by Karen White
“So what now?” I asked carefully, unsure of my own footing. “Lillian didn’t ask me to leave. She assumed you would do it for her.”
Reluctantly, he dragged his eyes from the window opening, and I saw the struggle there—the same struggle I imagined a horse made when presented with a higher jump. Sometimes, all it took was the right lead and the conviction that flying was sometimes allowed. “I’m not sure,” he said slowly. “And I don’t think Malily is, either. She asked me to find you, you know. She’d changed her mind. But now . . .” He shook his head. “Now I think she’d probably choose to die with a clear conscience, but I don’t think she wants the world to see what she’s been keeping hidden under her bed all these years, either.”
I steeled my voice so it wouldn’t break. “I need to do this,Tucker.” I took a step forward. “Lillian said that she’s the only one left who remembers the truth. I want to know what that truth is. I need to know. I owe it to my grandmother.”
His jaw clenched. “You lied to me. With Susan . . .” He shook his head. “I can’t abide lying. I don’t know if I can trust you.”
I shifted my feet, reminding me of the horses and the oncoming storm. I waited, afraid of what he’d say next.
“But I can’t forget that you saved Sara’s life, either.”
The wind blew harder outside, pushing against the wood of the barn and lifting my hair, reminding me of riding into the wind on the back of a horse. And for a brief moment I allowed myself to imagine riding again. I waited for the fear to come, the indecision. But instead I felt only emptiness, with neither passion nor glory, and for the first time since my accident, I saw possibility. “Can I stay? Please? At least until I find the answers I need.” The desperation had crept into my voice but I no longer cared.
Without answering, he shot a glance outside to the darkening sky. “It’s getting ready to storm.” He stood close to me and I closed my eyes for a moment, smelling the rain and the horse and Tucker, and my world snapped for a brief moment. He touched my arm and I opened my eyes, but he didn’t say anything else as lightning flashed in the distance.
“Helen told me that you were afraid of thunderstorms.”
He shifted away, and he was lost for a moment, revisiting places I couldn’t see. “I’d forgotten that,” he said, just as the first fat drops of rain began to hit the dirt path leading from the barn. He reached out his hand. “Come on. We’ll make a run for it before it starts pouring.”
I hesitated for a moment, reading more into his words than I should have. Then I grabbed his hand and followed his lead, and couldn’t help but wonder as we ran toward the old house with its odd alley of trees if it was already too late.
CHAPTER 17
A whippoorwill called out in the night, reassuring me that I wasn’t alone. The storm had continued long after Tucker brought me back to the cottage, cleansing the earth and the air and matching my mood of renewal. I hadn’t been to confession for years, and for the first time in a long while I felt the lightness of spirit caused by unburdening myself and saying penance.
But the storm continued to ravage the night, robbing me of a much-needed but elusive sleep. When it subsided I was wide-awake, my thoughts focused on my grandmother’s scrapbook pages. I needed to finish reading them in the hope that I would be given another chance to speak with Lillian. Tucker had yet to answer my question, and it was still uncertain if I would be welcome at Asphodel after tomorrow.
I listened to the rain drop from the eaves of the house and the whippoorwill calling again into the clearing sky and began to read.
February 4, 1937
Lillian is missing. Again. It’s not the first time and I’m sure it won’t be the last time, but it is the first time her father’s ever caught her. Her father arrived this morning, sweating and flustered and demanding that I go fetch her so that he could bring her home. I haven’t seen Lillian in almost a month, but I had a good idea where she was, and it wasn’t in a place or with anybody her father would have approved of. So I lied. I’ve gotten quite adept at lying lately, and I place all the blame at Lillian’s feet and on my own inability to admit to myself what I really want out of life.
Things have changed for all of us. I think it began the night of Lily’s come-out ball, but maybe the winds of change had begun to blow long before that. I suppose it’s all part of growing up in an uncertain world. I yearn for social equality for all men and women, just as I yearn to be a doctor to minister to the most needy. But I can’t seem to keep my dreams on a steady course. I feel as if I spend most of my time helping Josie and Lily determine their own courses; I’m proud that they turn to me, that they respect my resourcefulness and intelligence. But I can’t help but sense that if I don’t begin to focus on my own needs, they will be forever lost to me.
I told Mr. Harrington that Lily was making her rounds to all the society ladies in town, and that I hadn’t gone with her because I was needed to tend to my father.This all began when he’d told Lily that he expected her to be married within the year, after which she quietly went to her room without argument. He didn’t find her missing until that evening when she didn’t appear for supper, and he assumed she’d come here for me. He had half of it right, at least.
I calmed him down and told him that my father had developed a bad cough that had sent him to his sickbed for the first time I could remember (which is true). I explained to Mr. Harrington that I needed Lily with me to help care for my father, who doesn’t seem to be getting any better. I assured him that my father would undoubtedly be up and about by the weekend after an extended and much-needed rest and then we would send her home. I can only hope that gives me enough time to find her before it’s too late and her reputation is beyond repair.
I admit, too, of being a bit jealous of Lily. She is not afraid of following her passion, regardless of the consequences. I fear consequences a little too much, I think, which makes me hesitate. Lily claims that kind of behavior will get me stuck in the middle of the road in the face of oncoming traffic.Yet I fear that her relentless pursuit of passion will find her in a place in which she will have no way out. I suppose when we’re old women we will look back together and she will laugh at me and claim that her life was fun with no regrets. And I will look back and wonder if I ever did anything passionate enough to warrant any regret at all.
The only other event of these past four months that bears recording is that Freddie has made me an official member of the Savannah chapter of the National Association for the Advancement of Colored People. It is his goal to register every black man to vote in accordance to the fifteenth amendment granting this right, despite the social and legal pressures that keep citizens from the polls each election. Since Freddie has already captured the notice of those who would prefer that he cease and desist in his efforts, we decided that I could do it instead. I have access to all of the colored homes in the poorest neighborhoods because of my father, and it would be an easy thing for me to do.
One of Freddie’s associates who’d been registering voters disappeared last month and two weeks later they found his body washed up under the Houlihan Bridge. I understand how dangerous the job is. I also understand how dangerous it would be for my own soul if I did not seek equal access to representation, education, and employment for all citizens. Lily calls me two-faced because I don’t embrace the entire Negro cause since I still live in my nice house with my colored servant. I tried to explain that I don’t embrace any cause; I just understand the desire to be something more than what we are by birth, and support the means necessary to elevate us all.
I selected a bell charm for Lola to exemplify my life these last four months, mostly to annoy Lily by suggesting she has a wedding to begin planning for. She needs to settle down soon, before it’s too late. And when I know she’s safe, and Josie is in NewYork pursuing her singing career, I can begin applying to medical school and see where that takes me.
I awoke with my face pressed against the pages of my grandmother’s scrapb
ook, Lola held tightly in my hands. I’d been dreaming of Mr. Harrington knocking on the door, but it wasn’t the front door to the house on Monterey Square that he banged fat fists onto but instead the door to the secret room. I waited and watched in the darkened attic, seeing the door open, but awakened before I could see who’d opened it. Blinking my eyes, I spread my palm and found the bell charm nestled between a miniature sixteenth note and a plump golden heart, representing the three women whose lives were recorded on the linked chains.
“Piper? Are you in there?”
I sat up, my head groggy and my eyesight blurred as I strained to see the clock on the kitchen wall, and then shot up out of my chair when I realized it was after ten o’clock in the morning.
“Piper?” I heard again.
I pivoted toward the front door of the cottage and saw Helen in the doorway, a bundle of papers held with both hands.
“Did you drive yourself?” I immediately felt foolish, knowing it was ridiculous but also realizing that I wouldn’t put it past Helen to be so industrious.
She laughed, then took a step forward over the threshold. “No, Emily did. Odella gave us some supplies and Emily’s getting them out of the cart. I’m sorry for walking in like this, but Emily peeked through the kitchen window and saw you there, sleeping. We thought it would be better to awaken you now before you developed a permanent crick in your neck.”
I rubbed my neck, feeling the stiffness from having slept in an awkward position. “Thanks,” I said. “Is anything wrong?”
“No. I just wanted to make sure you were still here. I figured you went to go see Tucker last night and I wanted to make sure that he wasn’t pigheaded enough to tell you to leave.”
“Not yet. He’s still thinking about it. He’s pretty angry, and I don’t blame him. But I think he understands why.”
She tilted her head to the side, reminding me of a flower as it bloomed, unable to hide its secret beauty any longer. “Yes, he would. But he doesn’t forgive easily. You’ll have to earn his trust back.”
“I know. I just hope he gives me a second chance. He said he couldn’t abide lying.”
Her sightless eyes drifted behind me, almost making me turn to see what she could. “Because of Susan. I don’t think he ever really figured out who she was. I always thought that Susan was trying to outrun her past by inventing new ones. And when she couldn’t run anymore, she used drugs to help her forget.”
I leaned against the table, unable to completely shake my grogginess .“Why would she want to reinvent her past?”
Helen shifted her eyes back to me and shrugged. “I don’t know. She never spoke about where she was from, or her family, other than they were from New Orleans.” She smiled. “That’s where Mardi gets his name—his full name is Mardi Gras Cotton Picker. But that’s about all we knew of her. She never visited any family; she always said they were all gone. We sent word when she died, but no one came to the funeral.”
“How sad,” I said, taking her elbow and leading her to a chair at the kitchen table.
She sat and looked at me expectantly. “I have a favor to ask, but first I have a little peace offering.”
For the first time I noticed what she held in her hands and I bit my lip when I saw what she was handing out to me.
I took the scrapbook pages, my hands not quite steady. “Are these Lillian’s?”
She nodded. “But not all of them—just the ones we’ve already read. Malily doesn’t know I took them—yet. Odella helped me sort through them. I promise to tell Malily later. But I wanted us to be on the same page, so to speak.”
I looked down at the old, weathered pages, recognizing the torn edges where they’d been ripped from the book. But the handwriting was different—softer, with more loops and slants whereas my grandmother’s writing had been compact, with small, bold strokes.
“I don’t want you to get in any trouble with Lillian.”
She turned her green eyes up to me. “Malily’s always been the one to tell me not to hesitate when it comes to something I want. Besides, I know that her silence isn’t about protecting her. It’s about protecting me. And I don’t need protecting; I haven’t for a long time now but nobody seems to realize it.”
I touched her hand. “Thank you,” I said, placing the pages on the table next to my grandmother’s, feeling an odd sense of satisfaction at seeing them together.
Emily appeared at the door. “Is it all right if I bring these things in and unload them in the kitchen?”
“Go right ahead. Do you need some help?”
“Nope. Got it. Don’t want you to strain yourself before we start today’s therapy session.”
I jerked my gaze to Helen. “Excuse me? I didn’t schedule anything.”
Emily looked genuinely surprised. “Helen said you were ready to start. I’m sorry—I hope I didn’t misunderstand. . . .”
Helen interrupted. “You didn’t. The girls and I decided that it was time for Piper to begin walking straight again. And Tucker agreed.”
I stared at her for a moment while the blood flooded my cheeks. “You decided? It’s none of his business—or yours, for that matter.”
Helen simply smiled. “Ah, she roars. I thought you could. I knew Piper Mills could but I’d never seen Earlene Smith show any emotion. Glad to know it’s there. But, yes, Tucker and I dared to butt our noses into your business. Sorry.”
I looked at Emily, but she just shrugged and moved to the kitchen counter, where she dumped the bags and began emptying them. They were right of course, but I’d never taken well to people telling me what to do. Which is why I’d been a great competitor: when people said something was too hard, I’d wanted even more to prove them wrong.
“What makes you think that I haven’t already tried therapy and it didn’t work?”
“Because you’re still limping. Badly. It doesn’t have to be that way, you know. If I thought there was something I could do that would improve my sight just a little, I’d do it, no matter how uncomfortable or painful.”
Shame replaced my anger, but I didn’t say anything.
“You need to get riding again, Piper. It’s who you are, regardless of who you used to be. And you need to strengthen your legs so you can do it.”
“I’m not riding again,” I said, sounding less convincing than I’d hoped, but still feeling shame and a desire to make it up to Helen. “But if it makes you feel any better, I’ll work with Emily today. And hopefully it will only take one day because Tucker might decide that it’s time for me to leave Asphodel.”
“Oh, it will take more than a day,” Emily piped in as she opened the refrigerator to store a gallon of milk.
“Fine, fine,” I said. “If it will get you off my back. But it won’t make me change my mind.” Then I heard Helen’s words again—It’s who you are, regardless of who you used to be—and I realized that being blind must be an advantage when it came to seeing into people’s hearts.
Helen leaned forward. “He won’t make you leave, you know. He cares too much about you. He’s just deeply hurt right now. He’ll get over it.”
I felt my cheeks flooding with color and I was glad she couldn’t see them.
“Are you blushing?” Helen asked.
“How on earth did you know that?”
She laughed out loud. “I didn’t—but you just told me.”
I couldn’t help but smile. “I don’t think you’re right, Helen. But I’d like to stay. I’ve become . . . attached. I somehow can’t remember my life before I came here.”
Helen reached for my hand and squeezed. “And we can hardly recall what it was like before you came, too.”
As if she could sense another blush, Helen changed the subject. “Do you have any of your grandmother’s scrapbook pages you could share with me? Odella could read them to me so I’ll know the other side of this story.”
“There’re more than two sides of their story; we don’t have Josie’s pages. She was the third friend, the one who went to
New York in nineteen thirty-nine—the year my grandmother’s pages end. Anyway, Josie became pretty famous in her time. There’s quite a lot of information on the Internet about her and her recording career. But I assume she took her pages with her.”
Helen blinked slowly. “So will you let me see your grandmother’s pages?”
I felt a small frisson of panic, as if I were being asked to bury my grandmother again. But I glanced at Lillian’s pages and knew it was a fair trade-off. “Is that the favor you were going to ask?” I blew out a puff of air, oddly relieved that I wasn’t alone in this anymore. “I’m not finished yet, but you can read what I’ve already read and I’ll give you the rest of the pages when I’m done. If I’m not still here, I can drive them over to you and we can make the switch.”
“All right. Or when I’m done with the first batch, you can read the rest of them to me.” She frowned. “Although I have to say that I’m surprised that you haven’t already read everything.”
I stood and took a large bottle of detergent from Emily and stuck it in the cabinet under the sink. “I am, too,” I said, pausing to look outside, where the sun had almost finished erasing the previous night’s storm. Emily went outside again to get another load from the golf cart.
“Pandora’s box,” Helen said softly.
I turned to face her. “I don’t really . . . ,” I began.
“Yes, you do. It’s not your nature to hesitate, I would think. Hesitating before a jump could be disastrous, couldn’t it? But you’ve had these pages for a long time now, and you still haven’t read them.”
I opened my mouth to deny it again, but her next words stopped me. “Every day, I face the unknown. But I refuse to be afraid of it because then I’d be too paralyzed to get out of bed. And that’s a horrible way to live, whether you’re blind or not.” She placed her fingers on the table, the tips touching the scrapbook pages. “But you need to know your grandmother’s story. We both need to know the truth.”
