by Cathy Gohlke
By committing to help the children of Saints Delight and to mentor Ruby, I’d felt a kindling of fire inside my heart—a good fire. Then, in hardly the space of a breath, everything of that all-important day had vanished, slamming the door in one terrifying note.
I didn’t undress but lay staring out my window at the dark. A whip-poor-will called from the edge of the woods. It sang off and on for hours, keeping me company as the moon made its way across the sky, reminding me of the night I first came to Aunt Hyacinth’s. That night bird’s call had drawn memories of the year Mama and I had come to Garden’s Gate. She’d said as we’d stood on Aunt Hyacinth’s front porch that a whip-poor-will’s call signals comfort in the night. Even as a child I’d hoped it meant new beginnings. But what did those new beginnings mean now?
•••
By the time gray light crept through the trees, I’d determined my course.
There was no question Gerald could force me to return to Pennsylvania with him. Aunt Hyacinth might offer me sanctuary, but Gerald was even more to be feared than my father. My father had bullied and terrified my mother; Gerald bullied and terrified me, but he was also physically stronger and more persuasive to those around him. He could convince others of whatever he wished, through gentlemanly charm or tears or vows to change—if any doubted his sincerity. If that didn’t work, he could, and had, physically carried me off.
I could run away again, but where would I go? Eventually he would find me—as he’d found me now.
There was nothing for it but to return with him and endure whatever public humiliation he’d planned to permanently rid himself of me. Only when I no longer hindered his plans or reputation could I hope to escape for good. Whether I’d be able to return to Garden’s Gate before Aunt Hyacinth’s passing, I didn’t know—could hardly expect—but I needed to do all I could for her before I went. She would be heartbroken with this loss on top of all else.
I packed my few belongings. I’d arrived with nothing. Aunt Hyacinth would have no use for the clothes I’d purchased here, but Gladys might. We were close to the same size. Gerald would never permit me to keep them anyway. It would look too much as if I’d found a way to manage on my own.
Though I’d been terrified Gerald would find me, now that the letter had come, now that I’d read it and laid it aside, I was not so frightened as I was numb. Numbness was my defense against Gerald’s fists and shouting tirades, against his throwing things and biting and kicking my legs and stomach. Shutting down and folding inside myself was the only way I’d survived seven years of his outbursts. Numbness was the only means of surviving to move forward another day.
There was no way I could spare my precious aunt sorrow. And she deserved to hear everything from me first.
Midmorning I took tea into the parlor, now also the children’s library room, for Aunt Hyacinth and me. I’d baked biscuits early and, after pouring her tea, spread the warmed-over biscuits thick with butter and Aunt Hyacinth’s raspberry jam. I set the plate beside her tea and guided her hand to it. Oh, how I would miss these precious moments with her!
“What a treat! I smelled those biscuits baking, you know, and wondered when you’d bring them out.” Bells came through the smile in her voice.
“There’s something I must tell you, Aunt Hyacinth.”
“Yes, my dear? About the library? I think yesterday’s opening was splendid! All things, and all people, considered, I don’t think it could have gone better.”
“No,” I conceded, “you’re right. It was wonderful. But that’s not it—”
A knock came at the door. It occurred to me in that moment that perhaps Gerald had deliberately misled me, that he’d given me a date but all along meant to show up early, to throw me off my guard.
The knock came again, this time louder.
“Who could that be?” Aunt Hyacinth asked. “An eager library patron already?” She smiled, but I didn’t move. “Is everything all right, Lilliana?”
I stood, swallowing. “I hope so.” I smoothed my skirt, drew a deep breath, and walked to the door. Another pounding was in progress when I pulled it open. “Coltrane? It’s Coltrane Richards, isn’t it?”
“Mama said to give you this, Miss Belvidere.” Coltrane shoved a pink envelope into my hand and all but dove off the porch as if his feet might burn if he stayed a moment longer.
Relief washed over me so that I almost laughed into the morning sun.
“Did you say Coltrane is here?” Aunt Hyacinth called.
I closed the door and slit the seal on the envelope. “He’s gone now. He brought a note from his mother.”
“Oh, dear.” Aunt Hyacinth clucked her tongue. “What does she have to say now? Nothing helpful, I’ll wager.”
As I pulled out the note, a waft of perfume—something strong and pungent—filled the air. I read aloud to Aunt Hyacinth.
“Dear Miss Belvidere,
Thank you for yesterday’s tea and the opening of Miz Hyacinth’s home to form a lending library for our community.
I trust that yesterday’s mistake, which I attribute to Celia Percy’s rashness and apparent misunderstanding, won’t happen again. You must realize that inviting coloreds into Miz Hyacinth’s home will inevitably stain your reputation and hers. As you surely know and as Miz Hyacinth can tell you, such stains carry lasting consequences.
To make myself perfectly clear, I must repeat that neither my daughter, Janice, nor my son, Coltrane, will be allowed to attend your lending library or to play with the Percy children if you and they do not properly separate yourselves. I am also writing to Mrs. Percy in the same vein. You will agree that we must protect the reputations of our children, especially our daughters. It is my Christian duty to make certain the other mothers understand the severity of the situation and do the same. Trust that I will.
Sincerely,
Velma Richards”
“Of all the nerve!” Aunt Hyacinth sputtered. “It’s just like her, I’m sorry to say. Well, you can’t kowtow to her or anyone else.”
I almost gasped. Kowtow? I’d become very good at kowtowing. But Aunt Hyacinth knew nothing of Gerald’s letter. I had to focus on the matter at hand—and yet, what would Velma Richards matter to me if I wasn’t even here?
I knew the answer. If it weren’t consequential for Celia and Chester and for the other youngsters, colored and white, who so wanted to come to the library, I could have ignored the woman. For their sakes I needed to stand up to Velma Richards without alienating half of No Creek. Aunt Hyacinth and I needed to stand up to her. But how? How could Aunt Hyacinth manage the library with me gone? Ruby Lynne had offered to help, but she was too young to take over and certainly couldn’t be here all the time. It was too much to expect of Gladys.
“Never mind her. I surely enjoyed Reverend Pierce and his choir yesterday. Such splendid voices. Such heart! It thrills me to know they’ll be using this library. It wouldn’t have happened without you, Lilliana.”
“Yes.” I wasn’t sure I should inject too much enthusiasm. “Yes, they have splendid voices.”
“You seem less than excited about our day.”
I sighed. “I don’t know what to do. Velma Richards seems like a woman who will carry out her threat.”
“No doubt. It’s a crusade for her.” Moments passed. “Not much Christian about it, is there?”
I felt like snorting. “I don’t know. It pretty well fits with what I’ve come to expect of Christians.”
“Then you’ve only known people who take the name of the Lord in vain.”
That caught me short.
“Jesus called Jews of every social rank. He called women and children and people from Samaria and tax collectors and prostitutes and the down-and-out to Himself. He called unlearned fishermen for the greatest work in the history of the world. He called the humble and the penitent and those who were smart enough to recognize their need of a Savior and to see that need fulfilled in Him. Those people followed Him, surrendered their all to Him,
and obeyed His commands. They are the ones who deserve the name ‘Christian’—Christ followers. Anything less, anything Pharisaic and legalistic and arrogant, takes His name in vain. Velma reminds me of the elder brother in the parable of the Prodigal Son—totally unaware that her position in the community was given her.”
“Are you saying Velma Richards is not a Christian?” I was astonished by Aunt Hyacinth’s lengthy tirade and perversely thrilled with her defiance.
Aunt Hyacinth chuckled. “Well, not to her face.” She grew serious just as quickly. “But I’m saying that you need to recognize the difference between what people claim to be and what they are, and take that into account when you make your decision.”
“My decision?”
“Yes. Whether or not you’ll allow everyone to come to the library, whether or not you’ll tutor children at all, and if so, will it be all children who want to read better or only the children who are acceptable to the Pharisees? Gladys told me about Ruby Lynne when she came to say good night—and Celia’s offer to Reverend Pierce. It’s up to you, Lilliana.”
“It’s not up to me, Aunt Hyacinth. This is your house. No Creek is your home. These are your people.” Knowing I would be leaving, it was more important than ever that Aunt Hyacinth decide for herself. “Mrs. Richards said that if we continue to allow colored people into the house, it will stain—will ruin your reputation and mine. I think she means to shun us. That could be so uncomfortable for you at church, and maybe no one would come to use your library.”
“Shun me at church? It won’t matter much longer for me. And Reverend Willard would never stand for that.”
“He may not be able to stop her.”
“No, he may not. People here are well-set in their ways. Answer me this: are you afraid of Velma Richards?”
“Afraid?” That raised the ire in me. “No, I’m not afraid of her. I’m angry—infuriated. But I am afraid she’ll do what she says. And there are so many things to consider.” Was now the time to tell her? I’m running out of time.
Aunt Hyacinth shrugged. “Let her try. Let her, and see how things unfold.” She leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes. “Aren’t you tired of being afraid, Lilliana? Aren’t you bone tired?”
Chapter Nineteen
JESSE HAD JUST LAID his Sunday pants between the bedsprings and mattress, hoping to hone a crease down the center by the Tuesday evening service in Ridgemont, when a knock came at the parsonage door. He checked his watch. Eight o’clock on a Monday night was late for callers. Most folks in No Creek rose and went to bed with the sun and, except to frequent the Whistle Stop or a hidden still in the woods, rarely set foot off their front porch after a weeknight supper.
He flipped on the porch light and opened the door. “Grace! What a welcome surprise.” He was surprised, even confused to see her standing there. She’d never come to the parsonage, not once. “Is Miz Hyacinth all right? She’s not taken a turn, has she?”
“No, no. Hyacinth is fine. It’s me I’ve come to talk with you about, Reverend Willard. Me, and it bears on Hyacinth—Aunt Hyacinth.”
He had no idea what she meant, but he was gladder than peach pie on Sunday to have her. He noticed her use of Aunt. “Forgive my manners. Won’t you come in?”
“Is it . . . is it all right to see you here, now? I know it’s late.”
“It’s fine—fine.” But then he realized he must consider her reputation. “Unless you’d rather we talk in the church.”
“No. It’s a matter of some delicacy. I don’t want anyone to walk in on our conversation or to overhear just yet.”
He’d not seen Grace Belvidere so divided from her confidence, so strained in her speech yet so determined to talk. “Please, come in. Can I offer you a cup of tea? Coffee?”
“No thank you. Please. I need to get this out, and it’s hard for me but important, and there’s not much time.”
“Have a seat.”
She sighed as she sank onto his settee. He took the rocking chair adjacent.
“I’ve thought about this all afternoon and still, I hardly know where to begin.”
“The beginning’s always been a favorite of mine.” He smiled.
She smiled, a bit sadly, in return. “I’ll start with my name. It’s not Grace Belvidere.”
If he’d expected anything, it wasn’t this.
“My name is Lilliana Grace Swope. My grandmother was a Belvidere—Aunt Hyacinth’s sister, Camellia Belvidere, before she married. Grandmother’s daughter—my mother—was Rosemary.”
“Miz Hyacinth’s niece, the one she raised—the one who—” He stopped short.
“Yes. The one who ran off to get married and broke her heart. And now I’m about to break my grandaunt’s heart again.”
“You’re running off to get married?” Jesse’s heart plummeted to his feet.
“No . . . no.”
“I’m sorry. Please go on.”
“Mama died earlier this year.”
“I’m sorry, Grace—Lilliana. I didn’t know.”
She smiled, now a worried smile. “Thank you.”
“Lilliana is such a beautiful name. Lily—a flower name—like all the Belvidere women. Was Swope your mother’s married name?”
“No. It’s my name—my married name.”
Jesse felt as if someone had punched him in the gut. His head reeled and his body stiffened. Married? She’s married? He willed his face not to react. She came because she’s in need. I’m her pastor, as much of a pastor as she has. It’s my job—my duty—my privilege to listen to what she has to say.
“I ran away after my mother’s funeral.” She pressed fingers to her temples, pushing her hair and the combs that held it back, leaving it standing up on one side. “It’s a long story, and I’m not making excuses, but I didn’t know where else to go. Aunt Hyacinth had been so good to my mother and to me when I was a little girl—the summer we came here.”
“Does Miz Hyacinth know—?”
“Yes, she knows everything . . . Well, as much as . . . The thing is, I received a letter—the letter you saw Ruby Lynne de—”
She was interrupted by a second pounding on the door that made them both jump.
Jesse couldn’t imagine who else could be on his doorstep at such an hour. Nobody was near dying, as far as he knew. No imminent births. An accident? “I’m sorry, Grace—Lilliana.” Her new name would take some getting used to. “I’ll see who it is and be right back.”
She nodded, turning her head, swiping at tears that threatened.
His head still spinning, Jesse opened the door to a man he’d never seen—and Ida Mae standing off to his side. “Ida Mae? Is everything all right?”
“Not by half, Reverend.” Ida Mae looked like the cat who’d swallowed the canary and pretended to be sorry about it.
The man pulled open the screen door before Jesse could offer. “Gerald Swope.” Jesse heard Lilliana gasp from the sitting room. “I see that my wife is here.”
Jesse could not have been more surprised if the man had claimed to come from the moon or if he’d delivered a right hook to his jaw.
Ida Mae’s eyes widened. It was the light of the gossip in them that irked Jesse most. “Mr. Swope came looking for Miz Hyacinth’s house, and it being near dark and him a stranger to No Creek, I offered to show him. When we passed your house, we couldn’t help but see through the window—he’s come looking for his wife, to take her home—Lilliana Swope.” Ida Mae poured it out all in a rush and enunciated the name loudly, looking significantly past Jesse toward the sitting area. “I told him that as far as I knew only a relative named Grace Belvidere was living with Miz Hyacinth, but of course, he explained the truth of that.”
Jesse realized their interpretation of what they’d seen through the front room window. Nothing could have been more innocent or possibly looked less so if a person was so inclined.
Lilliana waited on the settee, her hair still standing up on one side. He glimpsed her attempt to stop the trembl
ing in her hands. Instantly, he disliked the man and his assumptions. Not an appropriate initial response for a man of God, he knew.
“Thank you, Ida Mae. We won’t keep you. I’m sure you’ll want to close up the store and get home to your family. Would you like to come in, Mr. Swope?” As Gerald Swope shouldered past, Jesse pulled the screen door closed, cutting off Ida Mae’s intended entrance. “I’ll see you at the Wednesday evening prayer meeting, Ida Mae.” Before she could close the wide O of her mouth, he closed the inside door, all the while praying for discernment, understanding, wisdom, strength, patience.
But Ida Mae pushed it open again and walked right in as if she lived there. “Mr. Swope gave me a ride up the hill in his car as I offered to show him the way. He assured me he’d see me safely returned to the store. Any gentleman would.”
Jesse couldn’t argue with that, even though he knew Ida Mae and every citizen of No Creek walked every inch of the surrounding hills by the light of the moon without so much as a stumble.
“Lilliana, it’s good to see you.” Gerald stepped forward to embrace his wife, but she stepped back.
“Your letter said tomorrow—that you were coming tomorrow.” Lilliana’s words sounded hollow, betrayed.
Gerald removed his hat. “I couldn’t wait another night. I drove all day to get here. We can spend the night with your aunt and be off in the morning. It will give me a chance to meet Aunt Hyacinth.” His manner turned solicitous, even charming.
“Aunt? Miz Hyacinth’s your aunt?” Ida Mae raised her eyebrows. “Rosemary’s daughter.”
“Ida Mae,” Jesse interrupted, “I think Mr. and Mrs. Swope may need some privacy. Perhaps I can walk you home.”
“No! Please don’t go—not yet,” Lilliana all but begged.
“Lilliana, we need to speak alone. Let’s go to my car. The reverend has offered to see Mrs. Mae home.” Gerald reached for her.
