Forbidden Son (12 page)

“Aunt
Tess—?”

Tess’s
breath escaped in one long sigh. “It doesn’t matter who the baby’s father is.
One thing is for certain. I’ll never have the opportunity to be a grandmother,
but I can certainly be a doting great aunt. You and I will raise this child.
We’ll nurture it and give it more love than a kid could ever ask for. What do
you think of that?”

Raising
her palms to her cheeks, Honey Belle beamed through her tears. “Little boy or
girl, I think my baby has a wonderful future. Thank you, Aunt Tess.”

The
hallway clock chimed eight. Honey Belle stood. She folded the afghan into a
neat square and placed it on the sofa. “Mrs. Keller assigned us homework. I
guess I’d better get it done.”

Halfway
up the stairs she turned to look at her aunt, who remained curled up in the
recliner, staring at the smoldering embers in the fireplace. She knew Tess was
thinking of Roger and baby Scotty.

Chapter
Seventeen

Honey
Belle padded down the stairs to the kitchen. She placed her school books on the
table, then walked to the stove and turned on a gas burner. The note propped
against a mug brought a smile to her face.
French toast in the oven. Will
pick you up at 4 p.m.

With
the time change, the days grew dark earlier. Tess had insisted it was too
dangerous for Honey Belle to walk home from school in the dark.

She
switched on the small television Tess kept on the kitchen counter. Watching the
syndicated news channel had become a morning routine Honey Belle enjoyed. The
teakettle whistled, signaling the water inside was hot enough to steep a
teabag. As she reached for it, a face on the television screen nearly stopped
Honey Belle’s heart. She didn’t realize she had overfilled the mug until
scalding water spilled from the counter and onto her foot. After screeching in
pain and returning the kettle to the burner, Honey Belle turned the
television’s volume louder. The news commentator was reporting, “T. Harlan
Hartwell, criminal court judge, has announced his candidacy for governor of
South Carolina. Hartwell is known for his no-nonsense approach to crime.”

As
the image of Tripp’s father flashed across the screen, it was as if the Judge
were staring right at her. Honey Belle wrapped her hands protectively around her
belly when he lifted his hand and pointed a finger, saying, “I promise to shake
up the system and become South Carolina’s top cop.”

Motherly
instincts she didn’t know existed screamed a warning to protect her unborn
child from this man. A trembling heat followed by a cold wave rippled through
her. Last night she’d almost relented and revealed Tripp’s name to Tess. Honey
Belle tightened her lips. “The Judge is a dangerous man. And as much as I love
your daddy, I don’t trust what would happen if either one of them found out
about you.”

Switching
off the television, she removed the plate of French toast from the oven and
poured maple syrup over the eggy-fried bread, but her stomach rebelled. She
settled for a cup of hot tea and saltine crackers.

Suddenly
the kitchen seemed to close in on her. She needed fresh crisp air. Glancing at
the clock, she gathered her books, walked out the back porch door and down the
sidewalk toward the vocational school.

A
brisk wind riffled her hair, and she pulled the hood of the jacket over her
head. She enjoyed her morning walks to school, the scent of smoke from
fireplaces. Somehow it made her troubles seem far away.

This
year she looked forward to finding the next path to her future. With a child.

****

They
got off the elevator on the fourth floor. A couple followed Honey Belle and her
aunt out of the elevator. The man and woman looked happy as they entered the
wide hall holding hands. The woman’s belly was a large protruding mound.

She
had an odd feeling, looking at the couple. Like a yearning. If she had to give
a name to it—an ache in her heart.

Other
than morning sickness and a positive litmus test, none of this seemed real to
Honey Belle. But it was. She was glad Tess was with her.

“Relax.”
Tess walked with Honey Belle to the reception counter.

“Easy
for you to say.” She signed in, walked to a chair, and picked up a magazine.

Thirty
minutes later she followed a nurse through the doors to the exam room. Feeling
like a frightened child, she looked over her shoulder at Tess, who offered a
smile and gave a little shooing motion with her hands.

She
loved her aunt, but with all her heart she wished Tripp was with her to share
this experience. She undressed and slipped on the gown, front side open, as the
nurse had instructed.

She
sat down on the examining table and waited for the doctor. And waited. Her back
ached from sitting up straight. She checked her watch. What was taking so long?

She
groaned. “Five more minutes and I’m out of here.”

She
closed her eyes and tried to dig up the remnants of what she’d felt months ago,
before fleeing South Carolina. She’d been seeking a new beginning, trying to
find favor from a spiteful mother who constantly belittled her, giving all her
energy to work, and also taking care of an ailing father.

Now
she faced a completely different set of problems. She didn’t want her baby to
grow up feeling as if it were a problem.

She
wouldn’t let that happen.

“Good
morning, Ms. Garrett. Are you ready for your ultrasound?”

Honey
Belle put on a big smile and nodded.

“Down
the hall, second door on the left. I’ll be there in a few minutes. And we’ll
take a picture as a souvenir for baby’s scrapbook.”

Honey
Belle hadn’t thought of keeping a memory book. The idea appealed to her. She’d
ask Tess if they could stop at the mall before going home.

Honey
Belle hopped down from the bed. “What about activity?”

“With
moderation, as long as you don’t do anything dangerous or strenuous. Are you
referring to any specific activity?”

“I’m
taking classes at the vocational school. It’s a two-mile walk.”

“Walking
will strengthen your abdominal muscles, which will make the delivery easier. It
will also make it easier to get your figure back after the baby is born.”

“What
about morning sickness? Mine seems to last all day.”

The
doctor offered a warm smile. “It happens that way sometimes. By the time I see
you next month, you should have a healthy appetite and no sickness.”

Honey
Belle nodded. She walked down the hall. Alone.

She
wished Tess had come with her. Doing this by herself shouldn’t hurt. She wished
Tripp was with her. Instead, she walked into the darkened room feeling desolate.
The technician said, “Lie on your back. The lotion I use is a little cold.”

“Can
I watch?” Honey Belle lifted her head and watched the screen as the technician
moved the scope over her belly.

A
few minutes later she saw the beating heart of her baby. Her own heart matched
the rapid pulsations of the image on the screen.

Doctor
Daniel entered the darkened room. “A healthy heart.”

“Is
it a boy or a girl?”

The
doctor leaned closer and pointed. “This shadow makes it difficult to tell.
You’ll have to wait for the big reveal in about three and half months.”

The
technician rubbed the lotion from Honey Belle’s belly and handed her a picture
of the ultrasound. “Here’s your baby’s first picture.”

Honey
Belle took the black-and-white photo. Her fingers trembled as she held it up
and looked at a little blob that looked really like nothing—except for a
beating heart on a screen that proved a new life was growing inside her. She
couldn’t wait to show Tess. She wished her parents were alive so she could show
them. She didn’t want to think about Tripp or his father.

When
she walked back to the waiting room, Tess was there. Smiling. Honey Belle held
up the picture.

“Boy
or girl?”

“My
question exactly, Aunt Tess.” Honey Belle held the photograph toward the light
and pointed. “Dr. Daniel says I’ll have to wait until my little surprise
package arrives to find out.”

Honey
Belle’s face suddenly transformed to surprise, and her hands flew upward to
clutch her stomach. “Oh.”

Tess
moved to her niece’s side quickly. “What’s the matter?”

“The
baby kicked really hard.” She massaged the swell of her abdomen, grinned
sheepishly after a long moment, then captured Tess’s hand in hers. “Give me your
hand.”

Tess
frowned as if concentrating. She shook her head indicating she felt nothing.
“Oh...oh, there it is, no more than a slight pressure against my fingertips.”

She
lifted her eyes to Honey Belle and smiled. “Isn’t it wonderful to feel him move
inside you?”

“It’s
a bit scary to think I’m responsible for this little creature growing inside of
me. Aunt Tess, I’ve seen what happens to a child whose only mistake in life is
to be born in the wrong place at the wrong time. What if I’m not mother
material?” She blinked fast to chase away the tears before they built up on her
lashes.

Tess
used fingers to lift Honey Belle’s chin. “Look me directly in the eyes, Honey
Belle, and heed my words. You are...not...your mother. Do you understand?”

She
looked at the compassion in her aunt’s eyes and wondered why her mother had
been the exact opposite—like an evil twin born years later. “I do understand,
Aunt Tess. You may need to remind me every once in awhile.”

Outside
in the cold, walking to the car, Honey Belle felt invigorated. She noticed it
all, every sound, the way the sun rays filtered through a hole in the darkening
clouds overhead. Her senses had come alive.

She
thought about the shock of seeing Judge Hartwell’s face on the news, and the
anxiety it had caused her. She thought about the sleepless nights she’d
experienced since coming to live with her aunt, the short temper during the
daytime. Even yesterday she had doubted her future. The tension was gone now,
every bit of it, replaced by the image of her baby’s beating heart, and she was
glad of her new place in life.

She
wrapped her arms around Tess and hugged her tight.

“My
goodness, what’s this for?”

Honey
Belle laughed. “I’m starved.”

“You
hugged me because you’re starved?”

“I
hugged you because everything suddenly seems to have righted itself in my
universe.”

“In
that case, let’s celebrate. What would you like to eat?”

“Fried
chicken, a mountain of mashed potatoes swimming in gravy, and pecan pie.”

Tess
cocked an eyebrow. “Are you sure your stomach can handle all that grease?”

“Maybe...maybe
not, but right now I’m hungry enough to eat a whole chicken—feathers and all.”

Honey
Belle opened the car door and slid in.

Life
had been a lot simpler a year ago. What was ahead, that was a whole other
matter.

Chapter
Eighteen

Honey
Belle awoke sweaty and breathless in her bed, her head full of unfamiliar
images—long dark corridors, the sound of a baby crying, and herself, confused
and frightened and unable to change any of it.

She
sat upright, disoriented, but only for a minute or two. She knew why the baby
dream had visited her tonight.

All
day Saturday, with Tess pulling her once-a-month twelve-hour shift, Honey Belle
had been at loose ends and with nothing to keep herself occupied. She decided
to explore the attic. She had expected to find nothing of value, certainly
nothing that would cause her heart to miss a beat. She was wrong. The attic had
yielded a treasure trove of mementos.

She’d
fingered the intricate carvings on the frame of a floor-length mirror, a chair
with a broken rocker, an old seamstress dress form, and stacks of National
Geographic magazines.

Nothing
startling. Nothing dramatic.

Kneeling
on the dusty floor, Honey Belle tested the lock on a steamer trunk that bore
scars from its travels. Surprised when it opened, she hesitated, feeling like
an intruder. Then, allowing curiosity to get the better of her, she carefully
fingered the neatly stored contents.

The
crushed remains of an orchid corsage, wrapped in tissue paper. A clutch of blue
ribbons that Tess had won in various high school events. Letters bundled
together with a red ribbon, addressed to Tess and postmarked from England,
their faded ink revealing they were from Mr. and Mrs. Kemp, Roger’s parents.

Recalling
the emotions on her aunt’s face the night she’d shared the painful events of
Africa, Honey Belle decided the contents were too personal. She could not
intrude on words meant only for her aunt.

She
tried on several old hats and couldn’t imagine women wearing such items. A
lace-up corset caused her to grimace. She removed a shoebox, and when she set
the lid aside, the contents yielded a little bit of surprise.

The
box was filled with photographs, the white edges yellowed from age. Honey Belle
lifted an old black-and-white of a man looking strong and handsome, with a
charming smile. She turned the picture over and recognized Tess’s neat
penmanship where she had written the name—Roger. It was dated 1953.

There
were other photographs. Some with Tess in her nurse’s uniform, waving to
someone off camera, others of her with three nuns, a few of native Africans,
thatched huts, and several of Tess and Roger. They seemed so young. There were
a few of Tess wearing maternity tops, and one especially poignant picture of
Roger with his hand on Tess’s protruding belly.

The
sight of those photos brought no particular emotions. As she picked them up,
her fingers brushed against something soft, and when she saw it, the smile on
her face froze.

With
the same care one would give to a newborn baby, Honey Belle lifted the
half-finished, cross-stitched birth announcement. It was such a small thing—too
small to be framed or hung on a nursery wall.

She
ran her finger over the once cheery colors, now faded with age, and the
patterns of childishly simple icons meant for a baby boy.

Seeing
the announcement caused her heart to lurch as she recalled Tess’s accounting of
the Hutu rebels’ attack on the village and the deaths of her husband and son.
Soiled, fading, the fabric sat in Honey Belle’s lap as a lasting reminder of Tess’s
sad memories. The name of her son still stood out plainly. ROGER SCOTT. Roger
for his grandfather and Scott for his father.

Only
the boy hadn’t lived to carry the weighty, paternal pride of such an important
name. He’d died, along with his father, on a scorching day in the African sun.

Now
in the darkness of her bedroom, Honey Belle’s hand fumbled for the bedside
lamp. She squinted against the bright glare, shoving handfuls of tangled blonde
hair out of her eyes so she could read the clock.

Her
heart was no longer pounding, but with acrid bile in her throat and a bad case
of heartburn, it would be impossible to get back to sleep.

She
swung her legs over the side of the bed and trundled to the bathroom. Opening
the medicine cabinet, she removed a bottle of antacids and popped two inside
her mouth.

After
rinsing her face, she returned to the bedroom and picked up the camera and the
photo album Tess had bought her that afternoon at the mall.

She
would do what Tess hadn’t been able to bring herself to do. She would keep a
scrapbook complete with pictures for her child.

A
kernel of an idea wiggled its way into Honey Belle’s thoughts. Perhaps it was
the news report of Judge Hartwell announcing his candidacy for governor that
spurred the notion. As she allowed the plan to grow, her enthusiasm grew with
it. She didn’t resist the smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

The
day would come, she knew, when her child would ask questions about his father.
Until that day arrived, she would collect newspaper articles, pictures, any
written information about Tripp, and place all of it inside the scrapbook. The
Hartwells were a prestigious family. One day, just as with his father, Tripp’s
face would grace the pages of newspapers and magazines.

And
when the child, boy or girl, was old enough to completely understand, she would
show him the copy of the check his grandfather had written to force her out of
town. She would show the incriminating pictures and explain how Judge Hartwell
had planned to use them against her.

Doubt
crept in to replace enthusiasm. What if the scheme backfired? What if the child
blamed her? Could she handle the rejection?

Her
emotions broke and she swiped away tears with the back of her hand.

She
placed the camera and album on the nightstand next to her bed. Closing her
eyes, she willed herself to focus on an image of the one nearest her heart—the
baby. What he would feel like in her arms. His sweet smell, the downy-softness
of his hair, the whisper of his breath as she held him against her neck. Surely,
there wasn’t anything more heavenly?

As
if responding to his mother’s emotions, the baby moved in its warm nest. Honey
Belle’s hand went to her belly. She wondered if it was true that babies could
hear from inside the womb. In a soft voice, she crooned, “Hush, little baby,
don’t say a word, Mama’s gonna buy you a mockingbird—”