Designated Daughters (3 page)

(Or, as one of my law professors was fond of quoting, “Never say you really know someone till you’ve divided an inheritance with him.”)

Despite stringent cross-examination, all three sisters were clear about their mother’s wishes. Plaintiff’s attorney argued for the letter of the law, which was that when someone died intestate, the assets should be equally shared. “The furniture Mr. Connolly took should not be figured in, since his mother gave it to him before her death.”

“By that argument,” Joyce said, “there were no figurines and no silverware to share, because she gave everything else to her daughters before she died.”

The jury was out less than half an hour. They found for the defendant and wanted to know if they could compel Mr. Connolly to pay her legal fees.

I suppressed a smile, thanked them for their service, service that would exempt them from jury duty for the next two years, and said, “At this point, I will entertain motions from counsel.”

Mr. Connolly polished his glasses so vigorously that I expected to see the lens crumble to dust, and his attorney sat glumly while Joyce Mitchell made a formal motion to have me do exactly what the jury had suggested. She presented her figures and her fee was quite reasonable, so I signed the order that would require Mr. Connolly to reimburse his sister.

Marillyn Mulholland and some of the others seated near her had broad smiles on their faces as they surged toward Mrs. Morefield to congratulate her.

I rapped my gavel for silence and told them to take their celebration out to the hall. With order restored, I was looking at the documents for the one civil matter that remained on my calendar when my clerk whispered that my brother Seth’s wife had called and asked her to relay a message about my Aunt Rachel, my daddy’s younger sister.

“She died?” I asked, thinking that this was why Sally had left so abruptly. I was sad for her and for Daddy and Aunt Sister, too, but Aunt Rachel’s death had been expected for several days now.

The clerk shook her head. “Miss Minnie says she’s talking again and you might want to be there.”

By now it was after four o’clock, but rather than have me continue a simple uncontested divorce to a later date, the woman’s attorney swore we could get it done in fifteen minutes. I’m a fast reader. Ten minutes later, all the papers were signed, the marriage was formally dissolved, and I was out of there.

A
s soon as I turned into the hospice wing that afternoon, the usual hospital smells of antiseptics and germicidal floor cleaners gave way to a warm yeasty aroma of cinnamon, nutmeg, and honey. Right away I knew Aunt Sister’s twin grandd
aughte
rs must have driven down from the mountains with a hamper of the signature sweet rolls they make for the tea room they run up in Cedar Gap. I was holding court up there in the mountains a couple of years ago when they lied to their parents about being enrolled in Tanser-McLeod College and used their tuition money to buy a half interest in the business.
*
It was only open for lunch and afternoon tea, but the twins shared such a talent for melt-in-your mouth baked goods that the place was usually jammed. I hoped I’d be able to snag one of their buttery caramel buns before they disappeared.

Knotts old and young spilled out into the hall from Aunt Rachel’s room. Mostly they were the younger generation: my cousins, nephews, and nieces. They sipped from plastic water bottles and munched on sugary rolls, talking in the low voices you always hear when death is near. The older ones had crowded into Aunt Rachel’s room to cluster around her bed.

Hospice rooms are fairly big and visiting rules are more relaxed so that friends and family don’t have to take turns saying goodbye. Nevertheless, mine is such a large family that the room couldn’t hold all of us at one time. Still, I managed to eel my way past some of my brothers and cousins and their spouses to get close enough to see and hear.

My brother Herman’s wheelchair occupied the space normally allotted to a nightstand, and Daddy and Aunt Sister sat on the other side. Aunt Rachel’s son Jay-Jay and her purple-haired daughter Sally sat shoulder to shoulder. The bed had been lowered almost to the floor, which made it easy for them to reach out and stroke her arms or hold her hands.

Daddy and I had visited here as soon as Jay-Jay called to say that he and Sally had agreed to have Aunt Rachel’s life-support system turned off, but Sally had gone home to shower and change, so I hadn’t seen her in several weeks. How I’d missed hearing about her new wig was a mystery since Doris and Isabel, my most judgmental sisters-in-law, took great pleasure in starting phone calls with “You will
not
believe what that flaky Sally’s gone and done now.”

I myself thought they should cut her a little slack considering that she had beaten the big C and had even taken Aunt Rachel into her home after the stroke. They thought that cancer should have sobered her and they were a little miffed that Aunt Rachel thought the multicolored wigs were cute.

Tears ran down Jay-Jay’s face as he held one of his mother’s restless hands. As quiet and self-effacing as Sally was loud and flamboyant, he was sixty years old but had remained her baby boy despite a receding hairline, an expanding waistline, two failed marriages, and three children of his own. While he and Sally and everyone else had begun grieving last month when it became clear that Aunt Rachel would never regain consciousness, hearing her voice again had triggered another outpouring of emotions.

Earlier, when I returned Minnie’s call, my favorite sister-in-law had described how Aunt Rachel seemed to be back in her girlhood, talking to people long dead. “Your daddy and Aunt Sister had almost forgotten some of the names. One minute it’s like Jay-Jay’s just been born. The next minute, she’ll start talking about Jacob and Jed like they were still alive and cutting monkeyshines.”

Jacob and Jedidiah. Not that I or any of my brothers had ever known them.

Twins run in our family—Aunt Sister has twin granddaughters and Daddy has two sets of twin boys: Herman and Haywood from his first wife, Adam and Zach from my mother. But there had been twins in his generation, too.

At nineteen, Daddy had been the man of the house for more than four years when they died.

Aunt Sister was eighteen.

Aunt Rachel, the baby of the family, was fourteen and just getting interested in boys.

Jacob and Jed were halfway between them. The summer they turned sixteen, Jacob hit his head on a rock and drowned in Possum Creek. Jed was so devastated that he ran away from home, lied about his age, and joined the army. He was killed in a training exercise at Fort Bragg before he even finished basic.

Aunt Rachel loved Daddy and Aunt Sister, but she had idolized Jed and Jacob. When her own son was born, she had named him Jacob Jedidiah, Jay-Jay for short, and now that she was wandering back in time, she seemed to be caught in a sort of loop where one name summoned up the others.

“Jed says her name’s Annie Ruth…Letha says she may not be pretty but she’s a real hard worker. Mammy likes her, Sister, even if you don’t. If they was to get married…”

I didn’t know who Letha was but, hearing the name of his first wife, I glanced at Daddy and saw him raise an eyebrow at Aunt Sister, who’s a bit of a snob. Not that she had anything to be snobbish about back then. Through the years, though, I’ve always had the impression that maybe she looked down on Annie Ruth, who was indeed a hard worker if my older brothers’ dim memories of their mother could be trusted.

Daddy couldn’t have been such a great catch himself. The son of a moonshiner? A grade-school dropout with four younger siblings and a widowed mother to support? But they did own a house and a hundred acres of rich bottom land, which was a hundred acres more than Annie Ruth’s family ever held title to. And Daddy’s mother read to them from the Bible every night. I’m not real sure Annie Ruth could read all that good.

“I’m so sorry, Richard.” Grief laced Aunt Rachel’s voice. “Those poor little babies and Jannie! That house was a tinderbox, just waiting for a match…Her husband…How could he hit her and then stand up in church like that? But the deacons put the fear of God in him, didn’t they?”

A moment later, her lips twitched with sudden amusement. “And one of ’em’s a cowbird egg, Brack. He still don’t know and he could eat that pretty little goldfinch with a spoon…Love’s blind, ain’t it?” Abruptly, her brow furrowed. “It ain’t love, Jed. Sister says y’all are like two hound dogs after a bitch in heat…So hot, so hot. All that work and that last batch of soup ruined…Mammy just set and cried till dark. Oh, Jacob, Jacob, Jacob!”

Distressed, Jay-Jay grasped her hand. “It’s okay, Mama. It’s okay.”

“Annie Ruth always did want a lot of babies…babies. Annie said…Oh, those precious baby girls! He signed a note, but I’m sure he never paid it.”

Here in May, the days were still getting longer, but as shadows lengthened across the grounds outside, Aunt Rachel talked on and on, gesturing with her hands and half rising up from the pillows, her blue eyes flashing. She talked of babies, fires, and unpaid debts, of someone who beat his wife and of cowbirds and vegetables and broken jars. She relived the grief of Jacob’s death over and over, the joy of Jay-Jay’s birth, and whether someone named Ransom might like her as much as she liked him.

Unlike Aunt Sister, who could be chary with her words, Aunt Rachel had a gift for mimicry and dramatic narratives. As a child, I loved it when the adults got together to play and sing and amuse each other with community news and gossip. Aunt Rachel seldom named names even though she lived some twenty-five miles away at the other end of the county from us and it was unlikely that we would know who she was talking about. Mother’s theory was that she liberally embellished her tales, and certainly it was true that she could make crossing the road to mail a letter sound funny.

Aunt Sister’s wit was as dry as Daddy’s but more caustic and usually at someone else’s expense, while Aunt Rachel’s was warm and self-deprecating, which was probably why such a cross section of the wider community had gathered. Family members, church friends, longtime neighbors, and former customers came and went as word spread through the community that she was talking again. Several of the younger cousins were using their cell phones to catch her ramblings.

“Annie worried that he wouldn’t amount to much if she didn’t help him, but she made him promise…He kept it all, though, didn’t he? Just like her Easter basket. Ate all his chocolates and hers, too. Always wanted what he wanted, didn’t he?…I’m real glad she never had to know…break her heart right in two. She said my tomatoes held their flavor the best…Mammy’s seeds. So hot to be canning, no wonder Jacob went to the creek, and not just for Letha neither. Corn…okra…” A smile curled Aunt Rachel’s lips. “Remember when Sally put a tomato in Brack’s chair and he sat down on it and Jay-Jay…” Her voice trailed off into hoarseness and Sally leaned over with a spoonful of crushed ice to moisten her mother’s mouth.

Aunt Rachel swallowed and said, “Jay-Jay?”

My cousin leaned forward, clasping her bony hands even tighter. “I’m here, Mama. It’s okay. I’m here.”

“Where’s Jacob? Won’t y’all supposed to be helping Kezzie?” She paused as if listening. “Yeah, she come by but leave her be, Jed. Jacob saw her first. She’s too fast for y’all anyhow. That bathing suit!” She began to giggle. “Hazel was so proud of that fancy new bathing suit…Six dollars for it at Hudson-Belk’s but soon as it got wet, it showed everything she had. She said Rufus’s eyes like to’ve popped out of his head ’fore she could get a towel…”

The words came with more difficulty as if rasped from raw vocal cords.

Sally looked at the aide. “Shouldn’t she ought to rest now? She’s been talking for hours.”

“Since about noon,” the aide agreed.

Her minister stepped forward with a worn leather Bible in his hand. “Maybe if we pray?”

He was a young man, but his voice held pulpit phrasing and we all automatically bowed our heads. “Lord God, who healed the lame and gave sight to the blind, we thank you for the precious gift of words that you have bestowed on this family—”

“…and if it’s a boy, we’ll name him Jacob Jedidiah,” Aunt Rachel croaked. “Oh, Sister, why? Where was Billy? Or Ransom? Why’d he sneak off to the creek like that? You reckon Letha told him she’d be there? Be just like her, wouldn’t it? Stirring up trouble?”

So much grief laced her words that the minister fell silent.

“Sing,” Daddy said suddenly. “Remember that time when she was so sick with the whooping cough we thought she was gonna cough herself to death and Mammy made her easy by singing to her? Remember, Sister?”

With tears in her eyes, Aunt Sister took a swallow from the Pepsi can in her hand and began to sing in a soft low voice.

Her daughter Beverly joined in. We’ve always made music together and over the years, made-up lyrics have replaced some of the original ones. Soon a half-dozen voices or more added harmony to that old lullaby.

After two more verses, Aunt Rachel’s hoarse voice dwindled into silence. Her lips continued to move, but no sounds came out. When her clear blue eyes closed, we automatically began to step back quietly. Seth stretched out a hand to help Daddy to his feet and her son-in-law did the same for Aunt Sister.

Both are in their eighties now but still straight of back and steady on their feet once they’re actually standing.

“How’d we get so old, Kezzie?” she whispered. “Set too long and everything wants to seize up.”

As she turned to follow him, someone bumped her arm and her Pepsi went flying, landing in the middle of the bed. Brown liquid fizzed from the can and soaked into the sheet covering that frail body.

“Oh, dear Lord!” Aunt Sister gasped.

We all held our breath, expecting Aunt Rachel to waken, but she lay motionless except for her lips, which still formed silent words.

“Don’t you worry,” said the aide. She stepped forward to raise the bed to working level. “Why don’t y’all go get some supper? I’ll change her sheets and freshen her up a bit.”

Even Jay-Jay realized that
freshen her up a bit
meant she was going to change his mother’s gown, and he joined the general exodus.

I realized I could use some “freshening up” myself, but by now there would be a line in the public restroom. Although there were several rooms on this floor, Aunt Rachel’s was the only one being used, so I ducked into the darkened room across the hall and tried the bathroom door. It was locked.

“Just a minute,” said a female voice from within and a moment later, I heard a flush and the rush of running water, then a very pretty young woman stepped out, one arm in a pale green summer cardigan.

“Sorry,” she said and held the door for me. As she put her other arm through the sleeve of her sweater, a button caught in her necklace and pearls went flying everywhere.

“Oh
no
!” she cried and immediately began picking them up. “I
knew
I should have had them restrung.”

I helped her finish picking them up, then she left and I went on into the bathroom. As I was washing my hands afterwards, I spotted a gleaming pearl that had bounced onto this tiled floor. I retrieved it from where it had landed between the wastebasket and the wall, then walked toward the elevator and staircase, which lay around the corner at the end of the hall. There was no sign of the girl, so I dropped her pearl in my purse and joined the others. People were voicing their regrets as they left, all telling Sally and Jay-Jay to be sure and let them know if there was anything they could do to help in the coming days.

Sally almost looked her real age and Daddy and Aunt Sister were clearly tired, but they didn’t want to go home. An open wooden staircase led down to the hospice family room on the next floor, part of the original main core of the hospital before new wings were built, and they did agree to go that far when the preacher said that some of Aunt Rachel’s prayer group had set up a makeshift buffet of cold cuts and salads.

“I believe I could eat a ham biscuit if anybody’s brought some,” Aunt Sister said, and Daddy allowed as how a deviled egg might taste right good.