Pearl of Great Price (19 page)

C
HAPTER 21

Turned out Renata did have plans to spend some quality time with me that day. While I pulled myself together, she padded into her dressing room and spoke to me over the sounds of hangers sliding across closet rods and drawers opening and closing.

“I thought we’d drive over to Hot Springs this afternoon,” she said. Laughter bubbled from inside the cavernous closet. “I can’t
wait
to see Aunt Geneva’s expression when I tell her our news!”

I smoothed the rippling folds of my skirt. “Maybe you should give her a little warning. She might need to adjust to the idea.” I didn’t want sweet Mrs. Nelson collapsing of a heart attack.

Renata’s smiling face popped around the door frame. “I’ve already told her we’re coming.”

I sauntered over and leaned against the wall outside the door. “And who exactly did you say
we
were?”

“Just said she’s going to be very, very surprised.” She tweaked my chin before giving me her back so I could zip up the same perky yellow sundress she’d been wearing the first time I saw her.

A knock sounded on the outer door and Yvette swept into the room. “’Mornin’, Mrs. C, you ready for me? How are you, Julie, honey?”

“Fine, thanks. You?” In the presence of such glamour I could only hug myself and avoid my plain-Jane reflection in Renata’s closet-door mirror. Did Yvette ever have a bad-hair day—a bad
anything
day?

“Start with Julie, why don’t you?” Renata plucked at my mass of curls. “Oh, honey, we’ve just got to tame that hair.”

“Believe me, I’ve tried.” I ogled Renata’s chestnut waves, flowing across her shoulders like a satin cloak. “I’d give anything to have gorgeous hair like yours.”

Hard knots formed on either side of her jaw. “I’ve had my share of bad perms, too. Yvette, see what you can do for this poor girl. Don’t take too long, though. I want to leave within the hour.”

Yvette winked. “My clients don’t call me a miracle worker for nothing.” She ushered me into Renata’s bathroom and seated me in front of a lighted mirror. A wide array of gels, mousses, sprays, and electric styling devices cluttered the marble countertop.

Renata finished dressing and excused herself, leaving Yvette to experiment with my hair. She pushed it this way and that, brushing, dampening, blow-drying, and finally attacking it with a wide ceramic flat iron. But five minutes after she unclamped the device, my curls sprang back faster than a Slinky toy.

“Oooh, girl, I’m beginning to believe you.” Yvette tut-tutted and shook her head. Lifting a strand of hair, she twisted it around her finger. “Baby, what you need is dreadlocks. You would look
très chic
, I’m telling you.”

“Oh, no, no way!” I cringed. “I mean, they look great on
you
, but I couldn’t—”

“Hey, you think white girls can’t carry off the look? Who’s that famous lady writer—Anne Lamott? She finally quit fighting her kinky hair and went with dreads. It’d be so easy for you to take care of. When you get back later, give me a call and we can get started, what do you say?”

I had to admit, the idea sorely tempted me.

But there’d been a few too many changes in my life already. I didn’t need one more.

~~~

The chauffeur met us out front in Renata’s silver Mercedes. She explained she usually preferred to drive herself, unless she had calls to make or paperwork to handle while en route. Today she slid into the backseat with me so we could chat on the way to Hot Springs.

And
chat
about summed it up. Definitely nothing deep or insightful—and Renata did most of the talking. She told me all about the Channing Children’s Foundation, the various charitable boards she served on, where she liked to shop, the latest theater event she’d attended—

“What about your husband, Renata?” Interrupting her was about the only way I could get a word in edgewise. “Am I going to meet him anytime soon?”

“Oh, I doubt it. Larry’s always off on some GigantaMart business of one kind or another.”

I ran a fingernail along a seam in the upholstery. “Sounds like Larry’s business keeps him on the road a lot.”

She gazed out the window at the pine forests and craggy hillsides. Her rigid posture spoke louder than her words. “We don’t see much of each other at all, in fact.”

“If I was married to somebody who traveled all over the country, I think I’d find any excuse to tag along.”

“I used to.” She crossed one bronzed leg over the other, dangling her strappy yellow fake-crocodile slide.

She left it at that, and so did I.

Besides, we’d turned onto the back highway and were nearing the Caddo Pines turnoff. When I saw the billboard with the big blue arrow pointing south to Otto Stiles’ Swap & Shop, my heart swelled to three times its normal size. It was all I could do to keep from yelling at the driver to pull over and let me out. I started to check the time on my Snow White watch before remembering I’d left it on the dresser back at Channing Castle. The dashboard clock read 11:24. Grandpa would be home from church by now, changing out of his Sunday clothes and grabbing a sandwich or bowl of soup before opening the Swap & Shop at noon.

At least I hoped he was getting himself something decent to eat. He usually left me in charge of groceries and cooking, and I had this nagging fear that without me around, he wouldn’t take proper care of himself.

Why hadn’t I at least called to check on him?
It had been four whole days now, and I hadn’t even had my cell phone on since my first day at Renata’s. Maybe it was because I knew I couldn’t have it both ways—remain Julie Pearl Stiles, small-town flea market manager, while finding my way as Jennifer Susan Pearl, sister of Little Rock society queen Renata Pearl Channing.

So when I glimpsed the Caddo Pines water tower in the distance, I hunkered down and squeezed my eyes shut. Tears puddled in the creases alongside my nose, but I brushed them away before Renata could notice.

~~~

“Aunt Geneva, honey, how have you been?” Renata stepped into the foyer and wrapped her arms around the slender woman, while I held back just out of sight, peering through the red-tinged leaves of a photinia bush.

“My goodness, Rennie-girl, ease up on these old bones.” Mrs. Nelson—could I ever get used to calling her Aunt Geneva?—gave Renata a pat on the back and squirmed out of the tight embrace. She laughed heartily. “You were just here for lunch a couple weeks ago. You’re acting like you haven’t seen me in a month of Sundays.”

“I know, but I’m so excited, I could burst.”

“I can see that!” Mrs. Nelson set gnarled hands on her hips. “All right, then, who is this surprise guest you brought?” She peered around Renata and cast me a curious grin. “Hello, there—oh, it’s you!”

Mrs. Nelson beckoned me inside as she reached for the wall switch and flicked on the ceiling light. The small foyer glowed yellow. “What a surprise, Julie! Renata, why didn’t you tell me you finally met the young lady from the flea market?”

On the hall table I noticed the candy dish I’d rung up for her a couple of weeks ago. It saddened me to realize my very own aunt had visited the Swap & Shop so many times and I hadn’t even known we were related. When I glimpsed our side-by-side reflections in a gilt-framed mirror, the resemblance was even more obvious. I could see the amazement in her face too. She clicked her tongue. “Didn’t I tell you, Renata? Is Julie the spittin’ image of me in my younger days, or what?”

Renata’s eyes brimmed. Her voice sank to a whisper. “That’s because she’s Jenny, Aunt Geneva.
She’s Jenny.
”

~~~

Geneva Nelson’s take on the announcement was somewhere between Renata’s fervor and Felicia Beaufort’s icy distrust. And honestly, that made me a whole lot more comfortable than either extreme.

Geneva smiled at me across the glass-topped wicker table on her screened back porch. Her eyes held kindness and compassion . . . and the memory of great sadness. A light breeze lifted the curls from her temples, revealing salt-and-pepper roots. We’d been talking for over an hour now, the salad lunch she’d served almost untouched. She’d listened quietly as I explained how I’d pieced everything together.

Renata kept nodding in silent agreement and wiping away an occasional tear. “Isn’t it a miracle, Aunt Geneva? If you hadn’t kept pestering me to stop in at the flea market, we might never have discovered Jenny’s alive.”

I took a deep breath and glanced at Renata. “I know it’s a shock, and there’ll be a DNA test, of course—”

“Which is completely unnecessary.” Renata reached over to pat my arm. “No one has to prove what I already know in my heart.”

Geneva swirled the melting crescent-shaped cubes in her glass of iced tea. “Renata, would you mind fetching the tea pitcher from the refrigerator? And bring a bowl of ice, too.”

“Sure, honey.” Renata planted a kiss on the crown of her aunt’s head as she rose.

When we were alone, Geneva turned to me. “It truly would be a miracle if you
are
our Jenny. You have no idea what the loss of that little girl did to Rennie—to the whole family.”

I pushed a spiral of spinach pasta around my plate. “I know what it did to Micah Hobart.”

“You have feelings for him, don’t you?”

My voice became gravelly. “Yes. I think I do.”

She touched my arm. “He’s a good man. I always felt so bad for him, for how he got caught up in Renata’s misguided escape plan.”

“You knew she was running to you?”

“Oh, yes. It was such a difficult time. Lucille—Renata’s mother—could be quite emotional. Controlling. Critical. Some days she’d be just fine, and others—” She broke off, her lips pressed together in a frown.

My skin tingled. “What exactly was wrong with her?”

“We didn’t talk much about such things, but I think nowadays they call it bipolar disorder. I know she took pills for years.” Geneva’s eyes took on a faraway look. “She got worse after Jenny was born, and fools that we all were, we wanted to believe it would pass.” She gave her head a small shake. “Forgive me, I don’t mean to talk about Jenny as if I don’t believe you’re she.”

“It’s okay, I understand. Please go on.”

“Well, it was extremely hard on Rennie, barely a teenager and so confused about everything. So many of the day-to-day responsibilities of the resort—things Lucille usually handled—fell to Rennie. Not to mention taking care of little Jenny when Lucille was having a particularly bad day. And it got to be too much.”

I paused at the clatter of ice cubes spilling into a glass bowl. My next question came out with difficulty. “If you knew how bad it was, why didn’t you do something?”

“I’ve asked myself the same question more times than I can count.” Geneva plucked at the fringed border of her placemat. “I was young, too, recently married and wrapped up in my own concerns. And I was reluctant to meddle in my brother’s affairs.”

Renata’s shoes clicked on the hardwood porch floor. “Here we are. Let me top off your glass, Julie. More ice, Aunt Geneva?”

~~~

The DNA test was a simple thing. Just like on TV, the lab tech the Channings’ attorney brought had Renata open her mouth and scraped the inside of her cheek with a cotton swab, then did the same with me.

Felicia’s polished acrylics did a tap dance on her crossed arms. “How long will the results take?”

The tech capped the vial containing Renata’s swab and wrote something on the narrow label. “Since both parents are deceased and we don’t have their DNA for comparison, this test won’t be conclusive. However, I should be able to determine a probability index for siblingship within forty-eight hours.”

Renata, seated on a brocade armchair across the living room, heaved a noisy breath. “Honestly, Howard,” she said to the attorney, “this whole DNA rigmarole is overkill.”

“Can’t be too careful in these situations, Renata.” Howard Kirby, Attorney-at-Law, hefted his bulk off the white sofa and snapped his briefcase shut. Casting me a dismissive glance, he ushered the lab tech out of the room. “I’ll be in touch as soon as I hear anything. In the meantime . . .” He paused in the tiled foyer next to an urn of white daylilies. He lowered his voice as Renata joined him, and I couldn’t hear what he said next.

As if I couldn’t guess.
“Don’t be so quick to trust this perky young gold digger. She’s probably nothing more than a money-grubbing pretender.”

My spine prickled, and I turned to see Felicia staring me down—sort of, since I was the one looking down on her.

She sneered like a snippy little rat terrier. “I suggest you leave now before the test comes back and proves you’re a fake. It’ll save you and Mrs. C both a lot of embarrassment.”

The rat terrier ought to know better than to tangle with a Great Dane. “Maybe you ought to polish up your résumé, Ms. Beaufort, because when those results come back,
you’re
likely to be the one who’s embarrassed.”

C
HAPTER 22

June, 25 years earlier

Hot Springs, Arkansas

The baby’s screams sliced the morning stillness, and over them an angry shout: “Sit still, Jenny. For heaven’s sake,
sit still!”

Feet dangling off the floating platform twenty feet from shore, Rennie pressed her hands to her ears and shuddered.

Micah shot a glance toward the main house. “What’s your mama doing to her?”

“Giving her a permanent.” Rennie lowered her hands with a groan.

“Sounds like Jenny’s getting her hair torn out by the roots.”

“The poor thing’s not even three years old. She doesn’t understand.”

The screaming only got worse, along with Mama’s hysterical shouting that anyone within a mile of the resort must have heard. “I mean it, Jennifer Susan Pearl! I will tie your hands and feet to this chair if you do not hold still!”

Rennie had all she could stomach. In one motion she pulled her feet out of the water, curled her toes around the edge of the rocking deck, and launched herself headfirst into the lake. With angry strokes she beat her way to shore.