Finding Eliza

by Stephanie Pitcher Fishman

  Over the years, the renovations made were small in comparison to other houses of this age. A screened-in porch added to the rear of the house gave them a place to sit on rainy days while improvements to the barn and outbuildings took care of damage and decay. They didn’t long for updated floors or added features. They chose to reinforce the foundation that was already laid by generations past. It didn’t matter what others thought about their choices for function over design. Their horses were happier for it, and that was all that mattered to the first-time homeowners.

  Their little farm was perfect for their life. Slow, quiet, and filled with warmth, Lizzie needed the grounding that it provided. Jack was all too happy to allow her to put roots down in any manner that pleased her. Luckily the home that pleased Lizzie was a home that pleased him as well.

  Lizzie pulled her vintage 1963 Suburban in front of the house. The high polished chrome and navy blue paint showed every speck of dust it picked up from the drive home. She and Jack shared a love of classic cars. He loved the process of restoration; she loved driving down a country road in a machine as heavy and hulking as a mid-century vehicle. Rolling down the manual crank windows brought back memories of warm Sunday afternoon drives when she was a child. She’d trade a sunroof for a vintage automobile any day.

  Jack’s 1960 Ford F-100 was already parked at the side of the house in its usual spot. The sight of the big, red truck made her smile. She remembered how hard he worked to restore it. Jack’s dad had given the body to him when he was in high school. While his friends rallied for a down home rat rod project, Jack would hear nothing of the sort. He built his Ford with blood, sweat, and summer jobs on any farm that would have him because only original parts would do for his baby. Jack would work all day in the fields just to work on the truck by flood light for hours late into the night. Lizzie had to admit that it was a beautiful piece of machinery, even if it was a Ford.

  Sliding off the hot bench seat of the Suburban, Lizzie leaned on the door and stretched her back before walking toward the house. “Hey! Anyone home?” Lizzie called as the screen door bounced back against its frame. She tossed her worn brown leather satchel onto the kitchen table. The pass-through window between the kitchen and the living room let her see that Jack had already helped himself to dinner. He was sitting on the couch in the living room waiting for her, remote in hand.

  “Hey, babe. I talked with Miss Tru this afternoon,” he said as he chewed another bite of sausage supreme from Luigi’s. “She mentioned that she found you in the park having lunch by yourself again. I thought it might be a good night to just sit back and relax with some pizza. Want to be my date?”

  Jack was so kind to her. He always knew exactly what she needed. Jack had been a young fifteen-year-old boy when her parents passed away. Even though the two grew up just a few streets apart, Jack didn’t pay Lizzie any mind because of their three-year age difference. The summer her family name headlined the town newspapers changed everything. Like other small town country boys, Jack had been driving his dad’s truck around their farm for years without worry. Never before did he consider driving to be a threat. Hearing about a car accident that claimed the lives of two adults in the community was a shock to him. Like Lizzie, he lived his life in complete innocence before the Hines’ accident.

  Jack came to the funeral with his parents to pay his respects to the lone survivor, a young Lizzie Hines. Seeing how sad and broken she was after greeting mourners at the viewing, he decided to stay behind a while in case she needed a friend. He wasn’t sure why at the time, but Jack would later say he felt drawn to the sad girl that he barely knew. That decision would be the start to a romance that was still going strong twenty years later.

  Dropping onto the couch, Lizzie tossed off her boots and propped her feet up on the massive wooden coffee table. Snuggling her head against Jack’s shoulder, she felt him wrap his strong arms around her. He still worked on his dad’s farm on his days off as the County Sheriff’s Deputy, and his body showed it. Jack was a handsome man whose personality drew people near just as much as his deep brown eyes did. A quiet night at home with Jack and pizza, her two favorite things, was exactly what Lizzie needed.

  “So, tell me. How were the little hoodlums today?” Jack quipped.

  “Stop calling them that!” Lizzie smacked him with the first accent pillow she could grab off the couch. She knew he was teasing, but it still got her riled up, which is exactly why he said it.

  “My kids were great. We spent the morning hanging out in the park with the younger kids until it got too hot. The older kids were focused for once after school. We breezed through their homework and spent the rest of the day just hanging out at the center. It was great to have some downtime to talk. A good time was had by all. I need to spend more time with them like that. I want to find an activity that we can do together that will get them interested in something other than video games. I think that I could build a better connection with them if we had time to just chat outside of something loud or structured.”

  “You know you do good work with them, right?” Jack turned to look Lizzie in the eyes as he always did when he wanted be sure she would hear him. “You need to think about going back to school. Imagine what you could do with a degree.”

  “Don’t start in on that right now. I’m happy being the one that volunteers and gives back. Don’t make it a job or I’ll hate it.” Lizzie knew he was right, but change wasn’t in her nature. “Besides, all I do is show them that someone loves them. I don’t need a degree to do that.”

  Just leave me to what I know, she thought.

  Jack was always encouraging Lizzie to go back to college. It wasn’t that he thought that she needed more education to be complete. He simply wanted her to have everything that she desired in life. She carried a look in her eyes that showed she longed for more even if she didn’t know what ‘more’ meant.

  Lizzie knew that he was just trying to help her fill a void he saw in her life. After her parents’ accident, money was tight for Grandma Tru and Lizzie. Her grandmother had plenty of money tucked away for a comfortable life in her retirement. Adding in college costs would destroy that. She couldn’t allow Gertrude to make that sacrifice. Lizzie could have taken on student loans but she wasn’t one to accept debt if another option existed. She never wanted to leave something behind if there was an accident that prevented her from paying. Jack’s position at the Sheriff’s Department allowed them to live a debt-free life. They liked it that way. Lizzie wasn’t keen on introducing more bills now while life was pleasant.

  “So, tell me about you and The Gals,” Jack chuckled. Switching off the television, he shoved another slice of pizza into his mouth before turning to face his wife. He couldn’t wait to hear the story of how Gertrude Hines had won yet another argument against her granddaughter.

  “Gran seems to think that I’ll be joining her and the ladies at church on Tuesday.”

  “Gran is right. I’ve already made plans to have dinner with the guys that night so you won’t be able to use me as an excuse.”

  Jack knew how Gertrude and Lizzie’s relationship worked. Although she could give her grandmother a tough time, everyone knew who held the reins in that family. It wasn’t Lizzie.

  “Why, Jack Clydell, if I didn’t know better I’d think that you had a hand in this.” Lizzie laid on her Southern drawl as thick as she could. She added a slow toss of her long chestnut hair for added affect. If she couldn’t argue her way out of this with Jack she’d charm him there.

  “Don’t go all ‘Scarlet’ on me. You know that I love plotting against you,” laughed Jack. “I’m also immune to that hair flick thing so keep on moving, lady.”

  Lizzie reached for a piece of pizza and settled into the couch. “Gran seems to think that I’ll love it, but I just don’t think that genealogy is my forte. That’s looking at the past. The past is something that we work through, not something that we look for on purpose. I just don’t understand why my attendance is so import
ant to her. She’s got her friends there. She doesn’t need me.”

  Jack shook his head causing his bangs to land in his eyes just as Lizzie liked them. “You don’t understand. Lizzie, you’re all she has left. She’s the keeper of the family stories. She’s the one with the photos and the family names. Miss Gertrude lost her husband and her only son. She’s an only child just like you. We haven’t had children yet, so guess what girl? You’re her only descendant. If you don’t care about the family history, no one will. Whether you like it or not, Lizzie, she’s going to pass her research to you. It’s up to you to decide if you are going to carry on her legacy or let it fade away.”

  Lizzie knew that Jack was right. Today she thought about a lot of old memories, but she hadn’t been thinking of her grandmother in any of them. Her mind had limited her pain by keeping a tight circle of memories in view. When she gave herself permission to think about her family she couldn’t ignore the gaping hole that existed in her family tree. The only branches that remained were Lizzie and Gertrude.

  Her paternal grandfather, John Hines, had passed away when she was just a little girl. She had seen his photos and heard her grandmother’s stories, but she didn’t remember him beyond those items. The family stories that Gertrude shared created the only memories that Lizzie had of her grandfather. Family stories and history were important to Gertrude because they proved the ones she loved existed. Less than ten years later, a car crash took the life of Elton, Lizzie’s father and Gertrude’s only child.

  Lizzie found herself thinking back to the night of the accident. In her mind, the sky turned dark and lightening flashed. She could hear the sounds of her mother praying. Before she realized it, she was lost in thought two decades away from the pizza that was growing cold on her plate.

  “Lizzie? Honey? Where are you?” asked Jack.

  Lizzie looked up to see her husband’s concerned face.

  “I’m sorry, honey. Did you say something?” Lizzie wasn’t sure how long she was lost in thought, but it had been long enough that she didn’t hear a word her husband had said.

  “I was just saying that I thought it was a good idea for you to go with Miss Gertrude. It will make her happy, and you need something to occupy your thoughts. You seem to have a lot of them lately,” said Jack. “It might do you some good to find a little distraction.”

  Sliding further down into the overstuffed couch, Lizzie wiped her now flush forehead with the back of her hand. The room was warmer than she had remembered. She had lost her appetite as well as her will to fight against both her grandmother and her husband.

  “Okay, Jack. I give. I’ll go. After all, it’s just a little family history.” What could go wrong?

  Chapter Three

  Lizzie’s hands gripped the steering wheel as she slowed the Suburban to a stop in front of the church. She hadn’t realized how nervous she was until she noticed how white her knuckles had become. The sun was setting, casting a shining light in her eyes that caught her off guard. She rested her head against the wheel to avoid the glare and took in deep breaths to calm her nerves. Breathing out slowly, she regained control and sat up straight in the driver’s seat. Before leaving home, Jack had drilled her numerous times to be sure that she would exhibit the proper behavior. Keep smiling. Say she is having fun. Try to enjoy the evening. Check.

  “You can do anything for a few hours, Lizzie,” he said as she left the house.

  Lizzie knew that Jack was right. She could do anything for a few hours. “Time to face ‘The Gals’,” she said under her breath.

  Lizzie swung the vehicle into the closest parking space. As soon as she threw the engine into park she saw some familiar faces. Two ladies in their seventies approached. One rushed to the driver’s side door while the other swayed slowly to a stop near the front of the truck. These were Gertrude’s trusted friends and confidants. Having been a part of their family long before her father was born, they became the cornerstone of Lizzie’s life. Still, she sometimes felt like a victim of the Inquisition when they swarmed her in pairs. Their sweet faces and graying hair hid the truth: they could pry a secret out of a dead man. Lizzie held back a ripple of giggles as she pictured the scene.

  Although she knew both of them by name, Lizzie collectively called them “The Gals.” From the time Lizzie remembered, the friends called each other “gal” as a term of endearment. Hearing it as a child, Lizzie thought it was their name and began calling them each “gal,” much to their amusement. The moniker stuck, and from that point on everyone in their immediate circle called them by the group nickname.

  These women had something special. They had experienced joy and pain together for decades creating a bond that acted as both protection and support as needed. When Gertrude lost her husband to a sudden heart attack, The Gals were there. When she lost her son and daughter-in-law in a devastating car crash, The Gals were there. When she wrestled with an emotional and angry teenage girl, again, The Gals were there. As much as Lizzie hated the idea of being part of the genealogy group this evening, she loved how she felt when The Gals were together. It was like Christmas and her birthday all rolled into one because they knew her better than anyone, even Jack. They had become her champions, her cheerleaders, and her best friends. They were her family.

  Looking through the window, Lizzie smiled at the faces that greeted her.

  “Lizzie, darlin’! I’m so glad you’re here!” Lizzie’s friend raised her hands in the air and shook them in happy celebration being careful that her purse didn’t slide down toward her face. “We’ve got the family back together again.”

  “Hey, Ms. Abi! Give me a hug. Have I ever missed you.” Lizzie slid out of the truck and into Abi’s arms. Her hug was so familiar that Lizzie felt like a young girl all over again. The stress of the day washed away instantly.

  Abigail Langdon was one of Gertrude’s oldest and dearest friends. They leaned on each other through seven decades of joy and pain. Growing up together in Everett Springs, the two best friends dated and later married local boys who were also best friends. Locals had joked that it was a story made in Hollywood. Like Lizzie’s grandmother, Abigail was now a widow. Walter Langdon had passed away following a terrible illness a decade before Gertrude’s husband. The ordeal could have left Abigail broken and lonely if it weren’t for her strong faith and friendships. Never having any children of their own, Abi and Walt considered Lizzie’s father a son of their own heart. After the accident claimed the lives of Elton and Grace, Abigail grieved alongside Gertrude for the loss of her surrogate son. As she had the day Lizzie was born, Abigail once again vowed to be family to the little girl who survived alone. Following through on her promise, she had always been a safe harbor for Lizzie as she navigated her life.

  “I see you’re jumping on Gran’s bandwagon to brainwash me into loving genealogy, too,” Lizzie teased.

  “You know what, sweetie? I won’t have to convince you to like it once you get in there. Before you know it, you’ll be chasing dead people like the rest of us! Trust me. It’s addictive.” Abi couldn’t contain her excitement as she waved to the woman who stood just beyond the hood of the Suburban. “Blue - look who’s here!”

  Agnes “Blue” Meriwether walked around the front of the vehicle and joined the friends. Agnes was another life-long friend to both Gertrude and Abigail. As a child, Agnes loved the color blue so much that everything she wore included it even if it meant adding a thread or an accent of the color. From that point on her nickname became “Blue” to the girls of the town. Like most nicknames, this one was never outgrown. At seventy-eight years young, she continued to be their Blue.

  “Please, Abi. We knew it was just a matter of time before our plan got her here,” Blue sang in her slow southern drawl. “This’ll do you good, baby girl. Just you watch.”

  “Oh, Blue!” scolded Abigail. “You hush. We promised Tru that we wouldn’t say a word.”

  “Stop acting like I’m letting the cat out of the bag. Lizzie isn’t a bump on a
log. She knows perfectly well what we’re up to with this plot. This child is struggling, and we’re throwing her a rope. Now let’s get in there before I leave you lunatics and take her out for a drink.”

  Blue was a good, church-going lady with a fun wild streak and a fondness for a nip of whiskey every now and again. Spunkier than the others, she took immense pleasure in teasing her teetotaler friends. Lizzie adored her way of dealing with life. Ms. Blue didn’t give you any sugar-coated half-truths. She assumed that as adults, these women could handle the realities of what faced them. If they couldn’t, she intended to teach them how to do it.

  Linking arms, the ladies continued their walk toward the church building. Lizzie loved these grounds. Visitors entering the church walked along a stone path leading from the parking lot to the back of the building. As the path continued up the sloping hill, a section of the walkway veered to the left away from the building. The second path climbed to an outdoor venue complete with gazebo, picnic tables, and playground. Outdoor luncheons took place here for events from birthday parties to baby dedications. Lizzie remembered playing on these stones with church friends after Sunday services. The stones sat at such a distance that it made them the perfect tool for a summer game of hopscotch. Many times the kids would steal a stick of chalk from the Sunday School room to create their board. The adults would often pretend to scold them for their illegal act. As an adult, Lizzie knew that in reality they were just thrilled that the kids wanted to stay after service to play on church grounds.

  Lizzie howled, indulging herself in the first real laugh of the day. “I knew it! It was a plot!”

  She gave them each a glance intended to appear displeased, knowing that they would see right through it. Despite her angst over participating in the evening, she was beginning to enjoy herself. It was sweet to find out that the ladies had worked together to get her here. Their feisty behavior reminded her that despite their age they weren’t ready for the porch of the local senior home. The shared giggles of the three started coming together like the threads on a quilt as they made their way up the hill together.