Under the Peach Tree

by Charlay Marie

  I shook my head.

  “It means it will soon be your turn to spread the gospel, to tell others about your testimony, to show little girls who know no love God’s love. That’s the point. God loves all of us, even when we are a mess. Even when we sin. Even when we don’t even acknowledge Him in all of our ways. And He’s there for people when they decide to turn to Him. But He needs people like you to tell others about Him, so that they may have eternal life. There will be a little girl much like yourself who needs to know that she can make it too. You’re meant to give the world hope in a God who loves all.”

  And all this time, I wondered why I couldn’t be Faith, the good twin. All this time I thought she had the better name. I thought Faith trumped Hope, and maybe in ways it did, but the word “hope” was used in the Bible as well. Jeremiah 29:11:

  For I know the plans I have for you, declares the Lord, plans for welfare and not for evil, to give you a future and a hope.

  Maybe God was speaking directly to me when He said that. So I nodded, pushing all of my dread back into a place where I kept it safely locked away. “I understand,” I told Dante.

  “Good,” he said, letting go of me. His face turned sad. “Because I have a feeling she’s not going to make it.”

  Chapter 21

  The doctors were able to stabilize Momma May, which made me think everything was going to be okay. But we got a knock on the door late that night. Dante had fallen asleep on the couch downstairs and I had just finished throwing on my pajamas. I heard Dante get up and answer the door. I left my room and jogged down the steps. I paused when I saw Norma standing outside. Norma didn’t usually knock since it was her momma’s house and she had a key. I hadn’t seen her since the last incident with Momma May’s safe.

  Her eyes were red and her cheeks were puffy from crying. She looked up at me with apologetic eyes and cleared her throat. “Can I come in?” Dante stood aside and let her walk in. She passed us and took a seat in the living room. We followed suit and sat down.

  “So.” Norma avoided looking either of us in our eyes. She fiddled with her fingers and shook in places I’d never seen someone shake. Either she was coming off of a high or she was in pain. I hoped it was the high. “I got a call from the doctor about an hour ago. They told me Momma had another stroke. They said her body completely shut off.” She choked on her words. “The cancer had run its course. Momma passed away at nine-oh-two tonight. There was nothing they could do.”

  My world tore at its core and every good thing leaked out, like liquid from a broken glass. I couldn’t salvage it even if I wanted to. Everything. Gone. Right when I believed God granted us more time.

  God.

  I felt furious toward Him. I wanted to yell at Him for taking her away from me. I only had her for nine months. He would have her for an eternity. Why, God? Huh? Why would you do this to me? Why would you give me joy only to take it away? What about me and my feelings? How do you expect me to get through this? I hate this world and everything in it. Just take me too! Take me too!

  But I didn’t dare say that out loud, not after I promised Dante I’d be strong. And he sat beside me, squeezing my leg, holding on to me because he had nothing left to hold on to. Not even his own sanity. He started to cry first, wrapping his arms around me, rocking back and forth, praying and cursing all the same. And I sat there with dry eyes and a blank stare. I wouldn’t cry, for fear of never-ending tears. My eyes would run like deep waters and it wouldn’t stop until the whole world was drowning in my sorrow. I decided to direct my emotions at someone else. Norma.

  “You’re crying like you care. The only thing you care about is that coke!” I said.

  “Hope!” Dante warned.

  “No, it’s okay,” Norma said to him. “I understand. You’re mad, angry at the world because a woman who you only knew for a few months has died.”

  “It was nine months,” I corrected.

  “I knew her for forty years!”

  “And half those years you dedicated to stealing from her!” I yelled back.

  “Stop!” Dante shouted, standing between us. “Do you think this is what Pastor May would’ve wanted? We all have our flaws, Hope. Don’t judge her. Pastor May didn’t.”

  I laughed. “Oh, look at Dante coming to the rescue. Pure-hearted, perfect, Ivy League Dante.”

  “Do you think I want her here? No! I don’t! But it’s not about me, or you. Pastor May just died. Hope, just go to your room or something. I’ll handle this.”

  “But—”

  “Go!” he said with so much authority, I thought I was staring at a different person. But he was right. I was just trying to take the pain I felt and redirect it to Norma.

  “I’m sorry,” I told her. “I’ll pray that God takes care of you and heals your addiction.” I went up to my room and collapsed on my bed and tried to cry for Momma May. But I couldn’t.

  I was too numb.

  The next few days blew by like a dream. I watched as people came to Momma May’s house, offering food and condolences. People who I’d never met. But they knew me by name and they hugged and prayed over me like I was one of their own. It made me feel good knowing Momma May surrounded herself with people who loved just as she did.

  I ran into Joyce again. She was the woman I’d met at the hospital, Momma May’s friend from her church. She was beautiful and dark, with long, graying hair and a warm smile. She took me out back, away from everyone who crowded the house, and sat me down in a lawn chair.

  It was a beautiful day, which was ironic, due to the fact that Momma May had just died. It’s funny how the world carries on unfazed by our pain. The sun shined brightly above us as if Momma May hadn’t passed away. The birds chirped away in nearby trees, creating music I once cherished. I spotted a couple of daisies in the yard that seemed to bloom overnight. But none of it mattered without Momma May. I wished I could’ve given her my eyesight just so she’d see the beauty of the world one last time before she died.

  Joyce sat adjacent to me and reached into her purse, pulling out an envelope. “Here,” she said, handing me the envelope. “May asked me to hold on to this and give it to you after she passed away. I used to come up to the hospital and write letters for her, helped her redo her will, get all of her debts straightened out. Momma May left behind a fortune. Did you know that? Well, I don’t think her kids even knew.

  “When her husband died, May didn’t know how she was going to pay off her bills and afford to bury him. But many people paid their respects, literally. She got all kinds of donations to the church and to her specifically. She got letters in the mail and when she opened them, hundred dollar bills would drop out. One day she came home and found a check written out to her for ten thousand dollars. Ain’t God good?”

  “The money she got for the church, she used for the church, and the money she got for personal reasons, she used to pay off the debt and save. She told me she kept a safe in her room with all of that money. She said some of it started to go missing whenever Norma came over.”

  “It’s because she stole some of it. She’s a cokehead.”

  “And May knew that. That’s why she put the money in a safer place. She left me in charge of her will,” she said, handing me the letter.

  I turned it over, smiling at Momma May’s handwriting. It said, “Hope.” I should have been happy but my head wouldn’t stop pounding. Momma May was gone, and in my hand I held all that she’d left me. I didn’t want it. I wanted her, not some stupid note giving me some money or something.

  “Thanks, but—”

  “No,” she said, cutting me off. “May said you’d try to reject it.”

  “I don’t want it.”

  “Read the letter. I’m sure it will change your mind.” Joyce smiled sympathetically and stood. “Please read everything, Hope. It’s what May would’ve wanted. Do this for her.”

  I nodded and watched her walk away. I fiddled with the note in my hand, wondering if I should open it now or wait. If I opened
it, I’d probably spend the rest of the day outside, crying and rereading it over. The people inside would start to wonder about me. They’d come looking for me and find me out here being dramatic. I’d keep this for a more private, intimate moment.

  Later that night, after everyone finally went home and all who were left were Dante and me, I snuck off to my room. I shut my door quietly behind me and sat down on my bed. I had placed the note under my pillow earlier, and now retrieved it. I stared again at the handwriting. It was amazing how something so insignificant like someone’s handwriting could stir up so much emotion inside of me. But every little thing that reminded me of Momma May did.

  Dante said I was taking it well, whatever that meant. Who takes death well? So because I wasn’t screaming and causing a scene I was handling it well? Little did he know the pain I was feeling. The emptiness. The saying “two steps forward, three steps back” fit my situation perfectly. I moved ahead two steps when I found Momma May that day while she was going to her car. And when she offered me a place to live. But just I fell back three steps.

  Where was I going to live? What was I going to do without her? I had only a few hundred dollars left from the money Momma May had given me. That would buy me a week in a motel, but after that? Yes, Dante had a house, but I don’t think God would approve of me staying with a man. And then there was always home, back in the country, with Momma and Faith.

  I missed Faith. I missed our long conversations. I missed her telling me about the Bible. I hadn’t even realized how much I learned about God through her. I missed our walks to the church on Sunday mornings when I’d drop her off and go sit under my peach tree. Everything about my sister, I missed. But it wasn’t enough to make me go home to Momma. She wouldn’t let me if I tried.

  I sighed and began opening the letter. I would have rather not thought about the future at the moment. I’d busy myself with whatever Momma May felt she needed to tell me. A note fell onto my lap, along with a key. I frowned, picking up the key, wondering where it went to. I set it beside me and unfolded the note and began reading:

  My dearest Hope,

  Once I lost my husband, my world darkened. Believe me when I tell you, I started living the motions. For years I got up in the mornings, ate, played checkers, watched my soaps, and napped. The rest of my day past by until it was bedtime. I didn’t feel. I practically watched my own grandbaby steal from me and I did nothing. I almost wanted my life to end. I even lost touch with my church members. But I prayed for God to bring meaning again into my life. Well, He answered. The day you came into my life was the day I felt energized again, like God was building me up for another mission, my last one. He called to me, telling me to take you in, give you a place to stay, and to teach you and just love you. I said, “God, I will do anything you ask me to.” And so I opened my heart to you, and by doing that, I opened myself up to God.

  But you were a challenge, Hope. Half of the time, I didn’t know if I wanted to hug you or hit you. Once I realized how damaged you were I said, “God, how do you expect me to change her?” And He said, “Speak wisdom, knowledge, and love on to her and I will allow it to manifest.” My God!

  And so I did what He told me to. I started to tell you stories about my life, things you’d relate to. I opened you up to grow, afraid because I thought that once I was done doing what God asked me to He’d take you away from me. Little did I know, it would be me who was taken from you. I was more upset that I’d be leaving you than I was about passing away. I prayed to God to give me just one more day. Let me love Hope one more day. And He did. I’m sitting here in this hospital bed, praising God for another day with you, baby. I love you like a daughter and I hope that you feel that love, even after I’ve passed. Continue to live life with love and give to others the gift that God allowed me to give to you.

  You’re probably wondering what the key is for. It belongs to the safe in my room. Please open it. I am trusting you to make sure my last wishes are met. I hope you find joy in what I’ve left you. And Hope, please go to church. God has a purpose for you in His holy temple.

  With love, the deepest kind,

  Momma May

  I read the note at least five more times before I was satisfied. It almost made me feel like each time that I read it she was sitting next to me, saying it out loud. I would read this letter every night if it meant that I’d have her close again.

  I eventually got up and went into her room. I walked over to the picture that hid the safe and removed it. I hadn’t noticed that little keyhole at the bottom of the safe when Norma had been trying to open it. I placed the key inside of the lock and turned. The safe clicked open. Another letter sat neatly folded inside. I retrieved the note and took a seat on Momma May’s bed. I tried to block her smell, which would’ve caused tears. I didn’t want to cry. I opened the note, wanting to read it, but I couldn’t bring myself to it.

  “What are you doing?” Dante asked from the door. He looked from me to the open safe and then back to me with suspicion.

  I held up the key. “Joyce, she gave me a note Momma May left me and this key was in here.” I held up the new letter. “This is her will.”

  Dante rushed into the room and took a seat next to me. “Did you read it?”

  I shook my head. I couldn’t bring myself to read it. “Can you?” I asked, handing it over to him.

  Dante grabbed the letter, skimming over it. “Um, she left some money to her kids and grandkids. It says, ‘To Dante, I leave my house and all the things in it. May you build a beautiful family and raise them there, as I’ve raised mine. It is a blessed house. And to Hope, I leave my church. I have changed the name to Rising Hope Ministries. You may not understand why I’ve given you the church, but one day you will.’”

  I almost fainted. “She left me the church? Why would she do that? Why would I want her church?” I asked angrily.

  Dante’s face reddened. “That’s so selfish. She just died and left you her church and you’re mad? I told her you weren’t going to understand but she was so bent on it. Just like how she thought you’d go to church on your birthday. You want to know why I was so mad that day? Momma May asked me to do it because she didn’t want her death to be the reason why you finally stepped foot into a church. But what scared her most was wondering if you’d bail on her funeral because of your fear. You’re so selfish.”

  I felt horrible. Of course, it all made sense now. Dante had been so angry that day because he was only trying to honor Momma May’s wish, and he couldn’t. But I didn’t know. She didn’t tell me.

  “She should’ve told me, Dante! How was I supposed to know that?” I cried. I was so frustrated at messing everything up. “I’m sorry. If I would’ve known, I would’ve gone. I’m so stupid.”

  “Hey,” Dante sighed, pulling me close. “Stop crying, it’s okay. Just accept her gift. She has a reason for it and I’ll explain all of it when we go to her funeral. She wouldn’t want you to beat yourself up.”

  “I know.” I sniffed. “I just could’ve done things differently.”

  “It’s never too late when you’re still breathing,” he assured me.

  And he was right.

  The day of the funeral came quickly, and with it came dread. I woke up groggy and tired from tossing and turning all night. I went into my closet, pulled out a black dress I had bought the day before, and laid it on my bed. After I showered and dressed, I joined Dante downstairs in the kitchen. He handed me a cup of hot coffee.

  “I figured you didn’t sleep good.”

  “Thanks,” I said, taking the cup, but I was too anxious to even drink. Today was her funeral. At her church. The church I’d never stepped foot in due to fear. It was the reason I’d tossed and turned all night. If I slept, I’d wake up to the worst day of my life, so I tried not to sleep.

  Dante could sense my hesitation and sighed. “You don’t have to go.”

  “I want to,” I told him. Even though I was afraid, I needed to say good-bye to her.

&
nbsp; An hour later we stood in front of the entrance of the church. It looked the same as I remembered it, but the clouds hung low above, adding strange shadows over the building. It had started raining on the ride to the church and I wondered if it was God Himself mourning.

  I watched as people piled inside the church and was amazed by how many people showed up. There had to be at least a hundred people. And I watched them all looking sad with lowered heads and humbled hearts as I wondered each of their significance in Momma May’s life. Most of them probably went to her church, but some of them would be family and I knew they felt ten times worse than I did. I wished I could console them.

  “Come on,” Dante said, tugging my arm, and I sucked in a huge breath and stepped onto the church grounds. That was the first step. I tried to keep my breathing even and my hands from nervously fiddling as a very sad memory flooded my thoughts.

  I was seven years old again. Sitting on the couch, watching Faith wait for Grandma on Easter Sunday. She was excited about an Easter egg hunt that the church was having for the kids. Momma had made her an Easter basket with all types of candy and suckers, small toys and crayons. I eyed her with envy as she grabbed another piece of candy, popping it into her mouth. Same thing happened last year. I hoped this year would be different.

  “Faith, stop eating that candy.” Momma came out of the kitchen, grabbing the piece of candy out of Faith’s hand. “You’re gonna get that pretty white dress dirty.”