In Catherine’s kitchen cabinets I found her “good” dishes, the ones that were probably used on Sundays or special occasions. Hesitating, not wanting to overstep my welcome but wanting to make a good impression with the meal and table setting, I set the table with the delicate china. Matching serving bowls were in the lowboy cabinet in the dining room, along with a large serving platter. The crispy fried chicken looked delicious heaped onto the platter. My rice and collard greens overflowed in the bowls, which I placed on either side of the chicken. A gravy boat, with a silver ladle resting in its center, held my thick, tasty gravy. The aroma of a lovingly prepared meal hung in the air, just waiting for admirers.
When I heard the front door open, I expected to see Catherine and Phyllis with Junior, Teddy, and April, but when I walked to the entryway, there was Robert. I ran into his arms and drank in the fragrant aroma of our farm that was still clinging to his clothes.
“When’d you get here?” I asked.
“Last night, Sis.”
“Where’ve you been—why didn’t you come here right away?”
“There were some things needed to be done.” Just then I realized that the children were with him, along with suitcases and boxes. “All the children will be staying with you from now on,” he said.
“But what about Henry? What about Catherine? We can’t all stay in her home.”
“Yes, you may,” Catherine said as she walked into the house. “I’ve given it some thought, after Robert and I had a chat. I could live alone in this big place and listen to myself rattle around, or I can open my arms and have a house full of family.” She looked at the children and said, “You may call me Auntie.”
“Robert, what did you say to Henry?” I asked.
“What needed saying,” Robert replied. “There won’t be any trouble from Henry. He gets to see the children when he wants, but they’ll live with you. And if he gives you any problems, let me know right away.”
Just like that, my world had taken another spin, as though it were a kaleidoscope, changing with every twist.
After dinner Robert and I sat in the living room on the big soft sofa with pillows overflowing along the back and sides. I squeezed his hand and said, “Tell me what happened.”
“Not much to add, Sis. Momma said you needed help. I came as soon as I could. This is harvest time on the farm—I had to get as much done as I could before I left and make assignments for the others, to be certain we don’t lose any crops. It’s been a great growing season, and it’ll be a good winter, with enough money to buy plenty of supplies to get us through the quiet farm time.” He hesitated and squeezed my hand.
I looked around the room. While I admired everything in sight—from the family photos, to the thick floral curtains at the bay windows, to the small piano against the wall with a pretty oil painting of a field of flowers above it, to the tall floor-lamps with silk shades—it wasn’t mine. I felt as if I were in a museum, moving around furnishings that were meant to be viewed by a visitor. I couldn’t get a true sense of Charles in the house either, although I’d tried. The first time Catherine had left me alone in the house, I’d wandered to Charles’s room. It still looked the way it had when he’d lived in it as a teenager still in school. Posters of athletes and musicians decorated the walls. His dresser was covered with trophies and ribbons for sports and academic awards he’d received. Baseball bats, gloves, a softball, and a basketball rested in a box at the foot of the bed. But there wasn’t the scent of him that I longed for.
Finally I said, “Catherine is wonderful to welcome my family, but this can’t last. She’ll grow tired of not having her home to herself. And I’ll grow tired of acting like I belong here but knowing in my heart that I don’t. On the ride over here I thought about my bus trip with Henry. At the time it seemed like a grand adventure was unfolding and that all I had to do was sit back and enjoy myself. It was what I’d dreamed about—that once away from the farm I’d have experiences like the characters in my books. I never figured I’d end up being like Alice, tumbling down a twisted rabbit hole, struggling to live day by day.”
“Not sure who Alice is,” Robert said. “But why did things change with you and Henry? I thought you would be good together.”
“I can’t say there’s just one reason we’ve ended up this way. Each day my dreams faded a little bit more, as though my eyesight were beginning to fail, until I couldn’t recognize myself any longer. Suddenly Charles was there, and he stirred something in me that I’d feared was lost forever…. Are you ashamed of me?” That worry had been burning in my belly all day.
“Never ashamed of my little sis.” Robert pulled me close and kissed me on the head. “I’ve seen love make people do foolish things before. You didn’t write this book.” He held me tight against his chest, and for the first time in weeks my body began to relax. “Charles seems like a good man,” he said.
“You met him?”
“He lent a hand with Henry. Then he helped gather up the children and their belongings. He told me about the agreement with his mother. Can’t say I blame her, but it must be hard for you and him to stay away from each other.”
“I think about him all the time. We could talk for hours about almost anything, although we mostly talked about the stories in books. Sometimes he’d recite poetry to me, and I’d drift away listening to his soothing voice. It makes me sad that we can’t see each other, but he’s given me a gift in sharing his family’s home with me and the children. I can live with the agreement—I don’t have much choice. I’ve decided that getting a job is first on the list of what to do next. It’s been a while since I saw my friends at the beauty shop, but Ginny may need some help. Maybe she’ll take me back. And if not there, then maybe the library has a need for paid part-time help. I’ll start looking as soon as the children are settled here and Catherine and I have worked out how we’ll live together.”
Robert cleared his throat and sat up straight. “I need to tell you something,” he said. “Momma isn’t doing well. You saw how she was when you visited a while back. She’s gotten worse, in her head and in her body. The doctor’s told us it won’t be long …”
“No! Not Momma.”
“She told me to tell you that your place is right here with her grandbabies; she thought you might want to come back with me once you heard this news. She doesn’t want you traveling with them or leaving them here, what with everything.”
“But I should move back and help Momma while I can. At least then the children and I would be in a home, a family home, not guests in someone else’s.”
“Sis, you need to stay here. Besides, you and the children are Northerners. You don’t belong in the South.”
“I wasn’t there for Daddy, now Momma.” I closed my eyes and could see her as though she were in the room. “Do you remember how at springtime she made us wash the kitchen walls? We’d turn it into a game, with more washing of us than the room. Then she’d scold us the rest of the day for making a mess.”
“I was the one who had to clean up the mess you young ones made. If I complained, she’d tell me, ‘Don’t get sassy with me.’ She always had us doing something to take care of the house and farm, saying, ‘You think this place gonna take care of itself?’ Those were good days.”
“I hear her voice in my head all the time. The children will do something to try my patience, and it’s her voice that comes out of my mouth, setting them straight. Sometimes I stand in front of the mirror, and it’s her face looking back at me with soft knowing eyes. I’m not near her, but I feel like she’s with me all the time. I don’t want to lose her.”
“In one way or another she’s with us, just like Daddy. Your place is here with your children, Sis, the way Momma’s place was with you.”
We grew quiet and let silence paint images of our growing-up days. After a while I asked, “When are you leaving?”
“Tomorrow,” he said.
“But you just got here.”
“I did what I came to
do, and now I have to get back. Here, these are for you.” He handed me two envelopes. “This one’s from Momma. Miss Parker helped her write the letter. And this one’s from Charles.”
I took the letters and turned them over to examine the handwriting. On the envelope from Momma were the words Baby Girl, written in crooked lines as though a child just learning cursive had picked up a pen to play at writing. On Charles’ envelope the words Nell My Love appeared in elegant script, almost like the calligraphy in the old books I’d thumbed through in the library many years before.
I tucked both envelopes into the pocket of my skirt, knowing I needed solitude to savor the words from two people dear to my heart. I turned to Robert and said, “Thank you, for everything. I love you.”
THREE DAYS PASSED after Robert left before I finally sat down to read my letters. At night, after putting the children to bed, I’d hold each envelope to my face for a whiff of the ink and paper, then gingerly place the letters on my night-stand. In the mornings I’d put the letters back into the pocket of whatever I was wearing for the day and occasionally tap them as I went about my daily activities, which mostly involved getting the children settled in Catherine’s home. Although she was quick to correct me and say, “Your home.”
“Junior and Teddy will have Charles’ old room as theirs,” Catherine had told me the day the children arrived. “April can join you and Lilly in your room.” Robert had helped place a small bed in the room for April. At first I thought it would be too small for the three of us in one room. But then I remembered how we’d lived in a tiny apartment, just one room with a bathroom. This bedroom was twice the size of that space.
The best way I could think of to thank Catherine was to make sure the children stayed out her way, didn’t make too much noise, and didn’t leave their few toys anywhere in the house other than in their rooms. But on that first afternoon she introduced them to the TV room, as she called it, and told them that they could play there with any of their toys. I noticed her face light up whenever they called her Auntie.
This particular day Catherine had taken the children outside to explore the yard and neighborhood. “I’ll take them to meet the neighbors,” she said as they headed out the door. I watched her from the window. She looked like a proud aunt who wanted to show off her collection of little people. I think that was the first time I noticed how beautiful my children were. There’s something about seeing your children through the lens of someone else’s eyes that sheds new light on their countenances.
I chose the bedroom as the place where I’d settle into and finally read my letters. While both envelopes had been burning a hole in soul, Momma’s words were the ones I needed to savor first:
Dear Baby Girl,
I pray for you every day, knowing that you’ve found yourself in difficult times. My days may be short, but my love for you will be everlasting. I don’t want you to come back to the farm when I join your daddy with the ancestors. There’s no point in you traveling all the way here to look at my dead body or a mound in the ground alongside Daddy’s. This place was never for you. And truth be told, there are times I didn’t want it for me, but our lives were meant to be very different. When you left, I felt joy, knowing that you’d taken off on the adventure that had been tugging at your insides since you were five years old. You may have come from the farm, but you were never meant for the farm like the rest of us. We wear the dust, seed, animals, and hot air of this place like it’s our second skin. For you it was just a covering meant to be removed at will, no more permanent than a hooded slicker on a rain-soaked day.
I’m not sure you need to hear this, but know that I forgive you. Something powerful must have forced you to turn away from Henry and to Charles. If you pray on it, God will forgive you too. Remember, the Lord is never going to give you more than you can bear. Nothing will ever take away the good memories you have of me, Daddy, your family, and the farm. You’ve been a wonderful daughter. Now I will join Daddy in watching you from above. I love you, and I’m also very proud of you.
Love,
Momma
I crawled under the covers and buried my face in the pillow. The blankets felt like the heavy protective shield the dentist placed on my chest before x-rays. I couldn’t move my arms or legs, couldn’t lift my head, couldn’t turn onto my side. I lay on my back and stared up at the ceiling. The blanket pressed harder, and my body ached. It felt as though I were disappearing into the center of the mattress, sinking into oblivion. I expected tears to run down my face, but my tear ducts were dry and parched.
Hours later I sensed Teddy at my side, saying, “Mommy, you need to get up.” I moved to get out of bed. My body barely responded. I thought, I should’ve been standing by now, but the searing pain that ran from my toes to my head paralyzed me.
Suddenly I heard Momma’s voice. She told me to be strong, to stand and tend to my family. The rest of the day I did what needed doing—settled the children in their rooms after the neighborhood tour, worked with Catherine to prepare dinner, put the little ones to bed, and helped with the clean-up. Catherine kept the children occupied as she watched me moving around the house like a lost zombie. At one point she asked, “Are you all right?” I nodded, yes, and then went to my room.
Charles’s letter was on the nightstand. After reading Momma’s words, I wasn’t certain I could handle what he had to say. In my heart I hoped that his words would be of enduring love and would give an indication of when we’d be able to hold each other, kiss, and rekindle our passion. I wanted him to tell me he’d be home soon. Slowly I reached for the envelope to take the folded paper out. After several deep breaths to ease the pain in my stomach, I began to read.
Dear Nell,
I miss you. It’s impossible to find the words that clearly describe the agony coursing through my mind each day that I’m away from you. When I saw you in the hospital and set eyes on our baby for the first time, I wanted to sweep you both up into my arms and flee to a world we could call our own. But I had to stand fast, knowing that my rights to anything about you and your life are constrained by the reality of who we are.
I love that you and Lilly are living with Mother. While her requirements for this arrangement aren’t what I wanted, it’s important to know that you’re safe and as close to me as possible. When I come by the house to take Mother to church, I beg you, come to the window, draw back the curtains, let me see your face so I can have one moment of joy. Mother is firm in her beliefs of what’s right and wrong. But I’m confident that once she comes to know the woman and mother you are, her edges will soften.
I’ll pray for the day when you and I can stand in the same space, touch one another, and become a family—all six of us. Until then, please keep your love for me as precious as I’ll keep mine for you, and know that I’m doing all I can to ensure that you and the children will be well provided for. Maya Angelou wrote, “In the flush of love’s light, we dare be brave. And suddenly we see that love costs all we are and will ever be. Yet it is only love which sets us free …”
With all my love,
Charles
Chapter Twenty
IT WAS MIDNIGHT, BUT SLEEP WOULDN’T NESTLE IN my mind. I twisted and turned in bed in a half-dream, half-awake state. Images of the places where I’d lived flowed through me, but with every turn it seemed that furniture was rearranged or missing. My childhood bedroom on the farm was empty save for the little dresser where my few pieces of clothing were neatly folded in drawers. The bed in the first apartment that Henry and I had shared was moved to the wall against the windows. It faced the bathroom, and the kitchen table was at the foot of the bed. In our rented house the back door was missing; there was no way to go out to the garden. My vegetables were rotting on the vine, with flies buzzing on the spoiled food. Only Catherine’s house and the room I shared with my girls remained the same as the day I’d entered it.
I got up, went downstairs, and stood on the front porch. Evening light washed over my face, and cool air brushed
the tiny hairs on my skin. The autumnal equinox was upon us. I’d come to love this time of year in New England, as the evening air turned crisp and yet the days were still warm and inviting. At times the harvest moon shone so bright that the house and yard would be illuminated as though it were the midday sun sending its rays down to earth. I closed my eyes and listened to the soft trembling of leaves clinging to trees as the wind moved in gentle swirls. Momma’s voice seemed to whistle through the dancing branches.
“Momma,” I said, “I pray you’re not ashamed of me. I tried to do things the way you taught me—to be a good wife and mother. But none of your teachings prepared me for the loneliness of a marriage without love or a world bereft of family close by. Church was a welcome place for me, but not any longer. I’ve been shunned by the church women and made invisible. It’s as though a blazing scarlet letter on my chest blinds them to my presence, and they turn away to protect their eyes…. I love Charles and refuse to feel sinful…. I miss you and Daddy.”
Suddenly a warm breeze seemed to enter my body and touch every inch of me. The pleasant sensation eased my muscles. I went back to bed and welcomed a deep sleep.
Hours later the faint sound of the phone ringing downstairs woke me. I listened to Catherine’s muffled voice through the floorboards. When she knocked on my door and said, “Nell, it’s Robert,” I knew Momma was gone.
“She went in her sleep,” Robert told me. “She’d been feeling weak and dizzy at suppertime, went to bed early, and was gone in the morning.”
“I could feel her last night, Robert—it was as though we visited. I can’t believe we’ll never see her again or hear her words of advice and wisdom.”
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