Of course my family includes those people who also call me friend, across the country and at my church. No way am I as funny or as faithful as they make me think I am, but I always know they’re laughing with me and not at me. They’ve served as trusted resources and early readers, provided comforting shoulders and comfort food, and prayed for, with, and over me. They’ve waited for me to call, and they didn’t hang up when I finally did. When we text, we can use proper punctuation because we get that a period doesn’t mean we’re angry; it’s just the end of a sentence, not the friendship. They know who they are, and what makes it better, we all know whose we are. That makes it so much sweeter.
Since I’m talking about punctuation, here’s an exclamation point for Cynthia Ruchti, my fearless and faithful agent! She and Books & Such Literary took a chance on me and Granny B when other agents were afraid to dip a toe in these unknown waters. She has gripped my hand and patiently led me along, and not just leading but walking alongside, even dragging me when necessary. I appreciate her prayerful intercession and skillful mediation. She is my friend, confidante, and warrior, even if she does put syrup on her grits and voluntarily eats beets. She always knows what to say and when to say it, wisdom and discretion at work. And of course, I must thank her for connecting me with my Tyndale team . . .
Jan Stob is a dream. She made sure what happened in North Carolina didn’t stay there by welcoming me to her Tyndale House family. This project has been a long time comin’, but working with her made it worth the wait. She really listened and then put hands and feet to all she read and heard. I count her as a friend and an unanticipated blessing—the best kind. Caleb Sjogren, my editor, is truly next level. He has sharpened my thoughts and my words, ensuring they were fit for flight as arrows soaring to their designated target. If he has any new wrinkles, he should consider them smile lines that spell my name. And Eva Winters . . . that cover! Just like Granny B, her behind-the-scenes work made such an impact, right there front and center. She was gifted with a beautiful eye for design that totally nailed it.
While I can’t capture it all, I praise God, who can.
About the Author
ROBIN W. PEARSON’S writing sprouts from her Southern roots. While sitting in her grandmothers’ kitchens, she learned what happens if you sweep someone’s feet, how to make corn bread taste like pound cake, and the all-purpose uses of Vaseline. She also learned about the power of God and how His grace led her grandmothers to care for their large families after their husbands were long gone, rearing children who became business owners, graduates, ministers, parents, and grandparents themselves. Their faith and superstitions, life lessons, and life’s longings all worked together to shape and inspire her, leading her to write A Long Time Comin’, the first in a three-book series about man’s timeless love affair with God. This story shares an African American family’s experiences in a relationship that crosses generations, cultures, and geography.
While her family history gave her the story to tell, her professional experiences gave her the skills to tell it effectively. Armed with her degree from Wake Forest University, she has corrected grammar up and down the East Coast in her career as an editor and writer that started with Houghton Mifflin Company twenty-five years ago. Since then she has freelanced with magazines, parenting journals, textbooks, and homeschooling resources.
At the heart of it all abides her love of God and the family He’s given her. It’s her focus as a wife and homeschooling mother of seven. It’s what she writes about on her blog, Mommy, Concentrated, where she shares her adventures in faith, family, and freelancing. And it’s the source and subject of her fiction—in her novel A Long Time Comin’, in the new characters currently living and breathing on her computer screen, and in the stories waiting to be told about her belief in Jesus Christ and the experiences at her own kitchen sink.
Follow Robin at robinwpearson.com.
Discussion Questions
No one would say Beatrice Agnew is warm and fuzzy, yet Evelyn could cozy up to her in other important ways. For example, she could trust her to deliver the truth without any sugarcoating. Is there a Granny B in your life? Describe this person and your relationship.
Evelyn and her grandmother have more than their names in common. How are they alike? How are they different?
Did Beatrice’s resistance to cancer treatment demonstrate faith or fear? Why?
Granny B has been walking with God a long time, in a very real, practical way that impacts her day-to-day interactions with others. How does her spiritual walk compare to Ruthena’s? Edmond’s? How does their relationship with God affect their personal relationships?
What clues do the letters Beatrice hid in her closet reveal about her life? What big revelations has God shown you in tiny steps along the way in your own life?
Kevin said he didn’t “let go.” How did he hold on, and why might Evelyn agree or disagree with his assertion?
Beatrice had to make some hard decisions about who needed to know what about her diagnosis and how she should deliver the information. Evelyn respected Granny B’s wishes enough to help her carry them out. Was there any information you believed her children had a right to know? What would you have said or done differently in Beatrice’s shoes? In Evelyn’s?
Did Kevin’s right to know Evelyn’s secret justify Granny B’s interference, or did her grandmother jump the gun?
Evelyn believes there are many ways you can be unfaithful, in your heart and in your actions, to God and to others in your life. What did Granny B’s life teach you about faithfulness?
Do you think Evelyn ever read the letter she took from Granny B’s house? Explain why you agree or disagree with what she did with it.
What does Granny B mean by Ruthena’s “white God in the sky”? What are your own perceptions of God?
The Agnew siblings are their best friends and their worst enemies. How do their sibling dynamics compare to your own?
Why do you think Granny B resisted a family reunion?
Chapter One
“If you don’t allow God to confront your past, your past one day is going to confront you. . . . Esau is comin’.”
REVEREND LEE CLAYPOOLE
“YOU KNOW DIVORCE ain’t catchin’.” Ruby’s dark eyes flicked in her granddaughter’s direction. “Nobody’s goin’ to sneeze and give it to you or Theodore.”
“Are you listening to your grandma, Maxine?” Vivienne stood on her toes and stretched to retrieve a small jar from the kitchen cabinet. It skittered away from her.
“Yes, ma’am, but I never said I thought divorce was contagious,” Maxine smiled a little and shook her head as she hopped down from the stool. She reached over Vivienne and set the glass container on the counter. At five-six, she had her mother by three inches. But that was the only thing about Maxine that outmatched her mama.
Vivienne opened the pimientos with a pop! and spooned some into the bowl in front of her. “Then what do you think this is all about? You’ve been having these crazy dreams for weeks now, ever since you set that appointment. Then you hear about your friends’ separation. That’s not going to happen to you and Theodore.” She stirred the potato salad, using one pink-gloved hand to hold on to the bowl.
“I didn’t say it was, Mama.” Maxine moved her shoulders to the beat of the Jackson Southernaires, crooning from the Bluetooth speaker, to mask the shiver snaking through her. Maxine wished she could blame her chill on the clouds cloaking the pale-blue sky, but she knew it had nothing to do with the below-freezing temperature, unusual for North Carolina. The three women had been going back and forth for over an hour, since Maxine had shown up on her mama’s doorstep holding her box of silk chrysanthemums.
“The thought just breaks my heart, Mama, that’s all, that she couldn’t talk to me about what she was going through. Pregnant, in broken pieces, trying to avoid the whispers, pointing fingers, the dissection of her problems, the gossip from church folk.” Swallowing hard over a lump that suddenly lodged in her
throat, Maxine took a step closer to the flames flickering brightly in the fireplace behind her. She fiddled with the ribs of her gray corduroy skirt. “Evelyn’s having a little girl.”
Vivienne frowned and shook her head, dislodging a strand from her silver-streaked bun. “Is that what this is about? Her baby girl?” She aimed a gloved finger at her daughter. “If so, you need to keep in mind that it didn’t have anything to do with you. Baby or no baby. Besides, her marriage is fine now.” Vivienne returned her attention to the bowl.
The chair creaked as Ruby propped an ample hip on the stool Maxine had abandoned. “Goodness gracious, Maxine Amelia, you don’t know your end from your beginnin’. You ain’t even married yet. Your weddin’ is months away and you’re already in divorce care.” She pointed to the speaker. “And turn down that music. Cain’t even hear my own thoughts, let alone help you with yours.”
Maxine obeyed.
Vivienne scooped out a teaspoonful of the creamy mixture and turned to her daughter. “Here, taste this for me. What does it need?”
“Mmm. Nothing.”
Vivienne nodded in response and sprinkled kosher salt over the bowl and swirled it around with her mixing spoon.
Maxine pursed her lips and inhaled a sigh. She watched her mama finish off the potato salad with paprika and cover the sixteen-inch melamine bowl with plastic wrap. “Like I said, it’s just sad. For them, not me. I’m too nervous about premarital counseling to worry about divorce.”
Ruby wrapped an arm around her granddaughter. “Don’t let your mind play tricks on you, awake or asleep. Their problems ain’t your problems. Stop thinkin’ of this pastor as some one-man inquisition. I hear Reverend Atwater is good people.”
Her grandma was squishy in all the right places. Accepting the comfort of her embrace and her words, Maxine planted a quick kiss on her velvety cheek. Then she opened the long, rectangular box on the quartz countertop and lifted out one flower after another, setting the counter ablaze with purple, cranberry, and orange blooms.
But she wasn’t so focused she missed her mama rolling her eyes in Ruby’s direction. Vivienne picked up the pumpkin-colored dish, hefted open the vacuum-sealed door of the refrigerator, and stowed it on the second shelf.
Ruby cast her eyes heavenward. “Trust God’s authority and care, not just your spouse’s—that is, your future spouse. That’s what’s kept me and Lerenzo married. And that’s what keeps Manna in business.”
That’s easy to say when you’ve been married for decades and you run a catering business together. I’m just trying to keep a fiancé. Maxine snipped stems and leaves and arranged them in the olive cut-glass vase. “All I know is I’m going to struggle at playing truth or consequences during these seven sessions with the pastor.”
Vivienne huffed. “Maxine, just be yourself. You’re thirty. It’s been thirteen years since . . . It’s time to let go of this guilt and do something. It’s bigger than you and Theodore. Now, I’m done with this.”
“Done with this.” Really, Maxine didn’t think she’d ever be done with this, the burden she’d been toting around half her life. It had grown heavier since adding the weight of her engagement ring. Sunlight danced through the picture window overlooking the backyard, setting fire to the cinnamon ringlets framing Maxine’s face. It’s been thirteen years, but it feels like yesterday. Is Mama right? But what if my “self” isn’t good enough for Teddy? Maxine twirled a curl around her finger and looped it around her right earlobe.
Vivienne squinted at Maxine. “I don’t know what you’re tuckin’ in your heart’s back pocket, but I should tell you John and I talked about it, and he thinks it’s high time, too.” Vivienne stared at her daughter a few seconds before she shrugged as if giving up. She strode from the sun-splashed kitchen, throwing over her shoulder, “Just know you have your daddy’s blessing.”
John Owens became her stepfather three years after a sleepy teenage driver had blindsided her biological father, David Clark, on an inky Union County road. John had officially adopted Maxine to hush Vivienne’s clamoring, not to fulfill Maxine’s own burning, personal need, before he’d uprooted his new family for a temporary work assignment in Alabama. It had taken some time, but eventually she and her stepfather got along like mayonnaise and mustard. Still, more often than not, Maxine respectfully—and teasingly—called him “First John” and his namesake, her little brother, “the Second.” One thing she never called her stepfather was “Daddy.”
Maxine glanced at her grandmother and whispered, “That’s all well and good, but there are bigger things to consider than First John’s blessing.”
Ruby held up her hands in the universal sign of silent surrender. She walked to the double wall ovens and fiddled with the dials.
Vivienne clip-clopped back from the storage room in her daisy-covered clogs and set her handful on the counter. She peeled off plastic wrap and aluminum foil, revealing a frozen pound cake. She usually baked three or four at a time and pulled them out to order. Then she’d add a freshly made glaze.
Maxine swiped Vivienne’s discarded wrapping and dropped it in the trash. She leaned against the counter, twiddling with her flower trimmings. “Evelyn was always so focused on her work, teaching and writing, not on being a mom.”
Vivienne peeked over her glasses at her daughter as she set the cake aside and consulted her iPad. “Having a baby doesn’t end the world. It didn’t end mine.”
“Well, it almost ended mine.” Maxine held her mama’s eyes. Neither blinked for a moment. But Maxine looked away first as she muttered, “And you’re not a seventeen-year-old.”
“You’re not seventeen years old . . . now.” Vivienne closed her tablet with a decisive click. “Just what are you doin’ with those flowers?”
“I’m trying out colors and arrangements for the bouquets.” Maxine repositioned a flower. “I have a feeling Teddy wouldn’t take the news that he’s a father quite as well as First John did.”
“Your Theodore ain’t becomin’ a daddy. So no need to send out birth announcements.” Ruby opened a bag of dark-brown sugar and spooned some into a small pot bubbling away on the gas cooktop.
Vivienne opened the refrigerator and drew out a large, glistening ham covered in pineapple slices. She set it down. “I like the purple and cranberry. Are you sure about the orange?”
“You know orange is my favorite color, and it’s perfect for my fall wedding.” Maxine shifted a stem. “And as far as birth announcements go, that’s exactly what I’m doing, Mama Ruby, sending information out into the world it doesn’t have the right to know. This is mine. I’m not holding on to this just for my sake . . .”
Ruby stopped stirring and raised an eyebrow that proclaimed her disbelief.
“Your weddin’ is December 5, which feels more like the Christmas season than the fall.” Vivienne plucked two orange mums, leaving only one in the center surrounded by a mixed spray of purple and cranberry, like the setting sun on the horizon. “There. Better. See?” She turned the vase toward Maxine. “The fact is, tellin’ Teddy the truth might be the right thing to do.”
“You’re right, Vivienne, but there’s a right time and place for it. That’s a lesson I learned as a young girl.” Ruby never looked away from the brown sugar mixture she’d pour over the ham once it was ready. “I remember when my brother planned to leave with Mr. Baker to sign up for the Army. At first, Mama didn’t say nuthin’, but not too long after he left, she sent me to get him off that bus. She didn’t want him to go because she knew if he ever left Spring Hope, he wasn’t ever comin’ back.
“As much as I hated to, I did as I was told. I didn’t even ask Daddy what he thought of the matter ’cause nobody got in the way of my mama. Billy and I was thick as thieves, and I knew what that trip meant to him. So I took the long way round gettin’ to Mr. Baker’s, hopin’ that bus would be long gone. I even went by Fulton’s and bought myself five cents worth of candy. But sure ’nough, that bus was still sittin’ there when I came walkin’ up, lic
kin’ my peppermint stick.”
“Couldn’t you have told your mother how you felt?”
“Child, didn’t nobody care how I felt. It was my job to obey. Young people these days . . .” Ruby shook her head at Vivienne.
Vivienne laughed as she took the spoon and stirred the glaze.
“Besides, that’s not the point. Follow where I’m leadin’, girl. Now when I got there, Billy was already on the bus. You should’ve seen his face when he saw me walk up. His eyes just got bigger and bigger, wellin’ up. Mr. Baker must have suspected I’d be comin’ ’cause he opened up those doors straightaway and asked me, ‘You come for Billy?’ Well, I looked from him to my brother sittin’ in that window, and I couldn’t do it. I just could not break his heart and pull him off that bus in front of all them other boys.”
Maxine stopped spinning the vase. “So what did you do?”
“I put a hand on my hip and said, ‘Mr. Baker, Mama sent me to see to Billy. She’ll have your head if somethin’ happens, so you’d best take care of him.’ He looked like he didn’t quite believe me, but he closed them doors and drove away. Billy was still wipin’ his face when he waved good-bye. I can still see him grinnin’—and lickin’ one of my peppermint sticks.”
“What did you say when you got home, Mama Ruby?”
“At first, I reported I was too late to stop Billy from leavin’. Which was mostly true, if you want to pick through the meat to get to the bone. It was too late. His heart was long gone, and he needed to follow it. But that wasn’t the whole story. Tellin’ that lie ate me up until I confessed it to my daddy. He made me tell the truth, and then I got the whuppin’ of my life. That was okay though. Forgiveness don’t always soften the consequences.”
“Excuse me. I don’t mean any harm, but what does all that have to do with Maxine?” Vivienne set the spoon down in a dish on the counter and lowered the flame.
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