The Woods at Barlow Bend (21 page)

Epilogue

Granny told me her
story at her dining room table in 1993. I’ve changed some names and filled in a lot of the details with my imagination, but the basic facts remain true: Addie’s death and the suspicions that followed, Hubbard’s trial, his second and third marriages, the baby buried in Frisco City, the responsibility placed on Hattie’s, my grandmother’s, shoulders after Addie’s death, and the love she shared with Gordon. Hattie’s spirit, her ability to keep moving forward when others may have crumbled under the weight of grief is true. In my heart, that is her legacy.

My grandmother, Hattie, died Easter Sunday, 1996. At Granny’s
funeral, Mariah, Mittie’s daughter, approached one of my aunts. Mariah told my aunt that her family didn’t hold any hard feelings toward Granny’s family anymore. According to Mariah, the Lowmans had forgiven Hubbard for whatever happened in the woods at Barlow Bend. Maybe they did, and maybe they didn’t. I think some people stay with you your whole life. Some events are never really in the past. Some wounds never completely heal.

Now
, I carry Granny with me everywhere I go. Every time my husband and I move to a new town or into a new house, she is with me. When I stand over the stove in my kitchen, she is there. When friends or family push me to my limit, I remember what she taught me. Granny taught me to love without fail. I guess that’s what grandmothers are supposed to do: spoil their grandchildren with love. They are supposed to make cookies and take you to the beach and tell you ghost stories. I think mine was really good at all the grandma stuff.

Granny still loves me without fail.
Every couple of years since Granny died, I dream about her. The setting of the dream is always the same. Granny sits at her dining room table in her housedress, slippers, and nearly white curls. She does not appear to me as the teenage girl from Frisco City, confused by the tragic circumstances that marked the end of her childhood. She appears as I knew her: a kind, old woman weathered from decades of humid, sunny days in her garden, forever at the ready with homemade treats and stories. In the dream, we sit at her table and catch up over cups of black coffee. We play her old records: Marion Harris, the Supremes, and Bing Crosby. She tells me about heaven and that she is at peace. She tells me not to worry about her. I tell her about my life, the adventures I’ve chosen and the adventures I didn’t choose, but she always seems to know my stories as if she was witness to each one.

Recently
in one of my dreams, we were joined by two more cups of coffee, thick and strong, one belonging to Addie and the other to Hubbard. The four of us, my three ghosts and I, sat together sipping coffee and swapping stories. I looked into the faces of my constant companions fully aware that these are the ghosts I will carry with me to each new town, each new temporary home. Sitting at the table, I promised Granny that I would remember their lessons, the good and the bad. Addie asked me if I like my life, if my adventures are fulfilling and carried out on my own terms. Granny smiled at me because she knew the answer would be yes. She's made sure the answer will always be yes.

Jodie Cain Smith currently resides in Columbia, South Carolina with her husband Jay.  Her columns and feature articles have appeared in 
Chicken Soup for the Military Spouse's Soul, The Savannah Morning News, The Fort Hood Sentinel,
 and on her blog, 
thequeendom.org
.

To learn more, visit her website at
jodiecainsmith.com
.