The Sweetest Thing (26 page)

As I talked, it struck me that, though the circumstances were different, my problem was the same as I'd had that day two years ago when Hank had sat in front of me in the pew of our little church: doubt.

“Why does it always have to be so hard, Hank? Can you answer me that? Why?” I ventured a glance at him and whispered, “I don't believe anymore, Hank. I don't.”

We sat in silence.

I continued. “Maybe my parents aren't doing everything right. Maybe there's no such thing as repentance and salvation. Maybe their whole life has been doing everything wrong! And God is punishing them. Oh, you'll say He's trying to teach them a lesson. Well, I don't want His lessons. I don't want to watch my family starving or Coobie dying from a horrible disease. Maybe God showed up before, or maybe we just pretended it was God and it was all a coincidence, but this time I'm not waiting on Him to act. I'll do just fine on my own. I'll figure it out.”

A chill zipped through me, and I realized that I sounded just like Perri Singleton.

I saw the worry and pain flash across Hank's eyes, the understanding and the hurt. When I finished, he tried to pull me close, but I resisted. “Holding me won't make it better, Hank. Nothing will make it better now.”

He looked as if I had slapped him across the face, and that stung my heart. He put his chapped hands with the cracked fingernails over mine. “I can't answer your questions, Dobbs. Life is just plain hard. It is.”

A terrible falling sensation struck me, everything inside me tumbling down and down and down. Hank knew of life's unfairness. Losing his father when he was ten, he had suddenly been thrust into the role of man of the house. He had worked so hard; he had struggled and kept going.

And he loved me. He loved me in spite of my pettiness and doubts and vacillations between Chicago and Atlanta.

“I'm scared to go back,” I whispered at last.

“I know.” He clasped my hands, then gently put one hand under my chin and lifted my eyes to meet his. “Remember two things, my lovely Dobbs. First, God is bigger than all your doubts. And second, after you've asked every question in that mind of yours, I'll still be here, waiting for you. I promise I will.”

Perri

I divided my time during the Christmas break between the darkroom and Spalding, thankful that Dobbs was still in Chicago and that I didn't have to deal with avoiding her. Twice Spalding took me to our old house, let us in with the key that I suppose his father had given him, and walked through it with me.

“I'm going to get it back,” I confided to him on the first visit. “Somehow, I'm going to get it back. Don't let any one else buy it, Spalding. Please.”

“You've got enough determination to do it, Perri. I swear you do.”

On the second visit, I asked Spalding to leave me alone for a while. I went into my father's empty study, sat down on the cold floor, and pretended he was there with me. I imagined that we were sitting side by side at his desk and he was going over the financial records, teaching me about stocks and bonds.

“You've got a good mind, Perri,”
he had often told me.
“I can see you at Wellesley in a few years, top of your class.”

I had wanted with everything in me to please Daddy. When I understood the books and conversed about his life at the bank, he seemed to relax. Even as a young girl, I had seen his down moods. I loved the way my laughter and attention could pull him out in a way that even Mamma couldn't do. Sometimes he would take me in his lap and hold me ever so close. I'd lay my head on his shoulder and smell the crisp starch in his shirt and the faint scent of his cologne.

I closed my eyes and could almost conjure up those very same smells.
Oh, Daddy. I would give anything to be a little girl again, sitting in your lap.

I sat cross-legged on the floor and thought of these things. I filled my mind with them, and Spalding, for all the times he enjoyed talking, left me there in my private grieving. Alone.

———

I rushed back into the school activities with a type of relief, a way to find stability amidst all that had been taken away. Dobbs honored my wishes back at school. She made no overt approaches to talk with me, even discreetly slipping away when I joined a group that she was part of. Sometimes I watched her out of the corner of my eye, and was surprised at the change in her. She looked cute and sassy with her short hair, but all the fire in her eyes was gone. I pretended not to notice because I didn't want to feel any guilt about that. But I knew Mary Dobbs Dillard better than anyone else at the Seminary, and I could see she wasn't doing well.

It is hard to have a superficial relationship with your former best friend, but we tried. Although I never let on, I was worried about her. Neither Mamma nor Spalding trusted her. Once Mamma said, “I almost feel sorry for Mary Dobbs and the way she seeks out attention with her strange stories.”

When Mamma said that, I got a knot in my stomach, wondering again if all of Dobbs's stories were made up. I honestly could not imagine Mary Dobbs Dillard lying about so many things. And even if she could, would she?

Dobbs

Back in Atlanta, Aunt Josie peppered me with questions about my Christmas in Chicago.

“Oh, they all loved the presents. You made it such a lovely Christmas for all of us, Aunt Josie.” I told her of how much fun I'd had with Frances and Coobie and how wonderful it was to dance with Hank at the Walnut Room.

“But something didn't go so well.” Normally all business, Aunt Josie had followed me up to my room and now leaned against the doorframe while I unpacked my suitcase.

“Why do you say that?”

“Because you're acting just like Billy used to after he received bad news.”

My mouth fell open. “I am?”

“Neither your father nor you are extremely discreet, Mary Dobbs.” She looked serious but flashed a quick smile. “Your face has gone pale and your eyes are dim—they've lost their light.”

I didn't want to hear that I resembled my father in any way. I busied myself hanging up my dresses in the closet and said, “The night before I left for Chicago, Becca told me about Jackie. About my sister.” I mashed my lips together. “She let it slip and . . . and so now I know.”

“Ah. Well, then.” She folded her arms over her chest. “Yes, now you know. And you carried that information with you to Chicago.”

I nodded and then sat down on the bed. “I confronted my father—asked him about the inheritance he should have received and why we have no money.”

Aunt Josie was shaking her head, as if she knew the rest of the story.

“I was quite horrible to him. But he explained it all—his past and the way your parents were blackmailed by Irene Brown and then how Jackie came to live with us. And the way sin tangled him all up—that's how he put it. He didn't even tell your parents when Irene started demanding more money.”

Now I was lying on the bed, my head turned toward my desk. Aunt Josie had taken a seat beside me, and she reached over and patted my back. “And then when Irene found out about the inheritance, she begged him to help her—said her employers were going to kill her if she didn't pay off her debts. So he paid them for her. Did you know that?” I glanced up at her.

“Yes. I learned of that afterwards. Dear me, it's a rather sordid tale, worthy of a novel. And then with that poor child dying. God rest her soul.”

“Why are things so very complicated?”

“You know, it's not an easy thing to have money, Mary Dobbs. It allows one to do wonderful things, but it also carries a huge responsibility. People want what you have. There are so many legitimate ways to help with money. But there are many people who are deeply jealous and looking for ways to take it.”

“Like Irene Brown.”

“Yes. She was a desperate woman with a sick child. But her—” Aunt Josie searched for a word—“her
employers
were horribly ruthless, and I believe they would have killed her.” Stout Aunt Josie shuddered with the thought.

“I don't think Father has ever forgiven himself for all of it.”

“No, bless him. But there was a lot to forgive. Billy made some foolish mistakes in his youth, which, unfortunately, entangled him with some pretty wicked people.”

“But you've forgiven him?”

“Heavens yes. Oh, I've been angry with him. But I love my little brother.” She stood up, reached over to pat my shoulder, and said, “I'll let you finish unpacking.” Before she left the room, she turned around and said, “I imagine it is pretty rough on your father to have his daughter at odds with him.”

———

I followed Aunt Josie's not-so-subtle advice and wrote Father, apologizing for my loathsome behavior, but it didn't take my doubts away, nor my worries about Coobie's cough. A letter from my father arrived the same day as I posted mine to him. My heart skipped a beat. Father never wrote letters; he was a man of the spoken word. I felt a softening around my heart as I read the letter. Again, he apologized fervently—as Aunt Josie said, everything about Father was passionate—and spoke of his love for me, for all of us. Then he ended the letter with:

My dear Mary Dobbs, please be assured that your mother and I will take every precaution necessary for Coobie to make sure the cough does not worsen.

But it did.

Hank wrote me twice a week, and I could read, in between his encouraging and loving words, a deep down worry for my little sister. Two letters from Mother described several trips to the doctor.

Then Mother actually called me from her mother's home, telling me that Coobie was hospitalized. Everything became a déjà vu for me, and I wanted to curse God for giving me the strange gift of knowing something ahead of time. I did
not
want to know this about Coobie.

The best doctors in Chicago were on Coobie's case, but Mother soon wrote:
Every doctor agrees that Coobie needs a warmer climate when she is stable enough to travel.
That phrase turned my blood to icicles, and I sat numb in my room with Mother's letter frozen in my hand.

Perri

Without Dobbs to challenge me, I went about life as I wished, attending loads of parties and dances with Spalding. Dobbs and I remained cordial to each other, but we spent no time together. Though my friends were obviously aware of this, only Mae Pearl dared to say something.

“Have you noticed the morose mood of dear Mary Dobbs? Why, she hardly speaks up at all in class or at Phi Pi events, and last week she announced the Bible study was canceled for the next month, due to what she called ‘unforeseen circumstances.' Whatever is going on with her?”

I shrugged. “Maybe she's gaining a little common sense and deciding to keep her opinions to herself.”

“Why, Anne Perrin, that doesn't sound a thing like you. Are you upset with Mary Dobbs? Don't you see her anymore?”

“Oh, sure, I see her. I'm over at the Chandlers' several times a week, working in the darkroom.”

Mae Pearl shook her head. “That's not what I mean, and you know it. Y'all aren't close anymore, are you?”

I shrugged again. “Maybe you could just say that we're taking a break from each other.”

“Well, I think that's a mighty shame. And it's obvious she's all torn up about it.”

I had no patience with Mae Pearl's do-goodism. “Look, you don't know all the details. I'm sure it'll blow over.”

She looked a bit miffed and said, “Well, until it does, I swear it's real chilly around here.”

———

On a blustery Saturday afternoon, Spalding and I had a double date with Mae Pearl and Sam Durand. We went to see a movie at the Buckhead Theatre and then walked across the street to Jacobs' Drugstore to get a hot chocolate.

Mae Pearl's white cheeks were stained a pretty soft pink from the wind, and she giggled on Sam's arm. Inside the drugstore, she took me to the side and whispered, “Sam has agreed to go to the Alms Houses with me in a little while. He wants to meet Mr. Ross and some of the other residents. You could bring your camera and take photos, and Spalding could meet people too.”

“That's a wonderful idea, Mae! Tell it to Spalding.”

Spalding was still at the counter ordering our drinks, and Mae Pearl went over and shared her thoughts with him.

“Sorry,” he said, without even giving her suggestion serious thought. “We've got other plans.”

“But, Spalding dear,” I said, embarrassed. “Nothing too important. We could all go there for a little while. It would mean so much to the residents.”

He took my arm and held it in a tight, possessive way. His smile never faded. He simply held up his car keys in the other hand and said, “Mae Pearl, what Perri sometimes has a hard time remembering is that I hold the trump card. Always.”

Mae Pearl looked astonished. A flicker of worry crossed her brow, and then she said in her soft little voice, “Well, I'll let y'all decide between you,” and she sat down at a table with Sam.

Spalding's hand tightened on my arm. “My dear, your memory is slipping today.”

I shook myself free of him. “Spalding Smith! What horrible manners! Can't you see I want to go to the Alms Houses with Mae Pearl? If you can't take time from your schedule, well, so be it. I'll get a ride with Mae Pearl.”

He fingered the SAE pin that hung on a chain around my neck. “Perri, we are not going to the Alms Houses today. We can plan it for another time.” He seemed to calm down. “Go if you wish, but”—here he tilted his head and gave me his best disapproving look—“you did promise to go by and see my mother. She's looking forward to it.”

My anger faded. Though we had not arranged a specific time to visit his mother, he was right about our having prior plans. I felt a tinge of guilt and acquiesced. “That's true. All right.”