“I’ve been waiting.” Betty shrugged and gave a coy smile.
“Waiting for what? To break my heart?” Stan asked, protectively covering his chest with his hands.
“For you to give me a reason to stay.” Betty laughed.
* * * *
“Wait—wait—wait . . .”
Jules waved her hands frantically, sending Frankie shooting up off her mother’s lap. “This is too much. I can’t even . . .” Jules glared at her mother as though she were trying to ensure she was telling the truth.
“Are we hearing this right?” Bobby asked scratching his head. “Are you saying that Stan, your first husband and Jules’s dad, is the boy you’re talking about in your story? He’s Simpson’s brother? That’s how you fell in love?”
“Yes,” Betty said simply. She’d anticipated this revelation would be met with shock and suspected Jules may be feeling even a bit angry.
Jules’s mouth was wide open as she tried to process the information coming her way. “Ma, I’m in my thirties. How in the world did I not know my father was one of eight boys? How did I not know his brother was killed right here in town. How could you keep this story from me?” There was a nip of annoyance in her voice.
“Your father didn’t consider those people his family, therefore they weren’t your family. They all moved out of Edenville and never looked back. As for Simpson, that story has more layers than can be summed up so quickly. I was always afraid to peel back any of it for fear of spilling it all out.” Betty swallowed back the urge to tell Jules it felt impossible before this moment to even speak their names.
“He was my uncle. His blood spilled right here, somewhere I probably walk on a regular basis, and you couldn’t even tell me?” Jules looked to Michael for backup, but he stayed quiet.
“This was one of the darkest moments of my life that happened in a place and with people I’ve remained around to this day. I walk by those memories all the time. I look people in the eye every day who lived that story with me. It’s my cross to bear, please don’t tell me how I should have carried it.” Betty felt her cheeks burning but beat back her growing frustration as she tried to see her daughter’s point.
“I’ve grown up my whole life hearing next to nothing about any of my extended family. I don’t know much about your parents. I don’t know a thing about my father’s family. I feel like you’ve been hiding it from me for all these years. I could have helped you. I could have listened a long time ago.”
“That’s good, dear, but I couldn’t have talked about it a long time ago. I’m sorry you’ve lived without knowing any of this or anything about your roots. That wasn’t fair of me, but know that my reasons for keeping it from you weren’t malicious. It was self-preservation. I just couldn’t,” Betty said fighting a rush of emotion.
Jules rushed toward her looking instantly apologetic. “No I’m sorry, Ma. I’m being stupid. It’s just so much to take in. I’m sitting listening to your story, crying about this boy who died a hero and then to hear he’s my father’s brother just hit me hard. I have so many questions. Is this why Daddy became a police officer? Did you ever see Winnie, Nate, or Alma again?”
“Well there is a bit more to the story,” Betty admitted as she glanced around the porch to see if everyone was still interested. Judging by their expressions, they certainly were.
“You obviously reconnected with them since you’ve been in contact through the letters,” Michael deduced, looking completely intrigued.
“That’s where the story gets interesting.” Betty grinned.
“How could it possibly get any more interesting?” Frankie asked, shaking her head in disbelief.
“Wait, I need to know more,” Jules begged, touching her mother’s hand gently. “Can you answer some questions for me?”
“Of course. I think I owe you at least that.” Betty tucked her daughter’s hair back and caressed her cheek.
“Your parents. They died when I was little. I don’t remember them. Did anything change? Did you make peace with them?” It broke Betty’s heart to watch her daughter reeling from the truth of the past. Like always Betty felt it her job to ease the pain in her daughter’s heart. Luckily she had a bit of something to do it with.
“My mother died very suddenly of an aneurysm. It came as a shock, and sadly, she and I never really had a chance to connect the way I’d hoped. When you were born she was happy; she was a good grandmother to you. It’s important you know that. She rocked you and sang to you. She loved you deeply. She loved me too. But sometimes the only way to go on is to accept the apology you never get. That’s how I got to a place with my mother that I could be with my mother and not feel angry.” Betty hoped that Jules, who normally didn’t suffer fools, would be able to accept this. It became clear she couldn’t.
“How can that be? How could she not be proud of you, or if she was, how could she be such a coward she couldn’t tell you? I can’t believe I’m descended from this woman. I can’t believe you are. If she were here now I’d give her a piece of my mind,” Jules roared as she clenched her hands into fists.
“Child, like I’ve been saying since you were a toddler, I appreciate your zeal, but your little head is gonna pop off your shoulders if you don’t calm down. My mother was flawed, but so am I, and so are you. Maybe all in different ways but it’s unavoidable. My mother loved me. I know that for sure even if she couldn’t tell me. I don’t hold a grudge about it.”
“I do,” Jules snipped but quieted when Betty nodded over to Frankie who was watching this unfold like a television drama. “Maybe we should talk about it later.”
“I think Grammy’s right,” Frankie interjected. “Things were different back then, and I’m glad she’s not my mama, but she’s still a part of our family. I forgive her.”
“I’m taking credit for that part of you,” Michael joked and everyone but Jules snickered. “This is a lot of information Jules. I’m not saying it’s easy but what’s done is done.”
Jules rolled her eyes and shook her head in frustration. “Excuse me for being bothered that my roots are made of what I view as despicable people.”
Piper, always one to try to cut the tension jumped in. “I’m sure most people can look back on their family tree and find one unhappy surprise or another. What’s really important is what came out of that. You should be very proud of your mother. I know I am.”
“Thank you dear, but I did hardly anything compared to what some did. People were severely injured or killed, protesting and marching,” Betty said, shooing away all the admiration. It wasn’t the point of the story, and she didn’t want everyone to get lost in that.
“What about your dad?” Jules asked, her face still twisted up in anger. She was looking for someone to blame.
“When I married your father he didn’t come. He didn’t walk me down the aisle, and he didn’t shake Stan’s hand. When we bought our first house, he didn’t come see it. He never stepped foot in it actually. We never discussed anything besides the weather and other pointless things.” Before Betty could continue Jules cut in.
“Bastard,” she muttered and then covered her mouth quickly and looked down at her daughter.
“Mommy, don’t say curse words,” Frankie scolded.
“At least let me finish,” Betty insisted and gestured for Jules to go sit back down. “On the day you were born I didn’t expect to see him in the hospital. He’d stayed away from every big moment in my life before that so why should this be any different? By this time the Klan had disbanded, and civil rights had spread far and wide, making huge changes in the world. I no longer needed his validation. I’d found happiness without him.
“You were a pain in the ass even back then, and after delivering you I needed some rest. While you were in the nursery I fell asleep. A little while later I woke up, and my daddy was sitting in the chair next to my bed. He told me everyone else had gone down to look at the baby. He looked so uncomfortable sitting there alone with me. I felt bad for him.
I was still a little groggy, and I think he could see that. Maybe that’s why he took the opportunity to actually talk to me.”
“What did he say?” Jules asked, looking like she’d already written him off as an unredeemable waste of space.
“I remember him fiddling around with a pocket watch he had. It had been chained in his pocket since my first memories of him. He pulled it out and let it spin around until it settled and dangled in front of his face. He told me his daddy had given it to him, and his daddy before him had handed it down too. It was a piece of our family. He laughed when he told me he wished I were a boy, because he always imaged handing this watch down to his son. Now since I had a girl too, he’d have to wait for a grandson to hand it to. I actually apologized, though I think it was just the fog of exhaustion speaking.
He went quiet for a few moments before swallowing hard. I’ll never forget the look in his eyes as he spoke. It was the most honest I’d ever seen him. With shaking hands he tucked the watch away and told me he got a lot more handed down to him from his dad and his grandfather. His beliefs, his temper, and his hood were all things he thought he’d hand down some day too. If he’d had a boy, surely he would have.”
“So you’re sitting there, you’ve just delivered me, and he’s blaming you for not being a boy and for not having a boy?” Jules looked at Michael for support, but he just rubbed her shoulder and encouraged her to keep listening.
“So my daddy went on, staring at the ceiling while he spoke. It’s a good thing, he said as he nodded his head, that I’d been a girl. Maybe it was time to stop handing some of this stuff down. Maybe it was better that way. With that he stood and left. I closed my eyes, smiled, and went back to sleep.” Betty watched as everyone on the porch seemed to soften a bit. That was what she was hoping for. She’d come a long way in putting her past behind her; she wasn’t trying to make everyone upset about it.
“I guess that’s something,” Jules conceded.
“How did he die?” Bobby asked, his inquisitive police brain always churning through the details.
“Pneumonia, after a bout of the flu,” Betty explained. “I sat with him in the hospital for four days, watching his chest rise and fall with labored breaths. He was in and out of consciousness. The poor guy, I finally had him trapped.” Betty let out a breathy laugh though she was alone in it.
“What do you mean?” Clay asked, leaning forward to see his wife’s face.
“I mean he couldn’t go anywhere. He just had to sit there and listen to me talk about how I forgave him, how much I loved him, and I was sorry.”
“What were you sorry for?” Frankie asked, eyeing her grandmother skeptically.
“If I forgot about everything else happening in the world, if I didn’t take right and wrong into the equation, I still disappointed my father. I still hurt him over the years. I couldn’t be the child he hoped for, and a part of me was sorry for that. If I didn’t take my opportunity to tell him, I’d still be living with the burden of that today.”
“Did he say anything back?” Frankie asked, clearly hoping he had, and this would be the happy ending of a perfectly scripted movie.
“No,” Betty admitted, dropping her head down. “But one of the last things he did with the little strength he had was hand me his pocket watch. I know he was telling me to give it new meaning, to hand it down to a whole different generation of people.”
“Wow,” Michael breathed as he leaned back in his chair and stretched his back. “That is a truly amazing story, Betty. I’ve always respected the woman you are, but I’ll admit I’m going to have a hard time teasing you about anything now. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’ll still find a way, but it’ll be harder.”
“I’m sure you will,” Betty giggled, waving Michael off. “There’s more to the story, like I said, but we don’t have to finish it up tonight if everyone is tired.”
“I still can’t believe you did all that,” Frankie cut in. “Weren’t you so scared? Even jumping in front of those men to save Winnie, weren’t you afraid?”
“All the time,” Betty admitted.
“And you haven’t told us how you reconnected with Winnie,” Bobby added. “When did you and Alma start writing each other? I’m surprised you’ve never talked about her before; we never had the chance to meet her.”
“You sure you want to hear all this? It’s getting late.” Betty had seen yawns beginning to become contagious a few minutes ago, and she didn’t want anyone feeling trapped here.
“We want to hear it, all of it. What was in her last letter to you?” Piper asked, remembering the envelope Betty seemed reluctant to open.
“I haven’t brought myself to reading it yet,” Betty admitted, pulling the envelope off the table next to her rocking chair. “In the last letter she sent me she told me there would only be one more, and when I got it I’d know she’d passed on. Reading it would signify the end of everything we’ve ever had.”
“Read it now,” Clay suggested as he rubbed Betty’s back supportively. “We’re all here with you. We all know who she was now. Let us share it with you.”
As Betty thought it over the pitch black driveway was burst open by the bright beams of headlights.
“Who could that be?” Bobby asked, getting to his feet quickly. Michael followed suit and strained his eyes to try to identify the car.
“It’s a cab,” Michael said, looking over his shoulder at Betty as if she might know something the rest of them didn’t. But she shot back a puzzled look that seemed to put everyone on edge. History had told them, as the consummate puppetmaster of all things, if Betty didn’t know what was going on, they should all be worried.
“I think I should have read that letter,” Betty laughed as she stood, having to brace herself against the railing of the porch. Every eye bounced from her to the person stepping out of the cab then back just in time to see her giant smile.
Chapter Twenty-Three
“Ma, who is that?” Jules asked, walking beside Betty as she stepped down the stairs.
“Betty?” the man asked as the cab driver pulled his bag from the trunk, and he slung it over his shoulder. His hair was salt and pepper and the wrinkles at the side of his eyes had grown deeper, but he was still the way she remembered him.
“What are doing here?” Betty asked, racing down the stairs with a skip in her step she hadn’t felt in decades.
“You didn’t read the letter, did you?” he asked, tossing his head back with a laugh. “I’ve been traveling for the last twenty-seven hours to get here, and I should have known you would have held that letter and not read it.”
Betty flashed the envelope she had in her hand and they chuckled at the irony. “I was just sitting out here with all my family telling them our story. Well, most of it. I suppose with you being here I’ll have to keep them up late tonight and finish what I started.”
“Ma, I don’t want to be rude, but who is this?” Jules asked, looking confused and a bit concerned.
“Can’t you see it dear? Look at him in the light,” Betty insisted as she dragged him up the stairs under the light of the porch for everyone to see.
Bobby was the first notice it. Maybe it was his keen police officer’s eye. “He looks just like Stan. He looks like your dad, Jules, but with dark hair.”
“Oh my gosh,” Jules said in astonishment as she tilted her head to see him from different angles. “Who?” she asked her mother as the tears began to form in her eyes.
“This is your uncle,” Betty announced as she slipped her arm into his. “This is Simpson.”
“But, how?” Frankie asked, jumping to her feet. “He was killed, wasn’t he? You said they killed him that night. Did he come back from the dead?”
“Well, for four hundred thirty-one days I thought they had killed him. Then I got a second letter from Winnie, and everything changed.” Betty squeezed his arm, unable to believe he was back in Edenville, a place he swore he would never return to. “I never expected to see you back here.�
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“I don’t understand,” Jules said, covering her mouth in astonishment. “What are you doing here?”
“I better read this,” Betty said, flashing the envelope again.
“Out loud,” Michael insisted, clearly trying to piece it all together.
Dear Betty,
As I told you this will be my last letter. I won’t draw out my goodbye. There is nothing to say here that hasn’t already been said. It’s written on both our hearts. So the only thing I’ll ask of you is the biggest favor of all. I give back to you the one thing you gave to me all those years ago.
Please carry him through this time the way your love has always carried me. The only reason I can close my eyes and leave this earth is because I know he will not be alone. The stories of the family you have built remind me so much of my mother, and I know she would be so proud of you. Add my dearest Simpson to your treasured family.
Love always,
Alma
“What the hell is going on?” Frankie asked, tossing her hands up in the air in complete frustration.
“Language,” multiple adults on the porch shouted at once, and Frankie shrank back. But her exasperation was certainly being felt by most of them.
“What do you need Simpson, a drink? Are you hungry? I can fix you a plate. You must have had quite the journey to get back here.” Betty led him to a chair that he gladly took.
“I might not make it off this porch if you don’t tell them the rest of your story. I think I can wait for something to eat. They don’t look like they can wait to hear what happened to me.” Simpson looked around the porch with that crooked smile Betty remembered so fondly.
“Popcorn,” Piper said, pushing a bowl into his lap. “Now talk.” She laughed, gesturing for them to get on with the story.
“Where did you leave off?” Simpson asked as he tossed a handful of popcorn into his mouth. “I guess I was dead already, judging by the way everyone is looking at me. I can assure you, I’m not a ghost.”
Flowers in the Snow Page 15
