I’d turned more fully toward my mother, shocked. I was blown further back by the rage I saw on her pretty face. My mother was actually shaking.
I didn’t know what was more surprising: her words, her anger, or the fact that Mother and Mrs. LaCroix were—I thought—friends.
She couldn’t be serious.
My father nodded but then said, “That might make things worse for Daisy.”
“Make things worse? My baby just came home crying because her classmates were allowed to bully her all day. Glo should have put a stop to that mess after the first or second student!”
She was serious.
“I don’t want her to be fired,” I offered trying to diffuse her anger. “I like Mrs. LaCroix.”
More than that, everyone liked our teacher. If she was fired it would just be one more thing I was responsible for.
“Besides, that’s not right,” I continued. “She’s your friend. She shouldn’t be fired just because I had a bad day at school.”
My mother looked down at me, gentleness returning to her eyes. She smoothed my hair, and said softly, “You’ve always been the sweetest of my children.”
I didn’t know if it was true but my father said the same thing often—that I was sweet and that it came from my mother. He said Dolly was steel and that she got that from him and Ado had been strong and he said that he got that from both of them.
“Daisy,” my mother said gently. “I don’t expect you to understand this but what Mrs. LaCroix did today—”
“She didn’t do anything!” I protested.
“That’s right. She didn’t do anything. Sometimes doing nothing is what’s wrong, Daisy. If something wrong is happening to someone, and you do nothing to help or to stop it when it’s within your power to do so, then what you are doing is wrong.”
Her eyes had cut to my father’s. “Adolpho, fifteen children didn’t just decide to do this out of the clear blue.”
“I was thinking the same thing,” he’d said with a look of consternation on his face.
Then he turned to me and said, “Sweetheart, I have some calls to make. Your sister was waiting for you earlier. She wanted to wait for you to get home so you could make Christmas cookies together.”
Right on time, and in retrospect, too on time, Dolly walked into my father’s study and declared she’d been looking all over for me.
Eavesdropping was more like it.
She’d ushered me out of the room but before I’d gotten out of range it sounded like I’d heard one of my parents say something like “. . . find out which one of the employees decided it would be a smart idea to send a message to us by taking a hit out on my baby.”
Things got . . . uncomfortable in school after that. Mrs. LaCroix disappeared for a while and we had a substitute, Mr. Jackson, leading into the Christmas break. He was not loved.
And when I’d returned to school the week after the incident, I’d received a handwritten apology note from every single classmate.
The whole thing had been disconcerting and had only served to widen the gulf between myself and them. As any child who’d ever been forced to spitefully mutter the words “I’m sorry” can attest, the only thing worse than the original offense was having an adult force you to give or receive said apology.
I’d suspected Dolly was behind those overtures right away. My parents would’ve spoken to their parents but most likely wouldn’t have made any requests of the children.
Dolly though?
I don’t think there was anything my sister wouldn’t do for me, including threatening my classmates.
And Dolly was in the perfect position to do it, she went to high school with half of the class’s older siblings.
Furthering my suspicions? For several days after the incident, my class picture from that school year had been missing from its place on my desk in my room and it’d magically appeared back in the same spot just after the apology notes began appearing.
“Odie Mae, is that all you’re eatin’?”
Charlie’s voice broke through and pulled me back from my ruminations.
I looked at Odie’s plate and saw a limp-looking salad and an apple on the side.
She ignored him.
Instead she flashed her brilliant smile at a boy named Maurice and said, “So tell me where you’re from?”
Maurice looked from her to a crestfallen Charlie and shrugged his shoulders as if to say, “What you want me to do, man?” He wiped his mouth, gave Odie a timid smile, and answered, “Atlanta, Georgia.”
“You don’t say! Jewel of the South, they call it. We went there on family vacation one year. I’ve got a pen pal that lives on Peachtree.”
“Uh, which Peachtree—” He paused suddenly, as he realized Odie was grinning quietly down at her salad like she was the cat that caught the canary.
He chuckled. “Peachtree, eh? I’m sure I know your friend. Is her name Lucy? Or maybe Mary?” He caught her subtle humor, matching common names to the common street name.
She looked up delighted and shook her head. “Close. It’s Linda.”
James smiled catching the joke and added, “If that ain’t the truth! I had a Linda Gilliam, Linda Gillian, Linda Gillum, and Linda Gaines in my class.” She huffed and made an exasperated crossed-eyed expression.
We all began laughing, well, all of us except Charlie who cut in over the din.
“Odie, I think I saw some sweet potato pie out with the desserts. I know how you like it. I can go grab you a slice, if you’d like.”
Odie took a bite of her apple, the hard crunch resonating even over the hum of the chatter all around us. She chewed it slowly as if she was savoring the tiny bite and we all remained silent until it became uncomfortable.
I saw James open her mouth because it was evident Odie’s intent was to ignore Charlie again, but Odie surprised me.
“Why are you here, Charlie?” she said in that breathy, smoky voice of hers. Her tone was not soft or gentle; it was cutting. I wouldn’t have even thought her capable of such sharpness, given the sweetness she’d greeted everyone else with.
James looked up at me, startled.
“Actually, scratch that question. It doesn’t matter why you’re here. The real question is, do you remember what I said to you in the gymnasium after graduation?”
Charlie flinched and stared at her for a second, searching her face for some sign.
So they did know each other from home.
My suspicions had been raised by the way Charlie gravitated toward Odie like an eager puppy from the moment we’d stepped out of our dorm doors.
Like he’d been waiting for her.
He nodded almost imperceptibly.
“Good,” she said simply. “I meant every single word, Charles Love.”
Charlie stood abruptly, mumbled something about having lost his appetite, made his apologies, and left.
Odie took another bite of her apple and chewed it like it was the most delicious thing she’d ever tasted. Her accompanying grin was absolutely vicious.
“So sweet Odie Mae has a sour side . . . Um, what the hell was that?” James quizzed.
Odie shrugged and then said softly, sweetly, “That was nothing. Nothing at all.”
Before we could press her further, another girl, ironically enough named Linda, plopped in Charlie’s seat and started chatting with James right away. I noted how James was instantly absorbed, giving her undivided attention to whatever occupied her mind at the moment, her hands waving in animation.
My awareness of what was happening at my table was pulled away. My stare detector had been going off at random intervals since I entered the cafeteria, but it must have been malfunctioning because each time I’d looked up I’d found nothing but folks minding their own blessed business.
I glanced to the far side of the room where the upperclassmen were still crowded together, laughing, joking, and utterly disinterested in what we were doing.
Trevor was gesturing widely; I couldn’t e
ven imagine what they could have been talking about.
His strong arms flexed as he moved his hands.
Why must he be so . . . eye-catching?
I sighed and gave up searching for where the disconcerting feeling of being watched was coming from. I turned my attention back to my new friends just in time to hear Maurice ask, “So Daisy, where about are you from?”
“Greenville,” I answered automatically, having sorted my origin story on our walk to the cafeteria.
I braced for Odie or James to look at me oddly or to otherwise indicate they’d noticed the change but neither of them reacted; they just continued eating and chatting and I chalked it up to having met so many folks that day.
“North Carolina?” Maurice continued.
“Tennessee, eastern part of the state.”
He shrugged as if it was unfamiliar to him and I smiled, thanking the geography gods.
This was going to be was absolutely perfect. Greenville, Tennessee was a tiny town, four hours away near the North Carolina line. Notably, it was also almost one hundred percent white, meaning the chances that someone from Greenville would be attending Fisk were slim. On the off chance someone did, it was even slimmer possibility that I’d ever even meet them.
The rain started just as we reached the front door to our dormitory. James was lamenting that the freshman social planned for tonight would be cancelled due to the bad weather when I spotted Dolly the dogged waiting for me in the lobby of Jubilee. I motioned for James and Odie to head on back upstairs and I decided to greet Dolly head-on.
I’d found my bravery.
I would tell my sister that I’d be fine and she could head back to her hotel for the night. Dolly and I were just prolonging the inevitable. She had originally planned to return to Green Valley early Sunday morning but honestly, there was no reason for her to stay. In fact, I’d be fine if she decided to head back to Green Valley tomorrow instead, a full day ahead of schedule. I was just about to vocalize my thoughts when she surprised me and beat me to it.
She pulled me into a brief, tight hug and whispered in my ear, “I’m proud of you. Never forget that. You’re smart and you’re strong, and you deserve every good thing that you’ve worked for, Daisy. Never forget that either.”
Then she stepped back, still holding my hands. She spoke down at them softly adding, “Funny enough, I ran into one of my classmates from Howard here with her youngest sister and their parents when I went . . . when I looked around after you left.”
It was almost imperceptible the way her voice wavered around the word “parents,” but I heard it and my throat closed inexplicably.
Probably choking on that apology you owe Dolly.
“I’m going to go to orientation with her. I know you’ll probably head over with your new friends. Afterward, she and I will probably grab dinner and catch up. And I’m going back to Green Valley at first light tomorrow. You know how the Mill falls apart when I’m gone for longer than a day. Besides, I want to make sure I’m back with enough time to rest for Sunday service—you know how I hate to miss it. And so I guess this is goodbye.”
She squeezed both my hands again and then pulled me in for an even tighter hug. I held her for a long time.
Guilt, of course, was a boulder. I’d hurt her feelings; that much was apparent. I saw through her excuses. Usually Dolly didn’t bow out for anyone.
Anyone but you, apparently.
And while I wanted to apologize, I also still wanted to be done with these feelings. The sadness that had settled over us like a fog. The expectation of greatness. The expectation of strength bordering on perfection.
My emotions bubbled up and collided all at once. Ah, there’s the tiredness I knew was coming.
Dolly was my only sister, and this semester would be the longest we’d been apart in a good while. My desire to clear the air before she left welled up to an unbearable degree.
“I’m sorry,” I blurted. “I don’t want you to be mad, or sad, I just . . .”
“Oh, Daisy, love.” She forced a laugh. “I’m not upset.” She shook her head for emphasis.
“Ignore me,” she continued emphatically. “I’m just remembering you toddling after Ado when we moved him in here. And I remember you and Mommy helping me decorate my dorm room at Howard. I can’t help but wonder what today might be like if they were here.”
Nope.
That fathomless, bottomless well of what ifs? I couldn’t. I wouldn’t think about that.
She took a deep breath, and stole the words from my mouth. “But today is for celebrations, not sadness. So I’ll be happy, because I am happy.” She took another deep breath. “And because if Mommy and Ado were here, they’d be overjoyed.”
“I had hoped . . .” She paused again then regrouped smiling a bit too brightly. “It doesn’t matter what I’d hoped. Today isn’t about me. I heard what you said earlier, Daisy—”
I opened my mouth to defend myself, and she quickly raised her voice.
“And I don’t blame you.”
That brought me up short.
“This place is your own. Make it your own. Our brother was so happy here. College was the best time of his life. You deserve to be happy here, and you deserve to be in the sun and not the shadow of his life . . . or his death.” She gave me one last sad smile, gave my unoccupied hand a quick squeeze, and then she was out of the door.
Sidestepping Dolly’s planned trip down memory lane had been difficult and if I was being honest, I had been a little hard on her by disappearing into the ether.
Dolly tried—I know she did—her best to relate to me, to understand me, to advise me, to mother me.
And I knew she was trying to fill impossibly large shoes that she never, ever wanted to wear.
And there I was being ungrateful and making her feel bad. However, today was case in point on why it was time for me to be on my own, far away from Green Valley.
Don’t get me wrong; we loved one another fiercely and we weren’t moping around the house all the time. But we were constantly managing one another’s feelings, and it was exhausting and suffocating. It seemed there was never going to be a time when all three of us were doing okay at the same time, and that was before all the well-meaning town folk dragged us down with constant reminders.
In a town so small it should have been impossible to continuously run into folks for over a year that “hadn’t seen you since you’d lost your mother.” And that they’d “really been meaning to get by the house.” That line was a cue for when you had to reassure them that no, they were not bad people for abandoning you in your time of grief.
After comforting words had been shared by me or Dolly or my father, it often led to them sharing some arbitrary memory of our loved one that was supposed to bring comfort but usually only served as a reminder of what was missing. Worse was when their stories rang suspiciously out of character for my brother or mother, making me wonder if this person was inventing something for my benefit or if they were just mixing my loved one up with someone else. Sometimes after this revelatory story the person would cry.
At any rate the net result was that you ended up comforting them, late for wherever you were headed, exhausted, depressed, and still alone to work through your own grief.
Back inside my room, I bypassed the bed that should’ve contained my overly shy or maybe super chatty roommate and, spurred to action by Dolly’s words, I moved to the closet and pulled out the small, nondescript box that I’d smuggled in.
You deserve to be happy here.
I thought of my family and of how much I loved them.
You deserve to be happy here.
I thought on my family’s name and how much it burdened and suffocated me.
You deserve to be happy here.
I thought on happiness and freedom and what that might look like for me.
And then I committed to my plan.
I had no idea if it was a good idea or the dumbest thing I’d ever done, but I was going thr
ough with it.
I began picking up the mementos around my room—ones Dolly had just painstakingly placed.
A stationary set that read From the Desk of Daisy Payton in fancy script, an early graduation gift from my mother who must’ve known she might not make it until my senior year. She’d said I could use it to write home when I went away to college.
A framed picture of my brother and sister and me standing in the Mill lumber yard . . . You deserve to be happy here.
I smiled remembering how me and Dolly had gotten in trouble for playing in the Mill shortly after the photo was taken; it was one of the few times my father’d lost his temper growing up. He was endlessly patient except where it came to safety and the Mill. He had no tolerance for slack there.
I placed the picture in the box and picked up a picture of my father and mother and me at my debutante ball just before she got sick.
A tiny Eiffel Tower from a family vacation in Paris, a cartouche containing my name we’d gotten in Egypt, and knickknacks from Milan and the Bahamas.
A framed picture of my brother in his dress blues.
I gathered the pieces of Daisy Payton’s life reverently.
You deserve to be happy here.
And I contemplated what it meant to be both Daisy and Daisy.
I placed them gently in the box.
I closed the lid.
Chapter Three
Trevor
On Sunday morning I arrived at church about twenty-five minutes before service was scheduled to begin. The sidewalk in front of the Fisk Memorial Chapel, or the Chapel as we called it, was a sea of black and white. The girls dressed in white dresses and the boys, like me, were dressed in dark suits with dark ties and crisp white shirts. Everyone was hurriedly congealing into a mass headed toward the front doors. I funneled myself into the stream steadily filing in.
I wanted to say I hadn’t taken extra care with my appearance this morning, that I didn’t make sure my shirt was pressed extra crisply, and that my real gold tie clip—one of the few gifts from my parents I’d kept—gleamed extra brightly against my solid black tie, but that would’ve all been a lie.
Upsy Daisy: A First Love College Romance Page 4
