by Annie Jones
They fulfilled the first prerequisite easily. The minute Fulton’s daughter, Sarah, and Wendy met, they found an instant affinity for one another. Six-year-old Wendy squealed with delight at having her first guest in to show her new bedroom, and eight-year-old Sarah reveled in her status as the sophisticated second-grader. When they added Peachie Too into the mix, the girls had found pure bliss secreted away upstairs, dressing the surpassingly obliging poodle up in her extensive wardrobe.
The second criteria had proved a bit trickier, but once Dixie realized that the day Fulton had finally consented to come over was a Thursday, she knew just what to do. Aunt Sis had been in rare form today, dolled-up in layers of lavender chiffon over violet taffeta as she set off to the Every-Other-Thursday- Aftemoon Arts and Culture Society meeting. She’d been intent on introducing her new bosom buddy, Verdi Walker, to all the dear and precious ladies of her circle. Riley and the Judge did the honors of driving the women to the meeting, then waiting to bring them home again. While they waited, they planned to loose themselves on the town, paying special attention, Grandpa had promised, to the antacid department of Noni Philpot’s drugstore.
That left only Fulton’s last request. Dixie took a deep breath, glanced around the front parlor to make sure the Founder’s old Bible was tucked out of sight then went to the rocker. Gently she worked her fingers over Miss Lettie’s thin hair. She’d spent most of the morning trying to put it into two neat braids that hugged the old woman’s head along the top, then met in a cherished antique clasp at the back.
“Do I look pretty?” Miss Lettie gave a toothless grin that didn’t hide how anxious Lettie was over seeing her grandson after all this time.
“Yes, you do. You look…” Dixie put her hand under the skeletal chin. She held her breath and blinked away the beginning of tears. How she loved this old woman. Loved her as if they were the ones that shared a relative by blood and not just by marriage. The family secret that had taken Dixie by surprise before seemed incidental now, an interesting footnote that had not altered how Dixie felt toward her beloved Miss Lettie one bit. It didn’t take a notation in a Bible register to make them family—their own hearts had done that long ago.
“You look gorgeous, Miss Lettie.” She leaned down and kissed the dark-skinned temple.
Lettie made a dry, smacking sound in the air, like a baby who is first learning the act instinctively mimics the kiss of a loved one.
“Are you ready to see Fulton again, then?”
“I’m so nervous I’m all a-shakin’.” Lettie lifted her gnarled hand, showing Dixie the balled up embroidered handkerchief she’d been clutching as if to offer proof. “But then, I’m always a-shakin’, so don’t reckon Fulton will know the difference.” She lowered her hand to her lap, inched up her chin, and set her chair to rocking. “Show my baby in, lamb.”
Dixie went to Grandpa’s office and rapped on the door. “She’s ready now, Fulton.”
“Sorry to foil your plans, Dixie.” The front door swung open and Riley walked in.
“What are you doing here? Is Grandpa with you?” She strained to look outside to see if the old man was waiting in the car.
“No, I’m alone. Seems Smilin’ Bob took the Every-Other- Thursday-Afternoon Arts and Culture Society by storm. The ladies had a fit over him. Last I saw, he was seated at a table surrounded by women as he told some tale about owning the town’s first automobile dealership.”
“That’s all well and good, but Fulton specifically asked—”
“Say, is your grandfather some kind of judge or something?” Fulton stepped through the office door, one of Grandpa’s business cards in his hand.
“Smilin’ Bob definitely falls in the or something category, friend.” Riley gave Fulton a resounding pat on the back. “My plans changed. Do you mind if I hang around here while you...”
“No, that’d be fine.” Fulton handed Riley the card, then squared his shoulders, looking professional and dapper in his impeccable charcoal-colored suit. “Good.”
“You’re ready, then?” Dixie was so excited she thought she’d burst. She couldn’t believe it was about to happen.
“As I’ll ever be.” He pointed toward the parlor across the entryway.
Dixie nodded. “Right through here.” She led the way, Riley on her heels and Fulton right behind him so that he was the last of them to come into Lettie’s sight.
“Praise the Lord, it’s my baby!” What might have been a shout of exhalation from a younger person came more as an anguished whisper from Miss Lettie. “It’s my baby.”
Fulton froze a few steps inside the doorway. “Granny Lett.”
“Granny Lett!” She put both hands over her mouth. “I had forgotten that you called me that, sweet, sweet Fulton.”
“I...” He turned toward Dixie, his eyes shinning with what must have been quite unexpected tears. “I had no idea she’d look so small and fragile.”
“She’s frail. Yes, she is.” Dixie put her hand on the man’s back, tempted to give him a little shove to get him headed in Lettie’s direction. “But a hug wouldn’t break her.”
“A hug?” He more breathed the words than spoke them, his brow furrowed. He looked at Lettie, then Riley, then Dixie. “I came here filled with such hurt and anger...”
Dixie felt her own eyes tear up. “I understand, but it seems a little useless to hold onto those feelings now, doesn’t it? Now when you see that dear, old face?”
He adjusted his glasses.
“Talk to her,” Riley urged. “She’s still sharp as a tack.”
“She can answer all your questions, even some you may not yet know you have.” Dixie touched her mother’s necklace, and when Riley put his hand on her shoulder she sighed and went on. “Together the two of you can find your way to forgiveness.”
Fulton nodded his head. Slowly, like a man carrying a heavy load, he approached his grandmother. “Granny Lett, I have been so mad at you for so long for choosing this white family over your own flesh and blood that I don’t know if I have it in me to forgive you for turning us away.”
“I never turned you away, baby. Never you or my Helen Betty. Never.”
“When you turned away my father, you did.”
“Your father—” Lettie shut her eyes. Her tiny hands curled into fists in her lap. Her mouth angled downward in a grim scowl. “Your father took away from me every child I ever brung up to full-growed or loved with all my heart. Every child ‘cept my Dixie Belle.”
Dixie reached for Riley’s hand. After all these years, she had thought Lettie might have forgiven Wallace Summers. To see now how deep the scars still ran took her breath away.
“Granny Lett, it was an accident.” Fulton pronounced the last word slow and hard, but Dixie breathed a sigh of relief that it was without anger.
She understood. Regardless of his feeling about his grandmother’s treatment of his family, no one could fault the old woman for the almost unendurable pain she associated with Fulton’s father.
“It was an accident,” Fulton repeated. “My father had not been drinking that night. The weather was bad...that dirt road was a mess from the rain and all the cars that had driven down it that evening going to that party.”
“Dixie, no.” At Riley’s hushed whisper, she turned to him. “He’s not saying—” Riley looked her in the eye.
Dixie swallowed hard but the cold, tight lump in her chest remained. She pressed her lips together then closed her eyes because she could not bear to see the all-too familiar horror reflected in the eyes of someone hearing this story for the first time. Even if that someone was Riley.
She didn’t know how she managed it, but she spoke softly. “Fulton’s father was driving the Fulton’s Cartage truck that hit my mother and Young Bobby’s car that night.”
He said nothing, just pulled her close.
Her whole life she longed for someone to do that. Everyone around her in the days after the accident had been too crippled by their own grief to even try to comfo
rt her. That’s why Baby Belle had meant so much to Dixie. That was why she had clung to the little doll and why, when Miss Lettie pulled herself up out of her own devastation to see Dixie’s pain and then did what she could to ease it, Dixie had been forever grateful.
“Helen Betty was riding with her husband in that truck.” Dixie clutched at the soft cotton of Riley’s pale blue shirt, then turned her face into his strong chest. “She was killed that night along with my mother and my uncle.”
“And my sweet Samantha.” Miss Lettie croaked out the words, referring to Dixie’s grandmother. “That precious child that Founder Fulton came all the way to New Orleans to fetch me home to raise. She died of a broken heart just after. Samantha, Geneva, Young Bobby, my very own Helen Betty... and you, Fulton. That Wallace Summers took them all away from me that night.”
Riley nodded slowly. He understood now. Dixie could see it in his eyes. “So that’s why Miss Lettie never allowed Wallace Summers in the house again.”
“Actually, Granny Lett turned us away before that, when my father came to ask for money. He had stopped drinking and wanted to make a fresh start someplace new.” Fulton looked down at his grandmother, his face obscured by the angle of his head, his voice unreadable. “When John Frederick Fulton-Leigh found out, he offered my father a job at the Cartage, driving a truck.”
Dixie let out a long sigh. “My father bore the guilt over that decision all the rest of his life. He did not blame Wallace for the accident. He knew that was what it was, but he never forgave himself for the role he played in putting those events in action.”
The room fell silent except for the ticking of the antique mantle clock and the ceaseless creaking of Miss Lettie’s rocker.
“Daddy never forgave himself. Miss Lettie never forgave Wallace. Fulton can’t seem to forgive Miss Lettie...” Dixie felt her lips trembling and her cheeks were wet with tears. “What an awful, awful legacy to ascribe to these people we loved so much.”
Dixie sank into Riley’s embrace.
“It’s not too late to fix this.” Riley kissed Dixie’s temple then turned his head toward the others.
Miss Lettie set her jaw. Fulton’s return had gone a long way toward breaking through. Seeing him again must have been powerful medicine for the years of wasted suffering.
Fulton seemed hesitant, but not resistant.
“He never meant to hurt them. It was an accident.” Fulton’s whispered words were full of sorrow.
“I know, baby I know.” Lettie held one tiny, trembling hand out to her grandson.
In no longer than a heartbeat, he was on his knees in front of her, his arms around her, gingerly at first then holding her close.
“I am so sorry, baby,” she murmured into his neck. “So sorry”
“I should have come to see you sooner.” He lifted the hankie from her hand and used it to wipe away the dampness beneath her deep-set eyes. “I was wrong to hold it against you for so long, not to come to see you. Not to let you get to know my family.”
“Family?” Lettie caressed her grandson’s face. “What family?”
“I have a little girl, Granny Lett. We lost her mother about a year ago, so she’s all I have...besides you, now.”
Dixie cleared her throat and took a sidestep toward the table where the Bible lay hidden under Lettie’s birthday journal. “Actually, I think you might be surprised at just how much family you have, Fulton.”
“Dixie Belle is right, baby.”
In two quick strides, Dixie stood at Fulton’s side, the Bible in her hands open to the family register. “I think you ought to have this.”
Fulton took the Bible from her, gave her a wary, confused look, then re-settled his glasses on the bridge of his nose and began to read. His eyes widened. “Is this...true?” He looked to Lettie for an answer.
She nodded.
Dixie clutched her hands together. “Your mother was supposed to tell you this when you turned twenty-one. Sadly, she never got that chance.”
Fulton stammered for a moment, apparently unable to speak.
Dixie gently touched his shoulder, then spoke quietly enough that Miss Lettie could not hear her. “While you take a minute to absorb all this, do you mind if I call the girls downstairs? Miss Lettie is beginning to wear out, and I know she’d love to meet her great-granddaughter before she’s too tired.”
Fulton glanced up from the Bible to Dixie. “How long have you known this?”
“Only a few days. May I call Sarah down?”
“I...I don’t know. I’m not sure I’m ready to deal with any of this, especially not in front of my child. My mother always deferred any question about her father, and I always assumed... well, I never assumed this.” He splayed his fingers over the open pages. “I have to confess I am stunned by this information.”
“Not an altogether inappropriate response to finding out you are related to this family...Cousin.” She patted his back. “Now, may I call the girls?”
“Do it now or do it later,” Riley hastened to remind Fulton.
Dixie offered her most dazzling smile, and Fulton nodded.
“I’ll go get them. I’ve been looking forward to this.” Riley hit the stairs at an upbeat stride.
Watching Riley’s unmasked satisfaction over the outcome of this meeting, it suddenly dawned on Dixie that he had probably unloaded Grandpa on the ladies’ club on purpose. Like it or not, Riley Walker obviously felt like he belonged in the heart of this intensely personal family matter. He clearly felt he was family.
Dixie could not conceal her smile at that thought. Maybe someday...
“I just don’t know what to think, Granny Lett. I don’t understand why no one ever told me, why the years and years of secrecy.”
“It was a different time, baby.”
“That’s about as much of an answer as you’re going to get, Fulton,” Dixie whispered. “And if I may be perfectly blunt, it’s about all you need.”
Their gazes met.
“I won’t pretend I can possibly understand what it’s like growing up in these parts as anything but a fair-skinned woman of rank and privilege. I won’t insult you like that, but I have to assume that your own experiences tell you something of what Miss Lettie and your mother would have faced if the truth had been known.”
Overhead the thunder of giggling girls made her pause and look up then rush on to finish. “This was the nineteen forties, fifties and sixties. Things have changed, I can see it, but not so much that you can’t understand the motives behind all this.”
He nodded, his mouth grim. “Sometimes I’m not really convinced they’ve changed all that much at all.”
“Daddy, Daddy! Guess what, guess what?” Sarah Summers burst onto the scene her arms spread wide and her pigtails flying. “Wendy and I are twins!”
“You’re what?” Fulton cupped his hand to the back of his child’s head.
“We’re twins!” The girls cried in unison as Wendy came skipping into the parlor, with Riley strolling along behind her.
“We both love chunky peanut butter, chocolate milk, and stuffed animals. We can’t stand it when the gravy slops onto our vegetables and we both think having our daddies pick out our clothes for us is for babies!” Sarah beamed.
“I like for Miss Dixie to pick out my clothes,” Wendy added, her face quite serious as though she were breaking important news to her father.
“And we’re both doubles!” Sarah announced.
“Doubles?” Fulton shook his head.
“Yes, Sarah Summers, Wendy Walker.” Sarah’s hands flew in bigger and bigger gestures as she tried to make what seemed ridiculously obvious to her clear to her befuddled dad. “S.S., WW! Doubles.”
“That makes us twins.’“ Wendy reached for her newfound friend. Sarah reciprocated, and the two girls locked in a big bear hug.
Dixie smiled at them, then met Fulton’s gaze. “Well, maybe things haven’t changed all that much, but there’s still hope, don’t you think?”
; Fulton laughed his wonderful laugh and that was answer enough.
Chapter Nineteen
“How does this affect your family, Dixie?” Fulton, sitting on the couch nearest Miss Lettie, took a sip of the iced tea she’d brought in for him on a silver platter.
“Makes it bigger?” Dixie put her arms around both girls, who were seated on the floor beside the footstool, gazing up at Miss Lettie in her rocker.
Riley had gone off to gather up the arts and culture set, or at least this household’s contribution to it, and left Dixie and the others to talk over some of the more practical details of their new discovery. “But if I were you, Fulton, I’d be asking myself how does this affect me?”
“Why?”
“Ask me that after you’ve met Aunt Sis and my Grandpa. You can call him Smilin’ Bob.” Dixie reached over and patted Miss Lettie’s hand. “Seems to me we’ve got ourselves another rowboat to help out when things get really wild around here.”
Lettie cackled.
Fulton tugged at his collar then pushed up his glasses.
Sarah sat up straight. “What do you mean a rowboat, Miss Dixie?”
“Oh, my, you don’t know about the rowboats?” Dixie slapped her hand to her thigh. “Well, you have got to ask your great-granny about that, sweetheart, she will be ever-so-pleased to tell you. Isn’t that right, Miss Lettie? Now you’ve got a whole new generation of children who haven’t ever heard your stories and songs or benefited from your sage advice!”
“I’m happy as a hog on ice, I tell you, Dixie Belle!” Her hands made no sound as she patted them together, but her broad grin spoke volumes.
“A hog on what?” Sarah cocked her head.
Her father laughed. “It means she’s quite content.”
“It’s a good thing,” Wendy assured her new friend, speaking with an air of expertise about Miss Lettie’s expressions.
“Oh.” Sarah looked downhearted. “I thought maybe they had ice-skating hogs out here in the country. That sounded like something I’d like to see.”
“I wouldn’t mind seeing that myself, Sarah sugar.” Miss Lettie beamed at the child.