House Divided
By Jennifer Peel
© 2015 by Jennifer Peel. All Rights reserved.
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To my daughter, Ashley, who made us a House Divided by choosing to be an Auburn fan. Thank you for reminding me of the wonderment of young love. Roll Tide!
Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty One
Chapter Twenty Two
Prologue
My Aunt Lu had three rules that had to be abided by: Rule one, your blood must bleed orange and blue. ‘War Eagle’ are sacred, oft spoke words. If you’ve ever lived in Alabama, you know what that means. There is a law irrevocably decreed in the state of Alabama that you must choose a team. You’re either an Auburn fan or an Alabama Fan. There is no fence sitting or waffling. It’s one or the other, and one must never, ever change sides. Rule two, no beauty pageants or crowns. If you knew my Aunt Lu, you would probably think this was a strange rule. You see, she was Miss Alabama and then Miss America. LuAnne Eaton was the fairest creature in all the land back in her day, with her long auburn hair, fair skin, and deep brown eyes. But you have to know rule number three to understand rule number two. Rule three was the most important rule, and it superseded all other rules. No Eaton woman will ever date a Jackson man. From what I can gather, Aunt Lu was once engaged to Isaac Jackson—that is until she brought home her friend, Elizabeth Lawson, First Runner-Up in the Miss America Pageant. Elizabeth Lawson became Elizabeth Jackson.
Of course, then there is the unspoken rule: One must attend church every Sunday. But that’s just because we live in the south.
The Jackson Family had three rules too. They were as follows: Your blood bleeds crimson, you must date and marry a beauty queen, no exception. (The more crowns and titles, the better.) And most importantly, no Jackson man will ever date an Eaton woman.
In Kaysville, Alabama, where we all lived, everyone knew the rules, and you were either a friend of the Eaton Family or the Jackson Family—there was no intermingling. We were a town divided between Eatons and Jacksons, Auburn and Alabama, the left and right side at church. If you were a friend of the Eatons, that meant you sat on the right side of church and you had blue and orange blood. The only person not required to choose a side was the pastor. To be a pastor at the church in Kaysville, you had to remain undeclared or half of your congregation would have you ousted. Just ask poor Pastor Giles, who now lives out of state.
Isaac Jackson owned the only bank in town, Kaysville First National, and half the town. My Aunt Lu owned the other half. Aunt Lu had married a rich oil tycoon from Texas, who had a penchant for beauty queens; and he’d left her the sole beneficiary in his will. Aunt Lu also inherited something else, maybe inherited isn’t the right word, but either way, she took me in and raised me as her own. She never had any of her own children, and for all intents and purposes, before Aunt Lu, I never had real parents.
From the time I could remember, I was taught to eat, live and breathe the rules. Don’t get me wrong, living with Aunt Lu was the best. Those were really the only rules she had. If I wanted chocolate cake for breakfast, I had chocolate cake. If I wondered what Paris was like, we went to Paris. We had tea parties on the veranda, pillow fights and late night cuddles. And although I was never allowed to be in a beauty pageant, I was schooled in how to walk, talk and act like a beauty queen. I had piano, dance, voice, and elocution lessons. Aunt Lu made sure I was bred to be a proper southern lady, but every day before I walked out the door she would say, “Remember, Ella Lu, you’re more than a beautiful face.”
I loved Aunt Lu more than anyone, and she would always say, “I love you more than air, Ella Lu.” Because of that, I did my best to follow all the rules. Even though I didn’t enjoy football, I pretended really well. I had lots of blue and orange in my closet, and of course I promised Auburn would be my only school of choice. Rule number two was easy; being in a beauty pageant never interested me, maybe because I already felt like such a princess at home. Then there was rule number three, the granddaddy of all the rules, so of course it was the one I was destined to break.
It’s not like I set out to break it, I honestly tried my best not to.
The Jackson family had four sons: Beau, Booker, Benjamin, and Brady. They liked B names apparently. Funny enough, my aunt had B names for their momma and their daddy, but we won’t mention those. The three older boys had followed all the Jackson rules to the tee. Beau graduated from the University of Alabama and married Miss Georgia; they resided in Macon, where he owned a string of car dealerships. Booker graduated from med school at the University of Alabama at Birmingham; he became an anesthesiologist in Montgomery where he lived with his wife, Miss Mobile, who was also the second runner-up in the Miss Alabama pageant. Benjamin also graduated from the University of Alabama with a degree in economics; he married Miss Teen USA and became an analyst for a financial firm in D.C. That left the baby, Brady, who was quite a bit younger than all of his brothers. Like me, he tried to follow the rules too.
In a way, we can hardly be blamed. When you’re told your whole life not to look at or talk to a particular person, it’s kind of hard not to notice them. I felt like I always had to be aware of where he was or what he was doing, just so I could make sure to stay away from him. Our families always made sure, during our grade school years, that we were never in the same class, but they couldn’t do anything about lunch rooms and recess, and of course Sunday School. We never talked to each other, and of course we never had the same friends, but I observed him on almost a daily basis, and from what I could tell, he was a nice boy.
As we grew older and entered junior high and high school, our families couldn’t keep us out of the same classes. In seventh grade we had our first class together, pre- algebra, and the teacher must have been new because we were seated next to each other. I didn’t say anything to her, because I was curious about this sandy-haired, blue-eyed boy that I was taught was the devil’s spawn since I could remember. He didn’t say anything either, he seemed just as curious about me. We never talked to one another that first class, but once in a while, he would smile at me and I would smile back.
Then ninth grade happened. Brady and I both ended up in the same P.E. class. Of course, Brady was a star athlete and was already being groomed to play football for his beloved team. I’d never understood why gym teachers thought it was a great idea for boys and girls to play football together, even if it was only flag football. One fateful day, a couple of Brady’s buddies got carried away and I ended up on the ground with stars in my eyes. When I could see clearly, the first person I saw was Brady. There he was, with his outstretched hand, waiting for me to take it so he could help me up. I wasn’t sure how to react, and I felt like the who
le class waited on bated breath to see what we would do. He smiled at me with all of his southern boy charm, and I hesitantly reached up and took his hand. His hand was warm, and it made me feel kind of fuzzy inside.
“Thank you,” was all I could mutter when I was upright.
“You’re welcome, Ellie,” he replied in his southern drawl with a twinkle in his eye.
I looked at him funny, no one called me Ellie. He just smiled and walked away.
As the teacher brought me an ice pack, I noticed all of our classmates were still frozen. Everyone knew Eatons and Jacksons were not to mix. I spent the rest of the class on the bleachers, watching Brady. A couple of times he looked my way and grinned.
Being the small town it was, by the time I got home, my Aunt Lu had heard the news. I was again reminded about rule three. I told her I remembered and not to worry, but I couldn’t help but think about Brady Jackson the rest of the night. From that day on, I seemed to run into him a lot at school; we never talked, but there were lots of looks and smiles. The last day of freshman year came, and it also happened to be my fifteenth birthday. My friends decorated my locker that day and brought me a birthday crown to wear, it was the only time I had ever worn one. I felt ridiculous, but happy and loved. Then the oddest thing happened as I was leaving school. I walked past Brady, and I felt a note being pressed discreetly in my hand. I didn’t even stop to look at him. I just kept walking forward and went straight to the bathroom, walked into a stall, and quickly opened up the note with my shaky hands.
Ellie,
Please meet me at the carnival tonight. 7pm behind the funhouse.
Brady
P.S. I like the crown.
I didn’t know what to think. Maybe it was a trick. My aunt had always said you could never trust a Jackson, but I had watched Brady Jackson for years and he seemed like such a good boy. It didn’t hurt that he was all sorts of cute, and for some reason I kept getting that warm and fuzzy feeling around him. I had never had that before. I loved Aunt Lu, and I knew it would break her heart if I met up with Brady Jackson of all people, but I was so curious about why Brady Jackson would want me to meet him.
I returned home that afternoon with swirling thoughts of Brady Jackson. Aunt Lu and our housekeeper, Doris (who was more like a friend we paid to take care of us), greeted me at the door in party hats, noisemakers, and lots of confetti. This only made me feel guiltier for my thoughts. My Aunt Lu was the only person in the world that loved me. She had taken me in after my momma left my daddy (when I was just a year old) and my daddy took to the bottle and never left. How could I even think of meeting Brady Jackson?
My friends came later that afternoon for my traditional birthday dinner of chicken fried steak, mashed potatoes, and homemade biscuits. Not to mention my cake that was, of course, decorated in Auburn colors; the A in Ella was even made to look like the Auburn symbol. All reminders of rule number three. My aunt outdid herself every year on gifts, and this year was no exception. Prada shoes and a Coach handbag. Looking back, gifts like those seemed outrageous for Kaysville, Alabama (Or anywhere for that matter. What fifteen-year-old needs those kinds of gifts?), but my aunt was all about the outrageous. She did it her way.
After the festivities, my best friends, Grace and Andi, and I were headed to the annual Kaysville carnival at the fairgrounds. I still couldn’t get Brady out my mind, but there was no way I could talk to anyone about the note I had been given, not even my best friends. Everyone knew the rules. I’m surprised they hadn’t been set in stone yet and placed near the Ten Commandments at the courthouse. We purchased our tickets and rode everything from the tilt-a-whirl to the bumper cars. As we headed to the Ferris wheel, I realized it was almost seven o’clock. One of us would have to ride alone on the Ferris wheel, so I thought maybe I should stay back and let Grace and Andi ride together, plus I really didn’t like heights. Yes, they were all just excuses. It was wicked, I know, but I couldn’t help but think about Brady Jackson and why he wanted me to meet him.
“Girls,” I said before I could talk myself out of it. “Why don’t you two ride the Ferris wheel? I’m going to get some lemonade.”
“Are you sure?” they replied in unison.
“Uh huh.”
I watched my friends get in line, and then I immediately turned and headed toward the fun house. My wicked heart was racing. I was like a cat, and curiosity was killing me. I tried not to think that what I was doing would kill my Aunt Lu. I rationalized it would be one meeting and that was it, no harm would be done. As I neared the funhouse, I looked around to make sure no one was watching me. It seemed so absurd that I would have to worry about such things. I sneakily made my way back; I was five minutes early, but to my surprise, Brady was already there pacing back and forth. When he heard me approach, he turned around and his eyes lit up at the sight of me. We both stood there, looking at each other for several seconds; I don’t think either of us knew what to say or do, but I knew I wouldn’t be the first to talk. After all, he asked me there. He cautiously walked toward me. For a moment, I thought I should turn and leave—this was wrong—but he looked so sweet and all country, from his tight blue jeans and cowboy boots to his white t-shirt. I had that warm feeling again.
“Miss Ellie,” he said.
“My name is Ella.” I probably said that with more sass than was necessary, but I was a southern girl.
He grinned. “I know your name, Ella Lu Eaton.”
He walked closer, and I held my breath and twirled my hair nervously. He stopped about six inches from me. He was already quite tall, so I had to look up at him and his light blue eyes with dark eyelashes. He had just gotten his braces off, and his grin showed off his newly-straightened teeth. For a fifteen-year-old boy, he sure was cute. He put his hands in his pockets; he seemed nervous too.
“Happy birthday, Miss Ellie.”
“Thank you.”
He reached up and tugged my hair. “What happened to your crown?”
I couldn’t wear that crown home. Aunt Lu would not have been pleased at all to see me in it. I just smiled. Surely he knew the rules. “So why did you ask me to meet you?”
He seemed to gain his confidence as he stood up taller. “Well, Miss Ellie, I was hoping to get to know you better.”
I stopped twirling my hair and stepped back. “You know we can’t.”
He stepped closer. “Why?”
“Because, Brady Jackson. You know the rules as well as I do.”
I turned to leave, but he caught my hand. “Aren’t you tired of the rules?”
I thought about it, and if I was honest with myself, the answer was yes, but I loved Aunt Lu and couldn’t bear the thought of disappointing her. But as I looked down at our entwined hands, I had an interesting sensation, nothing like I had ever felt before. No boy had ever held my hand, and he didn’t seem in any hurry to let go. I should have pulled away, but I didn’t.
“Please, Miss Ellie, meet me by the old tire swing on the river tomorrow,” he said with every ounce of country boy charm he had.
And that was it. That was when I began my life as a rule breaker and a deceitful, awful girl. We snuck around that whole summer. We mostly met at the river, and we dove right into the current of forbidden friendship. I was easily swept away. We spent hours swinging on that old tire swing, just talking and laughing. We were going to change the town. There weren’t going to be any sides when we were done. As our lazy summer days on the river waned, our friendship waxed.
The day before school started, we met once again, lamenting our last day of freedom and planning on how we could see each other during the school year without getting caught. It was going to be tricky because he’d be knee-deep in football practice and I would be involved in everything else, like drama, choir, debate team, student government and so on. It was my goal to be the valedictorian when we graduated. Of course we had to be discreet; no one could ever see us. We had already had a couple of close calls during the summer, but it had been a marvelous summer at t
hat, and I was sad to see it end. I was becoming very fond of Brady Jackson. He must have been fond of me, too, because he did something surprising. He kissed me for the very first time that day. As he pushed me on the swing, he suddenly stopped it and held on to it and me, and he just stared at me for several seconds.
“What?” I asked with a smile.
He leaned in closely. “Miss Ellie, I’ve wanted to do this all summer.”
Then, without warning, he pecked me quickly on the lips. It was sweet, like honeydew melon. That became the first of many stolen kisses, and each kiss only grew sweeter.
Our sophomore year began, and we became masters in the art of deception. I knew it was nothing to be proud of, but as my fondness for Brady grew, I pushed those thoughts to the back of my mind. We slipped notes to each other each day and met behind the bleachers on many occasions, where he would kiss me until I forgot I was an Eaton and he was a Jackson. Sometimes we were even able to sneak away at night and meet at the bank of the Kaysville River; I would lie in his arms, and we talk about everything and nothing. Brady would beg me to make our relationship public; he wanted everyone to know I was his girl. He hated that he couldn’t take me on real dates, especially to the school dances. I wanted that too, but I just couldn’t hurt my Aunt Lu, and I knew the firestorm it would cause in Kaysville if ever anyone found out about us.
People did start to talk, though. They wondered why two of the most popular kids in school weren’t taking or accepting dates to homecoming, prom and the winter cotillion. We would go, of course, but we could never dance with one another. After every one of those dances, Brady would meet me by the river bank where he would turn up the stereo in his new red Ford F-150 he got for his sixteenth birthday and would hold me close as we danced in the headlights.
It was after prom, as we swayed to mellow tones of George Strait, that Brady looked deeply into my grey eyes. “I love you, Miss Ellie.”
I didn’t know what to say. I wasn’t quite sixteen; in my mind we were too young to be in love. Don’t get me wrong, I felt deeply for him, he had become my best friend and if ever I was going to be in love, it was going to be with him, but I just couldn’t say it then. I looked into his expectant eyes. “Oh, Brady.”
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