Flowers in the Snow (12 page)

Betty’s churning stomach ached with anxiety. Things hadn’t been perfect in Edenville but they’d had a stretch of time where, at least in her life, things had settled down. It was clear that was all about to change.

“You hear that?” one of the boys asked, and they all stopped abruptly. From the sound of it they were no more than ten feet to her left. Closing her eyes she willed her body to cease any type of movement. She even tried to quiet her mind.  

“It was just a bird, stupid. Let’s go. We need to get back and help out with the gasoline. Those crosses aren’t going to burn themselves.”

When their voices trailed far enough away, Betty uncurled her aching legs and began to cry. She rested her cheek on the thick root of the overturned tree when suddenly something caught her eyes. Bursting up through the frost-covered ground were the most vibrant magenta flowers she’d ever seen. The trees had all lost their leaves; the bushes were all void of color. Nothing but cold air existed out here now except this one bunch of flowers. Like a flood of memory sweeping her away, Nate’s words filled her head. She leaned down and plucked one of the flowers from the ground and examined it. Though it was covered in sparkling ice crystals it still thrived vibrantly, defying all Betty knew about nature.

She bolted toward Alma’s house with the flower in hand. It was later than she’d normally be arriving, but she had too much to report to turn back now.

“Winnie,” she whispered as she let herself in the side door. “I’ve got something to show you.”

“What are you doing here so late? We were just sitting down to dinner.” Winnie said, pointing to the table covered with food.

“I’m sorry. I just heard my daddy talking, and I had to come tell you what was happening so you could stay safe. It’s gonna be bad.” Betty tried to catch her breath as she stepped in front of the kitchen fire to warm herself.

“What’s that you’re holding?” Nate asked, peeking out the window at the same time making sure no one was around.

“I was sitting out in the woods hiding from some boys who were passing through. They were talking about the war that’s coming ’round here and all the things they had planned.”

“Did they see you?” Alma asked, looking scared that Betty may have had another run-in with trouble on her way back there.

“They didn’t. But as I sat crouched under this fallen tree I saw this.” Betty stretched the flower out in front of her for them all to see. The light streaming in through the window caught the magenta petals and seemed to sparkle. “Nate, a long time ago when Simpson and I first started coming here I heard you tell Winnie that trying to help us would just break her heart. That loving kids like us in a world like ours was like trying to grow flowers in the snow. And you were right.” Betty stepped closer to them and handed the flower to Winnie. “For a flower to grow in the winter it takes something special. A fortitude that most flowers don’t have. But the ones that do have what it takes are the most beautiful of all. It’s not likely for flowers to grow in the snow, but it’s not impossible.”

Winnie took the flower and brought it to her nose, breathing in the scent. “That’s very poetic,” she said through a quivering voice.

“I hope you know I’ve always wanted you and Simpson here,” Nate said, standing and putting an arm around his wife. “It’s never been a matter of me wanting you to leave.”

“I know that,” Betty said earnestly. “I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to thank you both for what you’ve done for me. I didn’t bring that, implying any of it’s been easy. I don’t know another couple of souls in the world who’d have let us keep coming back here. And I know we wouldn’t have grown into anything without you.”

“You’re about to get the waterworks going here,” Winnie chuckled as she used the corner of her apron to wipe her eyes.

“What’s the news you came to tell us?” Nate asked, looking concerned as he squeezed Winnie’s waist a little tighter. “Do they have some plan?”

“That’s the problem, I don’t think they have anything specific. If they did you could steer clear. The only rule they’re going by is the idea of starting a war. It could be anywhere. It could be anyone.” Betty slipped her hat off her head and tucked it under her arm. “So I guess the question is, what’s our plan?”

“Why is it every time I want my hair to curl it goes straight, and every time I try to make it straight it curls?” Betty asked her mother as she stepped out of the bathroom wearing her dress. She finally felt like she could fill something out in a way that made it clear she was a woman.

The ivy green sheath hugged Betty’s curves tighter than any clothes she’d ever worn. The chocolate brown belt was an afterthought her mother had slipped on her. Bell sleeves with lace trim was the latest fashion, and Betty was shocked her conservative mother had allowed it in her design. She certainly didn’t follow the same lead when it came to the length of the dress. Most girls these days were showing much more than knee, but Betty wouldn’t be tonight.

“I bought you some flowers,” her mother said with a smile as she pinned a small corsage to Betty’s dress. Stepping back, her mother took stock of Betty with a sparkle in her eye. “You look very pretty. I think your hair is perfect.”

It was so out of character for her mother to deliver a compliment that Betty couldn’t hide the surprise she was feeling.  “Thank you for making this dress, Mama. Is everything all right?”

“I know you’ve been spending all your time out on the west side with that black teacher and her family,” she said, looking Betty square in the eye.

“I-I . . . um,” Betty stuttered, but her mother quieted her instantly with a wave of her hand.

“Don’t lie. I’m not angry.”

“You’re not? But Daddy—”

“Your daddy isn’t ever gonna know. He can’t.”

“But how did you know? Why aren’t you upset?” Betty had feared this moment for years but never expected it would go this way.

“I’ve known for a little while now. I haven’t said anything to anyone, especially your daddy. Since I found out, I’ve been doing a lot of thinking. The world’s a complicated place, and everyone deserves somewhere to go where they can feel like themselves. After I thought about it for a while, it made me sad you had to go looking for that somewhere else. I’m sorry you don’t feel like this house is a place for you.”

“It’s not that, Mama,” Betty said, trying to dull the hurt her mother must be feeling. “We just see things differently that’s all. You and Daddy—”

“Please don’t lump me in with him. I’ve done my share of bad things in my life but, I can tell you, the last few years have opened my eyes to plenty. Not everything is the way your Daddy says it is.” She wiped away a stray tear. Betty knew exactly how hard it was for her mother to admit that. She’d spent years idolizing and praising her husband. To see him as anything less than a god among men must have been an earth-shattering revelation for her. “But I suppose you figured that out long before I did.”

“What are you saying, Mama? You don’t agree with the Klan? You don’t agree with Daddy?” Betty felt a small glimmer of hope that maybe she and her mother could be on the same side of something for once.

“It doesn’t matter what I think. My time to speak up has passed by already. I’m your father’s wife. I’ve got my place in all this, and there isn’t much I can do. But you, I can see you’re trying to be different. Different is the hardest thing to be sometimes.”  She leaned in and adjusted the flowers she’d pinned to Betty’s dress. “You deserve better than what you’ve gotten so far. I can’t do much, but I can show you in little ways that I see you. I see what you’re doing.”

It felt as though she were falling just short of saying she was proud, but to Betty it was close enough. The last few years her mother had grown quieter when it came to her father’s rants. Rather than chiming in, she tended to busy herself with other things. Until now Betty hadn’t tuned in to the change.

“What do I do, Mama?” Betty asked, crumpling into her mother’s arms. It was a question she’d been dying to ask for so long. No matter how their relationship had unfolded over those years, there was never a moment Betty hadn’t hoped she and her mother could find something to bring them together and somehow fix all of this for her with some advice and a hug.

“Beatrice, just keep being yourself. It’s brave. I envy that about you. Go tonight; have fun. Stay out of your daddy’s way, and wait for things to get better.”

“What if they don’t? It sounds like something is about to happen in Edenville. Everyone is talking about it.” Betty’s nerves boiled back to the surface as she realized her mother couldn’t actually fix anything.

“It might not be today, sweetheart, but right will win out. It always does.”

“What changed your mind, Mama? I have to know.” Betty prayed for something profound, some moment that would make all the pieces of her understanding make sense.

“There was no one thing, just lots of small ones. I started catching more of the news. I started really listening in church. I started listening to you. I’m not saying I want to go pick up a sign and join the protest. It’s not all cut and dry like that. But your secret is safe with me.” She looked down at her wrist and checked her watch. “You look absolutely stunning. Go make the boys regret not being nicer to you.”

Betty slipped on the low-heeled shoes her mother had let her borrow and pulled on her pretty coat. As she made her way toward the school she couldn’t help but smile so wide her cheeks ached. Nothing was all that different yet somehow everything was.

“Betty?” Simpson asked with wide eyes as she stepped through the double doors of the school gymnasium. “You look . . . I mean you don’t even look like you.”

“Um, thanks, I guess,” Betty scoffed as she adjusted one of the pins holding her hair in place.

“I just mean I’ve never seen you in a dress like that before or with makeup. You look really pretty.” Simpson tried to correct himself.

“Pretty and not like myself at all. You might want to work on those compliments. Not that it matters anyway. I’ll be the only one here without a date. All dressed up for no reason.”

Simpson broke into a smile that told Betty he knew something she didn’t, and that was always scary. “You’re not exactly the only person here without a date. Stan’s date stood him up. She got the chicken pox or something. Stan is here alone, too.”

“Don’t you dare,” Betty commanded, pointing a finger in his face.

Before Betty could grab him, Simpson was darting off. A few seconds later he returned with his younger brother, moping behind him.

“This is Stan,” Simpson said with a grin. “You guys must see each other around school and stuff; you’re only a grade apart. I figure since I’m stuck with Margaret all night and neither of you have a date you might as well keep each other company.” The smirk on Simpson’s face was mischievous but sweet.

Trying to dodge any protest, Simpson disappeared into the crowd gathering by the punch bowl.

“I’m sorry,” Betty said, trying to find something in the room worth staring at other than Stan. Simpson had been right; she’d seen him around school plenty and while he didn’t hassle her, he didn’t pay any attention to her either.

“What are you sorry for?” Stan asked, furrowing his brows and running his hand through his reddish brown hair, a sharp contrast to Simpson’s dark shaggy mop. Otherwise they shared a lot of features. The almond-shaped eyes that wrinkled at the edges when they smiled and the cavernous dimples at the side of their cheeks were nearly identical.

“I’m sorry Simpson stuck you with me. It won’t hurt my feelings if you go over with your friends instead.” Betty continued to seem distracted, but really she was avoiding Stan’s blue eyes.

“Why would I do that when there is a beautiful girl like you right here? I should be the one apologizing.” The compliment rolled off his tongue so smoothly Betty nearly missed it. Forget being called beautiful, just the fact that someone was being nice to her was new.

“I don’t understand,” she shot back, finally turning to face him head-on. “If you care anything about your reputation, you won’t be seen over here with me.”

“My reputation was wrecked plenty by most of my brothers who came before me. I know what Nicky did to your hair a couple years back. I’m not like that, but I can see why you wouldn’t want spend time with his kin. I wouldn’t blame you.” Stan ran his hand over his short red hair again.

“My hair grew back.” Betty shrugged, trying to make Stan feel less uncomfortable with the gene pool he was forced to share. She’d seen what it had done to Simpson over the years, so she knew Stan likely dealt with much of the same guilt by association.

“It grew back beautifully. I really like the way you have it up like that.”

“Thanks,” Betty murmured with a blush as she peeked over Stan’s shoulder. “It looks like Margaret has her hooks in Simpson now.”

“That’s who we should feel bad for. I’d hate to be stuck with Moody Margaret for a night. I’m going to owe him big.” Stan laughed.

“He said he owes you pretty big for helping him get the job on the farm. It keeps him really busy,” Betty said, forgetting for a moment Stan wouldn’t know how friendly she and Simpson were.

“I learned pretty early on if I didn’t want to be like my daddy and my brothers, then I’d have to be busy. Simpson and I make money and give it to our daddy. It’s like paying him to leave us alone. I’ve still had to do plenty of stuff I’m not proud of and listen to things I don’t agree with, but for the most part my hands are clean.” Stan gestured for Betty to follow him to a couple chairs against the wall.

“You ever think about doing more? Trying to change things for real?” Betty smoothed her dress flat as she sat and crossed her legs at the ankles. She wondered if Simpson’s recent activist chatter was rubbing off on his brother or if she was one of the only people he told.

“With a family like mine that’d be a death sentence. Me being dead doesn’t really help anyone. That’s what I figure anyway. I just try to do no harm, even if I can’t fix things.”

“But you believe in equality?” Betty pressed.

“You really are the way people talk about you, aren’t you? You want to make waves?” Stan flashed his crystal eyes as he looked her up and down trying to get a read.

“I don’t want to make waves, I want the sea to be calm. I want everyone to be able to swim.” Betty straightened her back in the chair as though she were readying for a challenge. She didn’t speak out often these days; there wasn’t a point, but she felt like he had the wrong idea about her.

“Wow,” Stan dropped his eyes from her and bit at his thumbnail, “I’ve never met anyone like you.”

“That’s because it’s hard being someone like me. It’s lonely.” She hadn’t meant to sound so depressing, but sometimes that’s just what the truth was.

“I’ll be your friend.” Stan shrugged, as though it were no big deal. But Betty knew he wasn’t thinking it through.

“But everyone would—” Betty began to explain, but Stan cut her off by hopping to his feet.

“Let’s dance. I was practicing for that other girl I was supposed to come here with. Now I’m glad she got the chicken pox.” Reaching out his hand like a fairy-tale prince he patiently waited while Betty scanned his expression for sarcasm or a prank. When she was satisfied he meant what he was saying, she placed her hand in his, and they stepped out onto the dance floor.

When his hand touched her waist she felt her heart leap into her throat. They began to move slowly in a circle, nothing fancy, as he led her through the dance.

“I like this song,” Betty whispered as she swallowed back her nerves.

Stan pulled her in another inch as he leaned his chin against her temple. “Is there music playing?” he asked gently. “I can’t hear anything or see anything but you.”

“That’s good because I’m sure by now everyone is staring. I’m sure your friends are plotting a way to embarrass us by now.”

“I can’t see anything but you,” Stan repeated and Betty shook her head slightly in agreement. Pulling her in the rest of the way Stan’s hand slipped to her back and she rested her head on his shoulder.

If only it could be like this forever.