Memory recalled how the reward paid had been a million dollars. So, he’d paid two to get it back? “What makes you think I was the reason it came back to you?”
“Memory, please, let’s not play games. We’re both too old to play games. You’re here now, and you’re learning the truth. The truth that who you thought was your mother all those years really wasn’t.... That Sarah Fleming was and is the woman who gave birth to you.” He stopped briefly and grinned. “Now that must have been a true shocker. Lies and deception from your own family. But from all indications, now it appears you have a credibility problem because of that magnificent piece of jewelry you hold in your hands.”
“And how would you happen to know about my issues?” Memory asked.
“Oh, I have my ways. Aunt Sarah, bless her heart, believes in you because she loves you. But your daughter . . . it’s Lena, isn’t it? And your granddaughter, sweet little Theresa, both find it hard to trust you. Or at least I would imagine they do. But you know what they say. ‘Oh, what a tangled web we weave.’ ” He smirked again. “Well, you know the rest. Now, who could have predicted things would turn out the way that they have?” He reached forward and retrieved the necklace from her. “Stunning piece of work, don’t you think?”
Memory’s eyes began to bore a hole in him as she stared him down. “Let’s just cut to it, okay? What do you want?”
“Me? Why, I just want you and your family to get along better. I want to work something out so you can give your daughter this necklace back, and the two, or I should say three, of you can mend your fences and become a happy family again. This should be a joyous time for all of you. There should be no strife or animosity between mothers and daughters . . . or granddaughters, for that fact.” He smiled. “Family unity. Forgiveness. That’s what I want. For y’all to be one big, happy family—what Sarah wants most.”
“And why don’t I believe you?”
He set the box with the necklace down on the coffee table in front of her. “Maybe because we tend to see our own selves in others. Meaning you can’t trust yourself, so you can’t possibly trust others for seeing who you are, and not who they really are.” He sat back against the chair. “I’m offering you a way to make up for what you did to your own flesh and blood. Consider it as my early seventieth birthday present to you. And as I’m sure you’ve already learned, that necklace was technically yours anyway. In truth, you had a right to take it back and sell it, which, we can see, you clearly did.” He pointed at it. “I had a right to buy it, which, as we can also see, I did. Now I’d like to figure out a way to return this necklace to its rightful owner—you.”
“What makes you so sure that necklace ever belonged to me? And who said I received any money from the sale of it?”
He began to swing the crossed leg that rested on top. “According to family legend, that necklace was your inheritance anyway. It was designated to go to the first-born grandchild. That’s you. Grace made sure no one messed with that when she gave the necklace to Mamie to hold for you. Unfortunately, others decided to take matters into their own hands, namely, Lena, and keep what was rightfully yours.” He grinned slightly, then sucked his bottom lip. “At least, that’s the story I was told. How am I doing so far?”
Memory rolled her hand in a circular fashion, indicating he should continue.
“As for how I know you received the money from the sale, I know the money was paid to your friend . . . what was his name . . . ?” He tapped his right temple several times with his index and middle fingers. “What was his name?” He got up, walked over to the sofa table again, opened the drawer, took out a folder and opened it, then closed the drawer. “Ah, yes! Christopher Harris,” he said, returning his attention to Memory.
“Well, since you think you know so much, do you know that Christopher Harris double-crossed me? That the little weasel left me high and dry?” Memory’s tone was harsh and slightly laced with anger. “Left me with nothing except a slew of folks looking for me. Which now I can see, apparently, you were one of them.”
“Hmmm, it is a shame, isn’t it? How there’s just no honor among thieves these days. Which is why I have a legally enforceable business proposition I think you’ll be most interested in.” He sat down and handed her a sheet of paper from the folder. “I’m willing to let you have that Alexandrite necklace, and all you have to do is agree to sell me the house my aunt Sarah lives in after she passes on.”
Memory almost laughed out loud. “Sell you the house?” “Yes. I have it on good authority that you’re going to inherit the house upon her death. I’m sure you don’t care anything about that old place. I’m not asking you to give it to me; I intend to pay you its fair-market value. You’re not going to get gypped in the deal.” He leaned in closer to her. “All it will take is your signature on that agreement”—he pointed at the paper she held—“witnessed by a notary public or a lawyer, which—believe it or not—my lawyer just happens to be here, waiting in another room. If you sign that piece of paper today, you can have the Alexandrite necklace . . . free and clear today.”
She snickered. “I can have it? And it won’t cost me one red cent, you say?”
“Not one red cent,” he said, practically mocking her.
“And the only thing I have to do is sign this paper stating I’ll sell you the house once my mother dies, should I inherit it—which neither one of us can be certain will end up being the case,” Memory said. “Looks to me you’re taking quite a risk here.”
“Trust me—you’re the main heir to my aunt’s vast fortune.” Montgomery began to stare off into the distance. Returning his eyes to her, he said, “And there’s quite a fortune to be had. I should know. I was the one managing things. That’s until Aunt Sarah came back four years ago and commandeered almost everything I and my family have worked so hard to keep and acquire completely away from me.” There was a twinge of anger in his voice this time. He suddenly began to chuckle quietly to himself.
“And how do I know for certain you have the funds to purchase her house, should I inherit it and decide to sell it to you as you’re asking here?” She shook the paper.
“I assure you, I still have plenty of money.” He took out a pen and laid it on the table. “However, the agreement states I’ll purchase the house at fair-market value, and if I can’t, then I don’t get it. It’s as cut and dry as that. This won’t cost you a thing. The way I see it, you’re not going to want to keep that old house anyway. This makes it easy for you to take the money, a quite substantial amount of cold, hard cash, in fact, and do whatever you want. See the world, share the money with your family . . . buy yourself a nice home wherever you’d really like to settle down—whatever you want to do. All I want is the house and all of its contents. When the time comes, you sell it, take the money, and walk away . . . free and clear. In the meantime, your having the necklace makes things right with your family. A win-win situation for everyone. So, shall I call my lawyer in now?”
“And why do you want that house and its contents so badly?”
“Pure and simple—sentimental value. That house and all the things inside of it have been in our family for generations now.”
“Oh, just say it. You believe you’d appreciate and take much better care of it than I ever would.” Memory brought the paper closer as she began to slowly scan over it.
“Honestly? Yes.”
“Seeing as you say we treat people according to how we see ourselves, I’m sure you’ll appreciate my wanting to read this agreement thoroughly before signing it.”
“Fine. But I would like to make one request, if I may,” Montgomery said.
She laid the paper down on her lap and stared at him. “And that would be?”
“That we keep this between the two of us. I’d prefer you not mention any of this to Aunt Sarah or anyone else for that matter.”
Memory looked hard at him. “Why . . .” She nodded, then smiled. “Of course.”
Chapter 16
And the mea
n man shall be brought down, and the mighty man shall be humbled, and the eyes of the lofty shall be humbled. . . .
Isaiah 5:15
Reverend Marshall Walker walked into his old friend’s hospital room. Occasional whirling, hissing, sucking, and pumping sounds from the various medical machines filled the air. Poppa Knight’s wife had called him Saturday morning at her husband’s request. She’d also informed Reverend Walker that Poppa Knight’s imminent departure was at hand. For whatever reason, Reverend Walker didn’t come Saturday. It was now Tuesday.
“Hey, Poppa Knight, can you hear me?” Reverend Walker said in his slightly bass voice. “It’s me—Marshall.” He was standing next to the bed. Poppa Knight had been in a coma since Saturday afternoon and was now on a ventilator.
“If only you had come Saturday when I called,” Mrs. Knight said. “I told you how dire things were. If you’d have made it before Saturday afternoon, you might have—”
“I’m sorry. You know I wanted to, Sister Knight. It just couldn’t be helped,” Reverend Walker said. “Duties. You understand?” His face softened as he looked at her.
In truth, he could have come Saturday. But then, who would have been in charge of the ministers’ meeting? There was much to discuss—namely, his upcoming pastor’s appreciation. In a few weeks, top folks would be coming into town from all around the country. He didn’t really need the other ministers’ input. Although secretly, he did enjoy watching the awe shown whenever he mentioned certain bigwigs’ names he knew personally and those taking part in his celebration. If anyone would understand why he couldn’t make it Saturday, he knew Poppa Knight would. Sundays were always full with two worship services and afternoon preaching engagements. Mondays were his off-days. So Tuesday was really the first day he could come. How was he supposed to know before he could get there Poppa Knight would slip into a coma? After he heard about it, he knew Poppa Knight wouldn’t know he was there no matter what day he came now.
The light-skinned, medium-size-framed Mrs. Knight excused herself and left the room to give the two of them some alone-time together.
“Well, old friend, it looks like you’re trying to give up on us,” Reverend Walker said to Poppa Knight. “Believe me, I understand. I suppose this just got to be too much for you. We’ve seen a lot in life, that’s for sure. But don’t you worry.... I promise, I plan to preach a heart-wrenching, powerful sermon at your funeral—one folks won’t soon forget. I owe you that much. You absolutely deserve it. Not that I’m trying to hurry you along or anything. You know I have nothing but love for you. Together, we’ve been through much, my friend—you and I. So much that even today, you’re the only person on earth who holds my deepest, darkest secret . . . our secret, really. That alone proves how close we are and have remained.” He slowly lowered himself into the chair next to Poppa Knight’s bed and leaned in closer, placing his hand on the rail of the bed as he continued.
“I suppose when you do leave us, you’ll be taking all those secrets with you. I’m going to miss you, there’s no question about that. You’ve been a good friend and a loyal confidante. Although I admit you did change somewhat on me this past year. You even went as far as visiting Pastor Landris’s church, more than once from what I hear. But I’m not mad at you. Oh, no. And don’t you worry about good old Pastor Landris, either. I’m going to make sure he’s well taken care of after you’re gone.”
He looked up and watched as Mrs. Knight dragged herself back into the room. “It’s hard seeing him like this,” Reverend Walker said to her. He stood up and wiped away a nonexistent tear.
“Yes. The doctor feels we should take him off life support. At this point, I’m just not sure what I should do.” She forced a smile. “What if he really could get better later? What if I tell them to do it, but if I’d merely waited another day or another week . . . ?”
Reverend Walker went to her. “Sister Knight, there are times when we need to learn to just let go and let God. The way I see it is, if God wants our dear brother to remain with us, He’ll keep him here long after that man-made machine is turned off.” He pointed at the ventilator. “If God wants him to come on home to glory to be with Him, then who are we to stand in God’s way?”
Mrs. Knight broke down and began to cry. “I know what you’re saying is right. But it’s so hard. In spite of our ups and downs, Paul and I had a pretty good marriage. Not perfect by any stretch of the imagination. But for the most part, it worked for us. We loved each other. And this past year, oh”—she clapped her hands and shook her head as she blushed—“has been positively wonderful! Even with him being sick and all, it’s been almost like I was married to a totally different man.” She yanked out four paper tissues.
Reverend Walker embraced her. “I must apologize. I was so busy; I wasn’t there much for either of you. I’m sure this has been a challenging time for you both.”
She looked up at him, wiped her tears with the fistful of tissues, and smiled as she nodded. “Yes, it has. I know how busy life can be and especially life in the ministry. But others have filled in where you couldn’t. His friends have visited regularly, doing whatever they could here and there . . . giving words of encouragement just when we needed a word the most. Theodore, and especially . . . especially Reverend Grant.”
Reverend Walker nodded. “Reverend Simpson certainly is a good man,” he said, commenting on Reverend Theodore Simpson only. Reverend Grant had become distant with him lately. He was changing . . . like Poppa Knight had. So Reverend Walker wasn’t sure what was going on with him, nor did he care to talk about Perry Grant right now. He continued to console Mrs. Knight.
“And then there’s Pastor Landris. He has been a true godsend,” she said. “I truly, truly thank God for him.”
Reverend Walker pushed her away gently and looked at her. “Pastor Landris?”
“Yes,” she said, dabbing at her eyes with her tissue as though that would stop the flow. “In fact, he came by early Saturday morning and again Saturday afternoon after Paul went into this coma.” She looked down and smiled at her husband. “That morning, Paul asked him to preach his funeral.”
Reverend Walker fought to maintain his composure. “He did? Well, now, you do know Poppa Knight has always said if he ever went before me, he wanted me to preach his funeral. You don’t really believe you can take seriously what he said on Saturday . . . seeing that he was most likely too heavily medicated to even know what he was saying, do you?”
“He was pretty lucid. That’s why I suppose he wanted to see you on Saturday. He wanted to say his good-byes himself and make sure some of his last wishes were known. Maybe he wanted to relay to you his desire regarding his funeral and Pastor Landris. I can’t honestly say what all he wanted; he didn’t tell me before he lapsed into this coma.”
Reverend Walker pulled her back close to him again. “Well, let’s not talk on such things right now. I believe Poppa Knight’s going to pull through, and all this talk about a funeral will be for nothing. At least for now, anyway. We all have to leave here someday; this is not our home. We’re just pilgrims traveling through this unfriendly land. But we know that God is still in the healing business. Who’s to say what our Father in Heaven is up to when it comes to our brother in the Lord?” He released her and planted a kiss on her cheek as he patted her on the back.
He then looked at his Rolex watch so that there would be no mistaking he was checking it. “Look at the time. So much to do. I really must be going now. You, of all people, know that a pastor’s work is never done.” He had a look of true sincerity. “Are you going to be all right here alone?”
She took a deep breath as she nodded. “I’m not alone. There are others here with me in the waiting room.” She exhaled as she carefully and tenderly took hold of her husband’s limp hand and placed it against the side of her face.
Reverend Walker hugged her once more, then started out of the room. Right before he completely walked out, he turned around and looked back at his long time friend . . . on
e more time, and nodded.
Chapter 17
Until I come and take you away to a land like your own land, a land of corn and wine, a land of bread and vineyards.
Isaiah 36:17
Memory came back after having met with Montgomery Powell the Second. Sarah had given her a key so she could come and go as she pleased. She’d been there a week now. Theresa had gone home Saturday, shortly after noon when Maurice came back and got her and the children. Lena and Richard were still there. Other than “Hello” and “Good night,” Lena and Theresa had barely exchanged twenty words with Memory after that first day.
Lena knew how much Sarah wanted everyone to get along and become a true family. She only wished she could trust Memory’s motives enough to do that. She and Memory hadn’t had a real chance to sit down alone together and talk. Memory had told Sarah earlier that day that she was going out to see a little more of Asheville. The last time Memory was in Asheville, she’d been in her mid teens.
Lena looked out the window when Memory was leaving that afternoon and saw her get into a black Lincoln Town Car. Curious, she watched as it drove away. Lena couldn’t help but wonder who Memory could possibly know well enough that they would send a car for her. That same car brought her home a few hours later.
“When you get time, I’d like to talk with you,” Lena said as soon as Memory stepped foot back into the house.
Holding tight her purse’s strap, Memory said, “I have some time right now.”
“Can we go up to my room? I have something I need to show you,” Lena said.
They went to the bedroom Lena and Richard stayed in whenever they visited.
Lena closed the door and motioned for Memory to have a seat on the couch.
If Memory Serves Page 9
