The Sweetest Thing (18 page)

“Of course it was hard. I loved where I was raised, and I enjoyed being part of the social fabric of our society. But I met your father at a youth revival at Moody, and I was smitten with God and with him. He was very forthright about what our life would be like. We both felt such a strong call to serve Christ, and it seemed very clear to me. I didn't think of it as a sacrifice, Mary Dobbs.”

“And Grandmother and Grandfather—how did they react?”

“Like the true fine people they were. They let me choose, and they never reprimanded me about my choice.”

“But they never helped us either, when times were hard. And they could have—right?”

“They helped a great deal when you all were little, Mary Dobbs, keeping you and your sisters on weekends so that I could be at Father's meetings. They fed you, bought you beautiful clothes, took us out to eat at restaurants.” Her pretty eyes clouded over. “But they lost a lot in the Depression, and then Grandfather died, and Grandmother has enough to live on fairly comfortably, but she doesn't have a lot extra, and I don't want her giving it to us. The Lord always provides for us, Mary Dobbs. You know that.”

“But it's so hard. And it just seems like it wouldn't have to be so hard if . . .” But I could not finish the sentence.

“If what?” Mother prodded gently.

“If Father had accepted the inheritance that was his when his parents died.”

Mother's face fell. “Is that what's worrying you?”

“Yes. Aunt Josie told me—because I begged her to—about Father's wild past and then ‘getting religion,' as she put it, and then basically rejecting the family and the money, and I don't understand why.”

Mother said nothing for the longest time. Then, “You know how passionate your father is, Mary Dobbs. His past had been so ‘filthy and wicked'—his words—that he was determined to make a radical change.”

“So he gave up all the inheritance money? We could have lived more comfortably with it. Or he could have at least put it in a savings and loan for us kids!” This information came from something Perri had mentioned.

“You know, Mary Dobbs, there are consequences we live with all our lives. Your father's past left him with heavy debts, and he chose to pay them off with the inheritance.”

“What debts, Mother?”

Here Mother faltered for just a moment. She opened her mouth to say something. Then tears sprang to her eyes, and she brushed her hand across her face to wipe them away.

I suddenly regretted my harsh comments.

At last she whispered, “It's the past, Mary Dobbs. If you want to know those details, you must ask him. He can decide what he wants to tell you. It's not my story to share.” I was startled when tears again sprang to her eyes. “Your father is a good man. Flawed like all of us, fairly complicated, and very zealous. But I trust him. I hope you will too.”

I got up and gave my mother a tight hug, but inside I felt confused. Perhaps one day, I would ask my father about the inheritance.

As Mother and I walked back toward the big house, I told her about Hosea and Cornelius and Parthenia, and about Anna at the Alms House, falsely accused of stealing.

“Everyone knows she didn't do it, Mother.”

“Yes, it sounds as if she's a victim of circumstances.”

“But why wouldn't Aunt Josie get her out?”

“You say she's tried.”

“Yes.”

Mother gave a long sigh. “There are so many things in this world that aren't fair, Mary Dobbs, things we cannot change, no matter how much we long to.”

“But, Mother, perhaps I
could
change this.” Quickly, almost desperately, I related the story about finding the stolen articles in Mr. Singleton's tool chest.

Mother reached over and took my hand. “You need to tell Aunt Josie, and I'll be with you when you do it.”

“You will?”

“I will.”

She hugged me, and I felt safe with Mother, and suddenly I didn't want my parents to leave for the dust blizzard.

———

The next afternoon, Mother came for tea with Aunt Josie and me. We sat out on the porch and ate delicious little cakes and sipped Earl Grey tea in Aunt Josie's fine china cups. “This is such a treat, Josie,” Mother said.

“We love having the girls here. Wish we could convince Billy to stay too.”

Mother shrugged. “You know Billy.”

“Stubborn.”

Mother nodded, and they both laughed.

At last Mother said, “Josie, I believe Mary Dobbs has something she wants to tell you.”

I launched into my story, explaining the whole situation about me helping Perri pack up things at her house and about cleaning out Mr. Singleton's closet and finding his tool chest there, filled with the stolen jewelry and silver. Only when I'd finished did I notice how hard my heart was beating and how sweaty my hands were.

Aunt Josie sat in silence for a long moment, her face wearing a perplexed, flustered expression. “That's quite amazing. I . . . I can hardly believe Holden would have these things!” Her face turned deep crimson and there was perspiration on her upper lip. She recovered from her shock, tilted her head, and said, “Thank you for telling me, Mary Dobbs. Yes, of course it was the right thing to do. What an odd situation, but what's there to say? Don't worry about it anymore. I'll handle it.”

We finished our tea in awkward silence, and when we left the porch, I felt a brief moment of relief, but then a sense of dread.

CHAPTER

16

Perri

For three marvelous days, Philip Hendrick invaded my world, treating me as his equal, a professional photographer. I discovered Philip to be a combination of perfectionist and visionary. The enthusiasm he showed for his work was contagious. “You'll be learning on the go, Perri. I hope you don't mind,” he'd quip as I followed him around. Indeed he looked as if he were in perpetual motion. I briefly wondered how someone with so much energy could sit still long enough to take such astonishing photographs.

Each day I learned more about the shop, and then, with Mr. Saxton's approval, Philip and Luke and I went to the streets with tripod and cameras in hand, and took photos of the Fox Theatre and the Georgian Terrace and Oakland Cemetery and loads of other familiar places. He even photographed our home and the Chandlers' and a magnificent villa nearby called the Swan House.

On Saturday, Hank and Dobbs joined us for a picnic lunch in Piedmont Park. When Hank and Philip and Luke left to play a game of baseball with a few other boys, Dobbs said, “I believe Philip Hendrick is sweet on you.”

I rolled my eyes and whispered back, “He's my boss . . . practically.”

“He's not looking at you like an employee.” She giggled. “And he's taken more photos of you than of all the buildings in Atlanta put together.”

“Please, Dobbs, I certainly don't need Spalding to think another boy is sweet on me. He's already annoyed that I've taken the job with Mr. Saxton. And anyway, Philip is leaving in two days.”

Dobbs just gave me her knowing smile.

Of course I thought about her comment and could not deny the pure bliss I'd felt being with someone who shared my passion and wanted me to succeed—and wasn't bad to look at either.

———

Philip and Luke and Hank left for Chicago the same day that Dobbs's parents drove off for the Dust Bowl in their old Hudson. Dobbs and I took the boys to the train station. I had no idea how to show Philip my gratitude, and I got choked up a little telling both brothers good-bye. I must have repeated “Thanks so much for everything” three or four times.

The two redheads grinned at us. “It was great fun!” Philip said. Then he added, “I'm really going to miss you.” He was staring straight at me, his face almost as red as his hair. “Both Luke and I. We're going to miss you.”

Dobbs gave me a wink, and then Hank led her off to the side as Philip and Luke hopped on the train.

I waited on the platform while Dobbs said her good-byes to Hank. I caught sight of her clinging to him, and I thought she might be crying, and then Hank leaned down and kissed her gently, and she was lost to my view in his embrace. I wanted that kind of love—sometime, somewhere—a safe, deep love I could get lost in, one that would tear at my heart whenever I had to say good-bye.

I watched them and knew that never in all of my one thousand dates had I come near to that kind of love.

Dobbs

I cried as I told Hank good-bye. The week had passed so quickly, charged with emotion from the youth responding to Christ as Hank listened until late in the night when the last one had sobbed out his story. And me there beside him, sharing with the girls.

After the meetings, he'd drive me back to the Chandlers'—he stayed in a tent by my parents'—and we'd talk of the stolen items I'd found and of my father's strange past and of Philip and Luke Hendrick and Perri. And of us.

“I think I'm afraid to leave you here in Atlanta,” Hank confided in Terminal Station. “Afraid I will lose you to that society, those boys, afraid you will be disappointed in me, like you were the last time. . . .”

I put my hand over his mouth. “No, I was all wrong the last time. I don't want anybody else, Hank. Just you.”

He put his arms around me and held me close, then kissed me so softly on the lips that it took my breath away. I wanted Hank. Then I thought of Mother relaxing with me down by the lake and my sisters giggling with full stomachs, and I wanted that too. I wanted us to have enough.

———

During the days, Perri and her mother packed up their life, but Perri spent the nights with me at the Chandlers'. One evening we were sprawled out on my bed, perspiring in the humidity. An old fan, which sat on my desk, barely helped at all. Perri's cheeks were blazing as she talked on and on about the job with Mr. Saxton.

“. . . And I've already learned so much, and he wants to give me his old equipment for my darkroom. . . .”

I got off the bed and took a little flyer about the revival from out of my Bible and began fanning her with it, but it barely made a difference. Then she reached over, took my Bible, and used it to create a breeze. As she did, the photograph of my sisters and Jackie and me fell out. She reached down and picked it up.

“Who's this girl with you?” Perri asked.

My throat went dry as I stared at the picture and whispered, “Jackie.”

“Jackie? Who's Jackie? A cousin?”

But I barely heard her. I thought of all my stories about God providing, and what rushed through my head again was a simple sentence.
He didn't provide that time.
I looked over at Perri, who was still holding the picture. My eyes filled with tears. “That's Jackie with us in the picture. The best friend I ever had, before you came along.”

“She looks a good bit older than you.”

“She was.”

Perri didn't miss my verb choice. “Was? Do you mean . . . ?”

“She died. She died of this horrible illness, completely untreatable, a congenital defect.” I gulped back tears. “That's why Hank gave me
Patches from the Sky.
To help me move on. To help me get past Jackie's death.” A burning sensation shot through me. “But you know, Perri, you never really get over losing someone you love.”

She came and sat beside me and took my hand and whispered, “I know it.” She bent her head down, tracing the outline of Jackie's face with her forefinger. “Why didn't you ever tell me about her?”

I said nothing for a long time. Finally I stole a glance her way. She looked stricken. “I did tell you, Perri. I told you I understood about tragedy. But that was all I could bear to say. And it still is.”

———

The next day, when I was alone in my room, I took the photograph from my Bible, held it in my hands, put it to my chest, and closed my eyes. I saw Jackie, four years my senior, bright, beautiful, and energetic, sitting right next to Mother on the sofa, a needle in her mouth, eyes flashing with pleasure. I could almost hear Mother laughing and telling me to watch out for Jackie, not to follow her into mischief.

I thought of
Patches from the Sky
, probably packed away in some box, awaiting the Singletons' move, and I thought of the poem in that little volume that had especially comforted me after Jackie's sudden passing. It was by John Donne, the seventeenth-century poet, womanizer, and repentant preacher.

“ ‘Death be not proud,' ” I whispered through the tightness in my throat. I did not need to look at the words, for I knew them by heart. “ ‘Though some have called thee mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so.' ” I recited the sonnet with tears streaming down my cheeks and wondered at the truth of what I had confided to Perri. “
You never really get over losing someone you love.”

I finished the poem as a confirmation of what I believed. “ ‘Why swellest thou then? One short sleep past, we wake eternally, and death shall be no more; death, thou shalt die.' ”

I brushed away a lone tear with a glance at the photo. Then deliberately, almost desperately, I pushed away the doubt that inched its way into my heart and whispered,
God didn't provide,
every time I thought of Jackie Brown.

———

The moment I saw Aunt Josie's face, I knew something was wrong. She found me in the garden picking tomatoes with Cornelius and Parthenia. “Mary Dobbs, may I speak to you alone, please?”

“Of course.”

I followed her back to the house and into Uncle Robert's study, where she closed the door, motioned for me to sit down, and then stood by the window, not facing me. “Two days ago, I went to Dot's house to help her finish packing the last things. You know me. I don't beat around the bush. I told her about your discovery of the stolen items in Holden's toolbox, and, of course, we immediately went up to Holden's closet. As you said, his toolbox was pushed far back in the corner of the closet. However, contrary to your story, we found no stolen silver or jewels inside, only his tools, carefully arranged in both the top and bottom trays.” She turned and stared straight at me.

“That's impossible! I know what I saw.”

“Dot wonders if you mentioned what you found to any of the younger children. Would they have taken the items from the toolbox? Or did you tell anyone else?”

“No! No. I promise you that I only told Mother and Hank and you!”

Aunt Josie folded her arms across her chest. “Mary Dobbs, I don't want to think that you made up this whole story, but I know of your particular affection for Parthenia, and for Hosea and Cornelius and Anna, too, and how you've begged me to get Anna out of the Alms House . . .”

Tears sprang to my eyes. “Aunt Josie, I would never make something like that up! Never!”

Aunt Josie shook her head. “Well, that leaves us in a strange predicament. The Singleton house has now been completely emptied, and none of the stolen goods have turned up.”

I felt sick to my stomach. Aunt Josie shrugged and turned to leave the room, but in that gesture, I thought I detected doubt. She didn't believe me.

A different doubt slipped in to taunt me. I wondered if perhaps my aunt, in her effort to protect her best friend, had indeed found the stolen items and taken them back without telling anyone. Perhaps she had decided it was better for Anna to suffer than for Dot Singleton and her family to do so.

Surely not!

I suddenly felt afraid and confused. I had seen every one of the stolen items in the toolbox. I knew I had. How I wished I could get advice from Mother, but she was far away, and it would be weeks before I heard from her again. So I poured out my heart in a letter to Hank and waited to hear what he would say.

When Perri returned from work that evening, she noticed immediately that I was upset about something. She said, “I'm sorry I asked you about Jackie. I've brought back painful memories.”

I let her believe it was that. I could not bear to say a word about what I had found in her father's toolbox and what Aunt Josie had told me that day. But one thing I did know. Perri would find out at some point from someone, and she would never understand. I watched her that night and felt as if I were gazing into my future, alone. Without Perri.

Perri

Mother found a house on Club Drive within walking distance of the Capitol City Country Club. The house was small, tiny compared to our old home—a one-story white-brick house with a modern kitchen, three bedrooms, a living room with a fireplace, and a backyard big enough for Irvin to practice his pitching, with the vegetable garden behind. It sat on a little hill and had several big oak trees in the front yard. It was further out than where most fashionable Atlantans lived, but Mamma said that several fine Atlanta families had recently bought property near our new home.

Spalding spent three afternoons helping us move, along with Bill and Patty Robinson, Robert and Josie Chandler, Dobbs, Mae Pearl, and her parents. Even Barbara and Irvin pitched in every day to help Mamma and me. Jimmy and Dellareen were pleased with the little house because it was much closer for them. They lived in Johnson Town, a Negro neighborhood that some wealthy businessmen had developed years earlier. There was a streetcar that went directly from Johnson Town to Club Drive.

Spalding stayed for supper the day we were finally all moved in. Barbara and Irvin hung on to him, and Mamma thanked him endlessly for all his help. Spalding grinned and looked like an innocent pup. “Actually, I believe Jimmy and Ben did most of the work, but it was my pleasure to help. Except for the piano. It must weigh a literal ton! Football training sure comes in handy when you need strength.” He flexed his muscles, and Barbara giggled. I imagined she had a wild crush on him.

I acted plenty pleased with the little house, and I even laughed that night with Barbara, each in our twin beds, sheets thrown off in an attempt to catch a slight breeze. We hadn't slept in the same room in ages. I tried my best to ignore the deep-down ache of missing our real home, the one that had the imprints of the Singleton family all over it—from the white columns and the high-ceilinged rooms and my spacious closet and the stables down to the tiniest detail of the way Mamma had placed the high-backed chairs in the living room and the smell of pipe that permeated Daddy's study whenever I entered.

Dobbs would be thankful to have her family around and a place to sleep and food to eat. I will choose to be thankful too.

I
was
thankful, but I was also heartbroken, and I wondered what my friends and Mamma's friends were saying about all the sad turn of events in the Singletons' lives.

———

My job with Mr. Saxton brought in seven dollars a week, and I loved every minute of it. Mr. Saxton proved to be a wonderful boss, giving me more and more responsibility as the summer progressed. I worked alone on Tuesday and Friday afternoons and was in charge of closing and locking up the store for the evening. Then I'd walk a few blocks and ride the streetcar home. One Friday in early July, as I walked to the streetcar, I was engrossed in thoughts about Philip Hendrick, who had written me two postcards from Chicago.

I did not see the men approaching until they were right beside me.

“Well, what do we have here? A pretty little missy.”

I felt immediate terror.

There were two of them, both smelling of alcohol. I looked at one and noticed, as if in slow-motion, his brown teeth, his crusty skin, and the strange, hungry look in his eyes.