Yesterday

by Fern Michaels

  Yesterday. Family. Bode’s chair thumped to the floor. He blinked, coming back to reality. He was leaving his family, leaving yesterday behind. He could do it now with a clear conscience. He’d kept his promise to Clemson Parker. Callie was getting married and didn’t need him anymore. Mama Pearl was going to live with Callie in Beaufort with Callie’s new husband, Wynfield Archer.

  Bode eyed the boxes and barrels again, and then he looked at the stack of labels on his desk. UPS had said they’d be here at noon to pick up his belongings and crate the chair.

  “More coffee, Bode?” the grandmotherly secretary asked, poking her head in the door.

  “One more cup and that’s it for the day. I have to write out these labels.”

  “I already did them, Bode. The labels on your desk are extras in case you have some last-minute things you want to ship. I have some cartons in the outer office. You still haven’t told anyone, have you?”

  “No. I don’t know why I’m being such a coward about it. I did tell the Judge. He’s going to give Callie a job for a year or until he retires—whichever comes first. I’m going to miss you, Mavis.”

  “It’s just as well. It’s time for me to retire, too. I want to work in my garden and spend time with my grandchildren. Family is very important to me. People tend to lose sight of that in their quest to make money and be successful. I hope you’re doing the right thing, Bode. I’m going to worry about you just the way I did when I taught you in the third grade.”

  “You shouldn’t have worried,” Bode said softly.

  “I had to, Bode. You carried the weight of the world on your little shoulders. I knew way back then that you would be successful someday. Whoever would have thought that I would be working for you! I’ll never forget the day I walked into this ramshackle office and you took one look at me, and said, ‘You’re hired, Mrs. Mason.’ You didn’t care that I’m crippled up with arthritis and that it takes me twice as long to do the things a young person could do in half the time. You also pay me too much money.”

  “Watch it or I’ll take it all back,” Bode threatened with a smile. “I can never repay you for all the extra time you gave me back in the old days, all those evenings you spent tutoring me, asking for nothing in return except that I give it my best. I really am going to miss you, Mavis. I want you to keep all the plants and the furniture. Sell it, if you like. And please, promise to write to me. I’ll answer, but not quickly. More than likely I’ll call.”

  “How are the girls, Bode? The whole town is talking about Callie’s wedding. I expect Sela and Brie will be here.”

  “Yes, they’ve already arrived, and Callie is driving down from Columbia this evening. I’ll see them all together. It’s been years since the four of us were all together at the same time.”

  “When are you going to tell Callie, Bode?”

  “I don’t know, Mavis. Soon. When I walk out of here today I won’t be coming back. Now, you’re sure you can handle closing up and turning my cases over to Chase Montgomery.”

  “Bode, I’m sixty years old. I think I can handle it,” Mavis drawled. “I don’t have a good feeling about this at all. I don’t think you do either.” She stalked from the room, her arms full of folders. At the door she turned and offered a parting shot. “She’s not married yet, Bode. Until the eleventh hour you can still—Never mind, you always were stubborn. There’s no reason for me to think you’re about to change now. Damn, I’m going to miss you. Give my regards to Pearl and the girls.”

  Bode’s fingers drummed on the desk. He should be doing something constructive, like . . . what? His eye started to twitch, and then his nose began to itch, a sure sign that he was under stress. And why the hell shouldn’t he be? Callie, in his opinion, was marrying the wrong man. If no one else knew it, he did. And there wasn’t anything he could do about it. Callie was old enough to make her own decisions. She was an attorney and had been working in Columbia these past years. A good attorney, she said, to anyone interested in listening. Brie was settled more or less. She was back in the saddle, as the saying went. She might have a few rough spots, but she’d make it. She didn’t need him. Callie might think she did, but she didn’t. Sela would always be okay; she was a born survivor and would always land on her feet. Not needed. Maybe he wasn’t even wanted at this point in time. Mama Pearl . . . Jesus, it was going to be so hard to say good-bye to her. She’d say she understood because she loved him, but she’d get that look of disappointment in her eyes and he’d be a six-year-old boy again.

  Bode knuckled his eyes. The filter must need to be changed on the air conditioner. “Yeah, sure,” he muttered.

  What you’re doing sucks, Bode Jessup, and you know it. You aren’t even being a man about it. You’re leaving at the eleventh hour, sneaking out the back door. What kind of a person are you, that you won’t attend a best friend’s wedding? You made a promise to Clemson Parker. You made a promise to Mama Pearl, too, and don’t forget Judge Summers. Bode argued with himself. “I kept my promises,” he muttered aloud. “I honored the commitment I made. Callie’s getting married. I’m not needed any longer, haven’t been needed for a long time. Everyone is going to be just fine. Except me. Once I’m away from here I’ll be fine.”

  He’d had to take responsibility from the time he was a kid. When Clemson Parker died he’d taken on Parker Manor, Callie, and Mama Pearl. He’d worked like a damn dog. He’d never complained, never whimpered. He’d done all that was required of him. He remembered it like it had just happened—Clemson Parker’s funeral and his fear that he’d be sent back to the preacher because he hadn’t been adopted the way Mr. Parker had promised. That fear hadn’t been there when Mrs. Parker died, but then he’d never actually seen Mrs. Parker. Once or twice he thought he saw her by the window, but Callie said she didn’t get off her chair at all. Maybe the sun played tricks on the window glass, and he just thought he saw her.

  Mama Pearl’s face was worried the day of the funeral, and she looked so tired. That scared him, too. Callie fretted all day. They were on the swing, Callie complaining about her shoes. He’d tried to be helpful. They were sitting on the swing . . .

  Bode held her hand and wiped Callie’s tears with a snowy white handkerchief Pearl made sure he carried in his pocket. He sat with her all evening on the swing on the back porch making her repeat over and over a prayer he said she needed to say at the cemetery.

  The hour was late, the air warm even though it was October. Pearl sat down on the swing next to the children and told them quietly, “The Judge said right now there are no problems. Maybe sometime there will be a problem.”

  Bode’s heart started to pound. “Do I have to go away, back to the preacher’s house?”

  “No, chile. You’ll be staying here with Miz Callie and me. You belong here. Mr. Parker brought you here and here you stay. I asked the Judge, and he said that’s right. He’s your guardian. Things will be a mite different for a while, I expect.”

  “Will Sela and Brie still come out here?” Bode asked.

  “Yes. That isn’t about to change unless their mamas don’t want them coming here, and I don’t think that will happen.”

  “Can we have some soda pop, Pearl?”

  “I’ll fetch it if you say yes, Mama Pearl,” Callie offered.

  “Bless you, chile, yes, you bring it. Pearl’s feet are tired tonight. Bring some cookies, too.” Pearl dabbed at her eyes.

  “Today is a day of great sorrow,” she told Callie when the little girl returned. “Your papa was a fine man, honest and fair. He was always doing kind things for people in secret. The Judge told me that today.”

  “Was my mama a fine lady, too, Pearl?”

  “Yes, she was, chile. She was sickly all her life, felt like she had failed your papa. She wanted to do so many things for that man, but she didn’t have the strength.”

  “Was she a drunk lady like Sela’s mama?”

  Pearl spluttered. “Now where did you hear such a thing?”

  “Sela told
me.”

  “Well . . . I don’t know about Miz Sela’s mama, but I know about your mama, and she didn’t—”

  “It’s all right, Pearl. I don’t want you to have to tell me a lie,” Callie said. “Let’s pretend I didn’t say anything. I remembered the whole prayer today, the one Bode taught me. I should go to church, Pearl. I don’t want to grow to be a heathen. Can I go with you?”

  “I asked the Judge, and he said if I want to take you, I can. You’ll be the only white girl in my church, mind.”

  “Will the Lord care, Pearl? Won’t He be happy that I go to church?”

  “I expect so, honey.”

  “You look tired, Pearl,” Callie said softly.

  Bode held out the tray with three glasses and three bottles of soda pop on it. A plate with six sugar cookies sat in the center, along with paper napkins. “If you want to go to sleep, Mama Pearl, it’s okay. I’ll take care of Callie now. I’ll be the man of the house unless the Judge says it isn’t fitting. Will he say that, Mama Pearl?” Bode sounded anxious.

  “No, the Judge said that same thing to me himself today. You be the man here now. I think I will be going to bed. You children don’t stay up too late.”

  Bode’s chest puffed out. He poured the soda pop and handed Callie a cookie.

  “Pearl must be tired. She never lets us stay up this late, and she always makes us go to bed first.” Callie yawned.

  “She knows I’m in charge now,” Bode said importantly. “It’s a sacred trust.”

  “What’s that?”

  “That’s when someone trusts you enough to put all their faith in you. Mama Pearl and the Judge know I will always do the best thing, the right thing.”

  “How do they know that?” Callie demanded.

  “They just know. You ask too many questions sometimes.”

  “Did you mean what you said—that you are going to look out for me and take care of me? I don’t feel so bad knowing that, Bode.”

  “Of course I mean it. That’s what trust and faith is all about.”

  “Oh Bode, I just knew you were going to make everything feel right. I miss Papa and Mama, but I ’spect I’ll get over that soon.”

  “No. You aren’t supposed to forget about people when they die. They were part of your life, and you always want to remember them.”

  “Okay, Bode. I’m getting sleepy, and I don’t like wearing these shoes. They pinch my toes.”

  “I’m sleepy, too. Make sure you brush your teeth and wash your face and don’t forget to do your ears. Be sure to say your prayers. You can leave the light on until you fall asleep. I’ll turn it off before I go to bed. I’m going to tidy up the kitchen for Mama Pearl and set the table for breakfast so she doesn’t have to do it.”

  “Good night, Bode. I’m always going to love you, Bode. Are you always going to love me?”

  “Well, sure. I promised to take care of you, and I never break a promise. Never,” he said vehemently. “Go on now and mind what I said.”

  Bode sat on the swing for a long time. The moon was high in the sky when he finally stirred himself. His stomach felt fine now that he knew he wasn’t going to have to leave Parker Manor. He loved it here. He loved Mama Pearl, Callie, Brie, and Sela with all his heart. He swore to himself that he would never let any of them down. Never, ever.

  He’d applied for a job delivering newspapers and would start on Monday. He had a large delivery route that would net him around fourteen dollars a week. He’d give it all to Mama Pearl for his keep.

  He had a bicycle now, a rusty affair for which he gathered parts at the junkyard. It was good enough for now, even though the tires had been patched and repatched. Tomorrow he was going to paint it, with the girls’ help. The big decision was the choice of color, since everyone had a different opinion.

  Bode smiled as he tidied up the kitchen and set the table. When he was finished he went to his room, knelt beside his bed, and said his prayers.

  Bode accepted his new responsibility with gusto. He had a morning paper route and one in the afternoon after school. On Mondays he worked two hours in the supermarket bagging groceries. On Tuesdays he worked an hour at the drugstore delivering prescriptions on his bike. On Wednesdays he worked an hour and a half at the library shelving books. On Thursdays he worked at the hardware store till closing. On Fridays he washed cars at the Texaco station. Saturdays he worked half a day at the supermarket if they called him in. Sunday was for church, catching up on homework and playing with the girls. He still did his chores and carried an A-B average at school. His work pattern was set up by the Judge, who monitored it carefully. If Bode started to look “peaked” the Judge called his employer and arranged for him to have time off.

  The Judge and Bode were the only ones who knew that he couldn’t have kept up his work schedule and still go to school if it hadn’t been for Brie. She got up every morning at five o’clock, sneaked out of the house, and pedaled her bike to the drop-off point, where she cut the heavy twine that bundled the papers, and then folded them neatly in a stack. She then fit the huge canvas bag into a rickety wagon hitched to her bike and pedaled it to Sumter Avenue, where she waited for Bode.

  Like Bode, she took her job seriously. She never missed a day, even when she had a cold or it was raining or the temperature was in the low thirties. When the need arose, she also delivered the papers. She did the same thing after school because she got out a half hour earlier than Bode.

  Bode knew Briana Canfield would have walked through fire for him. The day he kissed her on the cheek right in front of Adeline Brown’s house was the happiest day of her young life. She told him later that for days she washed around what she called the kissing spot. She never told a soul, except him. She said she wrote about it in her diary, the one with the bright blue cover that he’d given her for her birthday.

  All the monies Bode earned went into a large Mason jar in Pearl’s cupboard. He told Pearl he would only take what he needed. Most times he didn’t need much, except at Christmas or if his bike needed repair.

  Judge Avery Summers told everyone in town that Bowdey Malcolm Jessup worked like a tireless old dog.

  Bode perched on the edge of his chair, the glass of lemonade Miss Nela, the Judge’s wife, handed him trembling in his hand. He knew that whatever the Judge was going to tell him, was going to be bad. He could feel the bad news rumbling in his stomach. He waited, hardly daring to breathe, afraid to sip the tart lemonade in case he dribbled it down his chin.

  “Bode, I think it’s time for you to know the true state of affairs at Parker Manor. I want you to look at this ledger and tell me if you can figure it out. If you can’t, then I’ll explain it. Take your time,” the Judge said kindly.

  Bode set the lemonade on the desk and opened the ledger. His hands, he noticed, were still trembling and were covered with news ink. He tried not to smudge the pages. He was aware of the Judge’s keen gaze, the scent of his cigar, the smell of old leather and good whiskey.

  Bode knew exactly what a ledger was and how to follow it because the Judge had given him one for his own small business. He needed to look at the expenditures and then the bottom line. His tongue felt thick, like he’d swallowed molasses and peanut butter all at the same time. It took him a full thirty minutes before he understood that the money Clemson Parker had left was all gone. There appeared to be a sizable debt. He closed the ledger and wondered if Brie was delivering his papers.

  “Judge, I don’t have any more hours to work. What should I do?”

  “Son, Clemson Parker was one of my best friends. Unfortunately, he was not a good businessman, and his wife’s . . . illness cost him dearly. I have a plan I’d like to propose. You tell me if you think it will work. You don’t have to go along with it, but it’s all I can come up with so other people don’t know our business.”

  “I’d like to hear your plan, sir,” Bode said.

  “I’ll carry the bills and pay the taxes because Clemson appointed me as your guardian. I want you to go
to college and then law school. I expect you to work some, but don’t want your studies to suffer. You’ll always be able to count on me. If you feel absolutely that you have to tell someone, that someone should be Briana. No one else. When you finish your schooling you can start to pay me back—whatever you can afford. I’ll never hound you for the money. It’s going to be a huge debt, Bode, but I just don’t see any other way. Well, there is a way, and that’s to sell off the land and Parker Manor, but I don’t think we want to do that. Take all the time you need to think about this.”

  The Judge paused. “You’re a fine boy, Bode. I don’t know another youngster in this town who could have buckled down the way you did. I’m very proud of you. Another time we’ll talk about Callie and her future. Now, you best be drinking that lemonade, or Miss Nela is going to think you don’t like it. I think it tastes like horse piss myself, but I drink it to keep her happy.”

  Bode gulped the lemonade and privately concurred with the Judge’s opinion of it. He offered his hand manfully, thanked his benefactor, and left.

  Brie was waiting outside, the wagon empty.

  “Leave the wagon on the Judge’s lawn, Brie, and let’s me and you go down to the Azalea Park and sit on the bench.”

  “If we do that, you’ll be late for supper, Bode.”

  “I know, but I need to talk to you about something. It has to be a secret, okay? A cross-your-heart-and-hope-to-die secret.” Brie nodded solemnly as she climbed on her bike.

  They sat on the grass in the park, legs crossed Indian fashion, and Bode told her everything the Judge had said. “I don’t know what to do,” he concluded. “It will take me all my life to pay off the debt, but that’s not what’s really bothering me. How can I tell Mama Pearl she has to be careful how much money she spends? How can I tell her she can’t be buying Callie fancy dresses and shoes? How can I tell Callie her father didn’t provide for them? The Judge said it was just between him and me, but he said I could confide in you. He likes you a lot, Brie. He said you’re like me, a hard worker. You won’t tell, will you?”