If Memory Serves

by Vanessa Davis Griggs

  Johnnie Mae’s countenance quickly changed. “Physically Mama is fine; her mind, not as sharp. Still in and out of real time. With me being here now, I don’t know what’s going to happen. And I told you my oldest sister, Rachel, moved; then, just as quickly as she left, she ended up moving back.”

  “When she moved, where did she go?” Charity asked.

  “Columbus, Georgia. She was only there for about two weeks, though. My baby brother, Christian, is in the military. He just returned from Iraq. He and his family will be stationed there for the next year. They just bought a big new house, which is why Rachel went there. But with this Iraq war still going on, he may have to go back to Iraq again.”

  “That doesn’t seem fair. Why does he have to go back if he’s been there once?”

  “It has something to do with the commitment of tour they make. They may only stay a year, but they signed up for two. So when they come back to the States, they can be sent back to finish out the rest of the tour they didn’t serve already,” Johnnie Mae said.

  Charity let out a sigh. “You know, I miss your mother. I wish I could see her.”

  “I know. Mama really enjoys your company. You have such a way with her. But with me being in here for who knows how long . . .”

  “Oh, you don’t have to explain. I’m aware that the rest of your family is not too enthusiastic about me being anywhere near her,” Charity said. “They’ve all made that abundantly clear.”

  “Well, I know you’d never do anything to harm her. Those are my siblings, though. Who can say what will happen now that I’m temporarily out of commission?”

  Charity could tell this conversation was bringing Johnnie Mae’s spirits down. Looking at her watch again, she stood up. “I guess I should get going. I don’t want to be late for my appointment. I’ll continue to pray for all of you, just like y’all prayed for me.”

  “Please do.”

  Charity stepped up closer to the bed. “If it’s okay, I’d like to come back and see you again. I can sit over there in the corner and not talk if my talking bothers you. But I really care about you, and I care what happens to you and your family.”

  “I’d like that—you coming by. And I love talking to you, Charity, so you can forget about that sitting-in-some-corner-and-being-quiet nonsense. I’ll let Landris and the hospital staff know that you’re welcome to visit me anytime you want.”

  Charity smiled. “Well, you get some rest and make sure you do what your doctor tells you.” She headed toward the door, then turned back around. “Johnnie Mae, would it be okay if you and I have a word of prayer before I leave?”

  Johnnie Mae smiled. “I would like that.” She reached her hand out to Charity.

  Charity came back over and grabbed her hand, holding it as they prayed for healing and health for them, as well as for the health of the baby Johnnie Mae was carrying.

  Chapter 14

  And it shall come to pass, that before they call, I will answer; and while they are yet speaking, I will hear.

  Isaiah 65:24

  Dr. Holden was in his office. Charity was his first appointment of the afternoon, although he wasn’t sure whether there was anything more he could do to help her. She’d made tremendous strides in her recovery over the past few months. He thought back to when they seemed closest to getting into the mind of one of her personalities . . . back when Faith wanted to talk to him and only him.

  Faith had been something else that day. She’d tried her best to get to him—going as far as turning the tables on him . . . pretending to write things in a notebook, evaluating him the way he was supposedly evaluating her. He thought about that notebook. He’d originally placed it in his desk drawer. Later he had looked at it, only to find the pages she’d written were childish doodling—scribbles, just as he’d suspected.

  Inspired to find the notebook to see what, if anything, Faith may have hidden that he might have originally missed, Dr. Holden opened his desk drawer and rummaged through it. Locating the notebook, he looked at the doodles. Nothing. Flipping past those pages confirmed only blank pages. Determined to check every page all the way to the end, he continued to turn. And that’s when he saw it—a page where Faith had actually written words. He began reading, engrossed by what were five pages of actual words.

  The intercom buzzed, interrupting him. “Dr. Holden, your one o’clock is here,” his secretary announced.

  “Would you ask her to wait a few more minutes, please,” Dr. Holden said. He finished reading Faith’s words, then closed the notebook. Picking up the phone, he pressed the speed-dial number to Sapphire’s private line.

  “Sapphire, this is Dr. Holden. I know this is short notice, but is there any way possible you can get away for about ten minutes and meet with me in my office?”

  “I’m really swamped today. What about in the morning?” Sapphire countered.

  “It’s about Charity Morrell’s case. I’ve discovered something, and I’d like you in on it. She’s here for her appointment now, but I was hoping to let you see this first.”

  There was a moment of silence. “I can’t possibly come now. My next patient is already here and waiting. Is it something you can tell me over the phone?”

  He flipped back to the pages of words. “I’d prefer not to,” Dr. Holden said.

  “Are you planning on sharing this with Charity today?” Sapphire asked.

  “I believe this is going to help her. So, yes, I definitely plan on showing it to her. If you like, I can see about rescheduling her for a time when you can be here.”

  “Dr. Holden, I realize you’re being polite wanting me in on this. But please feel free to do what you believe is best to help Charity. You can fill me in later.”

  Dr. Holden glanced at the first page of writings once again. “I think I’ll go on and move on this. I’ll let you know what happens.” He closed the notebook, said good-bye, and hung up. Pressing the intercom button, he told his secretary to send Charity in.

  A minute later, Charity walked cheerfully into his office. “It’s good to see you again, Dr. Holden.” She shook his hand. “So . . . you ready to get this show on the road?”

  He gestured for her to sit as he picked up the notebook. “Charity, do you recall some months ago when you were here in my office and Faith made an appearance?”

  Charity looked in Dr. Holden’s face, trying to figure out where he was going with this. “You mean the one and only time, and, as far as I know, the last time anyone has seen or heard from her?” Her eyes widened. “Unless you know something I don’t.”

  “As far as we can tell, it was. But I started thinking back to that day and how Faith had written some things in a notebook. This notebook.” He held up the steno pad.

  “Do you remember it?” he asked. She nodded. “Well, I decided to pull it out a little while ago. Originally, I thought Faith had written things about me since that’s what she claimed she was doing. I believe she was trying to distract me during that session. Upon my examination of the notebook, I saw she’d been doodling, which only confirmed my initial suspicion. The rest of the notebook appeared to be blank, which is why I didn’t even bother to place it in your file. As it turns out, I was mistaken.” He leaned forward.

  “Charity, Faith wrote things in here I believe will be the key to helping you. To see what she wrote, you’ll have to flip closer to the back of the notebook. She was quite sneaky yet clever in doing that. That’s why I missed it.” He held the notebook out to her.

  Charity stared at it as though it were a poisonous snake.

  Dr. Holden studied her, making note of her hesitance. “What is it? Tell me.”

  She shook her head slightly. “I’m just not sure I want to see it,” Charity said as she slowly took the notebook. “You know what it says, and you believe I’ll be okay?”

  “Yes. Trust me. If I felt you couldn’t handle it, I wouldn’t be doing this. I did call Sapphire before you came in to see if she might be available to come over while you and I were
in session this afternoon, but she had a patient and couldn’t come today.”

  Charity flipped open the notebook, saw what was all-too-familiar childish doodles and scribbles, and just as quickly closed it. “I can’t,” she said. “Not now.”

  “Yes, you can. Charity, you can do this. It’s time for you to face those demons of the past that have been haunting you for so long. You need to move forward in a positive way in your life. I believe what’s written in there will push you toward the place you truly need to go. I’m here for you; so is Sapphire. We’ll help you through this.”

  “I’m sorry, Dr. Holden, but I just can’t do this right now.” She rubbed her head. “All of a sudden, I’m not feeling so well.” Charity reached down, picked up her purse off the floor, and stood up, rubbing her head once more. “I think I’m going to cut my session short and go home and lie down.” She turned and hurriedly walked toward the door.

  “Are you experiencing one of your headaches?” he asked. She shook her head slowly without turning around. “Charity, I’d really prefer you read that here. In fact, I insist. It will make me feel better knowing that you’re not alone when you see it.”

  She turned around and faced him. “Dr. Holden, I’m never alone. And trust me, before I read this, I’ll have prayed mightily to ensure the Holy Spirit . . . my Comforter is there with me to comfort and guide me. You see, for the first time in my life, I truly do believe I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me. This is something I need to do on my own . . . without any crutches. I know I’ll be all right.” She smiled.

  “Will you at least call me and let me know how you’re doing after you read it? No matter how you’re feeling—good or bad? And if you need to see Sapphire or me, I don’t care when or what time, you’ll let us know no matter how booked or busy we might be?”

  “I will. I promise. But Dr. Holden, there are just some things we have to do ourselves,” Charity said. “You understand.” She then opened the door and walked out.

  Chapter 15

  Woe unto them that call evil good, and good evil; that put darkness for light, and light for darkness; that put bitter for sweet, and sweet for bitter!

  Isaiah 5:20

  Montgomery Powell the Second stood as she entered the room. “Thank you so much for agreeing to see me,” he said, extending his hand to her.

  “You made it sound like it would be worth my while,” Memory said as she shook the hand of the dirty-blond-and-gray-haired white man who looked to be in his sixties.

  He gestured for her to have a seat on the green brocade, French-styled couch. “As I told you over the phone, I believe this could be a win-win situation for us all.”

  Memory sat down. “You said this concerns the welfare of my family. In your letter, you said the least I could do is talk to you.” Memory was referring to a letter he’d written and sent to Sam’s house a few years back when she was once hiding out there. Memory didn’t know why she’d kept that letter in her purse, but she had. His phone number was on it. She’d called him from Sarah’s shortly after Theresa went back home.

  “I was starting to believe I’d never hear from you. It’s been some time since I sent that letter,” Montgomery said. “I’m thankful you got in touch with me when you did.”

  “Mr. Powell, if you don’t mind, I’d like to get to the point of why I’m here,” Memory said. “In your letter, you mentioned you have something I might be interested in getting back. When I received this letter, I’d never heard of you and couldn’t imagine anything you might have of mine I’d want, let alone want back. But since I just happen to be visiting your fair city, curiosity has gotten the best of me. So tell me, Mr. Powell the Second, what on God’s green earth could you and I possibly have to do with each other?”

  He turned over a clean glass and began pouring brandy into it. “Memory.” He glanced at her as he poured. “Is it okay if I call you Memory?” He was prim and proper.

  “Memory’s fine.”

  “And you can call me Montgomery.” He held up the crystal decanter filled with brandy. “Care for something to drink?”

  “No, thanks. It’s a bit too early to be drinking.”

  He took his glass in his hand, swirled the brown liquid around, sniffed, exhaled loud and slow, then sat in the solid, hunter green wingback chair next to the couch. “Trust me, my dear, it’s never too early for good brandy.” He took a sip, then exhaled again. “So tell me. How much do you know about Sarah Fleming?”

  “Not much. In fact, I just met her for the first time in my life a week ago.”

  He nodded slowly while gazing at her. “It’s quite astounding how much you two actually look alike. There’s no disputing you’re her child. Well, Memory, when I first heard she had a child, of course, I didn’t believe it.”

  “Excuse me, but I suppose I’m missing something somewhere. Now, how exactly is it you happen to know my mother?”

  “Sarah’s family. Her half-brother, Heath, was my father, making her my aunt.”

  “Forgive me,” Memory said, cutting him off yet again. “But I’m still a bit confused. Your last name’s Powell—hers is Fleming. She never married to change hers.”

  “Allow me to clarify. My father’s mother was married to another man when she conceived him. Reportedly, it was common knowledge that she and Victor Fleming had a deep love for one another that lasted for many years. Forgive me for not divulging all the details. Rumor also has it that my grandfather was quite the ladies’ man. I’m sure you can relate. Things weren’t as easy for people like my grandmother as they can be today.”

  “Okay, so what you’re saying is your grandmother was fooling around on her husband while still married to and living with him, ended up knocked-up—excuse me, I meant with child by another man—and, let me guess, probably passed the baby off as his?”

  He turned up his nose, then forced a smile. “My grandmother was trapped. She did what she had to. When my father was born, yes, she was still married to her husband, thereby my father’s name, Montgomery Heath Powell. Everybody called him Heath. However, six months after my father’s birth, her husband died. A month later, she married Victor Fleming. Tragically, she died days after giving birth to her second son, Victor Fleming Jr. My father’s name was never legally changed to Fleming, I suppose due to my grandmother’s own untimely death, after which Grandfather married Grace, and they had Sarah. My father died twelve years ago, two years after Uncle Vic. I, being the next male in line, was appointed in my father’s will to take over and manage the family’s home and all family affairs in Aunt Sarah’s stead, while she was . . . away.”

  “And why exactly was she ‘away?’ ” She placed emphasis on the word “away.”

  He rubbed his temple. “Oh dear. No one’s told you?” He began to stroke his chin. “You know, I was afraid of that. Let’s just say Aunt Sarah has had serious challenges for many, many years now, and we’ll leave it at that.”

  “Oh, you’re dying to tell me. So, do . . . tell. What kind of challenges?”

  “I see you don’t know how to leave well enough alone.” He drained his glass dry, then stood up and poured himself another. “Aunt Sarah hasn’t always been stable, mentally that is. She’s a dear, sweet woman, and we as a family unit have done as much as we could to get her the help she needs. I must say that I’m impressed with how well she’s held up while searching for you. You are a slippery one. At her age and in her fragile state, it’s a wonder the two of you ever got to meet.”

  “But as somehow you already knew before I arrived here, we did,” Memory said.

  “Yes, and I don’t know if anyone, other than Aunt Sarah, is happier about that than I. But I’m also astutely aware of the riff caused, shall we say, by a certain piece of Russian jewelry.” He walked over and opened the drawer to the sofa table. Taking out a flat black velvet box, he handed it to Memory as he took a sip from his glass. “Open it,” he said.

  Memory took the box and did as instructed. She looked up at him wi
th a frown. “Where did you get this?”

  “I bought it. But, of course, you should know that. It’s the Alexandrite necklace you sold, for a handsome price I might add, about four years ago. It’s a shame, too. I mean a shame that I had to buy it back, considering it already belonged to our family to begin with.” He sat back down, glass in hand as he swirled it, while staring into her eyes.

  “That necklace was given to my mother . . . .”

  “You mean Mamie Patterson?”

  “Yes . . . Mamie.”

  “That’s something, isn’t it? The way everybody was deceived. Aunt Sarah made to believe her child—you—had died all of those years ago. It’s no wonder she stepped off the deep end. That was all Grace’s doing. Personally, I believe she wanted to drive her own daughter crazy to keep her from the inheritance.” He took another swallow as he peered over the glass rim before setting it on the coffee table. “You know Grace—again, that was Sarah’s mother in case no one besides myself has told you that—was in on the whole baby-deceiving scheme from the start. I suspect she didn’t want a half”—he paused, then continued—“black child in the family. You understand. She was also the one who took that necklace. We concluded it was merely a payoff to keep Mamie Patterson’s mouth shut. Anyway, that’s how the necklace came to leave our family in the first place.”

  “I wouldn’t say it left our family,” Memory said as she relaxed against the sofa.

  “That’s right. You ended up taking it back. I think that was quite brilliant—the way you tracked it down and all. I’d almost resigned myself to the fact that it was lost to our family forever.” Montgomery crossed his leg. “Then all of a sudden, I get a call, out of the blue, in September of 2001—that the necklace had been located and was on its way via a special courier. I paid two million dollars to get that little jewel back. But as you can see, it’s worth every penny.” His eyes appeared to twinkle as he spoke.