Unto These Hills (26 page)

“It’s
mine!”
Francine hissed, as though reading my mind. A chill grazed my spine. Her eyes slitted. “He’s not gonna give it to nobody else.”

My heart sank. Francine had plenty without going against Tack’s wishes to make life easier for his destitute sister. Actually, Tack had owned the house before he and Francine married. Technically, it was his to do with as he pleased.

He hadn’t figured Francine into the equation. He’d probably felt a sense of control when writing this new will and testament. It probably had made up, in a small way, for Francine’s wild and loose ways through the years.

Too, Sheila had probably egged things on, not too difficult with an insecure, sick, dying man.

I read on. A twenty-thousand dollar life insurance policy was bequeathed to his aging mother, who was, at that time, as ancient as Nana and even more frail. I figured that was in the original will and that Francine would surely honor it. After all, the entire Turner family adored her. Francine had, miraculously, won all of them over from the get-go and somehow retained their affection and respect. How her wayward shenanigans averted their detection and censure was then and remains till this day beyond me.

I read on. The real stunner was the bequest to Sheila: another of their houses, a nicer one even, and a car — the Cadillac in the garage, in fact.

“That’s why he put the blasted thing in the trunk of that car.” Resting her fanny on the dresser table top, Francine lit up a cigarette, inhaled deeply, blew it out, and stared at the ceiling as though wanting to take it apart, piece by piece. “He thought Sheila would find it for sure. They plotted it. Only thing — he died before giving her the car key.” She snorted. “Thought they could pull one over on me.”

She pushed away from the dresser, walked over to me, snatched the pages from my hand and stalked to the bathroom. “I’ll fix that.”

Timmy and I turned to each other, mixed emotions flailing about in our gazes. Presently we smelled smoke. We rushed to the bathroom door and watched Francine holding the burning will and testament until it reached her fingers. She gingerly tossed it into the commode and, with a flourish, flushed the evidence.

“Well, would you look at that?” She brushed her hands together. “It go
bye-bye.”
She strode to retrieve her purse from the bed. “C’mon, folks. We’ve got a funeral to do.”

Outside, as we pulled out in the gray family limousine, Francine, classy as gentry in her black ensemble, stared through the tinted window at Sheila, just arrived, who, pale-featured and vacant-eyed, hovered near the garage.

“Y’know,” Francine addressed the other family members seated in the long sleek sedan, including Tack’s sister and nephew, “Sheila said she didn’t feel like going to the funeral. She offered to stay here and house-sit, you know, answer the phone and all. That was sure sweet o’her, wud’n it?” Everyone nodded and grunted assent. She smiled sweetly at me, as malevolent a smile as I’ve ever seen on a human face.

I knew she’d left the keys to the car on the kitchen table.

Then she leaned and whispered in my ear, “Lord’a
mercy
, I’d love to see her face when she gets in that trunk and can’t find her
ticket to Easy Street
.”

~~~~~

“Ain’t that against the law?” Timmy muttered later, after the burial and during the family’s reconvening at Francine’s house.

“Yeh.” I poured him a glass of iced tea to wash down his huge hunk of Emaline’s chocolate cake. She and some church members brought it over to Francine’s house after the funeral that evening, along with buckets of KFC and all the fixings. “I’m hoping nobody else knows about it besides Sheila.”

“Knows about what?” Sheila appeared in the doorway, pale as yesterday’s ashes. Her eyes burned, yet…seemed to not see Timmy and me, like Sheila was not behind them.
I’ve got to defuse this before it gets out of hand.
I thought fast, lowering my voice to say, “You know — about Francine’s….” I let it trail off and shrugged sadly, allowing her to make of it what she wanted to.

“You mean her whorin’.” Sheila’s flat voice sounded like a trumpet blast.

“Shhh,” I pressed a finger to my lips, frowning. “This’s not the time to low-rate your sister. She’s just lost her husband.”

Sheila glowered for a long moment, then blinked, appearing behind her eyes. “You don’t know all she’s done, Sunny.” She sighed and tears suddenly pooled along her lids. “You just don’t know.” Her voice was so desolate I felt something akin to pity. She’d been so close to her reward for seducing Tack. I could even follow a little of her warped reasoning, having been tuned in all through the years.

I went and wrapped her in my arms. Her head burrowed into my shoulder as she sobbed her heart out, leaving my good black Sunday dress sodden but that was okay. Timmy quietly left the room without saying a word. I knew he felt as torn as I, caught between these two sisters, who were equally matched opponents in life’s wars.

Life had not been good to either of them; had, in fact, made them monsters.

We didn’t always like ‘em. In fact, rarely did. But they were blood.

And we loved them.

~~~~~

Don’t know exactly when I started really distancing myself from Muffin. It probably came gradually, a reaction to her steadfast visceral rejection. How many ways can a daughter tell a mother, “Get the f__ out of my face”? Muffin used them all up and invented a few more select ones.

So I obliged her. I learned new dance steps that took me around, over, and under her rages and disparagement. I learned to simply tune her out when feasible. It wasn’t always possible, when the children were involved, but I kept them close under my wing, like a hen does her dibbies during storms.

When Gracie started high school and Jared entered the sixth grade, their daddy, Russ Fant married a good woman, started to church and cleaned up his life. Even Muffin admitted he was a changed man and allowed him more access to the children. Russ’ wife, Jennifer, supported her husband’s new directions and threw away all the alcohol, drugs, Playboys, and best of all, insisted he adopt a brand new cleaned-up vocabulary.

“He’s really, like,
changed
,” Gracie gushed. My lovely granddaughter, a
sweet
version of Muffin, rarely impressed with anything, was blown away. Me? I was blown away, too. All the prayers I’d uttered through the years for Muffin…and now, turned out that Russ and Jennifer were the recipients. Go figure.

My life changed drastically after that. More and more, Russ took over the responsibility of Gracie and Jared. I’ll have to say that Jennifer’s sensitive spirit played a big role in blending our two families. She complemented Russ’ new drive and sense of fair play. Never did they alienate the children from Walter and me. When either of the children grew homesick and sought me out, they were allowed that
freedom. Likewise, when they missed their father and Jennifer, I turned loose and freely shared.

Muffin? She was still lost in that place where teens go between adolescence and adulthood. A place where growing up was indefinitely postponed

Only thing, Muffin was now thirty.

~~~~~

Doretha poured me tea. Just like she used to long ago when Emaline and I took treats over and basked in her presence. Today she looked much the same because her skinny frame and features didn’t have enough spare to sag. She didn’t even have a little potbelly like Gladys.

“I know you don’t understand why I put Alvin out,” she said in her Jackie Kennedy softness, with a Dolly Parton twang. “I didn’t expect you to.” She sat down opposite me, at Berthie’s ancient but polished oak kitchen table. The shine was Alvin’s handiwork.

Even though Doretha had ‘run ‘im off’ after Sheila’s disclosure of his incestuous behavior all those years ago, he and Doretha remained friends. He still came over every day and cleaned the house for her. Aunt Tina remained frustrated over the situation she couldn’t control. Despite her pleading, cajoling, and outright bullying, Doretha remained unbending.

“I love Alvin,” she said, daintily sipping her tea. “I just don’t want to be married to ‘im no more.” There was little emotion in her voice. Only her eyes, those deep-set, gray pools, that looked eons old, revealed pain. “He sees Tammy all he wants to, can get ‘er any time. I don’t want to treat ‘im bad. I hadn’t told Tammy what Sheila said ‘bout ‘im. She don’t need to know. He’s ‘er daddy.”

“No,” I agreed. “No use in hurting her, too.” How well I knew that reasoning.

“I love you, Sunny,” she said, startling me. It’d been so long since we’d sat together and talked like this. All those years in between melted and I smiled at her.

“I love you, too, Doretha. You’ve always been there for me. I’ll never forget that.”

Her eyes misted and something flickered in them before she lowered her gaze. “Not always. I wish I had.” She looked at me then and a tear slid down her pale cheek. “Things mighta been different for you.”

I frowned at her and reached for her hand. Her fingers were cold and thin as toothpicks, nearly non-existent. “You’re not still taking the blame for — you know, that thing that happened all those years back, are you?” I couldn’t put it into words, that would make it
real.
Not now, when I’d put it behind me.

A tear slid down her other cheek. She swiped it away with her free hand. “I reckon I am, Sunny. I won’t never —”

“Don’t.” I shook my head. “It’s gone. Past. Like it never happened.”
Liar, Liar, pants….
“It makes me terribly sad for you to talk like this.” That, at least, was the truth.

I saw her waver, inhale and let out a long jagged sigh. “Well, if you say so. I don’t want to cause you no more grief.”

I smiled at her, feeling better banishing the subject.

“Daniel’s comin’ home for a visit.”

My heart skipped two beats then went into erratic cadence. “When?” I asked in a whispery thin voice.

“Christmas.”

Three months away. “He hates me. I wish he didn’t.” After the time on the back alley when I’d turned my back and stomped off away from him, he’d avoided me like a plague. All these years. Three months and I’d see him again.

“He don’t hate you, Sunny,” came the gentle reply. “He wants to see you.”

Chapter Thirteen

Bing Crosby’s
White Christmas
blended peacefully with spicy baking aromas.

“Bye darlin’. You have a good time with Daddy and Jennifer, okay?” I hugged Jared and felt that little kick to my heart when he squeezed me back with all his might. He was growing up so fast. His shoulders were nearly level with mine now.

“You sure you won’t feel lonesome, Mema?” he asked anxiously. And I wondered how much longer his love would be so free and spontaneous. How long before it would be “not cool” to love so transparently.
What a gift.

I chuckled. “
Pshaw.
With Papa here with me? Nah.” Then I whispered in his ear. “But I’ll miss you like crazy. I can’t wait to see all your presents.”

He grinned and I knew I’d said the right thing. About that time, Gracie bounded down the stairs, loaded down with her hair and makeup paraphernalia, stuff she carried back and forth between her two ‘homes’. I was as happy as they were with their sense of belonging with their daddy, as well as with their Papa and me.

Gracie hugged me and gave me a peck-kiss on the lips. “Bye, Mema. I’ll call you tonight.” She always did. No matter where she was, she always checked in with me. Not because I required it but because ‘I just want to hear your voice, Mema.’

“Hey!” Walter bellowed good-naturedly, “How about me?” He arose stiffly from his La-Z-Boy and took only a half step before both grandkids tackled him, knocking him back into his chair, all three laughing like goonies. At times like this, I counted my blessings with Walter. He played as heartily as any kid, showering affection the same way.

Jared dashed to the front door, poked his head out and called to his dad who’d already gone to wait in the car. “Be there in a minute!” He ran back to plug in the tree we’d all decorated together. It was his thing, turning on the tree daily. “This is Christmas Eve,” he said. “It’s supposed to stay on all day today.”

Francine dropped in for a minute, bringing our gifts. Family didn’t get together, collectively, like we did when Nana was alive. We hugged and she said, “I’ve got one more stop before I’m finished. At Elaine’s. She’s gonna have cake and goodies and wants me to come by.”

“How is she?” I asked, thinking again of the house Elaine should be living in, the one her brother, Tack, had bequeathed her. Instead, she lived in an old squalid apartment, still struggling to pay rent. Not only had Francine taken from Elaine, she’d gone to Tack’s elderly, sick mother only days after Tack’s funeral and asked her to sign a legal document. Trusting her, Mrs. Turner, nearly blind, had complied, never suspecting she was signing over her twenty thousand dollar life insurance policy bequest.

“Oh, Elaine’s okay,” Francine replied, snatching a piece of my homemade fudge from the counter on her way out. “Love ya, Sunny. Merry Christmas, y’all!” she called to everybody.

“Merry Christmas, Aunt Francine,” cried my two, in unison, echoed by Walter’s “and a happy New Year!”

“Let’s go, kids!” called Russ from the doorway, winking at me. I really loved this new Russ, a much warmer version. But then, I thought uncharitably, anybody living with Muffin for long could suffer the loss of cheer.

“Don’t forget to take your goodies,” I reminded Gracie, who dashed back to the kitchen for the big gift bag containing holiday zip-lock bags, chocked full, that we’d packed for them to share with Russ and Jennifer. The three of us had worked the entire week before Christmas, cooking all our favorite cookies, candies, and cakes.

I would later write about my ‘Crazy Christmas Cooking’ in a newspaper column. But that’s getting ahead of myself. Anyway, it was enough to feed an entire neighborhood. Walter had, with my help, even made an icebox fruit cake, of which he was unspeakably proud.

Another round of hugs and kisses and they were off for the next twenty-four hours. For just a moment, a pang of longing shook me. I gently pushed it aside and went to cut Walter and me a slice of my carrot cake. The recipe was from a Southern Homes Cookbook and was wickedly rich and wonderful.

I’d poured our coffee and turned on a Perry Como Christmas television special when Muffin and her current boyfriend, Joe, burst through the front door.

Joe was ashen-faced, frantic. “ Muffin took a handful of prescription pills, saying she wants to die.”

Before I could open my mouth to speak, she dashed up the stairs and bolted her bedroom door. My Christmas cheer died in that moment.

Walter began to moan and sob and wring his hands. I tried, unsuccessfully, to calm him. Desperate, I dialed Doretha’s number and explained the situation to her. She was at my door within five minutes.

“I’ve called EMS to come for Muffin,” I explained. “I had to give Walter a heavy dose of his tranquilizer. He’ll sleep through the night. I just need somebody here to —”

“I’ll stay. Don’t you worry none, Sunny.” Doretha hugged me and then said, “Ever’thing’ll be all right. You just take care o’ your little girl.”

My little girl. How long has it been since she felt like my little girl?
I watched Doretha disappear into Walter’s den, actually his bedroom nook with his own TV and old easy chairs for our frequent conversation times, when we shared cute and funny family stuff. Not much sad stuff. Walter didn’t do sad well. His was exuberance or desolation, if aroused at all. Most of the time he was laid-back and pliable.

There was a knock at the front door.
The EMS.
I rushed to open it. He stood there, vapor trailing from his mouth, his features much the same, yet, different. More angular and lean and something else, something mysterious and elusive.

“Sunny.” My name, sliding from his mouth, sounded like a benediction.

“My God. Daniel
,” I whispered. My knees turned to mush.