The Promised World (27 page)

“Now?”

“The service has to be still going on. The bells didn’t ring that long ago.”

He didn’t ask why, for which she was grateful. They stood up and she squeezed his hand as they walked back to her Subaru. “I’m glad you’re with me,” she said, and it was true. Though there was so much she couldn’t find words to express, simply having her husband there made all this doable. Dr. Kutchins had told her that it might help to train herself to think of the past as over and unable to hurt her now, but she knew this instinctively as long as Patrick was at her side.

She wanted to go to church to talk to the minister. She knew it was a long shot that he would have information that could help her, but it was Sunday and the county records office was obviously closed. The minister would know more people in town than anybody else, so at least he might know whose house she and Billy had lived in when they were sixteen. The house had to have belonged to somebody.

When she walked into church though, her face fell. The minister was way too young, maybe right out of seminary; it was very unlikely that he would know what the town was like twenty years ago. She thought about leaving, but everybody was already staring at her and Patrick because the door had banged shut behind them, and she felt so worn out that she relished the idea of sitting quietly while she figured out what to do next. She guided her husband to the last pew.

The service was over and the congregation was filing out; Patrick had just whispered, “What now?” when an old woman stopped in the aisle next to them. She was leaning on a cane; at first Lila thought she was only pausing to get her bearings, but then she realized the woman was openly staring at her. The possibility that this woman recognized her only crossed her mind a moment before the woman said, “I thought you was somebody else.”

“My name is Lila. My brother’s name was Billy.” She thought about using a last name, but wasn’t sure which one they would have used in town and didn’t want to confuse the woman. “Are you sure you don’t know me? We lived here in the late eighties for about—”

“Naw, the person I was thinking of hasn’t lived here since the seventies. And she’d be a heck of a lot older than you.” The woman shrugged. “My eyes ain’t as good as they used to be.”

“Oh,” Lila said. “Sorry to bother you.”

Lila must have sounded disappointed, because the old woman’s voice became kinder. “Maybe you’re kin, though? Her name’s Beth Andrew.”

“No, I’m afraid not.”

“Well, have a blessed day,” the woman said. “Praise God.”

“Praise God,” Lila repeated.

After the old woman walked on, Patrick whispered, “Praise God?”

The shock on his face made her suddenly feel like laughing, and she kissed him on the nose. “I was only being friendly,” she said. “But thanks for cheering me up. Now I can face the minister. Should I ask him to marry us? We’ve never been married in a church. Maybe it’s time.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“No, but you’re so cute when you look stunned that I couldn’t resist.”

He smirked, but he took her hand. She felt glad again that he was with her. Even if the minister was no help, she could handle this. She led her husband to the door, where everyone had disappeared except the minister and the last of the congregation: the same old lady with the cane, who was probably waiting for her ride.

They were only talking about whether it would rain; still, Lila didn’t want to interrupt. But the old woman saw her hovering a few feet away and gestured with her free hand to come near. After the woman introduced the minister as “Reverend Tom,” Lila introduced herself and Patrick, and they both shook his hand.

The woman was staring again. “What did you say your last name was?”

“Cole,” Lila said. “Though my stepfather’s last name was—”

“Oh my goodness, seem like you
are
kin to Beth Andrew. Her name before she got married was Cole. Ain’t that funny?”

Lila felt her heart in her throat, though she still thought it had to be an odd coincidence. Even as the old lady asked who her father was, Lila was preparing for the woman to say she’d been wrong. And she did, but she added something that took Lila’s breath away. “Beth’s brother’s name was William, but he didn’t have no kids. Died too young, I guess.” She shook her head. “It was written up in the papers here. He was a policeman. Shot in a robbery up north a long time ago.” She frowned. “Too bad he didn’t stay put. Too much crime up north.”

Reverend Tom looked at Patrick. “Are y’all new to the area?”

Patrick must have sensed something was wrong because he’d put his arm around Lila and he kept glancing at her face. But he sounded calm. “No, my wife lived here a long time ago. Out on Route 6. Apparently, the house isn’t there anymore.”

“Now this here is getting downright spooky,” the old lady said. “ ‘Cause you know what? Beth Andrew’s mama lived on Route 6.” She looked down at the concrete steps. “What in the world was her name? Something Italian-sounding.”

“Maria?” Lila said, though her voice came out so strangled and strange she barely recognized it.

“That’s it! After she died, I guess some relatives sold the place. I didn’t hear much about that, but I know the house was leveled way back when Reagan was still president.” She adjusted her weight on her cane. “Last good president, if you ask me.”

The woman went on about politics for a while until finally Lila managed, “Could you tell me who might know the family?” She looked back and forth from the minister to the old woman. “Anybody?”

“No,” the old lady said. “Beth moved away, too, years ago. She was younger than you when she worked at the Kroger. That’s how I knew her. We used to gab while she rang up my groceries.”

Reverend Tom looked closely at Lila. “I might be able to find out for you.”

Patrick said, “We would really appreciate it.”

“Hold on a minute. I’ll call my father. He was the preacher here for thirty-five years.”

“Best darned preacher, too,” the woman said. “Why he retired last Christmas I’ll never know ‘cause he was still a spring chicken if you ask me.” She laughed a hoarse laugh. “ ‘Course, everybody under seventy’s a spring chicken to me.”

Reverend Tom disappeared into the church. While he was gone,
Patrick attempted to make small talk with the woman, which Lila appreciated, knowing how much her husband hated small talk, especially when it was about politics and even worse when it was peppered with the old lady’s praise of people like Jesse Helms. Lila would have helped him out if she hadn’t been struck dumb by two completely opposed thoughts: that William Cole had not been their father or that Maria Cole, the “housekeeper,” had really been her grandmother. And that Billy had obviously known the truth, whatever it was, or he would not have brought her to this town.

The reverend handed Patrick a piece of paper with a name, phone number, and address. He said this woman had been Maria’s friend, but he couldn’t say how close they were. “My father said the Coles were Catholic, so he doesn’t know as much about them as most families in town. I’m sorry. Hope this helps.”

“Who is it?” the old woman asked. “I might know her or her kin.”

“Eunice Lewis,” the preacher said.

“Naw, don’t know any of them. She lives in the colored part of Grayten, east side of Johnson. Never even been there myself, but it ain’t far.”

When they got back in the Subaru, Patrick talked about the old lady as though she’d just admitted she was the founder of the KKK. Lila listened, but she couldn’t really drum up any outrage; she was too nervous.

It only took about fifteen minutes to get to the address the minister had written on the piece of paper. The house was a small green ranch with a carport and a garden of roses surrounding a dogwood tree right in front.

“Maybe we should have called first,” Patrick said when they were getting out of the car.

“I wouldn’t know what to say,” Lila whispered. The problem was she still didn’t as Patrick rang the doorbell.

Eunice Lewis was an old woman, too, at least seventy, more likely eighty or more, and she came to the door pushing a walker. Her face was friendly, though, and she gave a large grin when Lila got out the name Maria Cole and explained that she wanted some information because she might be Mrs. Cole’s relative. Mrs. Lewis invited them in and insisted on giving them lemonade, despite the effort it took for her to bring the glasses and hold on to her walker. But it was only when Lila said her own name, after she and Patrick had sat down on the bright yellow sofa and Mrs. Lewis had settled herself into an old checkered recliner, that the old woman said, “Well, glory be, I knew it was you!”

Lila didn’t want to be rude and admit that she didn’t recognize Mrs. Lewis, but luckily, Mrs. Lewis seemed eager to talk about how she knew Lila. They’d met several times, apparently, at Maria Cole’s house, before Maria died. Mrs. Lewis went on for a while about what a great friend Maria had been before Lila finally took advantage of a pause to mention that she was confused about something.

“A woman at church told me William Cole didn’t have any children.” Lila sounded as timid as she felt. “Is that true?”

“ ‘Course he had kids.” Mrs. Lewis laughed. “Had you and your brother, didn’t he?” She took a drink of her lemonade. “Most folks in town don’t know, being as how Willie and your mama had already moved up north to live in the house her grandpa left to her.”

“They both grew up here, then? My father and my mother?”

“Your daddy was born in Grayten and probably would’ve died in Grayten if he hadn’t run into Barbara. But your ma wasn’t from anywhere, far as I could tell. She called herself ‘cosmopolitan,’ I guess ‘cause her parents moved around a lot.” Mrs. Lewis shrugged. “She was driving up north after some party in Florida when her car broke down on the highway outside town. Your daddy was already a policeman and he stopped and helped her. That’s how they met.”

It struck Lila as romantic—at least more romantic than she expected. “Did they get married here?”

“Naw, and that’s the other reason folks in town don’t know Willie had kids. They never did get married. Maria said he asked her to all the time, but she wouldn’t ‘cause he wasn’t her notion of a husband, on account of he didn’t make a lot of money and her family was rich.”

Patrick surprised Lila by saying, “That sounds like Barbara Duval.”

Mrs. Lewis nodded. “She named Billy after his dad, but Willie wanted y’all to have his last name, too. No sir, she wouldn’t have it. But he stayed with her anyway, hoping she’d change her mind. Maria used to wonder what he saw in that girl.”

Lila thought about when her brother forged the documents, when he told her he was changing their last name
back
to Cole. Yet if her parents had never married—and her mother had refused to let them have their father’s name—then Billy had made this part up, too. But why? Did he believe this fact somehow diminished the reality of their father’s love?

A phone was ringing. Mrs. Lewis reached into a calico pouch hanging from the arm of her walker and pulled out a cell. After she told whoever it was that she’d call back, she continued right where she left off. “ ‘Course, he thought his twin babies hung the moon. He sent Maria pictures of y’all every couple of months, and he wanted to bring you down to Grayten for a visit, but I gather your mama wasn’t for it. Maria was just itching to see you and she would have gone up north herself if the doctor hadn’t said she was too frail to travel. She had two heart attacks before the one which killed her, and a couple of bouts with cancer, but she never complained. Your granny was a tough old gal.”

Lila looked out the window that faced the backyard. There was a large swing set, probably for Mrs. Lewis’s great-grandkids. She
thought about Maria, a short woman who always wore dresses and what she called her “sturdy shoes.” She had long gray hair that she wore in a loose braid that hung down to her waist. Her face was soft with laugh lines and wrinkles around her eyes that made her look sympathetic. She was always worried, that’s what Lila remembered most.

After a moment, she admitted, “I didn’t even realize Maria was my grandmother.” Lila was careful not to look at Patrick. She knew how strange this must sound to him. “That probably seems impossible, but—”

“No, it don’t. You were such a sick little girl, honey. Your granny didn’t want to say anything that could make you more confused than you already was. And Lord Almighty, was it touch and go for a while. You didn’t even speak more than a couple of words for weeks and weeks. And you couldn’t touch no food other than them biscuits Maria made for you, anything stronger you just brought right back up. The doctor said this would go on until them drugs were all out of your system. Maria sat by you, night and day, to make sure you didn’t have no seizures. That was the big thing your granny and your brother were worried about, ‘cause the doctor said a seizure could mean you’d have to go back to taking all them bad pills.”

“What pills?” Lila said. She hoped she didn’t sound hysterical—or crazy. “I’m sorry, but I don’t remember anything about this, either.”

“ ‘Course you don’t,” Mrs. Lewis said. “The doctor said them drugs had hurt your memory.” She looked at the nearly empty glasses still sweating on her coffee table and started to reach for her walker. “Y’all want some more lemonade?”

Patrick stood up. “I’ll get it. You just relax. Please.”

After he walked to the kitchen, Mrs. Lewis said, “He seems like a nice fellow. You know, your brother always told your granny
that you’d have a good life if they could just get you all better. My goodness, I’ve never seen a brother do for a sister like your brother did for you. He was just a kid himself, but oh, did he take on responsibility.” Patrick returned with the lemonade pitcher. As he filled up the glasses, Mrs. Lewis said, “How is Billy doing these days? Did he ever get around to writing that book he told Maria about?”

At this, Lila’s eyes welled up with tears, leaving Patrick to explain that Billy was dead. Mrs. Lewis got tears in her eyes, too, when she heard how he died, and Lila wished her husband had left that out, but she understood that if he had, there might have been questions that would have made the whole thing last even longer.