The Soul Believes It

by Julie Allan

  “I don’t tell you this often enough, but I love you. Thanks for loving me even in my ugly moments.”

  M.A. tossed her chair’s throw pillow across to Lizzie on the couch. “Now why did you go and say that for? I swore I wasn’t going to cry on this trip!”

  Lizzie laughed and tossed back to her the box of tissues from the table.

  M.A. took one and dabbed her eyes. “I love you too, Lizzie.”

  Lizzie took care dressing. She selected a pair of black crepe de chine trousers and a green silk blouse. Lizzie wore her mother’s pearls and draped a black pashmina around her shoulders. She slipped on a pair of black suede loafers and checked her hair and make-up in the mirror before stepping out into the living room to wait for M.A.

  “Wow! You’re awfully dressed up for a walk through a cemetery.”

  M.A. stood before her in a nice pair of jeans and a white blouse. She had layered a scarf and necklace and had chosen a pair of ankle boots.

  Lizzie whistled. “I know this is going to sound silly, but I wanted to look nice. After all, I’m meeting my grandparents for the first time today. You look like you stepped off the page of the latest fashion mag.”

  “Aw . . . Flattery will keep you in good graces! I don’t think it sounds silly at all. I’m ready for breakfast, are you?”

  The church was easy to find. It’s tall white steeple soaring up to the crystal blue sky. The sunlight was dazzling against the white of the church. A brick wall stood sentry around the church property with long-standing oaks towering above. The wrought iron gates were open, a red brick path beckoning the passerby to enter. Lizzie hesitated, and M.A. patiently waited, ready to follow Lizzie’s lead. Lizzie took a deep breath and stepped through the gate. She had expected to wind around the church to reach the graveyard but immediately on the left, rows of tombstones covered the yard. Lizzie had always had a mild fear of graveyards and still did not like to be near them in the dark. However, in the daylight, she had grown to appreciate the beauty of old stones. She regularly went to Aunt Dorothy’s stone, as well as those of her parents and the Lee’s to weed and plant flowers. Sometimes, if she sat still, she fancied Aunt Dorothy was speaking to her in the wind. The aura of reverence in the silence was comforting. She and M.A. began to wander among the stones looking for the Bowman name. They found several, but the first names and dates did not match.

  Lizzie paused and brushed her hands across a stone with a Eudora and Richard Bowman from the nineteen-forties. “I wonder if these are ancestors of mine.”

  M.A. stepped over and gazed at downward. “Could be. Let’s wander over towards that section where the stones look a little newer.”

  Lizzie’s gaze followed the direction M.A. was pointing. “Yes, that would be a better place to look.”

  Twenty more minutes of slow strolling paid off. Lizzie gazed down at the joint stone of Theodore Richard Bowman and Annabeth Thomas Bowman. Next to them was a small stone for a Bowman infant born and died in nineteen-forty-eight. Maybe a sibling of my mother’s? Lizzie felt a pang for her grandmother, losing a child.

  M.A. knelt down and brushed some dirt off Lizzie’s grandparents’ stone. “Annabeth is a lovely name. Do you have any pictures of her?”

  Lizzie knelt down next to M.A. and ran her fingers across the name. “There must be some somewhere.”

  The two knelt in silence for a few minutes, and Lizzie offered a prayer for her grandparents and the infant. She asked for help in finding out about her mother’s family. Lizzie reached out and touched the stone again. Then she rose, and M.A. followed suit.

  “Let’s see if we can find the parish office. I want to see if they have any records of my family. I’m still not sure how I feel about the fact my grandparents didn’t die until I was already married to Bennett, yet they never tried to reach out to me.”

  M.A. pointed to the sign for the parish office. “Maybe they didn’t know about you.”

  “It still doesn’t explain why they didn’t have contact with my mother, besides I know Aunt Dorothy tried to reach out to them, even if the letters were returned, you would think they would be curious.” Lizzie opened the door and stepped into the office.

  “May I help you?” A wispy gray-haired woman in a baggy oversized fuchsia cardigan asked. She was nearly dwarfed by an oversized pair of round glasses that gave her an owlish appearance. She removed them from her face, and they dangled from chains onto her chest.

  Lizzie smiled. “I hope so. I . . . We were just in the graveyard, and I located the graves of my grandparents. I was hoping the church might have some records so I could learn more about my family.”

  The woman nodded and stood. “We have excellent records. Who were your grandparents?”

  “Theodore and Annabeth Bowman.”

  “Why, I didn’t think they had any grandchildren!” The woman’s eyebrows shot up.

  Lizzie blushed. “Yes, my mother was their daughter Caroline.”

  “Caroline! I haven’t heard that name in years. I was away in Charlotte at the time she left.”

  It was Lizzie’s turn to raise her eyebrows. “You knew my mother?”

  “Well, I was a few years older than your mother, so it was more that I knew of her. My parents were friends with your grandparents. I remember how sad my mother was for your grandmother when your mother moved away.” The church woman shook her head. “I suppose I should introduce myself. I’m Martha Ann Black.”

  Lizzie reached out her hand. “Nice to meet you, Ms. Black, I’m Lizzie, Elizabeth Wilson and this is my friend Mary Ann Hutto.”

  “Please call me Martha Ann. Let me speak to the secretary, and then we can walk around the corner for some coffee and a chat.”

  Martha Ann disappeared down the corridor and returned moments later with her purse. The three women walked a little more than around the corner but ended at a charming little café with a wide menu of coffee and tea options. They settled around a quiet round table in the corner. Lizzie was thrilled to be in the presence of someone who knew her mother as a child.

  She took a sip of her coffee and tried to organize her questions in her mind. She set her cup down on the table. “I would love if you could tell me what you remember about my mother. She died when I was a child, so I really don’t know much about her.”

  Martha Ann frowned. “That is so sad to hear. Caroline was unique. She was always so gregarious; I don’t think she ever met a stranger. I also remember she was quite an artist.”

  “Do you remember why she left Beaufort?”

  Martha set her cup down and furrowed her brows as if that would help her recall the story. “I was away in Charlotte at the time. See my husband Charles, God rest his soul, he worked for a bank there. Now let’s see, if I remember correctly, your mother was engaged to Cole Wentworth, he had just graduated from college and was going to go to law school when he got drafted for Vietnam. He went off to war, and your mother worked on her art. I remember my mother telling me Cole’s family received notice he had been killed and he had only been gone for three months. Shortly after that your mother left town and became a taboo subject. “I’ll admit I was curious as to what happened to her.”

  Lizzie took in this information, and she easily drew a line between this fiancé Cole and the baby who had been given up for adoption. The timeframe made it a distinct possibility. “Did my grandparents ever look for her?”

  Martha Ann shook her head. “I don’t know exactly what transpired, but it was as if Caroline had never existed after she left. Although, my mother kept a piece of Caroline’s artwork in the attic for your grandmother. I live in that house now; I could see if it is still there.”

  Lizzie smiled, “I would love to see it. I have some pieces she painted hanging in my house now.”

  “Then I shall look this afternoon. Are you staying in town?”

  Lizzie nodded. “Yes, we are on Port Republic, at the bed and breakfast.”

  “Oh, I just thought of something else! Your grandmother had a younger s
ister Beverley; I think she is in a senior citizen center over on Hilton Head, I could check on that for you.”

  Lizzie’s spirit lifted. A family member in the flesh who may have answers. “Oh, yes thank you! You have been very helpful.”

  Martha Ann smiled. “I think my mother would be tickled pink to learn Caroline had a daughter. Let’s head back to the church, and you can look at the records, I believe your mother’s baptism would be recorded.”

  The three women walked back to the church and M.A. squeezed Lizzie’s arm. “What a blessing we ran into Martha Ann.”

  Lizzie and M.A. poured over the church records. They found her mother’s baptism as well as the baptism for whom would have been her brother, followed by his funeral a short time later. Theodore and Annabeth had no other children. They could see when her mother was confirmed and when her grandparents had died. Before they left, Martha Ann gave them information about Annabeth’s sister Beverley as well as her own contact information. They departed with a promise from Martha Ann to look for the painting.

  Before lunch, they took a drive over the bridge to Lady’s Island and drove by what had been her grandparent’s house. It was a large and charming white house with black shutters and extensive gardens. Her mother had not grown up poor as she had imagined. Why did she never go back? Why did my grandparents pretend Caroline didn’t exist? There were still so many questions.

  After lunch, the two phoned their husbands to let them know they were going to stay a few more days. Jim was easy; he was going to participate in a golf tournament and schmooze with clients over late dinners anyway. Bennett, on the other hand, was a little put out by the extra time away.

  “So why do you need extra days?” Bennett asked.

  “I told you, M.A. and I have found a few more things we really want to do before we come home. We’ll be back late Saturday afternoon. I promise.” Lizzie rolled her eyes at M.A.

  When she and Bennett finally hung up, she felt guilty for keeping secrets from him and annoyed that he was jealous of her time away. After all, she never complained when a fishing trip came up, even when Bennett, Scott, and Jim had gone to Key West for a whole week, leaving her with the kids and a business to run.

  “Honestly, you would think he couldn’t survive a day or two without me.” Lizzie sunk back into the cushions of the couch.

  M.A. sat down next to her. “I think he will understand once you explain to him what we’ve been doing. What should we do next?”

  “I think we need to find out about my grandmother’s sister, let’s call the nursing home and see if we can come by and visit.” Lizzie picked up her phone, but before she could punch in the number, the phone vibrated and chirped in her hand.

  Lizzie could see the call was from her new contact, Martha Ann. “Hello,” Lizzie answered, trying to keep her voice calm and steady. Inside, her heart beat against her chest wall, and a wave of dizziness washed over her. She concentrated on Martha Ann’s words and found herself muttering little agreements and nodding. When she could get a word in edgewise, she found herself agreeing to bring M.A. and have dinner that evening in the house Martha Ann had grown up in and where her grandparents and most likely her mother had spent many enjoyable times together.

  “So, did Martha Ann find the painting?” M.A. asked.

  “Yes, and she hinted that she had found some other things as well. I guess I better call the nursing home and find out if or when we can pay a visit tomorrow.”

  The two decided to rest until it was time to freshen up for dinner at Martha Ann’s on Lady’s Island.

  On the way, they stopped at a grocery store to grab a bottle of wine and some flowers to offer their hostess. The house was not hard to find, it was two doors down from the house that had been Lizzie’s grandparents. The riot of spring blooms made the house most welcoming. The spacious porch with its joggling board was a familiar lowcountry sight.

  Lizzie rang the doorbell and moments later an apron-clad Martha Ann welcomed them in.

  “I am so glad you ladies were free this evening. It is truly a pleasure to cook for others.” Martha Ann ushered them into the living room and offered some wine and tray of cheese bennes.

  “Thank you,” Lizzie took the offered glass. She looked around the room, taking in the traditional furniture and the stunning artwork that graced the walls. “You have a lovely home.”

  Martha Ann’s face lit up with pleasure from the compliment. “Why thank you, dear. I have mixed in my prized pieces with my mother’s. Let me fetch the painting and a few other things I found.”

  Lizzie and M.A. sat in anticipation as Martha Ann stepped across the hall to the study and returned first with the painting. It was a wonderful scene of the house that belonged to her grandparents with a dog resting on the steps. On the back was a handwritten title, Our House Guarded by Bitsy. Lizzie didn’t know if it was her mother’s writing or her grandmother’s, but she instinctively knew with the elegant script, it was a female hand. She ran her fingers across the lettering.

  Martha Ann stepped back across the hall and returned with a box. The writing on the top noted the contents were items of Caroline Bowman to keep for Annabeth until Caroline comes home.

  Lizzie carefully opened the box. In it, were a high school yearbook, wedding planner, assorted photographs, and other assorted memorabilia.

  Martha Ann smiled, “I hope this will help you. I really think talking to your Great-Aunt Beverley will help you as well.”

  Lizzie closed the box, “What a great find! I look forward to going through this. Is there anything M.A. and I can do to help you get dinner ready?”

  “I can’t think of anything, but I would love some company in the kitchen. I do adore this old house, but I wish the kitchen weren’t so tucked away.”

  M.A. and Lizzie followed her back to the kitchen where a lovely she-crab soup was simmering on the stove. They sat at the kitchen table enjoying Martha Ann’s tales of growing up in Beaufort while they watched her bustle around to finish preparing dinner.

  They ate in the formal dining room. Martha Ann would not be denied the opportunity to use her silver and best china pattern. The food was delicious, and Lizzie could not help to compare Martha Ann to Aunt Dorothy. They would have been friends, she decided as she took her last bite of Huguenot Torte.

  On the ride back to the inn, M.A. sighed, “There is something to be said about the Southern hostess; I sure hope our generation hasn’t made it a lost art.”

  Lizzie nodded. “We still are gracious hostesses, we just tend to be less formal. I’ll admit, I think I was inspired to dress up the Easter dinner a bit for this year.”

  “Good idea,” M.A. said as they pulled into the now familiar parking area.

  Once back in their cottage, they unpacked the box of Caroline’s memorabilia and began to examine them. Lizzie thumbed through the yearbook until she found her mother. She also found a homecoming picture of her mother with Cole Wentworth, her first fiancé. They made a handsome couple. The joy on their faces was especially poignant, as Lizzie knew the sadness that was to befall them in just a few years.

  She turned her attention to the wedding planner, partially filled out. Caroline had selected her bridesmaids and had listed who Cole was to have as groomsmen. Caroline had the name Melanie in the spot for the maid of honor, and she had drawn a heart next to it. On the backs of some pages were sketches of various wedding dress ideas. Lizzie had no doubt that these were from her mother’s artist hands.

  M.A. had gathered up the loose photos and had attempted to arrange them in chronological order. They were mostly family shots from early childhood up until right before Caroline had left home. Every one of them showing a typical family, so what had gone so horribly wrong between them? Lizzie knew the death of Cole must have been hard on her mother, but what would make her cut off her relationship with her own parents? Hopefully, this Great-Aunt Beverley would be able to explain.

  Lizzie pulled into the guest parking area at the Serene Oaks Retire
ment Home. They had timed it to arrive a bit after ten, assuming Beverley would be dressed and prepared to receive callers. She looked over to M.A., “Are you okay?”

  M.A. sighed, “I just have an aversion to homes for old people. I mean even the name of this place sounds like it’s run by an undertaker.”

  Lizzie laughed, “I suppose they could come up with better names, but for some people, either there is no family to help care for them, or they need more care than family can handle.”

  “You would think my years as a nurse would make me less sensitive, but I have horrible childhood memories of visiting my grandfather in one of these places. It always smelled like decay and people just sat around in wheelchairs drooling.” M.A. leaned forward to check her lipstick in the visor mirror.

  “Oh, I think things have definitely improved. If you want to wait in the car, I completely understand.”

  M.A. grabbed Lizzie’s arm. “Are you kidding? I want to see this Beverley first hand.”

  Before Lizzie could respond, M.A. had jumped out of the car and slung her purse over her shoulder. So, Lizzie did the same, and the two walked into the lobby and signed in.

  Moments later they were shown into a sitting room that would have made Marie Antoinette envious. They perched rather uncomfortably on a gilded settee with stiff peacock blue silk cushions.

  “This is certainly a step up from my grandfather’s home,” M.A. whispered.

  The two sat still just trying to absorb the array of artwork and knick-knacks, all with a decidedly French influence.

  The door opened and with the whir of a small electric motor, a vivacious and colorful woman rolled into the room.

  “Yes, my receiving room is a lot to take in on a first visit. It was hard to take a four-thousand square foot house down to a three-room suite.”

  Lizzie stood. She was unsure what to do or say, so she made a mini-curtsey, then turned a several shades of pink as the woman in the wheelchair let out a deep belly laugh.