“I have a box of things she wanted you to have. I’ll ship it next week.”
“What about the services?”
“She made all the arrangements for the funeral home to handle the cremation and a memorial service at church. I’m merely following her instructions.”
“I …”
“No, don’t come. You know Momma didn’t want you to.”
“My children won’t know her. They won’t experience her cooking or her stories or her warmth. I should’ve stayed after Daddy died.”
“Sis, stop. Your children have you. Honor her by giving them what she gave you.”
When I hung up the phone, the churning in my stomach was overpowered by the throbbing behind my eyes. I went back to the bedroom and waited for grief to paralyze me or force me into a fetal position wracked with sobs. But I was numb and empty. Slowly I dressed and went down to find Catherine and the children. They each gave me a hug and then they nestled in the TV room, playing quietly. I thought about Robert’s words but wondered how I’d ever be able to do for my children what Momma had done for us. She was the matriarch of a complete family unit, with traditions that we as children could count on every day. I was living in my lover’s home with his mother, cast out by the church, unable to turn to Charles for comfort or companionship, and uncertain what would happen with Henry. I said to Catherine, “Do you mind watching the children? I need to walk a bit and get some air.”
“Take all the time you need. I’m sorry about your mother.” She gave me a hug.
One foot in front of the other, I thought as I left the house, not knowing where I’d go. Keep moving. Let the air and forward motion push anguish away.
I stopped in front of the public library and admired the huge doors that had impressed me the first time I’d seen them, when Henry brought me there years before. Life is full of firsts, which cling to our memories like little pieces of floating stardust. Sitting on the park bench, I saw that young girl who had stood on those steps at the age of sixteen and marveled at her first experiences. Was the child bride who had held onto whatever Henry said, as though his thoughts and words came from a great novel, actually me? How had I become a twenty-two-year-old woman who was homeless and had just become a motherless child? When I remembered Henry dragging me down the steps of the library, I leapt from the bench and continued walking.
My pace quickened with each step, until I was almost jogging. Buildings and storefronts all became a blur as I aimlessly sped down the street. The tips of my shoes were the only things clear in my view. I hurriedly placed one foot in front of the other, one foot in front of the other. I bumped into people on the sidewalk but didn’t stop. I pushed my way through groups of college kids, nearly knocking their books to the ground. I circled around mothers with strollers and forced couples walking hand in hand to step aside as I stormed through. I stepped off the curb but was jolted to a stop when a car horn blared. The driver shook his fist and pointed to the green light. A man who was waiting for the walk sign asked, “Are you all right?”
I backed onto the sidewalk. “Yes,” I panted.
Once across the street I began walking at a slower pace and started to notice the neighborhood. Ginny’s shop was on the block, a place where I’d found a sense of joy in another time of my life. I looked in the window and watched Ginny and the girls do what they’d been doing when I’d first met them. With deft hands they worked customers’ hair and chatted away at the same time. The scene felt comforting, so much so that my breathing began to slow. But when Ginny turned and noticed me, I backed away on my heels and hurried down the street.
It was a welcome sight to see Catherine’s house and the black mailbox with the red metal flag standing at attention. I leaned against the wrought-iron fence, wiped my pounding forehead, and wondered, where are the tears? News of Daddy’s death had sent me howling in pain, unable to stop the flood of tears from drenching my body. But for Momma—none. It was as though my tear ducts were suffering from dry heaves, which hurt yet denied me emotional release.
I heard footsteps on the porch. Charles ran down the steps and said, “Nell!” He folded me in his arms, and it was then that the dam holding my tears hostage came loose. I sobbed into his chest. “I buried my Daddy … now Momma…. The children and I don’t have a home!”
He lifted my chin and looked into my eyes. “Come inside,” he said. “You’ll always have a home here.”
Chapter Twenty-One
ROBERT WAS THE PERSON I WANTED TO CALL RIGHT away and share that Charles and I were getting married—not that there was anyone else for me to reach out to.
“I’m happy for you, Sis,” he said, on the new phone he’d had installed at the farm after Momma’s passing.
“I prayed to Daddy and Momma to ask for their blessings. I believe they’re happy for me too.”
“What about the children, Sis—will they stay with you?”
“Charles wants to adopt Junior, April, and Teddy. That way we’ll be one family. I don’t think Henry will object. For the first few weeks after I moved out, he’d come visit and take the three children for the day. Slowly that turned into a few hours once a week, then to every other week, and then to not at all. I think when Junior started to ask for new shoes and clothes, Henry decided he’d had enough. It broke Junior’s heart not to hear from his daddy, and there wasn’t anything I could say. Guilt clings to my heart where they’re concerned. Charles tries to fill in the gaps, and he’s come to love all three like they’re his own, but blood is thicker than mud in the hog’s pen. That’s something Momma always said.”
“I knew Charles was a good man. Junior’ll come around, you’ll see.”
“How’s the family?”
“Everyone’s doing great. I’m making changes to the farm, trying to move into the twentieth century, something Momma resisted. She always said, ‘Leave good enough alone—things have worked all these years, it’ll continue just fine.’ But change was needed, and I’m enjoying making my own path.”
“I finally opened the box you sent. The pictures of Daddy’s and Momma’s parents are on the mantelpiece alongside Charles’s family pictures. It brings back warm memories of the farm and of the spots where the pictures were on the wall and at Momma’s bedside. I can see her holding the picture of her parents and rubbing her finger over their faces before going to bed. I tell the children stories about their grand and great-grandparents, just the way we were told…. Can you be here for my wedding?”
“Sorry, Sis, but there’s too much going on here. You have my blessings, and I hope y’all come visit us soon.”
“I love you, Robert.”
“Love you too. Bye.”
I cradled the phone for a moment, thinking about Robert. I knew he would always be my big brother that I could count on any time for anything; but in the back of my mind there was a sorrowful sensation—I knew then that I’d never see the farm again.
ON SUNDAY CATHERINE and the children set off to church wearing the new clothes that Charles and I had bought for them, which I’d decided they’d also wear for our ceremony. I watched longingly as everyone waved good-bye to me and headed out. Charles said, “I’ll speak to the Reverend about officiating our wedding.”
“I think it’s best if I talk to Phyllis. She and I still have rough edges between us that need smoothing,” I responded.
He kissed me and left.
It comforted my heart to have Charles back in my life and to watch him develop a close relationship with the children. After Catherine had told him about Momma, she’d said that he needed to be here for me, and that she’d let go of the requirements for sharing her home. When I fell into his arms after my frantic walk, we went into the house and held each other as we’d done when we first met in the church kitchen. My body responded to the touch of his hand, the curl of his arms around my shoulders and waist, the scent of his hair, and the rising of his chest as my head pressed against him. We stood in the entryway, folded into one another, as if we were
on a dance floor slowly swaying to a sensual jazz tune.
Nevertheless, although Catherine allowed him to come and see me, we still couldn’t be with one another the way I wanted. “It’ll take time,” he said. I was beginning to lose patience, waiting for time to catch up to my needs.
At seven o’clock that evening I phoned Phyllis, knowing that Sunday supper would be over and the dinner guests on their way home. Her phone rang five times before I heard her voice and said, “Hello, Phyllis, this is Nell.”
There was silence on the other end of the phone; I could almost hear thoughts of admonition in her breathing.
“I need to ask you something. Charles and I have decided to get married, and we’d like to have the Reverend officiate our wedding. It’s going to be a small service, here in the living room with the children and Catherine and hopefully you as well.”
I waited for her response, but there was only silence. Finally she said, “I’ll think on it.”
Two days later the doorbell rang. I looked out the window and saw Phyllis standing there with two other church ladies, Irene and Brenda. I never had liked Irene—she would bark orders at me in the church kitchen as if I were her servant. She’d sat in the back seat when Phyllis and Catherine had taken me from my old house here to Catherine’s, wearing a scowl on her face for the entire ride. She never once looked me in the eye. Brenda, though, had helped me get comfortable in the church when I’d first arrived. She took the time to explain where everything was, how to handle the banquet-style pots, and how to manage cleanup in the bathtub-sized stainless-steel sink.
Today they looked like women who could have been on the cover of Ebony magazine. The long, thin pencil-skirts that each was wearing came to just below their knees, their high heels and pointed-toe shoes created a long and elegant look for their nylon-stocking-covered legs. They held gloves in their hands, and little purses dangled at the crease in their bent arms. They even had hats on, as if they were about to walk into church. I wasn’t sure why Phyllis had felt the need to bring an audience with her just to tell me no about the wedding.
I opened the door after rubbing the creases in my house dress and running my fingers through my hair.
Phyllis said, “Hello, Nell. We’d like to visit if this is a good time.”
“Please come in.” I let them pass, and we walked into the living room.
“We won’t be long—we don’t even have time to sit,” she said.
The four of us stood in the living room, rocking back and forth on our heels. No one said anything, and they didn’t look directly at me. Their eyes wandered around the room as though they had entered a museum and wanted to get their bearings.
After a few moments Phyllis said, “We discussed it and have come to a decision.”
“Discussed what?” I asked.
“You and your behavior,” Irene spit out, as if she had a sour taste in her mouth and needed to clear it away.
“Hold on, Irene,” Phyllis said. “Nell, you need to realize that this is about more than you and Charles. When a woman of the church steps out on her husband, and with someone who is beloved by the congregation, it sends a cloud of tension over all of us. A church family is grounded in trust.”
“We don’t want to be looking over our shoulders to see who’s eyeing our husbands!” Irene chimed in, giving me a look that could have stopped a tornado.
“How dare you come here and speak to me that way! What makes you think anyone would want your husband in the first place?” I shot back.
Phyllis touched Irene’s arm and said, “We discussed this … be still.” She turned back to me. “God is forgiving. We prayed on it and asked the Lord to show us the way to forgive you and welcome you back. It’s not right for children to be in church without their mother, because worshiping the Lord is about family. But forgiveness is a long road that we’ve only just begun to walk down.” She gave Irene a sideways glance.
“Oh Phyllis, that sounds like something my momma would say.” I sighed.
“I’m sorry for your loss, Nell…. But will we see you in church next Sunday?”
“Church has always been an important part of my life. Not going has left a large void inside. I hope it’ll be possible for me to join you in the kitchen again.”
The women looked at each other. “Let’s take one step at a time,” Phyllis said.
“And my wedding?” I asked. “You’ll come?”
“You need to be divorced first!” Irene hissed.
“Irene, why don’t you and Brenda wait outside?” Phyllis snapped.
Irene spun around to the door with her right hand on her hip and sashayed away but looked over her shoulder and made a “humph” sound as the door closed.
“Nell, this isn’t going to be easy. We’re Godly women, but we are women, full of all the imperfections that come with being human. There’s a part of me that can understand your actions—Henry’s certainly no prize, and Charles is a treasure—but there’s another part that recoils at what’s happened. However, when I see Catherine in church with the children, watching how they’ve taken to her and the way she responds to them, I realize it’s the little ones we need to think about.”
“The children love Catherine; they call her Auntie…. Phyllis, I remember how you opened your arms to me the first time I showed up at church. I told you when we came to Catherine’s that I wasn’t sure if I should hate you or thank you. I do owe you a world of thanks—you may have saved my life.” She patted my shoulders and said, “I’d be pleased to be at your wedding, and of course the Reverend will conduct the ceremony. But understand, when you come to church, at times it’ll feel like you need to tip-toe before you can take firm steps.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
THIRTY DAYS AFTER OUR ATTORNEY SENT HENRY the divorce papers, he dropped them off at the house and told me he was going back South. “It’ll be easier for me to be my own man there,” he said. “I have a little something to start over with too.” He didn’t want custody of the children and told me Charles could have the adoption. “They’s yours and Charles’s children now.” Anger seemed to have left his face for a moment. Then he said, “Nell, I did the best I could.”
My throat clamped tight and goose bumps began to crawl on my arms. I saw my reflection in his eyes of the child he had taken at sixteen years old and who he had tried to shape into what he wanted without any regard for me as a person. “It wasn’t good enough,” I said. “You imprisoned me and then pushed me out. What I did was wrong and I’ve asked forgiveness for my sin. But you stole my childhood!” My words were devoid of hate or anger; they floated on currents of resignation. “Do you want to see the children, at least Junior, and say good-bye?” I asked.
“No.” He threw the papers at me and left.
I watched his back as he sauntered away. It made me think about the young man who’d sat on the steps with Daddy and the other men, waiting for me to make an appearance. I thought about the young girl-child who had been me at the time, anxious to learn and to please a new man in her life. With a sigh and a shake of my head to brush the past away, I closed the front door.
When I told Charles that night about what had happened with Henry, saying that I didn’t understand his comment about being able to start over, Charles said, “I gave him money, Nell. It’s what he demanded for signing the divorce and adoption papers. He won’t be in our lives any longer.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
WE WENT TO THE COPLEY PLAZA HOTEL FOR OUR honeymoon. I didn’t understand what it meant to “honeymoon” but Charles explained that it was customary for newlyweds to get away after the wedding to be alone and begin their life together. We weren’t going to travel far because Charles had to prepare for the bar exam, but we’d take a few days at the hotel and plan a trip later. Honeymooning wasn’t something I’d ever seen happen in the farmland of the south, but I liked the idea. Once we settled in our room, Charles took me in his arms and we danced to a slow tune that was playing on the radio.
> “I’ve missed being with you, Nell.” He kissed me and ran his hands over my body.
“I’ve missed you too,” I said. We found our way to the four-poster bed that was covered in fluffy down-filled quilts and decorative pillows. It took just one kiss and the touch of his fingertips on my breast for heat to rise up, take hold of our bodies, and rekindle our passion.
We spent two days at the hotel and didn’t leave the room until it was time to go home. When we checked out, the man at the front desk asked, “Did you enjoy your stay, Mr. and Mrs. Johnson?” I remember being startled to hear my new name.
“Yes, it was divine,” I said and curled my hand around Charles’ arm as he paid the bill. We stepped outside and Charles looked across the street at the library.
“Would you like to go in before we head home?” he asked.
I hesitated for a moment and replied, “Not today, let’s go home.”
Catherine and the children greeted us at the front door with hugs and kisses.
“I think I’ll get changed and play with the children awhile,” I said and headed upstairs to my room.
“I’ve had your things moved,” Catherine said. “You and Charles will have the master bedroom now. I’ve moved into the room off the kitchen.”
“I don’t understand,” I said looking from Catherine to Charles.
“Nell,” Charles said. “They’re some things we need to talk about.”
I followed him into the study that had been his father’s and that Charles had been using when he visited for quiet space to read. The children weren’t allowed in the room and I’d only peeked into it on one or two occasions. It had an oversize intricately carved wood desk with a tall-back brown leather chair that was worn on the seat and arms. I’d admired the bookshelves that lined three of the walls of the room from floor to ceiling. There were so many books. I’d decided that one day I’d read every book there before I went back to the public library.
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