Trouble Don’t Last Always

by Francis Ray

  But nothing came to her as one hour ticked into the next. A truck passed, followed by a late-model Chevrolet with three wide-eyed children in the back. Neither slowed despite her frantic waving. Doubt tinged with an escalating fear began to creep into her mind. Glancing back down the road from which she had come, she tucked her lower lip between her teeth. Nothing.

  And if another car did pass, would they stop? People weren’t as quick to help strangers anymore. Woman or not.

  Opening the car door, she rolled up the windows, then slung the narrow black strap of her purse over her shoulder and locked the car. She’d do what she had done most of her life: rely on herself.

  Without further hesitation, she began walking the way she had come. At least that way she knew she’d eventually reach a service station. If she continued, she wasn’t so sure.

  Less than two miles down the road she glimpsed the red slate roof of a house peeking through towering oak trees. With excitement rushing through her, her pace increased. When she stood in front of the wide arms of an intricately scrolled black iron entry gate, she realized why she hadn’t seen the mansion when she passed. The two-story house sat at least 500 feet from the road at the arch of the curve. Her attention had been on maneuvering the sharp turn, not her surroundings.

  Nestled beneath moss-draped oaks, the immense home was breathtaking. A balcony ran the length of the second floor. To Lilly it looked like something out of a movie of days gone by when the plantation owner took his ease while the slaves worked the fields.

  As she walked closer, she saw that the house had a stucco exterior and was painted a pale yellow with white trim. Chastising herself for her wayward imagination, she continued up the tree-lined path. Her mother had always said she kept her head in too many books. But books had been her salvation then and now. Closer, she realized the house hadn’t been here in the 1800s and the owners were probably very friendly toward black people.

  But what if they weren’t? Her steps slowed. She hadn’t dealt with many rich people, black or white. In Little Elm the teachers and the funeral home owners were the rich black people and, although they went to work every day, they were in a different social group from Lilly and her truck-driving husband. She couldn’t imagine the owner of this place having a nine-to-five job or worries about the mortgage.

  Stepping off the paved road onto the thick green grass, Lilly cut across the yard to the back of the house. Some people didn’t like the hired help or service people coming to the front door. She wasn’t either, but she wasn’t an invited guest, either. One thing Lilly knew was how to keep her place. Another lesson courtesy of Myron.

  Rounding the corner of the house, she pulled up short. Two well-dressed black women stood at the bottom of the wooden steps leading into a side entrance to the house. They were deep in conversation. The older woman was of average height and appeared to be in her late fifties. She wore a cream-colored blouse and pants. Her stylishly short reddish-brown hair complemented her attractive cinnamon-hued skin. She kept wiping the corners of her eyes with a white handkerchief.

  The younger woman’s lips were pressed together as if she fought her own battle with tears. Model-thin and a head taller than the other woman, she wore a sleeveless black shell and trousers. Silver hoop earrings twisted with each movement of her head. Smooth bangs brushed the slim arch of her brows. The rest of her bone-straight hair fell to the middle of her back.

  Behind them the screen door burst open. Both women turned. Out came a tall, beautiful woman in her early thirties wearing a tangerine-colored linen pantsuit.

  The door banged shut. The wind had picked up, carrying with it the scent of magnolias, but Lilly didn’t think it had caused the door to slam.

  “He’s impossible!” cried the woman coming down the white-painted steps.

  The older woman clutched the handkerchief tighter. “Nicole, he still insists we leave?”

  “Yes, Mrs. Wakefield.” The answer was clipped and final.

  Mrs. Wakefield’s head lowered.

  Wide-eyed, the youngest woman stared from one to the other, then back toward the door. “But we can’t leave.”

  “Try telling that to Adam, Kristen,” Nicole said, folding her arms, her heavily lashed eyelids blinking rapidly, her magenta glossed lips tightly compressed.

  Mrs. Wakefield’s mouth curved upward in a strained smile; then she took Kristen’s agitated hand in hers. “Don’t worry. We’ll find a way.”

  “How?” Kristen cried.

  The women traded glances, but none spoke.

  “Excuse me. Maybe I can help,” Lilly offered before she thought better of interfering.

  Three pairs of startled eyes turned to her. Fear quickly gave way to other emotions in their faces. Kristen’s was weary, Nicole’s suspicious, Mrs. Wake-field’s curious.

  “Who are you and what are you doing here?” Nicole asked, stepping forward.

  Lilly clamped her hands together to keep from retreating. This wasn’t Myron using his size to intimidate and abuse for the simple reason that he could. This woman had a right to demand answers. Trespassing was bad enough, but Lilly had compounded her bad manners by eavesdropping as well.

  “Lilly. Lilly Crawford. My car broke down about two miles from here. This is the first house I passed, and I wanted to see if anyone could help or if I could use the phone.”

  “Of course.” The older woman visibly relaxed. “I’m Eleanor Wakefield. This is my daughter, Kristen. Ms. Ashe is a family friend.” The nods of acknowledgment were brief. “Samuel, the groundskeeper, is off, but you can certainly use the phone.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I’ll show you where it is,” offered Kristen, quickly bounding up the four steps and opening the door.

  Lilly clamped her hand around the frayed strap of her purse and pushed the words out. “I–I couldn’t help but overhear some of your conversation.” She knew what it was like to feel helpless and without anywhere to go or turn. The women looked as if they were well off, but she was a living testament on how looks could be deceiving. “If I can get my car started and you need a lift into town, you’re welcome to come with me.”

  Surprise flittered across Mrs. Wakefield’s face; then it was gone, to be replaced by a warm smile that erased the lines of strain bracketing her mouth. “Thank you, Ms. Crawford, but that won’t be necessary.”

  Now it was Lilly’s turn to be surprised. It was a rarity for anyone to address her as “Ms.,” let alone her betters. Nodding, Lilly went up the steps after Kristen.

  The house was as magnificent on the inside as it was on the outside. Yellow was here, too, but the mellow color of butter was mixed with the palest blue and green. Highly polished oak floors gleamed beneath the worn soles of Lilly’s sturdy flat black shoes. Persian rugs were scattered throughout. Tall, wide windows were draped in blue silk.

  Beautiful antique furniture, crystal lamps, and brass accents gave the home an air of subdued elegance and warmth. Picture-perfect. It would be like living in a little corner of heaven to stay in a place like this. She briefly wondered if the man the women seemed afraid of appreciated the beauty of his home.

  “Here’s the phone. The yellow pages should be underneath.”

  “Thank you.” Squatting, Lilly opened the door of the cherry drum stand and pulled out the telephone book. Standing, she heard the back door close. Her shoulders stiffened. Myron had taught her early to avoid confrontations at all costs. She quickly began flipping the pages. Nicole had looked at Lilly as if she had crawled on her belly out of the slimy water that pooled in the ditch along the road. Lilly wanted to be gone as much as the other woman apparently wanted her gone.

  Lilly’s hand paused. What was she doing? She didn’t have the money to pay for towing or repair. She’d hoped she’d find someone to help fix the car.

  “Is there a problem?” Kristen asked, her pencil-thin brows furrowed.

  “No.” Turning away from the concern in the young woman’s heart-shaped face, Lilly flipp
ed another page. Lying was easier than telling the truth.

  “Excuse me, then.”

  “Yes. Sure.” She watched Kristen join her mother and Nicole in an adjoining room with a high ceiling and lined draperies that arched over the windows and pooled on the oak floor. It wasn’t lost on Lilly that Nicole had positioned herself by the oak fireplace mantel so that she could see Lilly. She might be poor, but no one had ever questioned her honesty…until now.

  Realizing she couldn’t stand forever in the hall, she picked out a random garage number and dialed. If the towing cost was too high, she’d ...

  Her eyes shut. She had no idea what she’d do. She couldn’t sleep in the car, not on a back road leading to who knew where.

  She berated herself as she opened her eyes and punched in another number. Why hadn’t she planned better? Why did she always make a complete mess of things?

  “Did you decide what we are going to do?” Kristen asked as soon as she reached her mother.

  “No, dear,” Mrs. Wakefield answered, worry clear in her cultured voice.

  “We can’t just leave him.”

  “Don’t worry. Adam won’t be alone,” Mrs. Wakefield promised. “If he doesn’t want us, I’ll find someone else to look after him.”

  “How will we do that on such short notice?” Kristen sought reassurance as she always had. She was twenty years old and still unsure of herself despite being eight weeks away from graduation from Stanford with a degree in art history.

  “Jonathan may be able to help find a companion for Adam,” Mrs. Wake-field said, her attractive face thoughtful. It was up to her to keep the family together. “After all, Adam only needs a minimum amount of help with food preparation and cleaning his room. However, it will have to be someone who is completely trustworthy, someone who won’t make him feel worse about his condition, and, of course, someone who is willing to live in.”

  “Finding someone to live here won’t be a problem,” Nicole said, glancing around the lavishly decorated room. “Adam has made this place a showcase. The problem will be keeping them.”

  “I know Adam has been difficult, but he has cause,” Kristen defended hotly. “I get angry just thinking about what they did to him.”

  “I didn’t say he didn’t have reasons. But while we have an emotional connection to Adam, anyone we hire won’t,” Nicole replied. “People don’t have the loyalty they used to have for their employer.” She wrinkled her pert nose. “I know. They quit faster at my temp agency than I can hire new ones to replace them.”

  “Nicole’s right, Kristen. We love Adam no matter what.” Mrs. Wakefield laid a comforting hand on her daughter’s rigid arm. “We love him now more than ever. We feel his pain as if it were our own. If we can’t get a person to stay out of commitment to doing a good job, we’ll have to offer them a financial incentive. For a thousand dollars a week, they shouldn’t care if Adam is a bit cross with them.”

  The phone slipped from Lilly’s hand, crashing down on the cradle and almost knocking over a small floral arrangement of sweet peas. She grabbed the phone and steadied the heavy cut-crystal vase.

  Once again she found herself the focus of the three women’s questioning gazes.

  “I–I didn’t mean to overhear your conversation,” she stammered. “But…but I’m looking for a job. I’m dependable and hardworking, and since my car clunked, you don’t have to worry about me leaving,” she said, trying to make a joke out of the last comment, but none of the women smiled.

  Since they hadn’t said no, Lilly kept talking, “Up until a week ago, when she passed on, I took care of a woman after her stroke for five years. She was partially paralyzed on the left side, so I bathed her, read to her, took her for walks, her appointments, did her physical therapy. Dr. Mason always said I was the best caregiver he’d ever seen. I’m sure I could do a good job.” She prayed she didn’t sound as desperate as she was.

  “We don’t know anything about you,” Nicole pointed out dismissively.

  “She did offer to help us when she thought we needed it,” Mrs. Wakefield said thoughtfully. “That showed a caring nature.”

  Nicole gaped, staring at the older woman in disbelief. “You can’t honestly be considering her for the job?”

  “We need someone immediately, and since she’s here, why not let Adam decide?”

  Nicole crossed her arms over her generous breasts. “He’ll toss her out the same way he did us.”

  Mrs. Wakefield threw an irritated glance at Nicole, then crossed to Lilly. “Perhaps we should sit down and I can tell you about my son.”

  Lilly’s eyes widened. “Your son owns this place!”

  “Yes,” Mrs. Wakefield answered, glancing around the high-ceilinged room as she led Lilly to the Chippendale sofa. “He bought it about five years ago. Although he’s been back only occasionally, he always said he loved the beauty and peacefulness he found here.”

  Gingerly Lilly sat on the blue-green- and white-striped cushion, careful not to disturb the tapestry accent pillow by her elbow. “I can see why he’d never tire of being here. Everywhere you look there’s beauty. Both inside and out.”

  Mrs. Wakefield’s body jerked.

  Nicole glared.

  Kristen tucked her lower lip between her teeth.

  “I’m sorry; did I say something wrong?” Lilly asked, apprehension sweeping through her: Don’t mess this up, Lilly. You need this job.

  “It’s not your fault. You couldn’t have known.” Hands folded in her lap, her legs crossed sedately at the ankles, Mrs. Wakefield drew a deep breath as if fortifying herself and said, “Because of the senseless greed of others, Adam lost his sight.”

  “He’s blind?” Lilly blurted.

  “Oh, goodness.” Nicole threw Lilly a look filled with derision and sank gracefully into a side chair. “I can see she’s going to be fabulous.”

  Lilly flushed under the censure of the other woman. “I–I thought he was just sick.” She gave her attention to Mrs. Wakefield. “If you’re his mother, he can’t be that old.”

  “He celebrated his thirty-eighth birthday just weeks before it happened.”

  Twelve years older than she was, yet he had accomplished so much while she had done nothing. Had nothing to show for her years but a broken-down car and a few pieces of clothes. “This must be hard on all of you.”

  “It is,” Mrs. Wakefield admitted and leaned back in her seat. “Worse because it didn’t have to happen. Adam stopped at a red light and two men ran up to his car and demanded he give them the keys. When he refused they pulled him from the car and severely beat and kicked him.” Hands trembling, her voice unsteady, Mrs. Wakefield visibly fought to continue.

  “If you’d rather not go on, I understand.” Lilly understood pain and despair.

  “No, it’s all right,” Mrs. Wakefield said, her voice noticeably stronger. “You have to understand the kind of person Adam was to not think too badly of how this has affected him. One brutal act changed not only his life but also those of hundreds of others.”

  “My brother was a well-known neurosurgeon specializing in head trauma injuries.” Kristen sat down on the curved arm of the sofa by her mother. “He had a thriving practice and was sought after by several hospitals across the country. But no matter how tired or how busy he was, he always had time for me and Mother.”

  “Adam takes his responsibilities seriously,” Mrs. Wakefield said, pride in her voice.

  Nicole’s expression thoughtful, she said, “Month by month his reputation grew. He was interviewed the day before the accident by the Associated Press. When asked what about his life he’d change, he said, ‘Nothing. It is perfect.’ “

  Another silence stretched across the room until it was broken by Mrs. Wakefield. “The doctors aren’t sure if the blindness is temporary or permanent. The X rays and other tests indicate a great deal of hemorrhaging. We’re hopeful that, once the hemorrhage dissolves, Adam’s sight will return to normal. If the doctors attempt to operate and remove
the hemorrhage there is the possibility of causing other complications, including permanent loss of sight. The doctors thought it best to see if the hemorrhage will dissolve on its own.”

  “How long will that take?” Lilly asked, trying to figure out how long she’d have the job…if she got it.

  The women traded worried glances again before Mrs. Wakefield answered, “At first they thought two to three weeks.”

  Lilly was almost afraid to voice the next question: “And now?”

  Mrs. Wakefield reached up and clutched her daughter’s hand. “They aren’t sure. It’s been almost five weeks and there’s been no change in his sight.”

  Lilly wanted to ask Mrs. Wakefield if she thought the blindness could be permanent but didn’t. From the worry in her face and the faces of the other women in the room, they were already dealing with that possibility.

  “Adam is understandably having some difficulties adjusting,” Mrs. Wake-field continued. “His medical training makes it more difficult, not easier. He’s used to being active. Waiting has never been his strong suit. Now that’s all he can do.”

  “Sometimes that’s all any of us can do,” Lilly murmured, thinking of her own problems. She’d waited and bided her time to leave Myron.

  Mrs. Wakefield stood. “This way.” At the foot of the stairs, she stopped and faced Lilly. “Adam’s room is the third door on the right-hand side. He may not give you permission to enter, but go in anyway. I’d take you up, but my presence seems to upset him.”

  “Mother Crawford had bad days, too.” Lilly felt compelled to try to ease the other woman’s burden.

  “Your mother?” Mrs. Wakefield questioned.

  Lilly started to explain, then changed her mind. In every way that counted, Mother Crawford had been her mother. “Yes.” Turning, she started to climb the stairs.

  “Ms. Crawford?”

  “Yes.” Lilly paused, her hand wrapped around the mahogany newel cap.

  “Adam is a wonderful man,” Mrs. Wakefield said, Kristen and Nicole on either side of her. “But he’s used to having his orders obeyed. Being thwarted is not something he takes easily. He’s striking out because he’s angry at what’s happened to him. Please remember that.”