The Sweetest Thing (25 page)

At the Christmas Eve service, Hank and Father both looked handsome dressed in suits from Holden Singleton and Uncle Robert that Mother had altered. Together they led the small congregation in the candlelight service with the beauty and simplicity I used to love. The church was nearly full, families sitting together, dressed in their finest clothes and wrapped up in the celebration of eternal love coming down to earth. The evening passed in sweet victory for Christ, but it did not fill me up with excitement as it had before.

Hank kissed me good-bye after the service, and relieved to feel that familiar tugging in my heart, I shed real tears. Surely I still loved him. Surely I did.

My family was all asleep, and I tiptoed into the bathroom. I stared at myself in the mirror and brushed my hands through my short hair. I fingered the necklace, leaning into the mirror to examine Hank's handiwork. It was delicate and finely wrought, to be sure, but as I touched it, I felt a slight disappointment. Life with Hank would be this. A good man with good intentions giving me cheap, handmade gifts.

I took it off and put it on the sink. Then I got the beautiful hair clip from out of my handbag and fixed it in my hair. It perfectly matched my dark red tea dress, and I looked sophisticated, even lovely. Another wave of disappointment washed over me. I had nowhere to wear it in Chicago. I would never dare, anyway. But back in Atlanta, it would look divine with this dress, and I dreamed of the next dance with Andrew.

I leaned over the sink, my stomach cramping. Why would I think such things?

It came to me immediately: escape. I was like my friends in the sorority. I was desperately trying to fill up on something that could replace the dread and fear that were eating their way into my soul.

———

The next morning, Christmas Day, I awoke to Coobie leaning over me. She kissed my cheek, and I grinned up at her. “Hey, Sis!”

Frances was still asleep on the top bunk.

“I'm glad you're home,” she said.

“Me too.”

Then she wrinkled her brow and said, “I found this by the sink.” She was holding out Hank's necklace. “Don't you like it?”

I sat up quickly. “Oh yes. It's beautiful. I took it off last night to wash my face.”

Coobie studied me for a minute. I don't think she believed me. “And where in the world did you get this?” She produced Andrew's hair clip in her other hand.

I cringed. “Back in Atlanta.”

“It's so, so pretty. Did Aunt Josie give it to you? She gives the best gifts!”

“No. It was another friend.” I took it from Coobie and felt again like I was being pulled in two.

I helped Mother fix the turkey and got my hands all gooey from the homemade corn-bread dressing I stuffed inside it. Mother hummed a Christmas carol as she set the table, using her finest linen tablecloth and the china she had inherited from her grandmother. She lit two white candles and placed them in the silver candleholders. The table looked festive, but I kept thinking of the gorgeous homes in Atlanta and of those tables set with fine china and sparkling crystal and sterling silver and all the parties given with such seeming ease and such abundance. Mother used her most precious things, but I watched her set them out with a feeling of anger and jealousy. We had so little. Why couldn't we have the beautiful furnishings of the Atlanta homes? I found myself missing it all.

After opening our gifts, the five of us took our seats around the table, which was laden with the golden turkey and a delicious winter squash casserole and sweet potatoes and tender green beans and homemade rolls—the fragrance enticed us all. Father's voice boomed out the blessing. “Holy Father, as we celebrate your advent, we humbly thank you for the bounty you have given us, the love of family, and the love of Christ. And thank you, dear Lord, for bringing our Mary Dobbs home for Christmas.”

I murmured “Amen” with the rest of my family, but still I felt cold inside. In my mind, Father was a young man, standing beside my grandparents and Uncle Robert and Aunt Josie. And Irene Brown. It stabbed at me so that my stomach hurt.

I managed to eat my dinner, but what I kept noticing was how thin Mother was and how Father's hair had turned almost white and how Frances and Coobie had long since lost their summer tans and what deep circles were under Coobie's eyes. Her face was pale, and she had the thick throaty cough from her chronic bronchitis. Every time she coughed, I felt the pinpricks of fear. This year, it sounded like a death sentence.

Father sat back in his chair after we'd eaten dessert and said, “I do believe we need to take a family walk. Coobie, why don't you try out that pretty red coat and hat, and Frances, that sweater?”

My sisters, delighted with their gifts, hurried to change.

Mother said, “Mary Dobbs and I are going to straighten up a little. We'll meet you in the park in thirty minutes.”

“So be it!” Father said, and he pulled on a wool overcoat that I recognized as another of Holden Singleton's possessions.

“See ya soon!” Coobie said, twirling around in her red wool coat.

“You look marvelous,” Mother said.

Coobie beamed, then coughed and left the apartment with Father and Frances.

As soon as the door shut, I said to Mother, “She sounds just like Jackie did when she got sick the last time!”

Mother set down the plate she was washing and turned to me. “What would make you say that, Mary Dobbs?”

“Because it's true! She's got the same condition, doesn't she, Mother? It's congenital. It runs in the
family
.” I flung down the dishrag and hurried from the kitchen.

Mother found me in our bedroom. “Darling, what are you saying?”

“You can't deny it, Mother. I know. I found out.”

She grabbed me tightly and held me for a long time while I sniffed and whispered, “There are so many bad things, Mother. I'm so very confused. I've found out things about our family, and about Father. About Jackie.” My eyes welled with tears.

She held me tighter, if that was possible. Then she sat me down on my bed and said, “Tell me it all, everything, Mary Dobbs. I'm not budging until you get it all out.”

She sat across from me on the floor, leaning against Coobie and Frances's bunk bed.

“Did you know everything about Father when you married him?”

“I knew he'd had a very rough past. I didn't know all the details.”

“Did you know about Jackie?”

“No, not at first. Not until Irene showed up at your father's parents' house when we were there.”

“How did you stay with Father after all he had done? You had to take in his child, Mother. His bastard child! The child of a prostitute!”

Mother gasped. “What are you saying, Mary Dobbs! I loved Jackie! You know I did. We all loved her. She was a blessing—not a curse.”

“How can you say that, Mother? He made you suffer time and again for his past. He made you live with it all, didn't he? You took her in and you raised her and you gave her a real home, and then she died. Why didn't you tell me she was my sister? And now Coobie has the same illness, and she will die too.”

Mother rarely looked angry, but she silenced me with one glare. “Mary Dobbs Dillard, you stop it. Right now. Stop that twisted reasoning. Stop your mind from going that way. You understand me?” I saw in her eyes that rock-solid determination that had characterized her for all my life. “You don't pronounce that on Coobie. You hear me?” Then more calmly, “Your father had his reasons for keeping his past from you. I've told you that before. You must talk to him. Why are you afraid of facing him? I want you to talk to him.”

I shook my head. “I can't.”

She lifted my chin and said, “You certainly can. And you will.” Then she relaxed her shoulders, and her eyes softened. “Mary Dobbs, when you love someone, you love every part of him—the past and the present and the future. You accept it all. I have a good man who loves me, and I love him, and I would not trade that for anything in the world.

“When you love, it will hurt. You have to choose to forgive, again and again. But it's worth it. That's the crux of human relationships, Dobbs. The sweetest thing. Loving deeply. And forgiving. Your father loves you so much. Talk to him. Ask him your questions. Don't be afraid of your anger and your hurt.”

She stood up. “Now I'm going outside to find your father and your sisters.”

I nodded but didn't budge, and she left me there.

The evening slipped away as my sisters worked a jigsaw puzzle with Father, and Mother put the finishing hemline in the wool skirt she had made for Frances. I sat beside her on the sofa, my stomach in knots. Every time Coobie giggled, it was followed by a cough, which brought to the surface again the surge of fear and doubt and anger.

Later, as I tucked my sisters in bed, Frances whispered, “Merry Christmas, again, Dobbs. I really like the makeup.”

Coobie hugged me around the neck and said, “The doll is my favorite ever.”

I kissed her, but the words of my sisters didn't fill me up. I looked at Coobie, lying on the bed, pale as the new moon, and I saw Jackie in that frail face. I shuddered, and left the room quickly.

I walked into the living room, where Father was standing by the window, staring out into the night. I went over to him and whispered in a hard, desperate way, “Where is the money? What have you done with it?”

He turned to me; his expression was beyond startled or shocked, his round, red face grew pale. “What money, Mary Dobbs? What do you mean?”

“The money from the inheritance! The thousands and thousands you inherited, just like Aunt Josie! There must have been money! Where is it?”

Now my father actually gave a low groan—his knees buckled and he sat down with a thud in a threadbare chair. “That money? Why, Mary Dobbs, that was years ago. Many years ago.”

“It was twelve years ago, and your share had to be a lot of money. So why are we barely scraping by?”

His face lost all its color, and Mother, sitting across the room with her sewing in her lap, turned a grayish color, and I thought I saw her head shake, as if she were begging me to stop my questions. But I paid her no heed.

“Answer me, Father! Don't hide behind some holy excuse.”

“I have no excuse, Dobbs,” he whispered. My father, whose voice could fill a stadium, could barely choke out the next words. “It's all gone. Was spent long ago. That money is not here. Mary Dobbs, believe me, if I had that money, I would use it to—”

“How can it be gone, Father? How?” I felt anger throbbing in my temples, and I choked on my words. “What did you spend it on? Gambling? Women?” My voice broke, and I began to cry softly. Mother had scooted close beside Father, her arm resting on his. “You spent it long ago so we could starve today! So Coobie could die, just like Jackie! Just like my
sister
, Jackie! My sister who you hid from me! How many other sisters are out there? Are you hiding them? Are you spending your money on them? Is that it?

“Here we are, begging for food, and you would hide behind the guise of God's provision. You're a hypocrite, Father, and all you care about is some pitiful religion that doesn't even work.”

I was standing in front of my parents, my eyes blazing with emotions I had never in all my life allowed to escape. “Well, I care about my family,” I continued. “I'll take Frances and Coobie back with me. Aunt Josie will see that Coobie sees the finest doctors and has warm clothes and plenty to eat. I'll take care of them. You go ahead with your godforsaken calling!”

I spun around and fled the apartment, leaving the front door to the apartment wide open. I ran down the steps, tears flying in all directions, and out into the bitter cold of Christmas Day in Chicago.

CHAPTER

22

Perri

Somehow we got through Christmas Day. Instead of traveling to be with Mamma's family down in Valdosta, we stayed put in that little house on Club Drive. Two of Daddy's siblings sent us gifts, as they did each year, and my grandmother called us long-distance, sounding disappointed not to have us, but Mamma said she didn't have the strength to pack us up in the Buick and drive four hours south.

Bill and Patty Robinson brought us over a beautiful baked ham and presents for every one of us. Dellareen and Jimmy, bless their souls, didn't take the day off. Instead, they came over with all the kids and fixed us a Christmas feast. Dellareen told my mother, “You gotta do somethin' different to git through this first holiday, Miz Dot.” So we played games, and Irvin spent the afternoon trying out a pair of stilts that Jimmy had made for him, and Barbara spent an hour fiddling with her hair and putting on the makeup I'd given her, and then I took photos of them out in the backyard.

A few days earlier, I had received a letter and package from Philip Hendrick. I opened them both on Christmas Day.

Dearest Perri,

We're getting along fine. The Fair's business gained us quite a reputation, and we've been busy during the Christmas holidays with sittings for these family photo Christmas cards. I believe it will become a Christmas staple.

Thinking of you and your family and praying you are well.

Your fellow photographer, Philip

He'd sent me a Christmas card that acted as a frame for a photo of Luke and him. Across the top he had written
Merry Christmas, Perri!
The package held something he called “the newest gadget for your business.” It turned out to be a cable that, when attached to the camera, would allow me to activate the shutter from a distance so that I could be in the photographs with Mamma and Irvin and Barbara. That tickled us so much, we couldn't stop laughing for the longest time. Afterwards, I got Jimmy and Dellareen and their kids to come in the picture with us, and I think we all forgot about Daddy for just a little while.

In the evening, after supper, Irvin came to me, his face somber, and whispered, “Can we take a little drive, Perri? Just you and me?” Then he lowered his voice even more. “I want to go by our real house.”

Seeing his pinched pale face, I wasn't about to turn down his request. “Of course we can go.”

Mamma didn't protest at all when I told her I was taking Irvin out for a ride in the car.

I drove Irvin down Club Drive onto Peachtree and straight out four miles to where I turned right on West Paces Ferry Road, driving past the Chandlers' house. It was lit up, and five cars were parked in front of the house.

I fleetingly wondered if Dobbs was doing all right in Chicago with her family.

I wound along the streets and turned onto Wesley Drive. We drove up the long winding drive in silence and around toward the front of the house.

Irvin noticed it first. “Someone's here.” Sure enough, I saw a light coming from inside the upstairs bedroom. Irvin hopped out and ran to the backyard and stood staring at the garage and the stables.

Spalding's sporty car was sitting in front of the garage.

“What's he doing here?” Irvin whispered.

I hadn't the foggiest idea. I went to the back door. Locked. Walking to the front porch, I tried that door. Locked also. I banged on the door. No answer. Finally I called out, “Spalding! Yoo-hoo! It's us!”

At last he opened the door. He looked, for one moment, startled, and then recovered his smile. “Perri! Irvin! What a surprise! Merry Christmas.”

Irvin walked past him into the empty foyer and looked around him. “What are you doing here?”

“Good question. Wouldn't you know, dear ol' Dad sent me over here. He said he has a client interested in seeing the house tomorrow and he wanted me to make sure it was presentable.”

“You're kidding!” I blurted out. “Your father's selling the house for the bank? Mr. Robinson didn't mention that to us. I thought your father worked for Coca-Cola.”

Spalding shrugged. “Dad has other interests, too, such as real estate. I didn't know Dad had anything to do with this house either until he asked me to come over here tonight. I've learned not to ask questions and just do what Dad says.” He punched Irvin playfully. “What brought you over here?”

“I wanted to see my old home,” Irvin said.

“Of course. Of course. Hey, listen. I've got a football in the car. Why don't you and I practice some passes?”

Irvin's face brightened. “Sure.” Then, “But it's awful dark.”

“I'll fix that.” Spalding brought his car to the front yard and turned on the headlights, leaving the engine running.

I watched them tossing the football back and forth beneath the naked oaks and hickories with the chill in the air. Then I walked through the empty house, the sound of my pumps echoing on the wooden floors, and my soul felt as cold and barren as my former home.

Dobbs

Father found me out in the park. He'd brought my coat with him and put it around my shoulders. “We must talk, Mary Dobbs.”

“It's too late for talking. I already know it all now.”

I turned away from him, but he caught me by the arm. “No. No you don't. Please. Please give me a chance. One chance.”

I didn't answer.

We walked side by side, toward the lake, his arm occasionally brushing against mine. He spoke in a low voice, all his natural enthusiasm completely drained out. “When I was thirteen, I got in with a rough crowd at school. Hung out with them for several years. I got involved in terrible things, just what you said—drinking and gambling and fooling around with women. I put my parents through a dark tunnel whose end was hell.” He let out a long sigh that reminded me of Aunt Josie and even Becca.

“And then Christ found me and my life changed. I eventually moved up to Chicago, and it looked like my past sins were not only forgiven but forgotten.

“But there was Irene Brown. She showed up at my parents' house in 1915—ironically, right after you were born. Irene knew their house—I'd made the mistake of taking her there once or twice.”

I thought of the photo I'd seen in the album where Irene looked as if she were intentionally trying to hide her face.

“She had a sickly child and claimed I was the father. Threatened to cause a terrible scandal if my parents didn't help her out. At first, bless their souls, they bailed me out, just as they had done so many times before. They didn't even tell me about Irene's visit—and of her blackmailing them—until much later, when you were about two. Your mother and I had taken you down to see the family in Atlanta. Irene came to the house for money, and that was the first time I heard her story and found out that I was Jackie's father.”

We had reached the shore of Lake Michigan. Father stopped and stood staring out at the wind rippling across the water. His hands, which so often moved around expressively during his sermons, were thrust deep into his pockets.

“As you can imagine, it was quite a shock. It nearly destroyed me when I learned how she'd been getting money from my parents and all the heartache she'd caused them.” He glanced over at me. “But I want you to know that I loved Jackie from the first time I laid eyes on her.

“I worked out an arrangement with Irene. I'd pay her a monthly allowance for Jackie if she promised never to go to my parents' home again. She agreed.

“I told my parents how sorry I was and begged their forgiveness, which they gave, once again. But I couldn't forgive myself. And they never knew of the deal I had struck with Irene. I wanted them to think it was all behind me.

“We didn't get down to Atlanta very often. Money was so tight. Oh, Papa offered to help us. I was too proud and too ashamed. And I couldn't bear to tell him that every extra nickel was going to Irene.”

“Poor Mother,” I said. “How she must have suffered.”

“Yes. Your mother was a saint. She never complained or blamed me. Just took a job as a seamstress and worked so hard.” Father got lost in some thought. The wind increased, and I watched it pick up a strand of his hair and twirl it about his balding head.

“In the spring of 1919, Irene found us in Chicago. Jackie was sick, and Irene claimed she couldn't care for her anymore. Of course we took Jackie in. Off and on, Irene would take Jackie back, but Jackie's ill-health kept her out of school a lot and prevented Irene from working. She said she had to work—she owed money to a lot of ugly men. So your mother and I ended up caring for Jackie for longer periods.”

“You should have told me she was my sister.”

“Perhaps. You loved each other like sisters—that's for sure.” Father looked at me, his whole face sagging. “Irene was so unpredictable. Your mother and I thought it would be better for you girls not to know. Less painful.”

“It wasn't less painful. And now it hurts even worse.”

“I'm so sorry, Mary Dobbs. I didn't mean it to be this way.”

I glared at him for a long moment and then turned my gaze to the lake. Father stood by me, breathing hard, as if the telling of this story had completely worn him out.

“I didn't want my parents to be pulled back into my problems, so I cut ties with them. I shouldn't have done it the way I did, but zeal isn't always tempered by wisdom, Mary Dobbs. There are so many things I regret.

“When my parents died, Irene got wind of it and begged me to help pay off her debtors. She said they were threatening to kill her. So, with your mother's consent, we used a good portion of my inheritance to cover her debts and send her away to start a better life. The rest was used on Jackie.

“I thought what I'd kept would get us along and still pay Jackie's doctors' bills. But—” here he faltered and gave another heavy sigh—“Jackie took a turn for the worse, and the bills increased, and . . . and we found ourselves with nothing. No money left over, and no Jackie.

“Sin'll do that to you, Mary Dobbs. Tangle you up till you can't see any way out. I broke ties with my family—I thought it was for their good. I hurt my parents, caused them untold grief. Hurt Josie and Robert too. I can never take that back. My parents went to their graves tired and broken.”

It began to snow, large pristine flakes falling around us as my father confessed his sins. For an instant, I thought he might start bawling, as he had done all those years ago at my grandmother's funeral. I didn't want to see that. I didn't want to feel any tenderness toward my father. He had answered my questions, but I found no solace in them. I had only one question left. “Does Coobie have the same condition as Jackie?”

Father's face fell. “Yes. Yes, she does.”

I turned away from him and hurried toward the lake, leaving my father standing in Holden Singleton's wool coat with hundreds of snowflakes landing softly on his shoulders.

I ignored my father for the rest of the evening, filling up the time in the apartment with my nose planted in a book. Mother watched me without a word. For some reason—divine wisdom, she'd doubtless claim—she did not reprimand me. She went about making our home just the same warm and safe place as always, and miraculously, I thought, my sisters did not wake up and notice that I had brought a sheet of ice inside.

When Hank came by the next evening, my heart was far, far away. He showed up in the suit Uncle Robert had given him, smelling fresh and clean. The Waterman pen was in his lapel pocket. His hair had been trimmed, and my heart melted, just seeing him standing there. He held a lone red rose in his hand.

I had not dressed up to see him. I blushed. “I'm not presentable.” Truthfully, I had not expected to need to dress up. “Can you please give me a moment?”

Coobie hopped on Hank's back, and he cantered around the den like a bucking horse while she giggled and coughed, giggled and coughed, singing out, “Giddyup, you! Giddyup!”

I hurried to the bedroom and put on a sunset-colored evening dress I had brought to Chicago, just in case, brushed my hair, and searched for the necklace. I fastened it around my neck, and the pretty braided metals glistened and picked up the color of the dress.

“You look absolutely keen,” Frances said. “Would you like to borrow some of my makeup?”

I caught her in a hug. “Would I ever!”

Hank took me to the Walnut Room at the Bismarck Hotel, one of the fanciest restaurants in Chicago.

“How in the world will you afford this?” I whispered when we walked inside.

He looked at me with such love, such admiration. “Remember the envelope you brought me from Uncle Robert? He said his Christmas gift to us was a meal here.”

I watched Hank studying the menu. Normally so self-assured, he wrinkled his brow and stuttered once when we ordered. Then he glanced at me, shrugged, and we laughed together.

The orchestra played slow romantic ballads, and after dinner Hank led me to the floor and held me close. “I'm not good at this at all, Dobbs,” he whispered. “But I want to try. For you.” He took big awkward steps, and I had a fleeting thought of Andrew and other Atlanta boys who were such swell dancers.

“You're doing great,” he said.

“I learned a little in Atlanta.”

Finally, back at our table over dessert, Hank took my hands and said, “You said you had so many things to tell me, hard things. I'm ready to hear them now.”

I had told Mother what I had discovered about Jackie, but I had told her nothing of the other problems in Atlanta. Now I poured out everything in my heart to Hank: the truth about Jackie and my reaction to my father's confession, the whole fiasco about the stolen items, my fears about Spalding and how Perri had chosen him over me, and finally the train ride and Coobie's cough and my terrible doubts. The only thing I didn't mention was about Andrew Morrison.