Beauty From Ashes (42 page)

“Oh, I didn’t figure it by myself. Papa told me that even though you’ve had to watch so many of your loved ones die in just a few years, having my mother and my grandfather die must have been the hardest of all for you.”

Anne gasped. “Paul Demere told you that? Your father actually told you that?”

“Yes, ma’am. That’s about the only way I’d know it, I guess. We moved to Camden County before I was a year old, so I haven’t had much chance to talk to anyone but Papa about either my mother or you.”

“No. No, I guess not.” Anne fumbled for something else to say. “I—I never knew your stepmother, the Sinclair woman. My friend Mrs. Thomas Butler King had met her a time or two, but—was

“Miss Jessie is a pretty nice lady.”

“Miss Jessie? Do you call your stepmother Miss Jessie?”

“Yes, ma’am. That’s what Papa 563 likes for me to call her. He says I only had one real mother.”

“He does? Your father says that?” After an awkward silence, she spoke again. “John Fraser,” Anne began, failing in her struggle to return the boy’s smile, “you must forgive me if I seem slow, if I have trouble following what you’re telling me, but your father took you away from me when you were far too young to remember your real mother—was

“She was your namesake,” the boy said pleasantly, as though he liked the idea. “I’d give almost anything if I could remember her. Just anything about her would help a lot, but I guess I was only a few days old when she died.”

“That’s right,” Anne said, tears again filling her eyes. “You were only a little over three days old.”

“You were surely good to take care of me the way you did. With a broken heart and all. Papa told me your sister, who would have been my Aunt Isabella, had died, too, only a few months before Mama did.”

Anne tried not to stare at him, but each new

revelation about Paul Demere was like a bolt of lightning. Eve must not be right, declaring as though she were almighty that Anne had allowed herself to carry bitterness all these years against Paul Demere! Eve had even gone so far as to hint that her mistress had never truly allowed herself to grieve over the death of her daughter as much as she needed to grieve, because she was hiding behind that bitterness— until now.

Stop such thoughts, Anne scolded herself, at least until the boy’s no longer in the same room. Those pale blue eyes of Annie’s are watching your every frown, seeing the tears. Fraser did have Annie’s light blue eyes—Anne’s own eyes, John always liked to remind her.

“Papa vows my mother was a peacemaker. He says Aunt Isabella was kind of that way, too. Sometimes he tells me I go too far being a peacemaker, though. That men aren’t supposed to be sweet-natured all the time. That a man has to show his own strength.”

“I—I never thought of your father as being too sweet-natured. Do you know what he really meant by a man’s showing his own strength?”

“Not exactly, I guess. He says I

sometimes give into people when a little iron in 565 my spine would help a lot more in the long run.”

“I see.”

“You don’t like Papa very much, do you, Grandmama?”

“Whatever would make you say a thing like that?”

“Oh, he told me. He says you didn’t think he was good enough, gentle enough, for Mama.”

What Anne said next stunned her more than it could possibly have stunned the boy. “You must always remember, though, son, that your mother loved your father with all her heart. Did he tell you that, too?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

The amazingly mature, thoughtful boy had startled her again. Anne unexpectedly found herself wondering what manner of woman Jessie Sinclair must be to have worked such seemingly miraculous changes in Paul Demere. Or had she worked a miracle in the very nature of the once arrogant, selfish young aristocrat? At that moment, while young John Fraser sat politely waiting for her to say something else, Anne was overcome with a desire to know more about Jessie Sinclair Demere. But if her Annie had been unable to smooth some of the cocky,

self-absorbed edges off young Paul Demere by her innate goodness, what had really happened? One thing Anne was still not ready to accept was that Eve’s accusation that her mistress went on harboring bitterness against him could possibly be true!

Having spent much of her life around growing children, Anne knew the lad was waiting—waiting impatiently, no doubt, as children did, especially boys, for her to speak. But she was stuck, grounded, as a small boat gets stuck on a sandbar, for a way around her continuing annoyance that Eve just might be correct after all. Why did that matter so much? Because it was Eve, in light of what the boy was telling her about his father, who had shown herself to be so smart?

Had the two women, servant and mistress, been somehow competing with each other for all their lifetimes? During their childhood years, while the white master’s daughter and the half-white slave girl had merely been good playmates, Eve had certainly been able to climb a tree faster than Anne could, had even found her lover, Ebo June, before Anne found John Fraser, had almost condescendingly explained true love

to Anne although Eve was a whole year 567 younger.

What did any of this nonsense have to do with Anne’s own responsibility to bring this strange, surprising conversation with her grandson to a satisfactory conclusion?

“Grandmama?”

Anne jerked her thoughts back to the moment, to the courteous, lovable boy. “Forgive me, John Fraser. I—I must be getting old. My mind was far away, I’m afraid, dwelling on ridiculous things.”

“That’s all right, ma’am. I’m probably the one who needs to be sorry for interrupting your morning like this. I do hope you’re going to decide to ride along with us out to the Denmeads today. Are you?”

“I’m—not quite sure yet. Ivy Grove’s a beautiful place, and they’re such likable people. Does it matter a lot to you whether or not I go?”

“It does, yes, ma’am. Especially since Uncle John Couper and I have to take the train back to Savannah so soon. I surely do like to be with you.” His smile was disarming. “And I did

knock on your door a while ago for a special reason. I have something important to show you if you have a few more minutes to spare me.”

“Oh, yes, son, we have all the time we need right now. I’d love to know what you want to show me before you show anyone else! It makes me feel quite special.”

“Good,” he said, getting to his feet. “I’m pretty sure you’ve never seen it. At least, Papa doesn’t think you have.”

“Your father doesn’t think so?” Anne asked, thinking the question to be as stupid as it sounded.

The boy was rummaging in an inside pocket of his woolen jacket, giving her his tenderest smile as he did so. Then he took out what appeared to be an oval-shaped gold-framed picture but quickly put it behind his back. “I carry what I’m going to show you everywhere I go. I even sleep at night with it beside me on a table. It’s my treasure. Papa gave it to me on my eighth birthday, and I could tell by the look on his face that if he’d gone to a shop and paid about a thousand dollars for a present, it couldn’t have meant as much to him as this does. I guess I’ll remember that day and the look on his face for as long

as I live!” The sunny smile gone, 569 the boy said, “Shut your eyes and hold out both hands, please.”

“Shut my eyes?”

“Yes, ma’am. You’re about to see the most beautiful sight anyone ever saw. At least, that’s the way I feel about it.”

Eyes closed, Anne, still seated, held out her hands as he carefully, tenderly, laid the small object on her open palms.

In a reverential whisper, the boy said, “Now you can look, Grandmama.”

Anne opened her eyes, and there before her was an almost perfectly painted miniature of her firstborn, Annie, the more lifelike because the pale blue eyes showed the lovely young face about to break into the familiar smile that never failed to lift the heart of anyone blessed enough to have seen it. Anne’s abrupt intake of breath was followed by a silence so long she could feel the boy’s eagerness for a response.

“I—I know you’re waiting for me to—say something, son, but—but I can’t seem to.” Tears wet Anne’s cheeks. “Did your father say when it was painted?”

“On their honeymoon in Philadelphia,” the lad said, beaming. “He carried it with him wherever he went until the day he gave it to me. Was there ever a face as beautiful as my mother’s face?”

“Never. And I had the joy of looking at it from the day she was born until— For twenty-four years I could actually look at that face, feel the blessing of that smile. Oh, John Fraser, I am, of all women, most blessed.” And then, unable to help herself, she began to speak directly to her own firstborn child. “Annie, oh Annie, I hope you can hear me because for the only time since you left me, since you had to leave me, I feel a kind of—peace. Dear Annie, I’m almost afraid to say it, for there has been so much unpeace in me. So much that Eve swears I’ve been bitter! And maybe she’s right. Maybe I should even tell her she’s right. Can you hear me, Annie? Your resentful mother was the first person to call you a peacemaker, and now look! Look at the peace you’ve given me after all these years. …” John Fraser was still standing beside her, the same smile waiting to break over his face so like Annie’s—Annie’s smile on a young boy’s face. Tears streamed from her eyes now, but she

felt herself begin to smile, too, looked 571 straight at her grandson, held the framed picture in one hand, and reached toward him with the other.

Taking his grandmother’s hand, he asked, “Do you think she heard you talking to her?”

“Yes. She heard me, son. If she didn’t, then all we believe about God and being with Him when we leave this earth is wrong.”

Still smiling, the boy said firmly, “It isn’t wrong, Grandmama. My papa’s sure she hears me when I talk to her, too.”

The thick, seemingly impenetrable wall between her and Paul Demere was beginning to crumble, but enough of it still stood, had stood for so many years, she felt too new and foreign for a quick acceptance of the doubtful fact that Paul may really have faith in God. Of course, she hoped he did. This tender boy with a face and heart so like Annie’s needed a father in touch with the Eternal, but her response came slowly.

“I guess I never thought about your father’s faith,” she said. “My Annie, your mama, knew about it, I’m sure.”

“Oh, yes, ma’am. Papa will tell you that

to this day, he couldn’t have kept on living without her if he didn’t know for sure she was right with God. And that they’d see each other again someday. He told me that after she died, he might have stopped believing anything if it hadn’t been for this picture of her. That’s the reason he wanted me to have it for my very own.”

Anne leaned back in her little rocker, exhausted, yet somehow beginning to rest. “I see. John Fraser, thanks to you and your sweet mama —and to your papa’s kindness in giving his only picture of her to you—suddenly I see so much more than I ever thought I’d see!”

The old Maxwell clock struck from the downstairs hall. The boy laughed softly. “Say, did you have any idea I’d been up here with you for a whole hour? Uncle John Couper must have sent for our carriage by now. You will go with us out to the Denmeads’ house, won’t you, Grandmama?”

Anne jumped to her feet, arms out. “If you’ll let me give you the kind of hug you should have had days ago, nothing on this earth could keep me from going! You and John Couper will be leaving me again in such a short time, I don’t intend to miss another minute of being with both of you.” As her

bitterness flowed away in the boy’s 573 strong arms, Anne knew she could now make her peace with Eve.

The whole family squeezed into what had been the Bostwick carriage, cared for by Big Boy as he cared for the team that came with the house. Beaming, the big man headed into Decatur Street and drove toward the Square, young Fraser riding in the high driver’s seat beside him. Once Anne had made up her mind to go along with the children to the Denmeads’ for dinner and a day at Ivy Grove at the edge of town, she simply had to let herself hope that Louisa would be free to go with them.

“It’s awfully short notice, Mama,” Fanny said from her seat beside Pete across from Anne, John Couper, and Selina. “Don’t get your hopes too high that Mrs. Fletcher can go with us.”

“Hush, Fanny,” Pete scolded. “It’s so good to see Mama with high hopes, we’ll just believe she is free to go and that’s that. I’ll run in the Howard House and tell her what’s

afoot for the day. She isn’t working anymore since her husband was appointed marshal last year. After all, the Denmeads are the people who invited the Fletchers to Marietta in the first place.”

“You don’t need to tell us that old story all over again, Pete,” Selina complained. “We know it. They invited her on a visit to Savannah, hoping she could sing some Sunday in Marietta’s St. James Church. We also know she does sing at our church almost every Sunday, and anyway, Pete, sometimes I get tired hearing you make all the decisions in this family.”

“Well, somebody’s got to make them. John Couper, you and I know the whole point of our being in Marietta is for Mama to be happy again, and she and Mrs. Fletcher are like peas in a pod. You’ll have a much better day if she’s along, won’t you, Mama?”

Before Anne could answer, Fanny mumbled, “I’m just trying to be practical. Where’s Mrs. Fletcher going to sit?”

“I don’t think Fanny wants anyone else but family along today,” Selina said.

“That’s not true!”

“Well, Mama always wants Louisa

Fletcher, and I can talk her into coming 575 along. Rein the horses over in front of the Howard House,” Pete called to Big Boy. “Mrs. Fletcher will be glad to take their buggy. She can drive her and Mama. That lady handles horses with the best of them.”

Before Pete, still the tomboy, could jump out, Anne called, “Wait for me, Pete. I’ll go in the hotel with you to invite Louisa.”

“Don’t get out, Uncle John Couper,” young Fraser called as he, too, jumped down from the high step, hand out to help his grandmother from the carriage. “Come on, Grandmama. I can hold you. I’m strong! Papa taught me how to help ladies from a carriage step. Careful now.”