The List (22 page)

Renny glanced at his watch. “I should be there in about twenty-five minutes.”

“Good. I look forward to seeing you, son.”

“Bye.”

Mama A lived in a small white house built in the 1940s. Renny's father had financed the house for Clarence and Mama A when they purchased it shortly after Mama A began working for Renny's family. Clarence worked on the docks at the Port of Charleston, and they paid off the debt to Renny's father two years ahead of schedule. H. L. respected Clarence Flowers—but from a distance. For their generation, the racial gulf was still unbridged except along narrowly defined points of contact.

Clarence and Mama A had two sons and one daughter, all of whom were several years older than Renny. Renny liked their youngest daughter, Julia, the best. In fact, it was Julia who gave him his name. When he was just three years old, Julia, who was thirteen, came with her mother to the Jacobson house in the summertime to help with looking after the little boy. Mama A would make wonderful home-cooked meals for them each night, but finicky little Josiah would just pick at his food. “Eat, little bird,” Julia would tease. “You just like a little Carolina wren, boy, peckin' that way at your food. Come on, little wren, eat some o' these peas.” Eventually Julia's teasing turned into a full-fledged nickname and everyone came to call Josiah Jacobson “Renny.”

Many nights, after playing outside all day, Julia would make the two of them real lemonade. No one could make lemonade like Julia. She squeezed the lemons by hand and knew exactly how much sugar to add without making it too sweet. After they enjoyed a cool refreshment out on the veranda, she would read to him. Julia read with expression and feeling, changing her voice for different characters in the story. It was as good as an old-time radio drama.

When Renny was twelve, Clarence died after suffering a massive stroke. His funeral was one of Renny's most vivid childhood memories. At the time, the Flowers family belonged to an A.M.E. church, which Renny later learned stood for African Methodist Episcopal. The A.M.E. was nothing like St. Alban's Episcopal in downtown Charleston. The two groups were as similar as ham hocks and filet mignon. Each church had its liturgy and protocol, but to an uninitiated observer it would be hard to place the two approaches to Christian worship on the same planet. During the funeral, three matronly ladies dressed in white did nothing but fan Mama A and Clarence's three sisters. The first man who spoke eulogized Clarence for half an hour. Amazed at the power of the man's oratory, Renny thought he was the preacher, but he turned out to be one of Clarence's coworkers from the docks. Clarence's younger brother followed the dock worker and spoke for forty-five minutes. It was a muggy, overcast day, but toward the end of the brother's remarks about the reality of Clarence's faith, a shaft of sunlight pierced the clouds and shot a beam of light onto the wooden casket. Several people shouted “Glory” and “Hallelujah.” Renny had to admit it was high drama with visual effects from another realm. The preacher spoke for an hour. By the time he finished it was so hot Renny would have given a week's allowance for one of the fans used by the ladies in white.

Because her children were all out of the house by the time Clarence died, Mama A worked an extra day each week for Renny's family and, in a way, became his mother's best friend during the years prior to her death. For them, the racial gulf was not a canyon; it was a narrow ditch they could easily step across at any point.

Mama A lived in a predominantly black residential neighborhood not far from downtown Charleston. People were sitting on their front porches or front steps as Renny entered the area. Several groups of younger children playing in the street scattered at the sound of Renny's approach, then stared wide-eyed when he drove by in the fancy sports car.

Renny had spoken to Mama A for a few minutes at his father's funeral. Before that, he had last seen her when he graduated from college. She and Julia, who was married with two children, came by the Isle of Palms house with a graduation present before he left to start law school. Mama A had made Renny his favorite dessert, a graham cracker cake topped with a brown sugar icing that was a quarter-inch thick. As a child, Renny remembered savoring every bite, rolling it around in his mouth until it dissolved. To reciprocate, Renny found a couple of his old children's books as gifts for Julia's children.

Renny pulled into Mama A's driveway and parked behind her aging white Oldsmobile. As he walked past the old car Renny saw a cushion strategically positioned in the driver's seat so the five-foot-one Mama A could see over the dashboard. He knocked loudly on the white wooden door.

“Come in, come in,” Mama A said as she opened the door. In her late sixties, a little overweight with graying hair, a happily wrinkled face, and sparkling dark eyes, Mama A wore a loose-fitting, faded blue seersucker housedress.

Leaning over, Renny gave her a quick hug and followed her through the small foyer to a combination dining room and den to the left of the front door.

“Sit down where it's cool and comfortable,” Mama A said.

A window-unit air conditioner hummed in the background. Pictures of children and grandchildren covered an entire wall.

“Do you have any new grandchildren?” Renny asked as he scanned the gallery.

“As a matter of fact, I have one so new she doesn't have a picture on the wall yet. Joe and his wife have a brand-new daughter named Amber Nicole. She's two weeks old today.”

It would be joyful chaos when Mama A's brood crowded into the small house. Renny settled back in the chair and stretched his legs.

“Did you get together on the Fourth of July?” he asked.

“Of course we did. This past Fourth we had twenty-four people here. I wish you could have tasted the ribs my brother Garner cooked on the grill.”

“Don't torture me,” Renny begged.

Though it was almost exclusively a Flowers family affair, Renny twice participated in the Fourth of July event. Besides the food, the highlight for Renny was a softball game at a schoolyard a couple of blocks away. Everyone from age six up played. Mama A served as all-time catcher, encouraging players on both teams as they came up to bat.

“Would you like some lemonade?” Mama A asked. “And I have some leftover ham for a sandwich and some sweet potato casserole from supper last night.”

Renny hadn't realized it was lunchtime until she mentioned the food.

“Do you have plenty for yourself?”

“Plenty for both of us. And I made a fresh graham cracker cake this mornin'. We can have some for dessert.”

“You're kidding!” Renny exclaimed. “Are you sure I didn't call you yesterday instead of half an hour ago?”

Mama A didn't answer as she got up and went to the kitchen. “You stay there. I know how you like your sandwich. I'll be back in a minute.”

Renny slid down farther in the chair and looked up at the ceiling. It was creased with tiny cracks in the plaster that looked like a map of the interstate highway system. He had identified I-40, I-85, and I-75 by the time Mama A came back into the room carrying his plate and drink.

“There's a TV tray behind your chair. You can put your food on it while I get my plate from the kitchen.”

“Thanks, this looks great.”

Mama A settled into her chair and arranged her food. “Let's bless the food, Renny,” she said.

Renny bowed his head, but kept his eyes open to watch the elderly lady as she prayed.

“Thank you, Lord. You are always good and always wise. Bless Renny and this food. In Jesus' name. Amen and amen.”

Watching Mama A, Renny concluded she looked a lot like Jo when she prayed. Same friendly way of talking to the Almighty.

He took a bite of sandwich. “This is perfect.” The sweet potato casserole, topped with pecans and brown sugar, was equally good. “I bet this casserole is better warmed up than it was last night.”

They ate in silence. As the minutes passed, Renny began to unwind from the stress of the weekend.

Mama A broke the stillness when she finished her sandwich. “What brings you to Charleston?” she asked.

“I was in Georgetown for some business related to my father's estate. I met with Jefferson McClintock, the lawyer, a week or so ago, but needed to come back to take care of some additional matters in Georgetown.”

“Is everything OK?”

“Yes, but while walking on the beach at Pawley's Island yesterday, I remembered a conversation I had with my mother shortly before she died. She told me I needed to come see you after she was gone.”

“What about?”

“It was after she lost normal use of her voice. She was able to communicate in an amazing way with me one day and told me to ask you about my grandfather. I had forgotten about it until the other day.”

Mama A slid her tray back and slowly pushed herself up from the chair. “Wait here. I'll be back in a minute.”

Renny could hear her opening doors and drawers in her bedroom. He finished his sandwich and was rolling the first bite of graham cracker cake around his mouth with his tongue when she returned.

“Here they are. I think this is all,” she said, putting two old manila envelopes and a small, tattered, leather Bible down beside his chair. The metal clasps on the envelopes had rusted and streaked the faded yellow paper.

Renny opened the Bible and saw his mother's name neatly printed on the dedication page and his grandfather's name underneath it with the date of the gift. His grandfather had given it to her when she was about twelve years old.

“A gift Bible from my grandfather to my mother. Do you know what is in the envelopes?” Renny asked.

“I never opened them. You can see they are sealed, probably by your mother. Just like you, I was alone with her one mornin' near the end, and she was able to talk with me in a way I can only explain as the hand of God. She told me your grandfather had a vision or dream about you before you was born, gave me these envelopes, and asked me to save them for you until you asked about him.”

Renny was mystified. “Why didn't she just give the information to me directly? It seems there was a risk involved if I hadn't decided to come by and see you.”

“The Lord works things out accordin' to the pattern of his will and that don't always make sense to our common sense. It seems to me the important thing is that you're here now, right?”

“Yes.”

“Then, I'd guess it had to do with timin'. You may need this information now in a way that you didn't before.”

“OK,” he said. “Let's have a look.”

Mama A got up to leave.

“No, please stay. You have a part in this, and I may need to ask you a question.”

“That's fine,” she said, taking a bite of cake.

Renny picked up the envelopes. Turning them over, he recognized his mother's handwriting. The thinner of the two was addressed “To Josiah.” On the thicker one, his mother had written “Daddy's Papers.” Renny pulled open the seal of the envelope addressed to him. The glue was so old and dry that the flap easily gave way to his tug. Reaching inside, he pulled out two sheets of unlined paper. It was a letter dated five years before his mother's death, about the time she first learned she might have Lou Gehrig's disease. Her handwriting was not as small and precise as it was before she became ill, but it was still easy to read.

Dear Renny,

I have said prayers for you that I believe will be answered after my death. Your reading this letter is one of them.

It is a difficult thing to entrust this message to the future. It has been a great step of faith, but I know you will read this when you are ready for it and not before. I wanted more than you know to talk to you about these things while I was alive, but everything has to be done in the fullness of time as God defines it.

Your life has a purpose ordained by God. The fact that you have come to Agnes is proof that you are looking for the right path. This letter and the papers from my father may help you.

Before you were born, your grandfather told your father and me that you would be a boy and asked us to name you Josiah. Knowing he had at least a fifty-fifty chance of guessing right, your father and I didn't think much about his prediction, and because Josiah is a Jacobson family name your father agreed to it. You were born after a difficult delivery.

I've never fully understood the reason behind your grandfather's request regarding your name, but you can read about your namesake, King Josiah, in the Old Testament. According to your grandfather, he believed the life of King Josiah would be a source of God's direction for you.

I know this probably sounds unusual and strange to you, but there is more to life than we can see with our natural eyes or know with our finite minds. Please ask God to lead you.

My prayers for you live on after I'm gone.

I love you,
Mother

Renny handed the letter to Mama A. “Read this.” It was Renny's turn to wait. He could picture his mother sitting at her cherry writing table with its straight thin legs in the bedroom of their home, writing a letter she prayed he would read someday. It was hard to fathom. But here he was, just as she'd hoped and prayed. He waited until Mama A handed the pages back to him. “Why did she write this?” he asked.