The Memoir of Johnny Devine (15 page)

“
The Bible tell me many
things, Miz Eliza. It tell me to be like Christ, be His aroma. Some
folks find Jesus a lovely, sweet fragrance. Others run from Him
like He a terrible stench. Not up to me to change folks, that the
good Lord’s job. The Bible also tell me ‘the Lord is the portion of
mine inheritance and of my cup, Thou maintainest my lot. The lines
are fallen unto me in pleasant places; yea, I have a goodly
heritage.’”

“
If you don’t mind my
saying, Millie, I don’t see how you can say your lot has been all
that pleasant. You’ve suffered more than your share, I
think.”

Millie took a cup from the
dish drainer and poured a coffee. She handed it to Eliza. “Well, if
you don’t mind
my
sayin’, I ’spect your lot ain’t been all that pleasant
either. Cheatin’ husband a hard thing to forgive.”

Eliza opened her mouth but
nothing would come.
Forgive
? How could she ever forgive
all the lies, the cruel put-downs, the shame? Not only had Ralph
humiliated her by taking up with other women, he’d fathered a child
with someone else. The child that Eliza was supposed to have. What
could be more painfully unjust? And to top it off, his infidelity
had left Eliza penniless. Who could forgive that?

“
Miz Eliza, many things in
life gonna be hard to forgive, but the only thing unforgiveness
give you is a burden too heavy to bear. The burden of other folks’
sins
and
ours.
Too many folks carryin’ a load they need to get free of but
can’t.”

“
Yes, I know.”

Millie tilted her head for a closer look.
“Do you?”

Eliza nodded, nerves
crackling at the thought of actually saying aloud the things she’d
never spoken of. Living in the shadow of Ralph’s cruelty had
changed her, made her question herself. What was worse, he’d made
her hate, and that hate had done something to her. Feeling only
relief when he died wasn’t the worst of it. A horrible, recurring
dream had burrowed in and drove its black truth into her heart:
she’d
wished
him
dead. When she first heard he had died, guilt seared her at once
and left a mark on her conscience like a branding iron. Yes, she
had become a different person, or perhaps the truth was she had
lost the better part of herself. She’d become a shell of the good
person her parents had raised. “I can’t forget about … something
I’m ashamed of, and it weighs on me. Gives me nightmares
sometimes.”

“
Precious child,” Millie
said softly, “you can always tell it to Jesus.”

Eliza shook her head. “Oh, no. I can’t even
say it to myself.”

Shaking her head slowly, Millie poured a
second cup of coffee and set it on the tray beside the
dumpling.

“
Thank you for the
dumpling,” Eliza said. “I’d better get back to work. I’m sure he’s
wondering where I’ve gone.”

Millie turned and laid a
crinkly hand on Eliza’s arm. “That shame you carryin’? I ’spect it
too heavy for me, so I
know
it too heavy for a slip of a girl like you. The
only thing strong enough to bear the weight of all we done wrong is
a cross on a hill at Calvary. And not just yours and mine. Every
shameful thing done by every soul that ever lived can be placed on
Jesus. And He took it willingly, so you could be free, because of
His great love for you, child.”

Tears stung Eliza’s eyes.
It was an appealing idea, being loved and accepted for who she was,
not
if
she
improved, not
if
she became something more. But it didn’t make sense.
Especially when she thought about John and his story. “But if John
is a Christian,” Eliza said, “and he believes God has forgiven him
for the things he’s done, and if God takes away shame, then why
does John still carry it around?”

Millie’s lips pursed. She turned and placed
a napkin between the dumpling and coffee cup, then picked up the
tray and faced Eliza. “Couldn’t say, ma’am. I ’spect he got the
idea he need to punish hisself a while yet.”

Over the weekend, Eliza
took in a Barbara Stanwyck picture,
Christmas in Connecticut
, thankful
the Laurel wasn’t showing one of John’s pictures this time. Then
she spent most of Sunday trying to decide what to wear to her
upcoming lunch meeting with John’s editor. Though she was fond of
red, it probably wasn’t a good choice for a business meeting. She
decided to press her navy suit and hang it in a bag with a few
gardenia sachets—one of Betty’s tips. She could always count on her
sister to be the voice of etiquette in her head.

Thinking of Betty reminded Eliza she still
needed to give her sister an answer to her Thanksgiving invitation.
She’d been stalling, which was silly. It wasn’t as if she had many
options. Getting takeout from Lucky’s for herself and Mr. Darcy was
the alternative. But Sue Ellen and Eddie Jr. had asked if Auntie
Liza would be coming, so that settled it.

Monday morning, a November
chill sent Eliza back inside her apartment for
a longer coat. As she walked to the bus stop, she smiled,
remembering walks to school in winter with her sister. Betty had
always been the first to don a longer coat and would tell Eliza to
go back and get hers. To which Eliza always responded by ignoring
Betty and suffering the chill all the way to school. Even then,
Eliza had wanted to prove she didn’t need anyone making up her mind
for her.

The willows in front of John’s house had
turned a soft, creamy orange and were thinning, the flowing
branches swaying softly like an island girl’s grass skirt.

John was seated at his spot by the fireplace
when she entered the library, a small book in his hand. He began
speaking of the many fleeting things in life that promise heaven
but don’t deliver.

Eliza scrambled to put down her handbag,
then picked up her notepad and wrote quickly.

“
Oh, sorry, I wasn’t
dictating,” John said. “I was just reading C.S. Lewis. Have you
read him? This is his latest book.” John held up the thin volume
entitled
Mere
Christianity
.

“
I have read his
novel
The Lion, the Witch and the
Wardrobe
several times, but no, I have not
read his religious works.”

John rose with his cane and strolled toward
the hall. “Vacancy longs to be filled. It doesn’t matter who you
are or how full you think your life is. We all have vacancy of some
kind.” He glanced over his shoulder at her.

“
Oh—I’m sorry, is that you
now?”

A half-smile softened his face. “Yes, but
you don’t have to write that—I was just musing. Happens whenever I
read Lewis. He has a great deal to say about life and death, the
pursuit of God. Forgiveness.”

Had he been talking to Millie? Eliza sat
taller and readied her pencil.

With a sigh, John returned to his chair.
“All right. Where were we?”

Since their last dictation session had ended
so abruptly, it hadn’t taken Eliza long to type what little they’d
composed. And since John had never returned for the rest of the
day, she’d gone back over the manuscript and made notes for
building the direction of the memoir, though the details that
remained were still a mystery to her.

“
When we left off, you
were talking about your past relationships. Particularly …” Eliza
looked at the last page, although she didn’t need to. “Jeanette
Lovell.”

John lowered his gaze to the Oriental rug.
His expression hardened. “Perhaps we can come back to that another
time. I … some things are … difficult.”

When he didn’t finish, Eliza nodded. “I
understand. If you want to go back and insert things later, we can
simply revise.”

“
Revise my life.” John
huffed. “Wouldn’t that be a swell trick? If only we could.” He
shook his head and glanced at her. “What would you revise about
your life, if you could?”

Eliza put her pencil down. “I can think of
only one thing.”

“
Let me guess,” he said.
“Marrying Ralph.”

“
No.” She shook her head
and met his eye. “I wouldn’t let my parents get on that
train.”

John numbed her with that look of his.

“
That’s all,” she said
lightly. “From then on, everything else would have turned out
differently. I’d just let the rest of my life rewrite itself. Maybe
even get a happily-ever-after out of it.”

John’s dark eyes pierced her with an
intensity that made her forget how to breathe. “I’m sorry,” he
said.

Swallowing the ache in her throat, she
picked up her pencil.

Leaning an elbow on his knee, John rested
his chin in his hand. “I suppose everyone has regrets. This book is
forcing me to remember every last one of mine. I have to remind
myself that God has both forgiven and forgotten them all. Trouble
is, people don’t forget. Why is it easier to remember the bad
things than it is to forget them? I wonder if it’s because absolute
forgiveness—all records erased—is so foreign to our nature. It’s
still hard for me, especially now that I’m reliving the past. I
have to remind myself of all the ways God has helped me, changed
me, shown me grace even though I don’t deserve it. But then, no one
does.”

“
No one? But surely there
must be some who are deserving,” Eliza said. “What about people who
lived good lives? My parents were the kindest and most morally
upright people I’ve ever known. Surely God values that.” Her voice
had risen slightly.

Millie’s head popped around the doorway,
probably over the pitch of Eliza’s tone.

John studied her as he formed his words.
“Knowing you, it’s clear that your parents were very good, kind
people. But no one is sinless. And God is holy. Holiness and sin
can’t coexist, and that creates a chasm between God and us. He is a
just Judge. Yet He is also a loving Father who wants us to enjoy
eternity with Him in heaven. So He made a way to for us. By
trusting in Christ, we receive God’s full pardon.”

“
Trusting in Christ?”
Eliza’s heart thumped. “So … what you’re saying is that someone
like
you
will be
in heaven one day, but my good, honorable parents
won’t?”

Grimacing, John transferred his gaze to the
handle of his cane, jaw muscles tensing. She’d just insulted him,
but in that moment, she didn’t care. If there was a heaven, her
parents had more right to be there than anyone.

“
We don’t know what
happens in a person's life during their final moments,” he said,
voice quiet. “None of us knows if a person is in heaven or not. But
God is merciful and gives us every possible chance to surrender our
lives to Him.”

“
Surrender
?
”

Surely her parents wouldn’t have known about
the need for that.

She fought to keep angry tears from forming.
She couldn’t let a man see that his words had any power over her.
She’d developed superb control when Ralph was alive. Yet the tears
continued to pool and now threatened to spill. In a panic, she
stood and looked around the room for escape.

Mille stood near the kitchen doorway, hands
clasped at her bosom. Eliza’s options were Millie, the washroom, or
the front door.

“
God truly
is
merciful,” John said.
His tone beckoned like a cool stream in summer. There was a
peculiar gentleness in his eyes.

“
Excuse me,” Eliza
whispered. She darted to the front room, passed through it, and
reached the dining room before the gathering tears spilled. She
took off her glasses and searched for something to dry her eyes
with, but there were only table linens. As she wiped her cheeks
with the heel of her shaking hand, she pictured her parents waving
from the train, happy, oblivious to what lay before them, both on
the tracks and beyond. Where were they now? If surrendering to God
and trusting in Christ truly
was
the way to heaven, had they known
that?

A rustle in the room made her heart skip.
She turned and met Millie’s tired, kind gaze.

Without a word, Millie came closer and
gently patted Eliza’s shoulder.

Eliza could only stand there trembling,
trying to collect her wits, oddly comforted by the old woman’s
silence.

John, who must have followed her, cleared
his throat in the next room.

She gave her cheek another brisk swipe.

Millie handed her a small, lacy-edged
handkerchief and lifted her chin to peer up at her. “You remind me
of my youngest girl,” she said. “She’s a strong, tender heart too,
just like you.”