Chapter 92
"Did Joe say something to upset you tonight?"
Tears burned my eyes again. "No, if anything he helped me."
"Then what made you so upset?"
"You mean other than the town folk of Henryetta rallying to grab their pitchforks?"
"Yes, I know there was somethin' else." Aunt Bessie was a hairdresser and knew how to ma.s.sage someone's head and make them so relaxed they'd give up their deepest darkest secrets. After only a few minutes in her hands, I was too soothed to care.
"He said we were friends. He thinks we're friends, Aunt Bessie." I said it as if it were declared the eighth wonder of the world.
"So? Why can't you be friends?"
"Because I'm different. You know that."
"Your grandmother, my mother, had the gift of sight. She had lots of friends."
"But she wasn't like me. I'm different."
"Not so different. Besides, what's wrong with bein' different? Sometimes it's good to stand apart from everyone else."
"Momma didn't think so."
Aunt Bessie continued rubbing my head for a bit then finally spoke. "Rose, your Momma had a hard life. There's things about her you don't know."
"That still doesn't excuse the way she treated me."
"No, but sometimes if we understand why someone does what they do it helps take the sting of the hurt away."
"What about the way she treated Daddy? That wasn't right either."
Aunt Bessie sighed and sat down in the chair next to me. "Your daddy wasn't a perfect man. No one is perfect."
"That's what Joe said tonight."
She patted my hand. "Then your Joe is a smart man." She took a sip of her now cooled tea. "Your Daddy did some things that hurt your Momma deeply. In fact, I think it's fair to say they broke her. Someday, you might want to know what happened, but now isn't the right time. When you're ready, come to me and I'll tell you everythin' I know."
I wasn't sure I'd ever want to know, but I nodded and drank my tea.
The next morning I padded around the kitchen, making breakfast and brewing coffee when Aunt Bessie came in.
"That living room looks so bright and cheerful in the morning light."
I smiled as I turned my head to look at the glow. "It's lovely, isn't it?"
"Have you thought about where you'll live now that your Momma is gone?"
My heart skipped. "Why, I thought I'd stay here."
"I'm sure that's fine, but more than likely, Violet will own half of it. You two will have to work out some type of arrangement."
One more thing I hadn't considered.
Aunt Bessie patted my arm. "No need to worry, Rose. Violet has her own house, she won't want this one. You'll probably just buy out her half."
I stewed about it as I poured our cups of coffee.
"When was the last time you had your hair cut?" she asked.
I couldn't remember, so Aunt Bessie insisted on giving me a trim. She set me in a chair in the middle of the kitchen and snipped away with the scissors she said she always traveled with. I suspected she brought them with the sole purpose of cutting my hair, which had always annoyed the tarnation out of her. At one point during the cut, I had a vision and told her one of the hairdressers in her shop was going to leave and try to steal some of her clients. Aunt Bessie took it in stride, thanked me for my useful information, and continued tr.i.m.m.i.n.g.
The amount of hair that fell to the floor alarmed me, but Aunt Bessie said to trust her. Which I did. It wasn't like my hair had a particular style anyway. When she finished cutting, she pulled out a fat curling iron and flipped out the ends.
"Okay, go check it out."
I went to the bathroom, Aunt Bessie on my heels, and we stared at my reflection in the mirror. I was speechless.
"It should be a lot lighter now. I razor-cut the edges and thinned it out a bit, you can take a big curling rod to the ends and flip them out or just wear it straight."
Aunt Bessie could have been speaking Greek for all I understand, but I didn't pay much attention anyway. I was too busy gawking at my hair.
"I can't believe it's me." I turned my head from side to side, watching my hair sway against my shoulders. It now sported layers and framed my face with long bangs, a far cry from the dry, lifeless hair I had before. I shook my head and it bounced.
"You've been hidin' too long, Rose Anne Gardner," Bessie said from behind me. "It's time to shed that coc.o.o.n and become the beautiful b.u.t.terfly you're meant to be."
"Aw, Aunt Bessie." I gave her a big hug. "Thank you. I love it."
We dressed for the funeral. I felt very sophisticated in my dress and new hair. I tottered down the hall in my heels, wis.h.i.+ng I had thought to practice in them sooner. Aunt Bessie approved and insisted on putting a little bit of makeup on me, telling me cosmetics were not the devil's oil paints, contrary to what Momma always said.
I rode in their car to the church. We arrived early, which meant I had time to practice walking before Violet and Mike showed up. I was finally getting the hang of it when they entered through the opposite end of the foyer. As I approached, Violet was asking Aunt Bessie where I was.
"Here she comes now." The pride in Aunt Bessie's voice was unmistakable, making me love her even more.
Violet's mouth dropped open. "What have you done?"
"Violet..." Aunt Bessie cautioned.
"What have you done?"
"Violet!" Mike voice was sharp with warning.
She turned to Mike, flinging her arm in my direction. "Mike, she went and got her hair styled! The day of Momma's funeral! Who does that? What is she thinking?"
"Violet, this is my doin.'" Aunt Bessie said. "I insisted on cuttin' her hair this mornin'."
"She could have stopped you!"
"Why?" Aunt Bessie asked. "Why would she stop me? For one thing, her whole life has been run by you and your mother, so what was one more woman tellin' her what to do? And second, there is nothin' wrong with her lookin' beautiful. It's not like she showed up to your mother's funeral lookin' like a hooker."
Violet gasped, the sound echoing off the tiled entrance.
Aunt Bessie pressed on. "Rose looks very tasteful, very conservative. You should be happy for her."
Violet put her hands on her hips. "What are people gonna say?"
"And right there is the bottom line, isn't it, Violet? What are people goin' to say?"
I couldn't believe the two women I loved most in the world were arguing. Over me no less. "Stop! Stop it the both of you!"
They turned to face me. Violet looked like she was about to give me a good throttling, then move on to Aunt Bessie.
"Violet, I'm sorry if you are unhappy with my new haircut, but I
Violet looked like she was about to start spitting out carpet tacks. Mike grabbed her arm and dragged her away from our group, their heads bent together in a heated discussion.
"Rose, if I had known Violet would react this way, I never would have cut your hair."
"Don't be sorry, Aunt Bessie, for heaven's sake, it's only hair." But the truth was that the problem lay much deeper. I was changing and Violet didn't like it.
Violet calmed down a little before it was time to go into a private room to wait while the mourners were seated in the sanctuary. Violet looked like she would burst out the door to escape my presence at any minute.
A few minutes after eleven o'clock, we walked to the front of the church. I offered a prayer of thanks that I didn't fall over in my two-inch heels.
Violet remained chilly at the graveside service, but I reached over and grabbed her hand, overcome with a wave of grief. I took it as a good sign when she didn't s.n.a.t.c.h it away, instead hanging on tight. We sat next to the open grave and clung to each other as we buried our last remaining parent. We were orphans. I choked back a sob of despair. Even if Momma hadn't been the best mother, she was still our Momma. And now we were alone.
We rode in an uncomfortable silence to the church for the traditional funeral dinner. Any good Southern Baptist knows there's nothing that can't be fixed with a ca.s.serole potluck, death included. I told myself if I could just make it through the dinner, then I could return to my solitude, or at least my own inner demon.
We'd made it through the funeral and graveside service without mishap; I knew it was too much to expect to make it through the dinner, as well. Two older women watched me while I stood to the side of the buffet table. I recognized them as Momma's friends, if you could call backstabbing, busybodies friends.
Violet and Aunt Bessie made their hostess rounds while I did my best to stay out of the way. One of the women pointed to me, shaking her finger in outrage, then buried her face in their huddle. I did my best to ignore them, but they soon worked themselves into a chattering tizzy. A few moments later, they moved toward me and didn't waste any time getting to the point.
"You have some nerve showin' up at your mother's funeral lookin' like that." The ringleader pointed to my dress with a gnarly finger covered in gaudy rings. Ethel Murdock, self-appointed morality czar of Henryetta. I had no doubt that Momma and Miss Ethel spent many an hour judging the actions of the First Baptist Church members. Then they'd move on to the remaining citizens of Henryetta for good measure.
The blood rushed to my face and the all-too-familiar response to hide took over. I shook it off. It was time to stand up for myself.
"What exactly are you talkin' about? What's wrong with the way I look?" I asked in a shaky voice.
Miss Ethel's eyebrows knit together and her mouth puckered as if she were about to give me a kiss. I knew there was little chance of that happening. "You're dressed up all high and mighty. We know you never dressed like that before. You killed your own mother to get her money and you haven't wasted any time spendin' it, have you?" Her face turned red and splotchy. I worried Miss Ethel would have a stroke right there. I'd probably be blamed for that too.
Adrenaline surged through my blood. My chest constricted, cutting off my air supply. "How I spend my money is no concern of yours," I choked out.
Miss Ethel picked up her cane and waved it in front of my face. "You're not goin' to get away with this! It's a travesty that you're walkin' around free to murder some other unsuspectin' victim!" Her words echoed throughout the fellows.h.i.+p hall.
Beulah G.o.dfrey stood behind Miss Ethel, her arms crossed and lips pursed. She nodded her head in agreement.
Anger riled up in me. I had no idea where this seemly bottomless pool of rage came from, but it just kept flowing out. "Well, I'm sorry you feel that way," I said through gritted teeth, "but this is neither the time nor place to discuss it."
My words enraged Miss Ethel more and she puffed up like a bantam rooster, thrusting out her chest and bobbing her head. She lifted her cane higher, swinging it around. "Don't you talk to me about time and place, you murderess!"
Miss Ethel lost her precarious balance and swung her cane as she flailed, catching Miss Beulah on the chin. Miss Beulah shrieked and fell sideways, landing smack dab in the big pan of mashed potatoes on the buffet line. She jumped off the table as if it bit her, her face and chest covered in the creamy mixture. In her haste, she b.u.mped a bowl of red Jell-O salad, sending it sideways off the table toward Miss Ethel. Miss Ethel screamed as she saw it coming toward her, accidently falling on her bottom as she tried to get out of the way, the bowl landing on top of her head. Red gelatin dripped down her hair and into her startled face. Miniature marshmallows clung to her tight blue-gray curls like dandelion puffs caught in a spider web.
An eerie silence descended upon the fellows.h.i.+p hall and everyone froze, forks halfway to their mouths. The room looked like a scene out of "Sleeping Beauty." Nothing this good had happened at a Henryetta funeral since Elmer Wainwright fell out of his casket five years earlier.
I threw back my shoulders and lifted my chin, knowing I'd be blamed for this somehow.
Violet gave me a livid glare of How could you?
I turned and carefully walked out of the hall, praying I didn't fall in my heels. About one hundred pairs of eyes watched me leave. I could have crawled under a rock and died right there and it still wouldn't have been enough to escape.
Aunt Bessie followed me out as the room finally broke its spell with a roar of chaos. Violet remained behind. I was torn about that. I wanted my big sister to hug me and tell me it would be okay, but was fearful she'd come out and accuse me of ruining Momma's funeral. I suddenly realized how very alone I was now. Was my independence really worth the price I was paying?
We agreed that Uncle Earl would drive me home. Aunt Bessie could stay behind and help Violet, even though I suspected Violet didn't want her there.
We were almost home when Uncle Earl cleared his throat. "What that woman said, it wasn't right. Just remember that she doesn't know you. You can't change the opinions of small-minded people." He reached over and patted my arm.
My chin quivered and I bit my lower lip. Those were the most words I'd heard Uncle Earl say in years.
Uncle Earl dropped me off at home and went back to the church. Aunt Bessie and Uncle Earl came back later and spent the night again. I tried to call Violet before I went to bed, but she didn't answer. I left a rambling message on her machine, apologizing for upsetting her and begging for her forgiveness. I hung up, afraid I lost her forever even though Aunt Bessie a.s.sured me that all she needed was time to get used to things.
The next morning when Aunt Bessie and Uncle Earl left for home, Aunt Bessie asked me to come home with her. I would have gone in a heartbeat if I hadn't been ordered to stay in Fenton County. Besides, I had an appointment with my attorney that afternoon.
Deanna Crawfield looked much more professional on a Thursday afternoon than at two o'clock on a Sunday morning, but then again I think most people would. We sat at a conference table while she took notes on a legal pad. Deanna said the evidence was circ.u.mstantial. The cut utility lines and the busted side door were in my favor, but the fact nothing was stolen and my argument with Momma in the afternoon were not. She was surprised the police hadn't called me in for more questioning, which she saw as a bad sign. They were collecting more evidence first.
An hour later, I left feeling less than confident about my freedom. If anything, I wondered how long it would take for the Henryetta police department to show up at my door to arrest me.
On the way home, I stopped at a convenience store to buy milk. While I dug cash out of my wallet, a Wal-Mart receipt fell out onto the counter. I almost wadded it up before noticing the writing on the back.
My list.
I picked it up, staring in disbelief. In all the confusion, I'd forgotten about it.
"Do you want me to throw that away?" the clerk asked.
"No, that's okay..." I mumbled and carefully tucked it into my wallet. I'd figure out what to do with it later.
After I got home, I decided to search for Momma's will. I knew she had one made after Daddy died and I suspected it was in the lockbox in her bedroom closet. I couldn't believe Violet hadn't thought of it, but she probably figured she'd have to deal with me to read it. She never returned my phone call from the night before and she hadn't called to check on my attorney appointment.
The dusty box was on the floor in the closet, hidden behind a stack of empty shoe boxes. Inside, I found a stack of papers and pulled them out one by one. Momma and Daddy's marriage license. Daddy's death certificate. The deed to the house. At the bottom was a large envelope labeled "Last Will and Testament of Agnes Gardner." I opened the flap and pulled out a bundle of papers, all stapled together. I read the legalese, wondering if anyone really understood any of it, until I got several pages in and found Violet's name. Bequeathed to Violet Mae Gardner Beauregard was all Momma's money, her house and all its furnis.h.i.+ngs.
Everything.
The room became fuzzy and I worried I'd pa.s.s out and hit my head again. I put my head between my knees, gasping for air. Had she hated me so much that she left me nothing?
When the threat of fainting faded, I sat up and reexamined the page, sure I'd misread it. But I hadn't. Violet got everything.
I turned the page looking for my name. I found it the next page over. Rose Anne Gardner received a carved wooden box located in Momma's closet. A wood box?
I found it in the top shelf of her closet, a small wooden trunk about fifteen inches long and eight inches wide. It reminded me of a miniature pirate's chest with a tiny padlock holding it closed. I searched Momma's drawers for a key, coming up with nothing. It was fairly light so I knew it couldn't be packed with money. In fact, if I hadn't heard a small clunking sound, I would have wondered if it held anything at all.