Flowers in the Snow (14 page)

Winnie once said grief was the last connection you have to someone. The deeper the love shared the more cavernous the grief. The days after Simpson’s death were a testimony to Betty’s love for him. She fell into an impossibly deep darkness. It was like having an abundance of love with nowhere to put it anymore.

True to her word, Simpson’s mother had ensured there had been no funeral. The promise of the FBI had been a hollow one. A rumor that failed to come true. In fact nothing had changed in the immediate wake of all the murders. The media arrived and left, moving on to something more pressing somewhere else. Their tragedy was plowed under by another. It seemed unimaginable that any catastrophe could overshadow what happened in Edenville, but there were things happening all over the country that were as pressing but fresher.  In Betty’s heart this was a travesty of epic proportions, and it saddened her to imagine it was just a drop in the ocean of heartbreak across the country. 

“You’ll need to eat something eventually,” Betty’s mother whispered. Sweeping a warm hand against Betty’s cool forehead she brushed her bangs from her eyes. “If you don’t I’ll have to fetch the doctor again. They may put you in the hospital. We don’t want that. Your daddy wants you back on your feet before people start talking. Just have a little soup.”

Betty closed her eyes and rolled to her side, turning her back on her mother. She hadn’t started out angry, but that’s exactly where she found herself now. Raging inside, she couldn’t fight the distain she felt for her father’s violence and her mother’s complacency. For the way all of Edenville had failed their children.

“I’m not bluffing you,” her mother reiterated. “I’m going to fetch the doctor if you haven’t eaten that soup by the next time I come up. You don’t want me to send your daddy up.” Her mother’s show of warmth the other day was quick to evaporate. That’s what happens when something doesn’t run deep; it’s swift to disappear under the heat of reality.

A knock at the front door caused Betty to pull her blanket up to her chin, closing it like a cocoon around her.

“I’ll go see who it is,” her mother groaned as she slipped out of Betty’s bedroom door. “Eat something.”

A few minutes later she heard a light tap that let her know whoever had knocked on the front door was there to see her.

“Betty?” Stan asked gingerly. “Your mama said you weren’t really up for company, but I have something to tell you.”

“What is it?” Betty asked, not bothering to turn over. “What could you possibly tell me that would make me feel any better?”

“I never said it would make you feel better. I just said I had to tell you something. I can’t even make myself feel better.” Stan stepped in and leaned against her wall.

At the thought of his pain, in what they both must be feeling, she decided to roll over. The thought that misery loved company was a hollow one. Stan’s eyes, red from crying, did not make Betty feel better. “I’m sorry. I just can’t believe he’s gone. I have so much left to tell him,” she croaked.

“Me too,” Stan admitted as he rubbed at the muscle in his neck. “I just keep thinking I’ll wake up, and he’ll be back on the top bunk in our room. He was the best of my brothers and he’s gone. I think he could have really done something in this world, but now we’ll never know.”

“I’ll always wonder what he would have grown up to be,” Betty sighed as she pulled herself up to a sitting position. Her entire body ached with grief, and her chest felt like it might cave in.

“I’ve got to tell you about your friend Winnie,” Stan said biting nervously at the inside of his cheek.

“I already know she got home safe. Simpson saved her life. I got word yesterday. I haven’t gone down there yet because I can’t bear to face them.” Betty wiped at the corners of her stinging eyes with the rough edge of her blanket. “Plus my daddy, he’s—”

“You saved her too. I saw you dive in front of those two guys so she could get away. Don’t forget all the stuff you’ve done.” Stan looked earnestly at her as though he was proud of her sacrifice. She wasn’t. She’d been spared and the more time that went by the more she wished she hadn’t been. Maybe being in heaven with Simpson would be better than this hell on earth.

“It won’t make a difference when I go down there. I’m sure they’ve already gotten word about Simpson too. They’re probably beside themselves. I know I didn’t tell you this, but Simpson and Alma, they liked each other. She’s had a crush on him for years. He told me just that night he liked her back. She must be a wreck. Tomorrow, maybe tomorrow, I’ll go down there if I can sneak away.”

“You can’t,” Stan whispered with sharp pain in his eyes. “They aren’t there. They left.”

“What do you mean they left? Where would they go?” Betty felt a vice closing on her heart.

“I went this morning to check on them. I wanted to tell them you were all right, in case they hadn’t heard, and break the news about Simpson if it hadn’t made its way to them. When I got there the place was empty. One of the neighbors told me they left in the middle of the night, and they weren’t coming back. Not ever.” Stan drew in a deep breath, readying himself for Betty’s reaction to the bad news he was dumping on her.

“No, you’re wrong. You probably went to the wrong house or something. They wouldn’t leave. Winnie promised me I’d always have a place to go, no matter what. Alma swore we’d be best friends for the rest of our lives. They wouldn’t leave me. They wouldn’t just leave me here all alone.” Betty shook her head adamantly. She felt the urge to strike out at Stan who was timidly moving closer to her.

“They did. They’re gone. But they left this note for you. The neighbor asked me to make sure you got it.” Stan pulled a folded piece of paper out of his pocket and tried to hand it to Betty.

“I don’t want that,” she barked, slapping his hand away so hard it stung her palm.  “I don’t want a letter from them. I don’t want an explanation. I want—I want—” Betty folded over onto herself and began to sob. “I want to go with them. I want to be wherever they are. One night and I’m alone again.”

“You’re not alone. I’m here. I’ll be your friend. I promise. This isn’t over. I’m not going sit around and do nothing. Edenville is going to change. I’m going to make it change.” Stan slammed his fist into his hand, and Betty jumped at the edge in his voice.

“Don’t you get it, that’s why they killed him? He tried to do what’s right and they murdered him. You want to end up the same way?” Betty stared at him through tear-blurred eyes and waited for him to agree with her.

“The only thing in the world I want is to have my brother back, but if I can’t, I’ll be damned if I let him die for nothing. People are going to know my name. They’re going to listen to me. You can help me; we can do it together.” Stan stepped forward again and looked oddly hopeful.

“Are you crazy?” she asked in breathy exasperation. “How do you suppose we go about that?”

“What they did, the people they killed, that can’t be swept under the rug. People in town are disgusted by it. They’re fed up with being afraid of the Klan. There’s a minister from Arkansas who’s coming here next week. He’s bringing a large group with him.”

“So what? They’ve done that in other parts of the country, and it’s just more bloodbath.” Betty wanted to slap Stan across the face just in hopes of getting reality to sink in to him again.

“He’s white. The people coming with him are white. They’ve made a difference in other parts of the country. The media follows them. They have the numbers. I want to be a part of that.” Stan’s face was crimson with a fierce determination.

“It’s not going to bring Simpson back. You know that, right? Nothing we do will bring him back.” Betty’s voice was soft not wanting to deliver the blow that could break his fragile heart.

“I know,” Stan conceded staring down at his shoes. “And reading this note won’t make your friends being gone any less real. I’m sorry they left you. But at least you get a little piece of them to say goodbye to. I wish I had that from Simpson.”

Betty grabbed the paper Stan shoved toward her again. When she unfolded it, some pressed flower petals dropped out. She recognized them instantly as the flowers she’d brought to Winnie earlier that week. The ones that had managed to survive in the snow.

My dearest sweet Betty,

I know I’ve broken my promise to you, and I’m eternally sorry. There is nothing I can say right now that will mend the fractures in your heart. And worse than that, I know our leaving has made your sorrow even deeper. I’ll never forgive myself for that even if someday you do. To leave you in a time like this was an impossible choice but one I had to make.

Please know if you feel alone it’s not true. Our love will be with you everywhere you go and in everything you do. Hold us as close as you will Simpson’s memory for both were forged in the deepest love.

You will survive this, Betty. It won’t be easy. Right now you’re in the middle of the kind of heartbreak that is bone deep. It will come in waves and you’ll want to drown in it. You’ll promise yourself you won’t cry, and then you’ll break that promise a million times. But someday it will change. Your heart will begin to see vibrant colors again. Because grief is not a place to stay, it’s a doorway to pass through.

I don’t have the words to make you feel better. And I don’t have arms that can reach you. But I have a heart that will always hold a place for you. And I hope there is a place in yours for us. There might be days it feels too painful to remember what we all shared, but I hope you realize the love we have is too amazing to forget.

I saw you throw yourself down to save me. That image will be seared in my mind for the remainder of my life. There will never be a day we don’t think of you and speak your name in our house wherever that ends up being.

If the world is ever different, if the grace of God allows, we will see each other again someday. Until then find a way to rise above. Remember everything I ever taught you, because I will remember all you’ve taught me.

With the deepest love,

Your family—Winnie, Nate, and Alma.

Betty hadn’t felt like she was ready to change the world. Surely she hadn’t been prepared to do so. But ironically, not being able to hear Winnie’s voice anymore made the words she’d spoken in the past resound powerfully in Betty’s mind. She was far more equipped for battle than she realized.

When taking up a picket sign felt terrifying, she remembered Winnie saying it doesn’t matter what you say you’d do, it only matters what you actually get up and do. So she got up and did it. As did Stan. When it was time to sit out all night on the cold concrete with hundreds of other students who were willing to face the Klan, she remembered Winnie telling her change never came from a comfortable place. When she was spat on, shoved, threatened, and afraid, she remembered it was hate causing all this pain, and throughout history hate had yet to win.

On the days she wasn’t sure she could go on fighting for what she believed, a whisper would pass across her ear, letting her knew she wasn’t alone. The changes did come. The world did start to see. Not all at once. Not without more violence. But a drop in the ocean still adds water.

“Rumor has it the FBI has rounded up two hundred Klan members in Mississippi. That’s where my family went. I wonder if any of them were arrested,” Stan said as he poured Betty another glass of sweet tea.

“I heard they’re labeling them as terrorists now. It’s about time,” Betty agreed, passing the newspaper across the table to him. “Have you heard anything from your family since they left?”

“Not a word. I doubt I ever will. If the Jeffrey family here hadn’t taken me in, I don’t know where I’d be. But I sure as hell wasn’t going with them.” Stan and Betty spent most afternoons sitting out on the porch of the family who’d been kind enough to let Stan stay with them so he could finish high school in Edenville. The less time she spent at home the better. Her father’s power in the world was evaporating while hers was growing stronger. That tipped the scales to an uncomfortable level and made their already awkward house even more so. Staying away was the best she could do.

“I’m glad you didn’t go.” Betty smiled. “Going on without you would have been impossible.”

“You’re making me blush,” he joked as he rolled his eyes. “There was no chance I was leaving you. No chance I ever will. Have you given any thought to what you’ll be doing after you graduate next week? I know you’ve heard from a couple colleges, but you never told me your plans.”

“I’ve been waiting.” Betty shrugged and gave a coy smile.

“Waiting for what? To break my heart?” Stan asked, protectively covering his chest with his hands.

“For you to give me a reason to stay.” Betty laughed.

* * * *

“Wait—wait—wait . . .”

Jules waved her hands frantically, sending Frankie shooting up off her mother’s lap. “This is too much. I can’t even . . .” Jules glared at her mother as though she were trying to ensure she was telling the truth.

“Are we hearing this right?” Bobby asked scratching his head. “Are you saying that Stan, your first husband and Jules’s dad, is the boy you’re talking about in your story? He’s Simpson’s brother? That’s how you fell in love?”

“Yes,” Betty said simply. She’d anticipated this revelation would be met with shock and suspected Jules may be feeling even a bit angry.

Jules’s mouth was wide open as she tried to process the information coming her way. “Ma, I’m in my thirties. How in the world did I not know my father was one of eight boys? How did I not know his brother was killed right here in town. How could you keep this story from me?” There was a nip of annoyance in her voice.

“Your father didn’t consider those people his family, therefore they weren’t your family. They all moved out of Edenville and never looked back. As for Simpson, that story has more layers than can be summed up so quickly. I was always afraid to peel back any of it for fear of spilling it all out.” Betty swallowed back the urge to tell Jules it felt impossible before this moment to even speak their names.

“He was my uncle. His blood spilled right here, somewhere I probably walk on a regular basis, and you couldn’t even tell me?” Jules looked to Michael for backup, but he stayed quiet.

“This was one of the darkest moments of my life that happened in a place and with people I’ve remained around to this day. I walk by those memories all the time. I look people in the eye every day who lived that story with me. It’s my cross to bear, please don’t tell me how I should have carried it.” Betty felt her cheeks burning but beat back her growing frustration as she tried to see her daughter’s point.

“I’ve grown up my whole life hearing next to nothing about any of my extended family. I don’t know much about your parents. I don’t know a thing about my father’s family. I feel like you’ve been hiding it from me for all these years. I could have helped you. I could have listened a long time ago.”

“That’s good, dear, but I couldn’t have talked about it a long time ago. I’m sorry you’ve lived without knowing any of this or anything about your roots. That wasn’t fair of me, but know that my reasons for keeping it from you weren’t malicious. It was self-preservation. I just couldn’t,” Betty said fighting a rush of emotion.

Jules rushed toward her looking instantly apologetic. “No I’m sorry, Ma. I’m being stupid. It’s just so much to take in. I’m sitting listening to your story, crying about this boy who died a hero and then to hear he’s my father’s brother just hit me hard. I have so many questions. Is this why Daddy became a police officer? Did you ever see Winnie, Nate, or Alma again?”

“Well there is a bit more to the story,” Betty admitted as she glanced around the porch to see if everyone was still interested. Judging by their expressions, they certainly were.

“You obviously reconnected with them since you’ve been in contact through the letters,” Michael deduced, looking completely intrigued.

“That’s where the story gets interesting.” Betty grinned.

“How could it possibly get any more interesting?” Frankie asked, shaking her head in disbelief.

“Wait, I need to know more,” Jules begged, touching her mother’s hand gently. “Can you answer some questions for me?”

“Of course. I think I owe you at least that.” Betty tucked her daughter’s hair back and caressed her cheek.

“Your parents. They died when I was little. I don’t remember them. Did anything change? Did you make peace with them?” It broke Betty’s heart to watch her daughter reeling from the truth of the past. Like always Betty felt it her job to ease the pain in her daughter’s heart. Luckily she had a bit of something to do it with.

“My mother died very suddenly of an aneurysm. It came as a shock, and sadly, she and I never really had a chance to connect the way I’d hoped. When you were born she was happy; she was a good grandmother to you. It’s important you know that. She rocked you and sang to you. She loved you deeply. She loved me too. But sometimes the only way to go on is to accept the apology you never get. That’s how I got to a place with my mother that I could be with my mother and not feel angry.” Betty hoped that Jules, who normally didn’t suffer fools, would be able to accept this. It became clear she couldn’t.

“How can that be? How could she not be proud of you, or if she was, how could she be such a coward she couldn’t tell you? I can’t believe I’m descended from this woman. I can’t believe you are. If she were here now I’d give her a piece of my mind,” Jules roared as she clenched her hands into fists.

“Child, like I’ve been saying since you were a toddler, I appreciate your zeal, but your little head is gonna pop off your shoulders if you don’t calm down. My mother was flawed, but so am I, and so are you. Maybe all in different ways but it’s unavoidable. My mother loved me. I know that for sure even if she couldn’t tell me. I don’t hold a grudge about it.”

“I do,” Jules snipped but quieted when Betty nodded over to Frankie who was watching this unfold like a television drama. “Maybe we should talk about it later.”

“I think Grammy’s right,” Frankie interjected. “Things were different back then, and I’m glad she’s not my mama, but she’s still a part of our family. I forgive her.”

“I’m taking credit for that part of you,” Michael joked and everyone but Jules snickered. “This is a lot of information Jules. I’m not saying it’s easy but what’s done is done.”

Jules rolled her eyes and shook her head in frustration. “Excuse me for being bothered that my roots are made of what I view as despicable people.”

Piper, always one to try to cut the tension jumped in. “I’m sure most people can look back on their family tree and find one unhappy surprise or another. What’s really important is what came out of that. You should be very proud of your mother. I know I am.”

“Thank you dear, but I did hardly anything compared to what some did. People were severely injured or killed, protesting and marching,” Betty said, shooing away all the admiration. It wasn’t the point of the story, and she didn’t want everyone to get lost in that.

“What about your dad?” Jules asked, her face still twisted up in anger. She was looking for someone to blame.

“When I married your father he didn’t come. He didn’t walk me down the aisle, and he didn’t shake Stan’s hand. When we bought our first house, he didn’t come see it. He never stepped foot in it actually. We never discussed anything besides the weather and other pointless things.” Before Betty could continue Jules cut in.

“Bastard,” she muttered and then covered her mouth quickly and looked down at her daughter.

“Mommy, don’t say curse words,” Frankie scolded.

“At least let me finish,” Betty insisted and gestured for Jules to go sit back down. “On the day you were born I didn’t expect to see him in the hospital. He’d stayed away from every big moment in my life before that so why should this be any different? By this time the Klan had disbanded, and civil rights had spread far and wide, making huge changes in the world. I no longer needed his validation. I’d found happiness without him.

“You were a pain in the ass even back then, and after delivering you I needed some rest. While you were in the nursery I fell asleep. A little while later I woke up, and my daddy was sitting in the chair next to my bed. He told me everyone else had gone down to look at the baby. He looked so uncomfortable sitting there alone with me. I felt bad for him. I was still a little groggy, and I think he could see that. Maybe that’s why he took the opportunity to actually talk to me.”

“What did he say?” Jules asked, looking like she’d already written him off as an unredeemable waste of space.

“I remember him fiddling around with a pocket watch he had. It had been chained in his pocket since my first memories of him. He pulled it out and let it spin around until it settled and dangled in front of his face. He told me his daddy had given it to him, and his daddy before him had handed it down too. It was a piece of our family. He laughed when he told me he wished I were a boy, because he always imaged handing this watch down to his son. Now since I had a girl too, he’d have to wait for a grandson to hand it to. I actually apologized, though I think it was just the fog of exhaustion speaking.

He went quiet for a few moments before swallowing hard. I’ll never forget the look in his eyes as he spoke. It was the most honest I’d ever seen him. With shaking hands he tucked the watch away and told me he got a lot more handed down to him from his dad and his grandfather. His beliefs, his temper, and his hood were all things he thought he’d hand down some day too. If he’d had a boy, surely he would have.”

“So you’re sitting there, you’ve just delivered me, and he’s blaming you for not being a boy and for not having a boy?” Jules looked at Michael for support, but he just rubbed her shoulder and encouraged her to keep listening.

“So my daddy went on, staring at the ceiling while he spoke. It’s a good thing, he said as he nodded his head, that I’d been a girl. Maybe it was time to stop handing some of this stuff down. Maybe it was better that way. With that he stood and left. I closed my eyes, smiled, and went back to sleep.” Betty watched as everyone on the porch seemed to soften a bit. That was what she was hoping for. She’d come a long way in putting her past behind her; she wasn’t trying to make everyone upset about it.

“I guess that’s something,” Jules conceded.

“How did he die?” Bobby asked, his inquisitive police brain always churning through the details.

“Pneumonia, after a bout of the flu,” Betty explained. “I sat with him in the hospital for four days, watching his chest rise and fall with labored breaths. He was in and out of consciousness. The poor guy, I finally had him trapped.” Betty let out a breathy laugh though she was alone in it.

“What do you mean?” Clay asked, leaning forward to see his wife’s face.

“I mean he couldn’t go anywhere. He just had to sit there and listen to me talk about how I forgave him, how much I loved him, and I was sorry.”

“What were you sorry for?” Frankie asked, eyeing her grandmother skeptically. 

“If I forgot about everything else happening in the world, if I didn’t take right and wrong into the equation, I still disappointed my father. I still hurt him over the years. I couldn’t be the child he hoped for, and a part of me was sorry for that. If I didn’t take my opportunity to tell him, I’d still be living with the burden of that today.”