Under the Peach Tree (16 page)

“Is that why you kissed me?”

“You needed it. You need affection and love.”

I blinked a few times, trying to wake up from this dream: one where Dante was strong and sure of himself, a quality he hadn't possessed until now. Or maybe I just hadn't noticed it. But I didn't awaken from a dream. Dante was still in front of me, looking at me. He seemed almost happy. But how could he be happy? Momma May practically told him that she'd die soon. It was just like Momma May to be selfless and think of us when she knew she'd pass away.

The thought angered me again.

Dante pressed the button and the door opened. He grabbed my hand and led me out of the elevator. Once we were in his car, he began questioning me. “Why did you run out of the hospital like that?”

I sighed, not wanting to recall the horror of finding out Momma May would die. But I needed to talk to someone about it. I couldn't keep holding my pain inside.

“I ran out because she pretty much said she'd die soon, and I couldn't handle it. Dante, why?” I started crying. “Why is God doing this? Why does He always take people out of my life? I thought I was like Job! I thought I was gonna be blessed with more than what I lost but I just keep losing.”

He shook his head. “No, you're not. You're winning. We aren't meant to understand why God operates the way He does. You've gained everything.”

“Momma May is my everything and if He takes her . . .” I couldn't even finish the sentence.

“It wasn't Momma May God blessed you with, it was her love, knowledge, and wisdom that He gave you. But when she passes, He'll give you the love of another. Me.”

“I just don't wanna lose her,” I said, fighting back a round of tears.

“You're not losing anything. One day, you'll be in heaven with her. We are to keep our eyes on the Kingdom.”

“It's easier said than done when you can't even see the Kingdom. I can't help but to keep my eyes on what's around me. It's easier for Momma May because she can't see!”

“That's not true. If you were blind, you'd focus so much more on what's around you because you can't see it. You may bump into things, so you have to use all of your senses to get around it. That should've taken up her mind alone but, no, she focused even more on God and the Kingdom. She has peace.”

“Peace? No, Dante. She looked almost dead. She said the cancer spread all through her body! What am I gonna do if she dies? Where am I gonna go?”

“With me.” He said it so simply. I almost forgot about what he told me on the elevator about how we'd get married. I was too consumed by my own pain to think about it.

Was it true? Did God really talk to Momma May in her dreams? I'd heard of such things but never experienced it firsthand. Did I even want to marry Dante, the person who annoyed me the most? Well, he also made me laugh, helped me, and had been my right-hand man. We'd kissed, twice. Slept in the same bed (Jesus forgive me). Argued and made up. He was just as much a part of me as Momma May. I'd taken him for granted. But that didn't mean I wanted to marry him!

I looked over at his troubled expression as he drove. The radio played gospel songs in the background. I looked out of my window at the clouds, which gloomed ominously above, threatening to rain down on what I had left. I decided in that moment, I wouldn't let anyone take Dante from me, even God. He was mine, now. One day soon, he'd be the only thing I had left.

It's a weird feeling when the Holy Spirit places conviction on the heart. I woke up in the middle of the night in a sweat. I was disoriented, not fully understanding where I was. But reality sank in quickly. I remembered the hospital visit with Momma May and Dante telling me about the prophecy. But something else had been bothering me.

“Lord Jesus,” I said, and then it hit me.

My relationship with John. What I did was malicious, revolting, and classless. I seduced John and he wasn't just any man. He was my mom's boyfriend. She loved him and I ruined it. Not to mention how John could've gone to jail for his relationship with me. I was ashamed.

“God, please forgive me!” I cried. “Please forgive me of all of the things I did not only to Momma but to Faith.”

In that moment, I understood what Momma May meant when she said I'd grown spiritually. If someone would've asked me months ago how I felt about how I ruined my mother's relationship with John, I would've laughed and said I'd do it again in a heartbeat. But God had been working on me silently ever since I welcomed Him into my heart. He had opened up my mind, especially within the last two weeks. He'd drawn me closer to Him.

But I still didn't want to go to church. I just couldn't fathom it. It was a demon I was still battling.

Dante and I headed back to the hospital that next day. I was afraid I had offended Momma May the way I ran out of her room the day before. I hoped she understood. I stood outside of her door, composing myself, steadying my breathing. I wanted to be strong for her.

I opened the door and stepped inside. She was leaning against the bed, which was bent upward so that she could listen to her soaps. Flowers and teddy bears and balloons decorated the stand in the room. Another person was seated in the chair next to the bed. It was a woman a little younger than Momma May, with graying hair and a sweet smile.

“This must be Hope,” the woman said. “I'm Joyce.”

“Hi,” I said, walking into the room. I looked at Momma May, who seemed in good spirits.

“May told me all about you and I'm glad to finally meet you.” Joyce turned to Momma May and squeezed her hand. “I got to head up to the church and handle things. Everybody at the church has been praying.”

“Yeah, they've called and came to visit. Tell everyone that I am doing good and can't wait to get back to church,” Momma May said. Joyce squeezed her hand again and stood to leave. She smiled as she walked passed me.

“Take care of her,” she said and left the room.

I took a seat beside Momma May. Although she seemed happy, she hadn't improved at all. Her eyes were sinking in and she barely had any meat on her bones. At least her silver hair lay intact. I had brought her favorite brush from home, knowing she would love for me to brush her hair with it. I pulled it from my purse and began brushing her soft hair. She smiled, eating the candy Dante brought her.

“Boston Baked Beans, my favorite,” she said, chewing on the candy. “And I love when you brush my hair.”

“I love to brush it.”

“Baby, come around on the other side of the bed and look in the closet. There is a bag. I had Norma bring it up here earlier.”

I set the brush down next to her and did as she said. A large white bag hung in the little closet. It was the kind of bag that I remembered all too well. The type of bag Momma used to bring home for Faith. I grabbed the bag and shut the door.

“Open it.”

I smiled, feeling my heart putter in my chest. I unzipped the bag and pulled out a beautiful short-sleeved vintage off-white dress that ruffled on the arms and flowed to the ground. It was a simple dress with not much design, but that didn't matter. It was the style of the dress that was stunning, like something I pictured a flapper in the twenties getting married in.

And then I realized what kind of a dress it was.

“I married in that dress.” Momma May smiled. “I know I'm always telling the same stories. I'm an old lady.” Her laugh caused her to go into a coughing fit. “Remember the day I told you about not being able to fit in my old wedding dress? Well, that was before I got this dress. I remember the day like it was yesterday. I was about your size when I was pregnant and got married. After a few alterations to the waistline, it should fit you perfectly.”

“You want me to get married in it?” I asked, not able to hide the surprise in my voice.

She laughed. “If you choose to, one day, but I just want you to have it. I've been holding on to it, never wanting to give it up. My kids tried to convince me to but I couldn't, especially after my husband died. But I decided to give it to you. If anyone would appreciate a dress, it would be you.”

I held the dress up to my body, picturing myself in it. I laughed out loud; I couldn't contain the joy. I spun around with the dress in my hand, remembering how Faith used to twirl around whenever she got a pretty dress. It was the best feeling.

“This is the best gift. Thank you.” I put the dress back in the bag and sat on the edge of her bed. “I'm sorry for running out yesterday. I just—”

“It's okay, Hope. I understand.”

I nodded and began fiddling with my fingers. “Dante told me about the prophecy.”

She smiled. “I know he did.”

I nodded again. “Do you think you'll live to see that day happen? You know, when we get . . . married?” It was so hard to say those words, especially because I hadn't grown accustomed to them.

“Only the good Lord knows.”

“How long do you have to live?” I asked.

“The doctors don't want to put a time stamp on it. They said it could be months or it could be weeks.”

I bent over, feeling pain course through my stomach, and tried to fight the urge to cry. I waited until my breathing was steady to speak again. “I pray every night for God to heal you.”

“I lived a long life. When God takes me, I'll go gladly. But don't worry about me, baby. Worry about the life you still have left. “

“Everything is happening too fast. Two weeks ago you were fine. I didn't even think about the cancer. I thought you was gonna be fine. And then you passed out and they found that tumor. Why didn't you tell us about the tumor?”

“I didn't want to scare you.”

“Maybe they could've helped you get better if they caught it early!”

“It grew bigger in the course of a week. There was nothing they would have been able to do. I had a doctor's appointment scheduled to get it checked out but then I ended up in the hospital. I would've told all of you once I knew what was wrong,” she told me.

“I know you're probably tired of talking about it,” I said, but I was talking more to myself. I didn't want to keep hearing about the negatives. It was consuming my thoughts. I needed a break from life. I wanted to hear about times where Momma May was truly happy in life. Maybe that would dissipate the tension and pain in the air. I lay down beside her on the bed. “Tell me stories about your life . . . the good ones.”

She smiled.

“My life is full of good stories, baby. But since I gave you my wedding dress, I'll tell you more about my wedding day,” she started. “Back then, when my husband was just founding his church, we barely had two pennies to rub together. We didn't know what we would eat most days. Our house, same one I live in today, barely held the rain out. All of his money went into the church. We had to rely solely on God and His promise to always provide. And He did. Everybody in our town loved my husband and donated things to make our wedding special. His mother's friend worked for a rich woman who had a garden and was able to get those flowers to make me a bouquet. Others made food and drinks for the ceremony. One man worked at a hall and was able to reserve it for our wedding day. Everything was great. I just didn't have a wedding dress.

“One day I woke up and found a beautiful dress lying neatly on my porch. It had no note. Nothing. I went around town asking everyone who gave me the dress but nobody knew. Nobody had the kind of money to buy that dress. It was the kind we saw white women wear, an expensive one. And here it was, just sitting on my porch, brand new and glorious. My husband said it was a gift from God and that there was no other explanation for it. To this day, I still truly believe one of God's angels set that dress on my porch. That's why I kept it so close to me like I keep all of God's gifts.”

“And now you're giving it to me.” I smiled. “I love it even more.”

I spent a couple more hours in the hospital talking and laughing with Momma May. It was interesting how some of my deepest moments together happened when she was in the hospital. I lived in a world where tragedy and sadness brought people together.

I lay in bed that night, picturing a God who cared for me as much as He cared for Momma May. She was an amazing woman, like David, after God's own heart. She preached the gospel, even in old age, and was honest when she said she'd serve the Lord until death. I didn't even know such women existed. I was so used to women like Momma, who did not know God. Maybe if she had, she would've been a better person. It wasn't too late. Even I knew that God could still save her.

The thought gave me an idea.

That next day I asked Dante to drive me out to my old house. I made sure I went around the time Momma got off of work. I knew that Faith would be there and I needed to see her, too. I wanted to apologize for my actions that separated us and caused all of our problems. I wanted to share the gospel with Momma in hopes that she'd come to God. I was at a point where I wanted to forgive. I needed to. I'd die of a heart attack due to the amount stress on my heart. And if God could forgive me, I should forgive others.

It took almost an hour before we pulled up on the gravel road that led to the house. Everything was as I remembered it: a small, ugly house in the middle of many acres that didn't belong to us. I noticed the tree in the front still had my tire swing. I remember kissing John there, our first kiss.

Too many bad memories.

Dante sat beside me, taking everything in with a curious expression. “So this is where you used to live.”

“I wasn't living when I stayed here.” I wasn't sure if he understood what I meant, but he nodded.

“Are you ready?”

“No,” I said, but I got out of the car anyway.

Dante followed as I approached the door. I didn't even make it to the front step before Faith stepped out on the porch. She looked the same and was wearing a beautiful dress with a nice bun in her hair. The sight made my eyes water. I expected her to run down the stairs and straight into my arms, but she didn't. She was still angry with me.

“Hope,” was all she said.

“Faith,” I began, but didn't know what to say. I decided to go with an introduction. “This is Dante,” I said. And to Dante, I said, “This is Faith, my twin.”

“Nice to finally meet you,” Dante said.

Faith's eyes glanced uneasily between the two of us. “Is this who you was staying with?”

“Naw, I'm staying with . . .” But I wasn't able to finish. From the corner of my eyes, I saw Momma slowly step out onto the porch. She folded her arms and stood in place. I'd never seen her react so quietly. I was almost filled with joy. I thought she may have forgiven me, but then I remembered the saying, “the calm before the storm.”

I walked away from Dante and stood at the bottom step, looking up at Momma, whose face was stoic and impassive. I sighed, running through the things I wanted to say to her and I decided to start with an apology.

Momma smirked. “You sorry? You came all the way out here to tell me you sorry? You think I believe that?” She started walking down the steps toward me. She seemed to have aged since the last time I saw her.

“Yes, you should,” I told her. “I gave my life to Jesus and He says we should forgive those who sinned against us and to seek forgiveness from those we've sinned against.”

She laughed out loud. “You think God wants you? You want me to believe it was God who brought you here? Not the devil? 'Cause the devil been wrapped around you since you was a little girl. Ain't no hope in you. I don't even know why I named you that.”

Her venomous words entered my bloodstream, choosing first to attack my heart. I wanted to collapse, break my strong resolve under her stare, but God tugged at my heart and pulled my shoulders back. When my own strength failed me, He replaced it with His.

“I am not the devil and he don't control me. I came here to ask for forgiveness and to tell you to seek forgiveness in your own sins and turn to Jesus. There is a God who is greater than all of our problems. He's changing me every day, making me stronger, allowing me to understand my own errors so that I can correct them. That's what I'm trying to do now, Momma. I'm trying to get my life together in every way, but I can't move forward until I forgive my past and be forgiven of it.”

Momma stared at me for a while, not saying anything. She looked as if she was touched. “That was a nice speech,” she said, but then her lips turned into a wicked smile. “Faith, wasn't that nice and believable? Something one of the Christian folk at your church would say?” She looked down at me. “Do they say those things at your church, Hope? Huh?”

I lowered my head, understanding where she was taking the conversation. Church. She knew how wounded I was from never being given the chance to go. How I took my anger out on God. How I hated churches. If I was a true Christian, I should've been able to get passed that.

But I hadn't. Every time I thought about going to church, I pictured the little girl who sat under the peach tree, singing those songs, and wondering why God or her family didn't love her. I associated church with neglect. I wasn't passed it, but I was getting better. However, to Momma, it still wouldn't be good enough. I'd never be good enough for her.