Miss Janie’s Girls

by Brown, Carolyn

  “I’m pouting because I hired those two to find my other baby, and they ain’t doin’ their job.” She crossed her arms over her chest and pushed her plate back.

  “Well, maybe she’ll feel that you’re lookin’ for her and will come home on her own.” Sam dove into a stack of four pancakes.

  “You think so?” Miss Janie’s eyes lit up.

  “I believe that if we pray hard enough and long enough with our whole heart, anything is possible,” Sam answered between bites.

  “God didn’t hear my prayers to heal Aunt Ruthie and Delia, so why should I trust Him now?” Miss Janie asked.

  “We can’t blame God for our old bodies wearin’ out,” Sam told her. “That’s the way of things, but He might lay it upon Kayla’s heart to come home if you really want to see her. Never hurts to try. I read in the newspaper that the Sulphur Springs High School is havin’ their ten-year class reunion the weekend of the homecoming football game.” Sam glanced over at Teresa. “You goin’ to attend?”

  “No.” Teresa shook her head. “I’ve been out eleven years, and they only have reunions every five. This would be Kayla’s ten-year class get-together. If she was here, I doubt that she’d go.”

  “Why not?” Sam asked.

  “We were nobodies at school,” Teresa said.

  “My girls weren’t nobodies,” Miss Janie argued. “They were beautiful and popular, and they were both cheerleaders. Maddy Ruth was the president of the student council. I was proud of them.”

  Teresa almost choked on a bite of bacon. Neither she nor Kayla had been anything other than a couple of outcasts. They certainly didn’t hang out with the popular girls. Miss Janie’s mind wasn’t only having trouble sticking around in a single time frame—now she was flat-out rewriting history books.

  Sam caught Teresa’s eye and winked. “I bet when Kayla comes home she’ll want to go to the reunion for sure. The kids will miss you not being there this year, Miss Janie. They always looked forward to you making the rounds and telling them all hello.”

  “They always have cake at every reunion.” Miss Janie smiled. “Do we have cake, Teresa? I could sure use a piece and some good cold milk to go with it.”

  “No, but I’ll make one today, and we’ll have it for dinner,” Teresa answered.

  “Chocolate?” Sam and Miss Janie asked at the same time.

  “If that’s what y’all want, it’ll be ready by noon, but you’ve got to promise to eat your fried chicken first,” Teresa replied.

  “We will,” they chorused together the second time.

  Noah was glad that Teresa was there. She had been able to get Miss Janie to eat healthy food better than he could, and she’d stepped into the caregiving position like she was made for it. Every time he looked at her, he remembered those stolen kisses and the way they had made his pulse race. She’d been a pretty teenager, but she’d grown up to be a beautiful woman. They were adults now, not teenagers, but he still felt like the latter when she was around him.

  And she’s made it clear that she doesn’t feel the same, the pesky voice in his head reminded him. When he passed her on the way to take his empty plate to the sink, his elbow brushed against her shoulder. The embers of an old fire he thought had been put out stirred inside his heart. She seemed to still have a chip on her shoulder about those teenage kisses, and he—well, his chip wasn’t on his shoulder but in his pocket, in the form of a five-year sobriety coin. Yes, she might have a past, but so did he, and after the way her mother had drowned herself in booze, Teresa would never be interested in a recovering alcoholic.

  Besides all that, Noah had control of her and Kayla’s inheritance from Miss Janie—she thought he’d be better at talking to them about it. Maybe she had known about those kisses . . .

  He was supposed to decide how to give it to them once he found them. Should he hand it over to them in a lump sum or give it to them in monthly checks? This position complicated everything. He had tried to talk Miss Janie into putting another lawyer in charge even before he knew Teresa was coming home, but she’d have none of that. No sir. Her only living relative was a good attorney, and he would handle her affairs the way she wanted him to.

  Sam nudged him with his shoulder. “You look like you’re trying to solve the problems of the world.”

  “I was thinking about a case.” Even if it wasn’t the truth, it wasn’t a lie, either. How he handled his great-aunt’s property was a case.

  “Shouldn’t a PI be off investigating stuff?” Teresa asked.

  “I have been working on finding you,” he answered. “Now that you’re here to help with things, and as soon as we locate Kayla, I’ll take a few cases.”

  “But first you find Kayla,” Miss Janie said. “I don’t care how much money you spend. I want my daughter to come home.”

  “Why did you foster me and Kayla? You were almost ready to retire when you brought me home, and you brought Kayla in right after your last year at the school.”

  “I had one more year when the social workers came to the school to inform us that they were taking you from your mother’s home.” Miss Janie smiled. “I was dreading living alone in this big old place, and I’d been watching you girls out on the playground for years. If I had to make a trip over to the elementary school, I’d wait until lunch recess so I could see you—you both looked like how I imagined my girls growing up.”

  She narrowed her eyes and lowered her voice. “And . . . I hated y’all’s mothers for not taking care of you right. I even wondered if my girls were being treated like that, and then finally one day, the social worker came to the school to talk to me and some of the teachers. That’s when I knew I had to take you home with me. I needed someone and you needed a home. I got approved to be your foster mother, and you came to live with me.”

  She paused again and then went on. “Folks had invited me up to the senior citizens place in Sulphur Springs, but who wants to drive that far every day to have lunch and play dominoes? You had dark skin like my babies, so I could pretend you was mine. Where are my babies again? Did they have a good home?”

  “I’m sure they did,” Sam answered. “Me and Delia used to talk about how nice it would be if Birthright had a senior citizens place of our own. We might be a small community, but I bet we’d draw people from the outlying communities as well, especially since it’s hard to get around much as we get older. But the town never did anything with the idea.” He paused. “I should be goin’. Them four sheep of mine are going to be carryin’ on if I don’t get some feed out to them.”

  Noah poured himself another cup of coffee and headed toward the stairs. “Why do you keep sheep, Sam?”

  “Delia liked to watch a baby lamb romp around in the springtime. When it got up big enough, we gave it to one of the farm kids to show at the county livestock show, and she got a big kick out of seeing if her baby won a prize,” Sam explained as he carried his plate to the sink. “Feedin’ lambs reminds me of her smile, so it’s worth keepin’ more around.”

  “Please come again, Sam,” Teresa said. “There’s always plenty, and we love the company.”

  Sam removed his cowboy hat from the hook beside the back door and settled it on his head. “Thanks again for that, but if I’m goin’ to be eatin’ here, I’ll have to contribute a little. I bought some beef from Jimbo Turner down the road from me last week. I’ll bring over some steaks when I come back.”

  “That would be great,” Noah said, “but you sure don’t have to bring anything. Teresa always makes plenty, and if you’ll eat with us, I don’t have to live on leftovers.”

  “Boy, ain’t you learned that leftovers is the best part?” Sam laughed as he disappeared out the back door.

  What Sam said stayed with Noah all the way to his bedroom-office combination on the second floor. Leftovers were the best part. Did that pertain to life as well as food? After the main course was served, did the part that was left behind become better? If so, then what remained of his heart and life when he got sober
would be the good years, right? Would Teresa or any other woman ever see it that way?

  He sat down at his desk and pulled up the file that had Teresa’s and Kayla’s inheritance documents in it. Deciding how and what to do with all that money gave him a headache. He knew exactly what he would do with what Miss Janie had left him. He planned to live in Birthright and do his PI work out of the house right there.

  Man was not made to live out his days on earth alone. His grandfather’s booming preacher’s voice rattled around in his head. Luther Jackson, brother to Miss Janie, had joined the service to get away from his religious family. Miss Janie said that after several years, her brother got tired of running from God, and although he made a career of the military, he became a chaplain.

  “Maybe man was made to have a wife,” Noah muttered, “but there’s not many available women in Birthright, Texas.”

  Chapter Five

  Kayla Green awoke to the sound of gardeners working on the flowers that hot summer morning. She shielded her eyes against the sun coming through her bedroom window. When that didn’t work, she reached for the spare pillow and slammed it down over her face. Gardeners weren’t supposed to be there on Sunday, not even if it was hot as hell and the roses and lantana needed tending to. The sprinkler system should take care of that on the one day that Kayla could sleep late.

  She finally tossed back the covers, grumbled the whole time she got out of bed, and put on a pot of coffee. Since she was already up, she thought about going to church, but that would require getting dressed, and she liked to lounge around in her pajamas on Sunday until noon. Then she would do what grocery shopping needed to be done and catch up on laundry.

  Thinking of church reminded her of going to services with Miss Janie. She’d been glad to get dressed up in a nice, clean outfit those days, and even more glad that the snooty girls she went to high school with went to the bigger churches over in Sulphur Springs. She liked all the elderly people in the little Birthright church so much better than those hateful bitches.

  But the other thing that it reminded her of was the smell of the church bus when it came around to their neighborhood on Sunday morning. Kids who had parents to take them to services didn’t ride the bus—just the ones whose parents had partied hard the night before. Kayla was one of those children who never had matching clothes or hair that was combed. She was one who hadn’t had a bath the night before or brushed her teeth that morning and had contributed to the smell in the bus. Her mother didn’t make her younger siblings go to church, but then they belonged to Kayla’s stepdad, so they were white—not half-black like Kayla.

  She’d gone to church all of three times. After that, she would hide behind the house, then sneak off to the woods for two hours until she heard the vehicle delivering the kids back to the neighborhood. Then she would go back into the house, get out the hot dogs or maybe open a can of soup, feed the other three kids, and try to clean up the mess from the night before. They usually ate in front of the television or on the porch, because her stepdad got really mad if they woke him and her mother before they were ready to get out of bed.

  The memories of Billy Joe Green’s thick belt coming down on her back and butt made her shiver even after fifteen years. She shook her head, trying to erase the picture of his eyebrows drawn down and his mouth set in a tight line as he jerked his belt from the loops in his jeans, but it was burned into her brain.

  She’d found a little peace when she went to church after she’d left Denver, but not enough to give up her morning that day. “The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree,” she whispered as she poured a cup of coffee and carried it to her recliner.

  In spite of Miss Janie’s help and raising, Kayla had taken up with a man who was just like her worthless stepfather. Billy Joe Green and Denver both always had an excuse for quitting their jobs, and they attacked every problem with violence. Like mother, like daughter. That’s what she’d heard whispered by her schoolteachers, and even her classmates, and she’d proven them right up to a point. Eighteen months ago, Denver had lashed out at her for the last time, blaming her for him losing his job. She’d walked out that evening with nothing but the clothes on her back and the hundred dollars she’d saved from her tips working as a waitress.

  “Kayla! Come down here!” Mrs. Witherspoon yelled from the bottom of the stairs leading up to Kayla’s one-room apartment. The woman wasn’t easy to work for, but Kayla’s job as housekeeper came with a free garage apartment, which beat living in a box under a bridge, and the old girl was happy to pay in cash.

  Kayla pulled a pair of shorts on and let her nightshirt hang free. “Yes, ma’am,” she called out as she started down the stairs, only to find Mrs. Witherspoon and a policeman waiting.

  Mrs. Witherspoon shook her finger at Kayla. “What have you done? If you’ve been in trouble with the law, then I’ll fire you on the spot.”

  Kayla rubbed her sweaty hands on the back of her shorts, but she couldn’t stop her heart from racing. Denver had found her; she was sure of it. He had told her that he’d kill her before he would see her with another man.

  “She’s not in trouble,” the policeman said. “I just need to talk to her for a minute or two.”

  “Well? Get on with it.” Mrs. Witherspoon crossed her arms over her chest. “I’ve got to get to church, and if Kayla is in trouble, I need to know before I leave. She might steal me blind.”

  “She’s not in trouble,” the policeman stated again. “A private investigator came to my office yesterday. He said there’s some family looking for you over in northeast Texas, down south of Paris. He left this letter for me to deliver to you. I wouldn’t have known where to bring it, but I’m friends with this lady’s”—he pointed at Mrs. Witherspoon—“this lady’s grandson, and he spoke about you cleaning her house. I recognized the name.” He handed her the letter. “Hope it’s not bad news.”

  “Well, if that’s all it is, I’m going to church. I’ll see you in the morning, Kayla, bright and early. You need to polish the silver coffee service. I have my club meeting tomorrow evening, and I expect things to be ready.” Mrs. Witherspoon turned and marched back toward the house.

  “Thank you,” Kayla told the policeman, but it took all her willpower not to tell Mrs. Witherspoon to kiss her naturally born half-black ass.

  She carried the letter back up to her tiny one-room apartment, which had come furnished with a twin-size bed, a table and one chair, a recliner, and a combination cabinet, stove, and refrigerator over in one corner. Her hands shook as she fell back into the worn recliner, and she noticed the return address. The letter was from Miss Janie, not her mother, thank God. Had it been from her mother, she would have burned the damned thing without even looking at it.

  A wave of guilt bigger than a tsunami washed over her. Within a week of running away with Denver, she’d known it was a big mistake, but she couldn’t go back and admit it to Miss Janie. Besides, the government had stopped paying for her upkeep when she turned eighteen, and Miss Janie had been kind enough to let her stay until she graduated. She’d even offered to pay for Kayla’s college, like she had Teresa’s.

  “Not even the wonderful Teresa stayed in school, though. She dropped out to get married.” Kayla remembered the first Christmas card that came to the house after Teresa left.

  She turned the letter over several times in her hands. Miss Janie was dead. Kayla could feel it in her bones.

  Finally, she slipped a thumb under the edge of the flap and opened it. Three one-hundred-dollar bills fell out into her lap. Tears flowed down Kayla’s cheeks. Miss Janie had left her an undeserved gift, and she’d never know how much Kayla appreciated every dollar, or how much she needed the money.

  She dried off her cheeks with the back of her hand and unfolded the letter, expecting to find something handwritten in Miss Janie’s perfect handwriting, but it was a typewritten letter on letterhead from Noah Jackson, Attorney at Law and Private Investigative Services. She remembered Noah very well even though
he came to the house only once. His father was in the military—she couldn’t remember which branch—and his mother was kind of high class in Kayla’s estimation. They had stayed only a few days because Noah was due to start college and his folks were moving to Japan.

  Noah wrote that Miss Janie was dying of cancer and had Alzheimer’s. Kayla heaved a sigh of relief—Alzheimer’s and cancer were bad, very bad, but at least Miss Janie wasn’t dead, and she wanted Kayla to come home. The money was to get her there by whatever means she wanted, and she read that she would have free room and board if she would help take care of Miss Janie.

  Kayla eyed the letter as if it were a poisonous snake. Did she really want to open up that can of worms again? Go back to where she’d had even less self-confidence than she had right then? Where people followed her around in the stores because she might shoplift like her mother had been known to do, or just because she had dark skin?

  “The apple and all that,” she muttered.

  What if Teresa had been summoned to Birthright, too? Could she stand to live in the same house with her again? All they did was argue and bitch at each other—they fought about everything from who used the last of the shower soap to who hated the other one the most. The only time they were civil was when Miss Janie was in the room, and even then, it was a chore.

  Kayla closed her eyes and flashed on a picture of her bedroom at Miss Janie’s house. She couldn’t expect it to be the same as when she left it, but it was twice as big as her tiny room above Mrs. Witherspoon’s garage. If she went back, she could make peace with all the regrets she’d piled up inside her heart, and the letter said that Noah would pay her a salary to help take care of Miss Janie. She couldn’t take money for that job, though—not when her foster mother had dragged her out of the pit where she’d been living and treated her like a daughter.