Playing by the Rules: A Novel

ALSO BY ELAINE MERYL BROWN

Lemon City

In loving memory of my father,

Elmo Ronald Brown,

the inspiration for my climb,

the last of the Mohicans

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I’m grateful to my agent Victoria Sanders, and my editor Melody Guy, both insightful and wonderful women who have made this journey an enjoyable one. Just as important is my gratitude to Random House.

I’m grateful to Alice Peck, Danielle Durkin, and Tammy Richards, and to all the people who have had fun passing through Lemon City who believe that the characters and the town live on.

Thank you to my family, friends, and colleagues who have inspired and encouraged, especially Henry, Bob, Gerri, Adriane, Shelley, Pat, Debra, Farrell, Toni, Olivia, Marsha, Rhonda, Sandra, Sam, and Ben.

For Mom, David, Erica, and Madison, thank you for the love and support and for understanding the time I had to take away in order to get things done.

“The role played by the Negro woman in the development of her race in America is a history worth recording. In education she has been a pioneer in her club life, she has set the clock forward for hours in the ameliorating conditions of Negro children in all sections of the country—yes, largely out of the pockets of washer women, domestic servants, day laborers. She has gone into the alleys, the slums of our cities north and south and gathered up children, legitimate and illegitimate, and brought them out into God’s great sunlight.”

—Charlotte Hawkins Brown,
The Charlotte Hawkins Brown Papers
“The Role of the Negro Woman in the Fight for Freedom,” from a speech delivered June 1943 in Madison Square Garden, New York City. (Founder, Palmer Memorial Institute, 1902)

Thirty years later:

LEMON CITY CHRONICLE,

Classified Section

December 25, 1973

“Medford Attaway, seeking his birth mother. Wants to know who she is before starting his own family, not leaving any rocks, box, or socks unturned. Send information or picture to Lemon City P.O. Box 411, or contact the sheriff directly. No questions asked.”

1) NEVER MARRY AN OUTSIDER. IF YOU DO, THE BOLL WEEVIL WILL BITE YOU BACK.

2) IF YOU CAN’T BE HONEST, YOU MIGHT AS WELL BE DEAD.

3) AIRING YOUR DIRTY LAUNDRY OUT IN THE STREET WILL SMELL UP THE NEIGHBORHOOD.

4) DON’T LET THE MOJO LADY KNOW YOU GOT TROUBLES. IF YOU DO, SHE’LL GIVE YOU MORE.

5) CHEATING MAKES YOU LOWER THAN A DOG SCRATCHING UP A WORM IN THE DIRT.

6) WHAT GOES AROUND WILL ALWAYS COME BACK AROUND AND HIT YOU IN THE HEAD.

7) HELP THOSE IN NEED AND NEVER JUDGE THEM BY THE HOLES IN THEIR SOCKS.

8) DO BUSINESS AT HOME FIRST, THEN WITH OUTSIDERS YOU CAN INVITE INTO YOUR HOME, AS A LAST RESORT.

9) MIND YOUR OWN BUSINESS PERSONALLY AND PROFESSIONALLY.

10) SUPPORT THE COMMUNITY IN EVERY WAY POSSIBLE AND IMAGINABLE.

If you know anyone who has broken the rules and fallen by the wayside, immediately contact the Ladies of Mt. Zion Baptist Church for reformation instruction, council circle demonstrations, or renewal training.

The fall rain came down with such force it felt like tiny daggers plunging into her body through the plastic poncho. The flimsy hood could protect her from getting wet, but not from the pain the sky was causing, and she considered it punishment for what she was about to do. What was worse was the way the Blue Ridge Mountains stood still, making her feel they were staring at her, watching her every move.

Splashing through puddles, her heart pounded louder in her chest and her breath became quick, not from the weight of the crate she held tightly against her belly covered by the poncho, but from the burden she would carry with her for the rest of her life. Inside the crate was a sweetgrass basket holding precious live cargo. Finding a destination would be her last act of protection for the infant, and guilt ran over her as easily as the water sliding off her plastic outerwear. Feeling she had no choice but to commit the crime, the thought made her cry harder than the skies. She wished the circumstances had been different, but there was no turning back.

The wailing from inside the basket became unbearable, and she resigned herself to the fact it was time to let go and stop walking in what seemed like circles and find the baby a home.

There was a light on in the house up ahead despite it being way past midnight, when most Lemonites had their heads hard-pressed against their pillows. She tiptoed up the steps to the wooden porch, confident the sound of heavy rain would conceal the creaking. As a last precaution, she scanned through the darkness to make sure she wouldn’t be noticed. Suddenly the rain slowed down, turning into a drizzle, and she took it to be a sign that this was a good porch—that the life she was about to abandon would grow to become calm and one day be at peace. Convinced this was where the baby belonged, she gently lowered the basket onto the floor.

Pulling back the blanket, she uncovered the tiny face. “Forgive me,” she said, looking into his teary deep brown eyes. With trembling hands, she made sure the layers of blankets were tucked tightly around him so no cold from the westerly wind could penetrate the sturdy straw of the basket. She moved her fingers around the crate until satisfied she found the diapers and extra milk she had packed to get him through the week. She wasn’t a bad person. It was the most she could do.

Her hand stayed on the basket handle longer than it should have when it was time to say good-bye, and she began to rock the infant to sleep so it wouldn’t witness her cowardly escape. Enough time had passed to give her second thoughts, but the only thing she lingered on was how she’d got herself involved in this mess and that it was hard to raise a child without a husband. Even though she was convinced she had made the right decision, she had to keep repeating that to herself.

She hummed a quiet lullaby until the baby’s eyes finally closed, then withdrew her hand slowly, reluctant for the separation. Against her will, she made her head turn toward the dark road. As
she stood up, her legs felt like they would collapse underneath her, but she managed to hold onto the railing, walk down the steps, and keep her eyes focused front. “No regrets,” she kept mumbling under her breath; then she recited the first thing that came to mind, which was Matthew from the Bible. “For if you forgive men when they sin against you, your heavenly Father will also forgive you. But if you do not forgive men their sins, your Father will not forgive your sins.” She shoved her hands beneath her poncho to keep them dry and wipe them of this shameful business that she only hoped wouldn’t come back to haunt her one day. Then she folded her hands in prayer, remembering Mark: “And when you stand praying, if you hold anything against anyone, forgive him so that your Father in heaven may forgive your sins.”

As she stared into the darkness, the mountains now looked like ghosts hunching over in the night, ready to pounce to protect its citizens, if necesssary. But she knew Lemon City was a friendly town and despite its strong opinions of strangers, she felt it would have a big heart for the tiny memory she’d left behind. Once she was certain her legs were strong enough to carry her, she picked up her pace and began to flee from the scene as fast as she could. The sides of her plastic poncho spread and flapped like wings as she gathered up speed until it sounded as if she were a bird taking off in flight. Her plan was to be long gone before the Lemonites saw daylight.

CHRISTMAS DAY, 1973

Louise couldn’t figure out what Medford’s problem was, which made her feel as angry as a Virginia tiger beetle stuck on its back. For the past week, he had been more restless than a church bell waiting for Sunday to roll around. To say that Medford was acting strangely was an understatement. Lately, whenever she and Medford were together, it seemed to Louise that his mind was preoccupied with something or someone else. In fact, just last week she’d called him several times during the evening and the phone just rang and rang. Usually he picked up the receiver no later than the third ring, because normally at that time he’d be home. Normally, he’d already be in bed, stretched out flat on his back, talking to her in a relaxed state of comfort. The other thing that made her eyebrow raise was when he came to visit her at the library last week and he walked right past her office in a daze as if he had forgotten the room where she worked. If it was another woman he was thinking about, and he had changed his mind about her, Louise thought she’d rather hear about it now, when they were only six weeks into the start of their relationship, than later.