.”
I’m trying to take this all in. It’s the last thing I expected out of Miss Pearl when I knocked on her closet fifteen minutes ago. The pain written all over her face matches the pain on mine. The most burning question on my mind shoots out before I can stop it. “Why did you give her up?”
She opens and closes her mouth, like she’s not sure what to say. “It’s complicated, baby. There were issues with her daddy’s family. But the bottom-line truth is: I wasn’t ready for a baby. I had spent all four years of high school working hard for my good grades. I had earned my scholarship and no one was going to take it away from me. Not even my own child. Motherhood was the last thing on my mind.” She looks off. “I didn’t know it at the time, but I’d live to deeply regret that decision. See there. You never know what’s going on in your mama’s head.”
She’s making a good point, but I’m still not convinced. Miss Pearl and my mother couldn’t be more opposite.
“I long for my daughter almost every day. She turned twenty-five this past September the twenty-second.”
From the way she’s lamenting, it’s obvious Miss Pearl did not abandon her daughter. “I think I see what you’re trying to tell me.”
“Hardest decision of my life. Took me fifteen years to believe she forgives me.” She lifts her arm to show me a tattoo.
“What does it say?”
“I have been forgiven … in Latin. I paid that tattoo artist fifty dollars so I could remind myself of it every day. Aunt Fee liked to killed me.” When she laughs, I’m comforted all over again.
We sit in silence a few moments, then I ask, “Did you ever go back to school?”
“Two days after I gave birth. But I only lasted through the spring semester. I started thinking about what I did, how I had given up my own flesh and blood. I fell down into a deep, dark pit. Started running around with the wrong crowd, acting out. Then my grades suffered. And that was hard because I had always made A’s.”
“I understand that. My grades are important to me, too.”
“That’s good. You keep it that way.”
I can’t help but smile. I love this connection between the two of us. “Then what happened? After you left Ole Miss?”
“I rebelled a little longer, made some more bad choices. Then Aunt Fee got me a job here. I started out as a kitchen aide. Nearly twenty-five years ago.”
The stool is getting a little hard underneath my butt, so I adjust my posture. “That’s a really long time.”
“Yes it is.” She looks me dead in the eye. “Now you keep that information to yourself. I only told you because I thought it would help you.”
My eyes are wide. “I wouldn’t dare tell anyone. Please don’t mention what I told you.”
“This is our secret,” Miss Pearl says with loving eyes. “You and I can learn a lot from each other.”
After giving her another quick hug, I pull back. There’s something else I really want to know. “Miss Pearl?”
“Yes, baby?”
“Do you know who adopted your daughter?”
“All I know is it was a nice Catholic family in Memphis that could give her a better life. They’d been trying to start a family for a long time, but never could.”
“Do you want to find her?”
“Sure I do. But that wouldn’t be fair to her. If she wants to find me, she can. I put that in God’s hands a long time ago. The way I see it is: If I were to look for her, it would be more selfishness on my part.”
“You’re not selfish. Look how much the Alpha Delts love you. You’re their second mother.”
“That’s nice of you to say, baby, but I’m a plenty selfish. Guess we all are.”
“I’ve learned if we don’t take care of ourselves, no one else will.”
“That’s right. And I’ve recently decided to finish my degree so I can make more money. It’s time I start looking toward the future. Taking care of myself,” she says with a chuckle.
“No one else will.”
“My auntie keeps telling me that. Matter of fact, she’s been bugging me to get a new job.”
I cover my heart with both hands, lean toward her. “You can’t do that. What would everyone do without you?”
“Everyone would be just fine,” she says, while patting me on the thigh. “Unfortunately, this job doesn’t pay much. Eleven dollars and fifty cents an hour. And that’s after twenty-five years.”
I am not shocked by this news. Things are slow to change in Mississippi. All over the South, really. But I make that much babysitting.
“Aunt Fee does a little better, but the rest of the staff make less than I do.”
“It must be hard for y’all to live on that.”
“Yes it is,” she says, before a deep line forms between her brows. “But I shouldn’t have told you. It’s not your problem.”
“Maybe not, but I’m glad you did. I’m the kind of person that … dreams of changing things.”
“There’s no changing anything around here. Aunt Fee’s been trying to tell me that very thing. She wants me to go to work for the University. So I can get benefits.”
“I guess that means y’all don’t have benefits here?”
She shakes her head. “Now it’s all making sense why she’s been harping on me to get a job with health insurance.” With a hand pressed over her heart she leans toward me. “Here she is laid up with terminal cancer. Never went to see a doctor. That woman is as stubborn as a grape-juice stain. I want to strangle her sometimes. But it’s too late now,” she says, and bursts into laughter.
FIFTY-TWO
MISS PEARL
It came to an end on a Sunday, the thirtieth of October, right before Halloween. I’ll always remember it as the day I became the oldest generation in my family.
Aunt Fee woke up the day before she passed like she was here to stay. I mean it. Everybody thought she would walk out the front door of the hospital and live another thirty years. She was feeling that good. All three of her boys, and all their wives and children, had made it to Oxford, and she was sitting up in her hospital bed, laughing and hugging on all of them. Telling everybody how much she loved them. Even talked to me about next week’s dinner menu.
But it was only temporary. Within twenty-four hours her spirit left and she began her journey. I was in the room when she took her last breath. Right before she passed, she held her arms up in the air, even though she was as weak as a little ol’ straggly weed. My cousins and I figured she was reaching for Him to carry her on Home.
When the news spread that Aunt Ophelia had passed, a hush fell over the House. The spirit of Alpha Delta Beta was put on pause. Mama Carla hung a wreath on the door made of white roses, the Alpha Delt flower, interspersed with lily of the valley, Ophelia’s favorite. Since our church is relatively small, Mama Carla suggested we move the funeral somewhere bigger so everyone could fit inside. Pastor made all the arrangements to secure the Tallahatchie-Oxford Missionary Baptist Church. It’s a good thing he did. Besides our
family and friends, most of the Alpha Delts are planning on attending the service. Mama Carla said she’d heard several of the alumnae would be driving in, one from as far away as Atlanta.
As happy as Aunt Fee would be to know this many people wanted to honor and celebrate her life, there’s one thing I know for certain. She would not be happy about the money going out the door. Marvin insisted on two stretch limos to carry us all to the church, then out to the cemetery.
About four years ago, one night after supper, when we were all sitting around talking in the kitchen, she was adamant. “I’m not leaving nobody with a fat funeral bill once I’m gone. Put me in a box in the ground and it don’t have to be fancy, neither. Hurry up and do it, too, so the undertaker don’t charge for no embalming fluid. But whatever you do, do not put me inside no oven. I want to be buried right next to Ruby. When the Archangel’s voice comes and the Lord sounds His trumpet, I want to make sure there’s bones left to rise.”
FIFTY-THREE
WILDA
There was standing-room only by the time I slid into the back of the church. After thirty-two years as head cook, and with hundreds of Alpha Delts in attendance, there wasn’t a seat to be had. From where I was standing, I could see an indisputable blond high ponytail, belonging to the one and only. Carla was seated on her left and Annie Laurie on her right. Lilith was sitting much closer to the front than I would have imagined. Even as House Corp President, it seemed a contrived show of support, especially in light of how incensed she was over Miss Pearl subbing for Carla.
It took a minute, but I finally spotted Ellie and Cali sitting with the others in their pledge class. Ellie was supposed to have saved me a seat, but since I was caught behind an eighteen-wheeler most of the way down Highway 7 and fifteen minutes late to the service, she must have given it to someone else.
By the time everyone in Miss Ophelia’s family spoke and all the beautiful hymns were sung, the service lasted nearly two hours. Those of us who were late had to lean against the wall for back support. Carla and Selma gave moving eulogies. I couldn’t have kept from crying if I’d wanted to. When I looked around the church I noticed there were only a few people without tears. And, I suspect, one board president.
Now, walking back to my car, I’m trying to decide whether or not I should go to the burial. Before I left Memphis this morning I’d heard the weatherman report that a thunderstorm, followed by a cold front, would be moving across the South later today. Although the sky has yet to fall, I can feel the drop in temperature.
The wind makes me think a tornado is about to blow through here at any moment. Dead leaves whirl around me, as high as my waist. My hair is standing sideways. When I finally make it to my car, in the farthest parking spot from the church, I tug at the door handle. After a hefty amount of resistance, the wind catches the door and it blasts away from my grasp. I jump inside; reach out as far as I humanly can, then tug the door shut with a thunderous wumpth. Once I start the engine and turn the heat on full blast, I point all four vents my way.
With my gearshift in reverse, I look over my shoulder and happen to notice a white Mercedes SUV pulling into the spot next to mine.
It’s her.
What the heck am I supposed to do now? Ignore her? Oh how I wish I could be one of those nervy people who waves and blows right past. Instead, I slam the gearshift into park just before hearing three taps.
With her face pressed against my passenger window, I fumble for the locks then click them open in a hurry, because every time I’m in her presence I revert back to a spineless, yellow-bellied wuss. Before I can give any thought to what excuse I’ll use to leave, she jumps inside my car and settles down into the passenger seat.
“Brrrr.” She rubs the sides of her arms. “It’s cold.”
Reluctantly, I turn one—but only one—of the vents her way.
“That was different,” she says. “I’ve never been to a black funeral before.”
I probably shouldn’t be shocked by this, but for some reason I am. “Really? I like them better than ours.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because African Americans seem much happier for the person who dies. Like heaven is much better than earth.”
Lilith looks at me like I’m crazy. “Of course it’s better than earth. The streets are made of gold.” She forces a laugh. “Just kidding. I saved you a seat. But Ellie said you were running late.”
“Thanks. I just slipped in the back. I was behind a very slow eighteen-wheeler most of the way down Highway 7.”
“I’ve never seen so many people.”
“Miss Ophelia was a beloved woman.” Out of habit I reach for the radio, but retract my hand.
“Apparently so.” She purses her lips, then changes the subject. “I saw Ellie sitting with Cali. Those two are spending a lot of time together these days.”
“They have a lot in common.”
“Hardly. I did some snooping. The girl’s real name is California. Her mother is a drug addict and—”
I hold out my hand to cut her off mid-sentence. Hearing Lilith talk bad about Cali, after what she did to her, makes my skin crawl. “Honestly, Lilith, there’s nothing you can tell me about that sweet girl that will change my opinion of her. Please just keep it to yourself.”
“Well,” she says indignantly. “She’s hardly an Alpha Delt. But what can you do? I suppose we’ll all need to be nice to her. She’s one of us now.”
“And she lives next door to our daughters.” It’s all I can do to keep my calm.
“With a Negr—” Now she stops herself. But not before igniting fire inside of me. The fire that should have been lit a long time ago. Perhaps my face gives me away because she quickly changes the subject. “By the way, your mother is an absolute doll. We know so many of the same people. You never told me she’s from Eastover.”
“Eastover is the neighborhood she grew up in,” I say flatly. “She’s from Jackson.”
She looks at me like I’m off my rocker. “Several people I know live in Eastover. Trust me, I know the difference.”
All I can think about is getting her out of my car, so I make up an excuse. “Are you going to the burial?”
“I was planning on it. Why don’t we ride together?” She asks the question as if it’s an invitation to go to lunch.
“I can’t. I told Haynes I’d meet him for an early dinner. We have some business to discuss.” I look at my watch. “In fact, I should probably get going.”
“Speaking of business, you’ll want to hear this.”
Now I’m kicking myself for not running out of the church as soon as the service was over. But since I couldn’t make the visitation I wanted to at least wave at Miss Pearl before she got in the hearse.
“Hear what?” I ask.
“Pearl wants to apply for the House Director job.” Lilith moans like she thinks the idea is preposterous. “Can you imagine?”
I lean back in my seat. Put my hand on the gearshift, then take it off again. Pearl has just lost her aunt—her other mother—and Lilith has just left her service. I was right. Her appearance was purely for show. “Miss Pearl is the sweetest thing in the world,” I say. “All the girls love her. She treats them like they’re her own daugh—”
“I get that. But she’s the maid, not a House Director. And besides, she has a tattoo—written in a foreign language.” She holds her hands like claws, and makes a scary face. “That alone is enough to disqualify her.”
Despite the indignant tone in her voice, I will myself, actually it’s more of a command, to stay calm. In hopes of setting an example. “How did she do when she filled in that weekend?”
“I can tell you this: I went over to the House to use the ladies’ room that weekend and it was a wreck. No hand towels and worse, no toilet paper. Thank God I had a tissue in my purse.”
“Maybe she got busy with something important. I’ll bet one of the other ladies on the staff had to fill in as housekeeper. Maybe Miss Pearl didn’t know t
he bathroom was a wreck. I don’t know much of the goings-on in that House, but I bet that’s what happened.”
“You should make it a point to know what goes on, Wilda. Not only are you an alum, but you’re a Rush Advisor now. Not to mention your daughter is a new member.”
I’m not a Rush Advisor for long, I think. I would have resigned by now if it weren’t for the turmoil in the House—Carla leaving, Miss Ophelia dying. But I’ll be sending my resignation email within the week. “I simply meant I don’t know about the daily coming and going of the staff. Of course, I care about anything that has to do with Ellie, Lilith.”
“Having someone from a poor black neighborhood, with no college degree, as House Director of Alpha Delta Beta has everything to do with Ellie. She belongs to the finest sorority on campus.”
I want to take her damn head off. But instead I close my eyes and count to ten, backward. After a deep breath I say, “Think about it. Many of us Southerners over the age of, what, forty-five had black ladies as second mothers. What’s the difference?”
If an eye roll has a sound, she just made it. First a tsk, then a gurgle from the back of her throat makes me feel like I’ve said the dumbest thing on record.
“The House Director job”—her voice sounds ultra condescending—“is much more than a second mother. It’s about responsibility. She has to liaison with the University and assist in setting up inspections, work with local vendors, recommend repairs and maintenance, manage the staff, plan the meals, order the food. All within a complicated budget. She runs the entire House.”
“How do you know Miss Pearl can’t do all that? From what I understand she’s been there twenty-five years.”
“She’s the maid. And she doesn’t have a college degree. Think about it. There are no other black House Directors at Ole Miss in sororities or fraternities. As a matter of fact, I’ve never heard about a black House Director at any other university. Why do you think that is?”