The Sweetest Thing (37 page)

———

The day that Bill Robinson went to jail, with cameras flashing in his face and his photo splashed across the
Atlanta Journal
, Mr. Chandler and Hosea went to the Alms Houses and brought Anna home. Only she didn't even stop by the Chandlers' but went straight to Piedmont Hospital to see her little girl.

Dobbs and Coobie and I were in the room with Parthenia when her mother walked in. Parthenia let out a weak squeal. “Mama! Mama, yore here! Look at ya, Mama!”

Before I left the room, I took a snapshot with the Zeiss Contax—I knew that Parthenia would treasure it later—of Anna there beside Parthenia, her calloused hands on Parthenia's forehead and great big tears running down Anna's face, down through the crevasses and spilling onto her dress. Parthenia's face was lit up like a lantern in the darkroom.

Anna was humming hymns, and every once in a while, Parthenia would turn her head and smile at her mother, and once she said, “I got the proof for ya, Mama, so as you cud come home.”

Anna had one hand gripping Hosea's and the other cradling Parthenia's face, and she kept saying, “Thank the Good Lawd, thank ya, Lawd.”

I had known the first time I really looked at Anna Jeffries that she was a survivor. Gradually, I understood that she was a woman of faith, who worked out on that prison farm and prayed to her heavenly Father and fully expected Him to answer those prayers in His way and His time.

The Good Lord had done it; He had.

CHAPTER

29

Dobbs

We graduated from Washington Seminary on May 16—from what I understood, it was usually the highlight of the year, but we had lived so many crazy emotions the previous week that none of us thought much about graduation. The talk all week was of the fire and Parthenia and Spalding and Bill Robinson. Rumors got mixed in with truth.

Perri had the idea first. “The best way to stop the rumors, Dobbs, is for you to tell the story, the whole story, as only you can.”

So on an afternoon a week later, Perri and Mae Pearl and Lisa and Peggy and Brat and Macon came to the Chandlers' home, and we sat on the screened-in porch with Aunt Josie and Mrs. Singleton and Mother and Barbara and Coobie and Frances. Anna and Dellareen were there, serving us homemade peach ice cream. But as I started the story, Aunt Josie and Mrs. Singleton insisted that the servants stay with us on the porch. Parthenia, hands bandaged in white, snuggled in her mother's lap.

Hosea and Cornelius and Jimmy and Uncle Robert and Father and Hank were busy building back the barn—with a new darkroom—and the servants' quarters. The debris had been cleared away, and now we heard the sharp ringing of hammers and the buzzing of saws, and somehow, it seemed the perfect accompaniment for the story I was going to tell.

“Bill Robinson was a successful accountant who was well respected in Atlanta and very involved in the social life of the city. He and his wife were best friends with the Singletons and the McFaddens.” I glanced at Perri and then Mae Pearl.

“But he was also a gambling man, although no one knew it at the time. And one morning, he woke up to the bitter news that his fortunes had slipped away, just like so many other people learned on that fateful day in 1929. Mr. Robinson was determined not to let this unfortunate turn of events beat him. It started out as a small thing—he corrected a paper for a client, changed one figure, and pocketed the cash. Then another adjustment, minor and unnoticed, and then another. Eventually he began changing other clients' statements and stealing little bits of money from them.

“He gambled more and more, had more debts to pay back, and so he took another step down that rocky road of sin. He began pocketing silver and jewelry at the fancy parties he attended, and then hocking them off to contacts who would buy the stolen things for a good price. His plan worked for a while.

“But Mr. Robinson had not counted on the sharp eyes of Parthenia Jeffries, and when she caught him stealing those pearl-handled knives at the Chandlers' Valentine party—” here, Aunt Josie displayed the knives for all of us to see—“he threatened her, said he would kill all of her family if she dared breathe a word.

“Shrewd Mr. Robinson put the blame for the thefts on Anna by planting a silver knife in Anna's home. Becca Fitten, searching for the missing items, found the serving piece in the servants' quarters and accused Anna, who was sent to the Alms Houses.

“Of course, the Chandlers didn't believe Anna was guilty, and Bill Robinson figured as much. So to keep them from talking, he sent them anonymous letters, threatening the Jeffries family and, eventually, the Chandlers themselves.

“Later, when Becca found her own jewelry and silver missing, she was more convinced than ever of Anna's guilt—until Aunt Josie showed her the threatening letters. The Chandlers were looking for the real thief, all the while acting as if they believed Anna was guilty. In truth, Aunt Josie and Uncle Robert were protecting Anna and her family by keeping her at the Alms House.

“Bill Robinson had been selling the stolen materials for quite some time, but knowing the incredible worth of the knives, he wanted to find the right buyer. So he hid the silver and jewelry in his good friend Holden Singleton's toolbox—a foolproof way to be cleared if the goods were found before the right buyer appeared.

“Bill Robinson never considered that Holden Singleton would go into his garage on a cold February evening, get out his toolbox, and find those stolen goods. It was the straw that broke the camel's back.

“When Holden went to talk to his good friend and trusted accountant about what he found in his toolbox, Mr. Robinson said words he would regret for the rest of his life—this Bill Robinson has confessed completely—‘Holden, let me help you. Perhaps you need to see a doctor? Perhaps you should go to a place for those who are mentally disturbed.'

“Holden Singleton, suffering from depression, watching his money disappear, his money which Bill Robinson stole, found himself suddenly implicated in a crime he didn't commit. We thought he took his life, but I say he was driven to it; driven mad by his trusted friend.”

I looked over at Perri at this point, and though she didn't breathe a word, I knew she was thinking about the note her father left her before he took his life.
I didn't do it,
her father had written
.
No, he hadn't stolen the items, and he hadn't lost all the money.

Mae Pearl was crying softly, and Aunt Josie had taken Mrs. Singleton's hand, and all the girls were clinging to one another. Perri came and sat beside me as I continued, but more softly now.

“No one was more surprised than Bill Robinson when Holden Singleton took his own life. Day after day, he went to the Singletons' house, trying to help them and yet, knowing, too, he had to find Holden's toolbox. He was never alone at the house to search, so he invited Spalding Smith to be his accomplice, knowing that Spalding had a reputation for being shrewd and charming. He also had evidence of Spalding's philandering and drinking and threatened to tell the authorities and the coaches at Georgia Tech, which would get him kicked off the football team and ruin his reputation. So Bill Robinson made a deal with Spalding—he must befriend Perri, search her house, locate the toolbox, and retrieve the stolen goods. Mr. Robinson would then sell the goods and split the money with Spalding.

“Of course, Spalding agreed—he didn't have a lot of choice. He spent lots of time with Perri, but he never found the toolbox. In the end, Mr. Robinson realized the only way to search the house was if it was up for sale. So he continued to adjust the Singletons' accounts, taking more and more money from them and inventing stories of gambling. Eventually Mrs. Singleton made the decision he was hoping for: she would sell the house.

“Then, while helping Perri clean out her father's closet, I found the toolbox with the stolen items. I was stunned and had no idea what to do, so I left the toolbox in the closet. Eventually, I told Aunt Josie about what I'd found. Meanwhile, Spalding had come to the house and helped Mrs. Singleton pack up, always with the goal of finding that toolbox—which he finally did. He took the knives and jewels and silver, and when Aunt Josie came looking for it, the toolbox contained only innocent tools.

“Mr. Robinson and Spalding decided to keep the items that had been in the toolbox for a while, in case they needed to implicate Mr. Singleton again.”

“It's downright horrible!” Peggy said.

“Why would Mr. Robinson do such awful things?” Mae Pearl asked, crying again.

I thought of Father's words, and I whispered out loud, “Sin'll do that to you. Tangle you up till you can't see any way out.” I looked over at Mother and Aunt Josie.

“But all along, the Chandlers were searching for the real thief, and Anna was praying and Parthenia was looking for proof, and finally, Mr. Robinson slipped up. He panicked when he found Parthenia snapping a photo of him stealing more silver at Brat's graduation soirée. He had Spalding start a so-called accidental fire in Perri's darkroom, to make sure the photos were destroyed.

“When Spalding was accused by the police of all the thefts, he immediately worked out a deal to get less prison time if he'd point them to the real thief. Then when Mr. Robinson was caught, he broke down. He had lived with so much guilt and grief mixed in with his cruelty that it finally all came out.”

“I do believe that is the saddest story you have ever told, Mary Dobbs,” Mae Pearl said.

I gave a little nod. “The good part is that Mr. Robinson and Spalding are both in jail now, and Anna is free and Parthenia's hands are mending and . . .” I paused and looked first at Perri and then at Mrs. Singleton. “We understand a little more of why poor Mr. Singleton made the choices he did.”

I motioned to Coobie, and she came and stood by me. “And Coobie's cough is gone. It really is.”

Now all the girls were crying. I didn't say that Coobie's cough was gone
for good
, because none of us knew the future. But right then she was healthy.

Hank came from the work at the barn, onto the porch, looking a bit lost in the midst of all the women and girls. He whispered to Anna, but we all heard it, “Could we please get some water? We're wilting in the heat.”

It was the perfect time for me to tell the last part of my story. I turned to look at Hank—whose eyes, whose kind, kind eyes, were riveted on me with that crazy look of love in them—and said, “I've learned so much about myself and others here in Atlanta. There have been good times and really hard times, but it's just like my mother says, when bad things happen, don't ask the Lord why, ask Him instead what you're supposed to do. And when the fire happened, well, I all the sudden knew exactly what I was supposed to do.

“I thought I would be attending Agnes Scott College, but that's not my place. I'm going back to Chicago, girls. I'll miss you something awful, but I want to study at Moody and sit on the front row pew while Hank tells the kids about salvation.”

Hank, blushing, came over to stand beside me and hold my hand.

Everyone stood up and stretched. Anna and Dellareen went to get drinks for the men, and Mae Pearl said in her soft, sweet voice, “Well, at least your story has a good ending, Mary Dobbs.”

———

I think we loved Coobie back to life. The treatment didn't cure her, but it didn't kill her either, and when the doctor checked her in late May, there wasn't a rasp left in her throat. It could come back—Jackie's had. But it wasn't there then.

Hank's lungs cleared up pretty well, although the doctor said he might get short of breath on occasion.

Hank and all of us Dillards planned to head back to Chicago the next week. Parthenia, with her hands still in bandages, got to wailing as soon as we told her the news.

“Oh, for heaven's sake, quit your hollering!” Coobie told her with a gleam in her eye. “Father says that Frances and I are coming to Atlanta in the fall to go to Washington Seminary.”

Parthenia gave a little yelp of joy and ran over and jumped up into Father's arms and said, “Thank you, sir!” Then she slapped her bandaged hand over her mouth and said, “I's sorry, sir. That ain't the proper way for me to be acting.” But I could tell that Father didn't mind a bit.

Andrew Morrison came to tell me good-bye. He took my hand and said, “I'm gonna miss you, Mary Dobbs. I really am. But you've got yourself a good man.”

“Thank you, Andrew.” That was all I could say.

When it came time to tell my aunt and uncle good-bye, I got all choked up. Even Aunt Josie got tears in her eyes. She held on to Uncle Robert and said, “Mary Dobbs, I'm counting on you to take good care of my baby brother, you hear?”

I don't think that Father had ever really felt worthy of his calling, but when he finally accepted complete forgiveness for his past, well, he accepted other things as well. He agreed to preach at a revival with his classmate from Moody, whose face was plastered all over Chicago. Oh, he and Mother went to the Dust Bowl again. They would always feel called to the poorest, but he did a mighty fine job preaching to a real big crowd—over a thousand—on a humid June 1934 night in Chicago. I know, because I was there with Hank and Mother and Frances and Coobie.

Perri

For so long after Daddy's death, all I had seen was everything I had lost, but gradually, I began to see something entirely different. I had gained God, a protector and provider—just as Dobbs always said—who took all that was hard and wrong and somehow brought about good things in spite of it all. Beauty from ashes, I guess.

I had my dear friend to thank for that.

On the day before Dobbs left for Chicago, I drove out to the Chandlers' and parked the Buick.

“She's down by the lake, Miz Perri,” Parthenia told me.

I ran through the grass, past the new barn and servants' quarters and down the little hill to the lake, that same lake to where I had followed Dobbs on horseback on the first day of our friendship. She was lying on her back and staring up at the blue, blue sky, arms outstretched, as if she were waiting for the Lord God Almighty to pick her up off the ground and carry her to himself.

The sweet smell of tender grass mingled with a sound of water tickling the banks of the lake. I walked over to where she was lying. Her eyes were closed and her hair fell across her face, shielding it from the sun.

I sat down beside her and said, “I'm gonna miss you something awful.”

She turned her head and looked at me. “I know. I can hardly bear to think of it.” She squeezed my hand. “But you'll be up in Chicago for the summer, working with Philip at the World's Fair, and I'll come back to Atlanta from time to time, now that Father's agreed to let Frances and Coobie attend Washington Seminary next year.”

I handed her
Patches from the Sky.
“You take it back to Hank. It's helped me start on the path of grieving, and now that I have the Lord, I'll be okay. We'll all be okay.” I got choked up but managed to say, “I wouldn't have found Him without you, Dobbs.”

“He would have found you, Perri. He always finds His sheep.”

I nodded and whispered, “I can't tell you how thankful I am that we got to be friends.”

“Me too.”

Then Dobbs laid the book in the grass and jumped to her feet and started twirling around and around. She grabbed my hands and pulled me toward her as she backed down the little bank and stepped into the lake. She let go of me and sent an arc of lake water straight into my face. I squealed and splashed into the lake beside her, and for a good long time we swam and laughed there together, getting our pretty summer frocks soaking wet.