The Swan House (56 page)

So was this just one more selfish petition from spoiled Mary Swan? Ella Mae didn't seem one bit afraid of surgery or of dying.

Bible in hand, I left the
atelier
, climbing the steps to my room. I didn't know how to read the Bible, but Miss Abigail had told me to start with the gospels. I changed into my pajamas and got into bed. Then, since I'd already read a little of the gospel of St. John, I decided I'd begin with it. I found the page number listed in the table of contents and turned to it in the New Testament. I read until my eyes grew heavy, read it the way I read poetry for Mrs. Alexander's class, all snuggled under my covers. In fact, the gospel of John reminded me of some of the literature I'd been studying, filled with imagery and metaphors. Beautiful things that Jesus said, and shocking, hard things as well.

What struck me the most as I read through those chapters was all the names Jesus gave to himself. He said He was the Light of the World, the Bread of Life, the Living Water, the True Vine, the Good Shepherd, the Way, the Truth, and the Life. And every time I read one of those names, my heart got this feeling of hope inside. Toasty, cuddle-up-and-let-yourself-be-hugged kind of hope. Better than a kiss from Robbie or a hug from Carl or an afternoon with Daddy. Hope.

I didn't quite get to the end of the gospel because my eyes were too heavy, but I did go back and read one verse right before I fell asleep. It was something Jesus told His disciples, and it reminded me of Ella Mae.
“Let not your heart be troubled: ye believe in God, believe
also in me. In my Father's house are many mansions: if it were not so, I
would have told you. I go to prepare a place for you. And if I go and prepare
a place for you, I will come again, and receive you unto myself; that where
I am, there may ye be also.”
And a few lines farther down, He said,
“I
am the way, the truth, and the life: no man cometh unto the Father, but by
me.”

There was the verse where Jesus said He was the truth. That made sense to me and went hand in hand with the other verse about the truth making me free. But as I fell asleep, it was the verse about the mansions that comforted me most. Jesus was preparing a place for us. At least Ella Mae was right about that. One way or another, she was going to be with Him.

Chapter 26

G
od must have heard my prayers and those of a lot of other people, because Ella Mae survived the surgery. The surgeon couldn't remove the whole twisting mass of the tumor, but he got a large part of it, and it took him almost seven hours. Ella Mae stayed in intensive care for a week with no one allowed to visit her but family. I wanted to tell those doctors and nurses at Grady Hospital that Ella Mae was part of
my
family, that she was like my second mother and since my real mother was dead, well, couldn't I please go to visit, but Daddy said no. I think he did go down there nearly every day and talk to Roy and the doctors. He never told me how bad it was, but he said things like, “She's way too weak to see anyone. She's gonna need a lot of time to recover. Give her time,” so that Jimmy and I got the distinct feeling that she was not out of danger yet.

When I got home from school on Wednesday, I let Muffin into the house. He jumped up on me ecstatically, licking my hands. “Down, boy!” I commanded, irritated. I needed another living presence in the house. Jimmy was at basketball practice and wouldn't be home for another hour. The house was too big without Ella Mae. I wandered into the breakfast room, set my books down on the oak table, and grabbed an apple from off the fruit platter in the center of the table. But I had no appetite.

I toyed briefly with the idea of starting my French homework, but memorizing irregular verbs did nothing to lift my mood. I scratched Muffin behind the ears and thought about the Mardi Gras skit. We had titled it “The Menace in Venice,” and all the parts had been assigned today. I was to be the narrator. Everyone agreed I had the perfect voice for it. We had daily rehearsals scheduled all this week and next. Plus, I knew I needed to talk to Mrs. Alexander. I needed to tell her the whole story of the Dare and what I'd found out. Surely she would be sympathetic.

“But it's such a silly, stupid skit,” I said out loud to no one. “Who cares about some love story in Venice when Ella Mae is lying there in the hospital?” Muffin cocked his head the way dogs do and lifted his ears, trying to understand. “Dear God,” I mumbled into the empty kitchen. “I feel so confused, so afraid, so disappointed. The snow and my prayer and Carl's words seem so far away. Why does life have to just keep going? Why can't it stop and give a few hints now and then, so that I can be prepared? I'm so afraid for Ella Mae.”

The jangling of the phone startled me. When I answered, I was dumbfounded to hear Miss Abigail's voice on the other end of the line. “Mary Swan, dear, how are you?”

“Fine. Fine, I guess.” I wasn't about to tell her I'd just been carrying on a monologue with the Almighty. “Did you hear about Ella Mae?”

“Yes, of course. I've been to the hospital. No visitors yet. I know you're worried.”

“Scared to death. She can't die, Miss Abigail.”

“We're all praying that she'll get well. The surgeon seems to think there's reason to hope.” Silence. “I called for another reason too. I wanted to say that I'm sorry I put you in that dangerous position on Saturday at the Murphys' house. It wasn't very wise of me, I'm afraid.”

“It's okay. I think I understand more about your life now. How are the kids?”

“They went back home today. Mr. Murphy seems very repentant. Time will tell.” Miss Abigail cleared her throat. “Mary Swan, Carl mentioned something about you going into the church after the incident at the Murphys'. . . .”

“Yeah, I figured he'd tell you.”

“He didn't go into detail. Would you like to talk about it?”

“It's kind of hard to explain over the phone. I think I did what Cassandra did last summer.”

Miss Abigail didn't say a thing.

“You know, talked to God. Told Him, um, told Him I needed Him.” I felt awkward saying it, even to Miss Abigail. “But I'm not sure I said the right words.”

“The words don't matter as much as the heart. The Lord can read our hearts.” Then she added, “Do you want to be sure about what you've done?”

“Can I?”

“Of course. We'll talk about it after lunch on Saturday. Will that be okay?”

“Well, it's just that since Ella Mae can't bring me down there, I don't know if Daddy will want to.”

“Can you drive, Mary Swan?”

“Yes.”

“Well, just get in that car and come on down! I'm sure your father won't have any problem with that.”

I had no idea how she could be so sure, but I wasn't about to argue with Miss Abigail. When she said something, it was almost as if God himself had spoken. “Okay. I'll be there.”

“And you'll be fine until Saturday, Mary Swan?”

“Yes. Thanks for calling.”

“You're welcome. I'm praying for you. And don't worry about Ella Mae. She's in good hands.”

Just hearing Miss Abigail's voice, knowing she cared and knowing that Carl had told her about my experience reassured me a little. Enough for me to pick up the phone and do the next thing I needed to do.

“Robbie?”

“Mary Swan, how are you? How's Ella Mae? I haven't dared call, but we've all been wondering, Dad and Mom and Andy and me.”

“Well, she made it through the surgery, but the surgeon couldn't get all the tumor, and I can't visit. But Daddy goes down most every day.”

“You must be tired, Swan, with Mardi Gras and this.”

“Confused and tired, yeah. But I'm sorry I had to cancel on Sunday night.”

“Are you kidding? It's only normal. Do you have any time this week? We could grab a quick bite or just go for a walk or whatever.”

“I've got Mardi Gras practice every afternoon after school. Goes till five-thirty.”

“Well, I'm done with football practice at five. Tell me where you'll be, and I'll pick you up tomorrow.”

“That'd be great,” I said.

“You don't sound too convinced.”

“Couldn't you come over right now?”

“I thought you'd never ask.”

We walked through the woods, stopped and stared at the Swan House, walked up to the mansion and over to the boxwood garden, Robbie listening all the while as I explained Saturday's experience. Back at my house, we perched ourselves on the oak table, feet in the chairs, sipping hot chocolate. “Do you think I'm insane? Rachel does.”

“No, of course not, Mary Swan. I believe every word of it. I can see how being in the slums could make you think about life and God. Especially being around people like Miss Abigail and that Pastor James.”

“Are you still jealous of Carl?”

“Should I be?”

“No. Like I've already said, we're only friends. Maybe I fantasized that something more could happen, but it can't and it won't and even if Carl wanted it to, which he doesn't, he would never be interested in me. He'd never let his feelings for a white girl get the best of him. He knows better.”

“So where do I fit in? First guy didn't work out, so you'll take the reserve?”

I stuck out my tongue. “Do we have to decide that now? Can't we just have fun being together?”

“Maybe.”

I wanted to tell him that I liked him, that maybe I loved him, but it was just I was so tired and drained of all energy. I knew I couldn't promise him anything but friendship, and I knew, too, that I certainly didn't want to break his heart again or have mine twisted into a knot. He scooted over near me and put his arm around me, tight, and drew me close to his chest, almost the way Carl had done on Saturday night, in a kind, protective way.

“Don't make any decisions right now, Swan. Not a one.” Then he kissed me hard on the mouth, and the color spread up his cheeks. “I've got to get home. I'll talk to you again soon.”

I knocked on Mrs. Alexander's office door on Thursday afternoon.

“Come in.” Seeing me, she said, “Why, hello, Mary Swan. How's Wellington's Raven?”

“Not so good.”

“Aha.”

“I'm not going to solve it, Mrs. Alexander. There's nothing else for me to find out. The paintings were destroyed.”

“Destroyed! Oh my.”

“Destroyed by my mother.”

She sat there speechless. “I see. Dear me, Mary Swan. This hasn't been an easy year for you.”

“No. So I can't bring the paintings to Mardi Gras, and I can't solve the Dare.” My disappointment was scribbled in capital letters across my face.

“Not so fast, dear. Why don't you let me talk to the girls and see what they say? As you know, the Raven traditionally meets with the advisor and the senior class officers one week before Mardi Gras. We'll make a decision then.”

“What's there to say? I didn't solve the Dare.”

“Well, if you found out the paintings were destroyed, then that's solving it.”

“But I have no proof. Just the doctor's word, his speculation.”

“Don't you worry, Mary Swan. You've done your job, and now I'll do mine.”

“Yours?”

“Yes.” She smiled sympathetically, almost with a touch of mischief in her eyes. “I'm the negotiator. You've done all you can. I'll see what I can do. Now's the time for you to concentrate on the skit. I'm sure you've written a delightful poem.” She raised her eyebrows with that same look of mischief on her face. “You go on about your business with Mardi Gras, and I'll talk to the seniors, and then we'll all meet on February first. Does that sound okay?”

“Yeah. Thanks, Mrs. Alexander.”

“My pleasure, Mary Swan.”

“Can I ask you one more question?”

“Of course.”

“I was wondering if you might be interested in having a live band play at Mardi Gras. I've got some friends who have a jazz band, and they're really good. They played at the Piedmont Driving Club Christmas Dance. I know we don't have a band every year, but I remember several years ago that we did and everyone liked it. The audience was even invited to dance after the competition.”

“A live band? Well, that is something to think about.”

“You can call Mrs. Appleby, and she'll tell you all about them.”

“I may just do that.” And she winked at me.

For some reason, when it came to driving, I wasn't like a lot of kids my age, eager to hop behind the wheel and speed off into the horizon. So even though Daddy had given me permission to drive the Cadillac to Grant Park, I didn't relish the thought. In fact I hardly slept on Friday night, as I turned over in my mind every road between my house and Mt. Carmel. It took me twenty-five minutes of driving at about twenty miles per hour to get to Mt. Carmel on Saturday morning. I congratulated myself for only having made two wrong turns, neither of which turned out to be very traumatic. When I finally pulled up in front of the church and parked in the open lot, I was sweating hard underneath my pea jacket.

As soon as I walked into the fellowship hall, Puddin' grabbed me around the legs, announcing proudly, “My brotha's done gone on a march with the Reverend Martin Luther King, Jr. Way down in Albany!”

“My goodness! With Reverend King?”

“Yep, and a whole lotta other people. Larry an' Big Man an' Leo and Nickie.”

“The whole band?”

“Yep. Ya know how Reverend King got put in jail down there last summer? Well, now he says they's been making lots of progress. Befo' long, Mr. King says they won't be no mo' laws 'bout segregation down there.”

“That's really good news, Puddin',” I said, picking her up and swinging her around.

Albany was a flat, sunbaked plain of southwestern Georgia, about five hours due south of Atlanta. Carl had told me about the racial demonstrations that had been going on in Albany for over a year. The town of 60,000 had almost 25,000 blacks, and for some reason, Reverend King had chosen this town to be an example of what peaceful demonstrations could accomplish.