The Improper Life Of Bezellia Grove Part 12

My grandmother shook her head and gripped the arms of her folding chair a little tighter, looking resigned at last to telling me something she felt certain I wouldn't want to hear. She kept her eyes focused on the water. I guess she figured that, if she searched hard and long enough, she would eventually find some kind of comfort out there. Then in a flat, distant tone, she began to share my mother's story, feeding it to me as if I was a little baby, one small bite at a time.

Apparently my mother was no more than sixteen when she fell "all crazy in love" with a boy who lived on the other side of Old Lebanon Dirt Road. His family didn't have much of anything, not hardly a pot to p.i.s.s in, according to my grandmother.

"But that didn't seem to matter much to your mama back then. She just thought that boy hung the moon, even if his pockets were always empty.

"One night your mama and this boy done come into the kitchen and sat down and announced they were gonna have a baby." Nana stopped at this point and let out another long, steady sigh. "I told her no way in h.e.l.l was my only daughter gonna have an illegitimate baby and ruin this family's good reputation.

"Turned out the boy wanted to marry her, try to make things right. But his family said what they had done had been a sin. Said their boy had been led astray and that he could never see your mama again. They as much as called her a tramp." Even all these years later, my grandmother's voice was loud and offended.

"That boy was man enough to get her pregnant, but he wasn't man enough to stand up to his parents and do the right thing. He never called her again, and before long he left town to join the Army. Came back and everybody around here slapped him on the back and told him he was a great American. A couple weeks later, he up and married some poor white trash, and now it looks like their son is gonna be some famous country music singer. Isn't that something, Bezellia? His daddy gets my daughter pregnant, and then his son fools around with you and turns it into a hit song. Looks like you and your mama are just two peas in a pod after all."

My skin was hot to the touch, and my head was already crammed full of so many hateful thoughts I wanted to slap my grandmother's mouth just to make her hush. But I had come a long way, so had my mother, and we both needed to hear everything she had to say. So I just sat there and bit my tongue, bit it hard till it bled.

"I threw your mama in the car the day that boy enlisted and drove her over to the next county. There was a doctor there who had a reputation for taking care of girls who done been thinking with the wrong part of their body. And he did just that. He took care of your mama's little problem right there on his kitchen table. She put up a fight at first, but it was for her own good. I told her that was the end of that, and we weren't to ever talk about it again.

"Elizabeth never was the same. I'll admit that much. She was angry and mad at everything and everybody. Never once thanked me for making things right. She took off not six months later, leaving us nothing but a piece of paper taped to her bedroom door and a shoe box filled with a bunch of love letters from that good-for-nothing boy." Nana stopped talking for a minute. She quickly wiped a tear from her eye and crossed her arms against her chest.

"Lord, all I was ever trying to do was protect that girl's reputation. And look what you've gone and done. Locked her up in some mental inst.i.tution. No telling what people are gonna think about us now."

The crickets started humming, their pitch picking up strength. The sound of my grandmother's voice had thankfully been swallowed in theirs. But I could hear my mother, loud and clear, screaming to keep her baby as they forced her onto that kitchen table and spread her legs apart. I needed the crickets to sing even louder. I needed to quiet that sound forever.

Nana finally tapped my thigh with the palm of her hand, signaling that she had shared all she intended to. Then she motioned for me to follow her into the house. On the floor, right outside my mother's bedroom door, was a large cardboard box. Her room was stripped bare. Every photo and keepsake was gone. Even the plaque with Jesus' picture on it, the one Mother had made in Vacation Bible School, was apparently now stuffed inside this box.

"Nana," I said, more like I was asking a question, desperately wanting to know why she had packed away her daughter's childhood.

"Time to let the past go, honey," she answered. And she picked up the box and carried it out to the Cadillac.

By the time I made my way back to the interstate, the old man in front of the gas station was gone. One single, ghostly light was left burning in the office, highlighting his display of motor oil. Suddenly I needed to see my mother. I needed her to know that she hadn't done anything wrong. She had loved a boy, that was all, a boy who probably didn't even know how to dance. There was nothing wrong with that, nothing at all. And now she just needed to come home.

Early the next morning, Uncle Thad called the hospital. The doctors were not very eager to release my mother, not even for a short visit home. They said her treatment was not going as well as expected. They needed more time. And Mrs. Grove, in their expert opinion, seemed very anxious about returning to Grove Hill. They said maybe we should instead consider a quick trip to the hospital one afternoon during regularly scheduled visiting hours. Our desire to have Mother home might be genuine, but it was not, in their expert opinion, in their patient's best interest.

Nothing about that sounded right to me or to Uncle Thad. Mother loved Grove Hill. And I knew, if given the opportunity, she would want to come home. Uncle Thad agreed and said that first thing in the morning he was driving over to Chattanooga and checking on Mother himself. He told me not to worry, but even his own voice sounded concerned.

The next morning Nathaniel hurriedly swept and cleaned every inch of the house. And Maizelle started fussing about the kitchen making chicken Kiev and tomato aspic, Mother's favorites. She would bake a lemon meringue pie before the end of the day, she promised.

Just three or four hours after Uncle Thad left Grove Hill, he called to say that he would be bringing Mother home immediately. He was packing her suitcase now, and they would be on the road by early afternoon. He said nothing more than that and then hung up the phone, his voice, firm and uncomfortably vague, resonating in my ear.

When Mother did arrive at Grove Hill, it was as if I was seeing her for the very first time. Her hair was pulled back neatly in a low ponytail, and her face was scrubbed clean. She was dressed in a pair of khaki pants, a white collared blouse, and a light blue cardigan sweater. She looked beautiful, at least so I thought, until I looked into her eyes. They were different. They were hollow and vacant, and she stared at me as if she had never seen me before.

I stepped toward her, wanting to welcome her home, to pull her into my arms and tell her that I understood now. But she inched closer to Uncle Thad, reaching for his hand, reminding me more of a child who has accidentally b.u.mped into a stranger than my very own mother. Uncle Thad slowly guided her up the large marble steps. Mother stood on the porch for a moment, seeming a bit cautious or maybe confused. But Uncle Thad squeezed her hand a little tighter and led her back inside her home.

Uncle Thad stayed until dinner, and then he stayed some more, carefully watching over my mother's every move as if she was a little girl learning to walk. And in a way, she was. She did get better, slowly. She never drank again. She never spoke hatefully to Maizelle or Nathaniel. In fact, she didn't even seem to notice that the color of their skin was different from her own. She never called me Sister or forced Adelaide to knit. And yet sometimes I wished she had done those things, because the woman who came back to Grove Hill was timid and afraid. She was just not my mother.

LOCAL VIETNAM HERO COMES HOME.

BLACK MARINE NOMINATED FOR BRONZE STAR.

To Be Honored at Mt. Zion A.M.E. Church Local black U.S. Marine Corps Private First Cla.s.s Samuel Stephenson will arrive home in Nashville Thursday after being wounded while serving a tour of duty in Vietnam. Stephenson has been nominated for the Bronze Star for Valor, one of the military's highest recognitions of bravery on the battlefield, according to a U.S. Marine Corps spokesman at Camp Lejeune in North Carolina.

Stephenson, a graduate of Pearl High School, served in Vietnam outside Saigon. He had only been in Vietnam for three months when he demonstrated acts of heroism during a surprise attack by Vietcong forces just south of the Marine Corps base of Khe Sanh. According to official military reports, Stephenson, surrounded by enemy combatants, moved through a hail of gunfire to rally his unit's dazed infantrymen to redirect their fire on the advancing enemy.

Although wounded by an exploding grenade, Stephenson got to his feet and led a small counterattack force. Refusing medical treatment, he pressed the attack, killed several of the enemy, and reinforced his unit's defensive position. Stephenson's dauntless courage and heroism, according to the U.S. Marine Corps spokesman, inspired his fellow Marines to defeat a determined and numerically superior enemy force. Stephenson is being discharged early due to the injuries suffered in combat, for which he will be awarded the Purple Heart.

Stephenson is the son of Nathaniel and Celia Stephenson of East Nashville. A service of thanksgiving will be held at Mt. Zion A.M.E. Church at eleven o'clock on Sat.u.r.day morning. A reception will follow in the church's fellowship hall.

The Nashville Register

early edition

DECEMBER 18, 1970.

chapter fifteen.

Samuel was coming home. That's what the newspaper said, that's what Nathaniel said, but somehow I still couldn't believe it. And although Christmas was just a few days away, I honestly didn't spend one minute thinking about presents or lighted trees or shepherds standing watch by a manger in an old dilapidated stable outside of a two-bit town in the middle of a desert. Not this year. All I could think about was Samuel Stephenson, the beautiful boy who spoke my name with more tenderness than even Shakespeare or the Virgin Mary could have imagined.

We were all counting the days till he came home, even Mother, though I'm not sure she really remembered who Samuel was. She said she did, but I think she just wanted to share in the excitement. There were a lot of things Mother didn't remember anymore. Apparently when they send a bolt of lightning through your body one too many times, it can knock part of your memory right out of your head. But she was getting better, at least that's what Maizelle said. She said she could see it in her eyes. And even though there were brief moments when I had begun to recognize the mother I used to know, I wasn't quite so sure.

Adelaide had made a chain out of construction paper, the kind it seems we all learned to make in kindergarten as soon as the teacher trusted us with a pair of scissors and a jar of paste. She hung it all around the kitchen so Mother, Maizelle, and I could see with our very own eyes exactly how many days it would be until Samuel was home safe and sound. That chain seemed long enough to wrap around the world when she first made it. Now there were just a few pieces of paper left, dangling above the kitchen sink.

Nathaniel and his wife were planning a special prayer service and a big party afterward in the fellowship hall underneath the church's sanctuary. Samuel was a hero, and he deserved a hero's welcome, they said. They mailed handwritten invitations to everybody they knew, including us. But Nathaniel said that, before even one piece of cake was cut, we were all getting down on our knees and thanking the good Lord for bringing his son back in one piece. There were too many parents out there, he said, whose boys had come home in boxes. He didn't know why that had to be. He'd just add it to a very long list of things he figured he'd never fully understand until he stood at G.o.d's feet. So only after the good Lord was thanked and praised would we head downstairs for some of the best barbecue in all of Nashville.

Nathaniel could not stop smiling. Just talking about his son coming home left him trembling with excitement. He walked into the kitchen and looked up at Adelaide's paper chain and nearly shouted, "Three more days! Praise the Lord, three more days!" Then he headed into the dining room looking for Mother's tea service. Polishing the silver might just calm him down a bit, he thought. Maizelle said she thought it might take a shot of whiskey and then turned around and walked out of the room, laughing to herself.

The front doorbell rang shortly before noon. Adelaide, Mother, and I had all gathered in the den. Adelaide was sitting on the floor writing Christmas cards to a few of her friends. She had made them herself, using the rest of her construction paper and pieces of silver and gold foil left over from some long-forgotten school project.

Mother was relaxed on the sofa, knitting Samuel a sweater. Not long after she came home from the hospital, she'd picked up a pair of Adelaide's knitting needles, and she hadn't put them down since. I had never seen my mother knit, but she said she used to do all sorts of handiwork when she was a little girl.

She chose a deep red yarn for the body of the sweater and then placed a bright green Christmas tree, perfectly trimmed with shiny blue ornaments and topped with a yellow star, right in the middle. And even though I couldn't picture this sweater on a young military hero, I looked at my mother and rea.s.sured her that Samuel would love it.

Uncle Thad came in from the back and knelt down by the fire just before the bell rang. He had three logs tucked under his left arm and snowflakes stuck gently to the top of his head. He carefully stoked the fire, making room for fresh wood but careful not to throw sparks onto the rug. It had started snowing not long after breakfast, just enough to lightly cover the ground, just enough to make everyone want to sip hot chocolate and listen to Adelaide's collection of rock 'n' roll holiday alb.u.ms on Father's old record player.

"Lord have mercy, if you don't look like a Christmas card yourself," Maizelle said as she walked to the front door. But when she saw a young, dark-skinned girl standing on the porch, she dropped to her knees and cried out loud. Nathaniel came running from the back of the house. He let out a scream from somewhere so deep within his belly that I was afraid his insides might come spilling right out of his mouth. The sound washed through my body, leaving me numb and scared, and for a brief moment I found myself hiding behind my mother. Sometimes, even now as an old woman when I dream about Samuel, when we're wrapped in each other's arms underneath the cherrybark oaks, I wake to the sound of that tortured cry. The young girl rushed into the house, not waiting for anyone to formally invite her in.

"Daddy, no, it's not what you think!" she cried. "It's not what you think. Samuel's fine. Samuel's here. He's home. He got here this morning, not long after you left. He wanted to surprise everybody. Mama told me to come and get you. Everybody's at the house now waiting for you. Daddy, stop crying," she pleaded softly, realizing that her sudden appearance had left her father thinking that his only son was dead and gone.

And like a set of dominoes tipping forward, we all seemed to fall to the ground, so overwhelmed with relief and joy that even the weight of our own bodies was too much to bear. Mother, in a fit of unexplainable tears, wrapped her arms first around Nathaniel and then Maizelle. And once we'd caught our breath, Adelaide and I started screaming with excitement. Adelaide said she just couldn't believe it because there were still two paper loops hanging over the kitchen sink. I'm really not sure how long we stood there. Time seemed to have no meaning that day. Finally my uncle mouthed something to me that I couldn't quite understand. He motioned for me to come closer and then spoke quietly in my ear.

"Bezellia, sweetie," he said, "go get Nathaniel's coat and hat. We need to drive those two on home. Neither Nathaniel nor his daughter is fit to be behind the wheel of a car right now. They're just too overwhelmed with emotion to think straight, let alone drive across town. I'm not sure how that girl got here without winding up in a ditch. The roads are already getting a little slick. I'll drive Nathaniel's truck, and then you follow in mine, just put some good snow tires on it the other day."

But I stood there, like a schoolgirl playing freeze tag and waiting for her turn to run. Shocked maybe by the excitement, at least that's what I think Maizelle would have said. My uncle kept talking to me. I guess repeating the same instructions until I finally nodded and stumbled down the hall, feeling my way with my hands. My eyes were clouded with tears, but I found the closet by the back door and reached for the bra.s.s k.n.o.b in front of me. When I touched Nathaniel's hat, the soft, worn felt between my hands, my body started shaking uncontrollably. Nathaniel was wearing this hat the day he introduced me to Samuel. He was smiling so big, so proud of his boy. Now Samuel was finally home. That's what his sister had said. She walked right up to my front door and said it. But I was almost afraid to believe it was true. I wondered if Nathaniel felt the same way.

Uncle Thad drove directly in front of me, checking his rearview mirror every second or two, careful to keep me close in his sight. I could see Nathaniel and his daughter on the seat next to Uncle Thad. I could tell the two of them were laughing and crying just by the way their heads kept bobbing up and down. I had never been on the other side of the river. Mother used to say there was nothing over there worth seeing. "That's where the colored live, Sister. You cross that river and you just might get shot." That's what she used to say.

The houses were smaller and closer together, but the streets seemed tidy and well kept. Even under the gray December sky, the neighborhoods, all decorated for the holidays, looked welcoming and friendly. Small children bundled in heavy coats were walking on the sidewalks with their mothers, hand in hand. No one was carrying a gun. No one was lying drunk on the side of the road. I wondered if Mother had ever been over here or if she had just made all of that up.

Nathaniel's house was made of stone and topped with a black-shingled roof. A large porch wrapped around the front, just like ours. It was bigger than the other houses on the block, and his yard was planted with grand, aged boxwoods and scores of hydrangeas looking dormant and twiggy in the winter cold. A lush pine wreath was tied to the front door, and brightly colored lights tacked along the roof-line were blinking on and off again, seeming to welcome everyone who walked by. And right in the middle of the yard stood a bare old oak tree with a huge yellow ribbon tied around its trunk. It looked as though it had grown weary waiting for Samuel's return.

Cars were already parked along both sides of the street as far as I could see. Men in work clothes and dark suits and women in woolen coats and colorful hats had filled the yard, patiently waiting their turn to get inside the house and wrap their arms around their hometown hero. In a strange way, it reminded me a little of my father's dying and all the people who had come to pay their respects, except this time everyone truly cared.

Nathaniel jumped out of the car and rushed to the low gate that surrounded his property. He fumbled with the lock, and when the gate finally swung forward, he almost fell onto the gra.s.s. A large man grabbed him by the elbow and led him into the house. His daughter stumbled behind them. Every few steps somebody would grab her and give her a big hug and then set her free again. And just as soon as she'd regain her balance, someone else would scoop her up in his arms and hug her so tight it looked as if her tiny little back might snap in two just like one of Maizelle's green beans.

By now, everyone standing out in the front yard had turned around and was looking at Uncle Thad and me. No one readily spoke or invited us in, and I realized I felt as out of place in this world as Samuel must have felt in mine. Uncle Thad offered a few quick h.e.l.los and then gestured for me to get in the car. But again, I just stood there, seemingly frozen in place. I desperately needed to see Samuel. I needed to tell him that I'd got his letters. I needed to tell him that I'd read each one at least a hundred times. I needed to tell him that I still loved him. But I wasn't welcome here. I could see that.

Uncle Thad said this was a very emotional day for this family, and we needed to give them some time alone. Maybe so. Maybe I'd have a chance to talk to Samuel later. We didn't see Nathaniel again that week. His daughter called the house and said that her mother and father surely appreciated the large bouquet of flowers Mother had had the florist deliver as well as the country-baked ham. They had been eating on it for two days now. They sure looked forward to seeing us at the church on Sat.u.r.day, and she promised that her daddy would be in touch as soon as he could.

Maizelle visited the family two or three times, always carrying a chicken noodle ca.s.serole with her. She said Samuel's mama didn't need to be worrying about cooking any meals right now. She just needed to be loving on her baby boy. Maizelle always came back from the Stephensons' looking happy and kind of mad all at the same time-happy to see Samuel again and mad that he had been sent to that jungle in the first place. She said some days she felt like throwing a brick right through the president's big white house. Samuel had nearly given his life, she said, for a country that probably wasn't going to treat him any better now that he was home. "Not right. Just not right."

I asked her a thousand questions about Samuel every time she came back from a visit. And she patiently answered them all, although she'd look at me with one eye slightly closed and her head tilted sharply to the right. "Samuel coming home hasn't changed anything, sweetie. You remember that." But she was wrong. It had changed everything.

Late Friday afternoon, Nathaniel called the house. Mother spoke to him from the telephone in the kitchen. I could tell she was trying not to cry, but her voice quickly grew weak and teary. I didn't think too much of it really. Mother found more and more to cry about these days-a pretty sunset, a perfect rose, even one of Maizelle's fresh, hot pound cakes could reduce my mother to tears. She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand and lowered her body into one of the kitchen chairs, the one with the uneven legs, and gently started rocking back and forth.

Nathaniel and his wife wanted the Groves to sit with his family at the church service tomorrow. Mother told him she didn't deserve such an honor but promised we would all be there on time. And she'd be real happy to bring another ham if he thought they might need it. Nathaniel told her that their stomachs were good and full for now, but he would see her at the church tomorrow morning.

"Can you believe that?" Mother said as she handed me the receiver. "Nathaniel wants us to sit with his family." She just sat there and smiled, big tears once again welling in the corners of her eyes. She was so pleased to be considered part of Nathaniel's family. I couldn't help but wonder if she could remember the way her daughter used to admire Nathaniel's son when he came to work at Grove Hill.

The next morning, precisely ten minutes before eleven, the Grove family walked into the sanctuary of Mt. Zion A.M.E. Church and took our seats on an old, hard wooden pew right behind Nathaniel and his wife. A crisp white bow was tied on its end, indicating that this s.p.a.ce was reserved for the Stephensons' family. The church was packed with people waiting to welcome Samuel home, except everyone else was black. I knew they were looking at us. I could feel their stares falling across my back. But surely, I told myself, countless men and women had sat on this very same pew-praising G.o.d, begging for some needed strength and courage. So now I rubbed my hand against the wood, trying to absorb the gifts of the generations who had rested here before me, who might have even found my presence in their church strange and awkward too.

Adelaide snuggled up next to me, and I felt her slip her hand inside mine. I patted her arm and smiled, rea.s.suring her we were right where we needed to be. And when I looked up, Samuel was standing at the front of the church. He was dressed in a dark Marine Corps uniform. He was holding a pure white hat with a short, shiny black bill firmly in his hands. He looked so handsome, so strong and brave and yet so peaceful and calm. His jaw was clenched tight at first, as if he was trying to maintain a Marine's perfect stance, but then I saw a glimpse, a hint really, of that beautiful smile starting to appear across his face. I whispered his name, but he couldn't hear me. Mother looked at me and gently put her finger to her lips.

Samuel sat down in a large but simple wooden chair. The preacher stepped in front of him and took his position behind the pulpit. He outstretched his arms and then announced that we had all come here today to welcome Samuel Stephenson home. Every man and woman in the church cried out almost simultaneously, chanting "Amen" and lifting their hands to the Lord as if they were offering up a gift of some kind. The minister repeated himself again and again, and then he paused for a moment and lowered his head.

"It wasn't the homecoming we had planned," he said softly. "It wasn't the homecoming his mama and daddy had been waiting for. It wasn't the homecoming they had dreamed about." His voice was growing louder and stronger and his arms were open and inviting.

"No. It is a thousand times better. Only G.o.d could imagine a homecoming like this!" And the church exploded with excitement-people praising G.o.d, thanking G.o.d-no one seemed afraid to express what was on his heart. "This special child of G.o.d is home at last, and his journey has just begun. He will not be defined by the evil he has seen. His heart will not be hardened. No. Not this child of G.o.d. He will be a better man because of it. He will be a better American because of it. He will be a better Christian because of it."

Then the minister grabbed the pulpit with both hands, as if his own emotions might carry him away if he didn't hold on tight. "These are not tears of sadness we are crying today. No. These are tears of joy, tears of happiness, tears of thanksgiving.

"And while we are grateful that Samuel is here with us, we must take a moment to pray for all the young men, men just like Samuel, who will not be coming home to their mothers and fathers, to their sisters and brothers. Have mercy, Lord. Have mercy."

Again, voices called out, echoing the words of the pastor. And now both men and women were crying out loud. Little girls, teenage girls, girls who looked about my age, girls I imagined might have loved Samuel like I had were crying out loud. Nathaniel and his wife held on to each other, their backs heaving. Samuel would look down at his parents and smile, always careful to rea.s.sure them that he was really and truly here.

The minister lifted his arms one last time toward the ceiling, and the choir started to sing. Their bodies swayed back and forth with the rhythm of the music, and before long everyone in the church was following their lead, standing and clapping their hands. Even my mother sang along. Her face was so full of emotion. And for a moment, everyone's voice blended together as if each of us was offering the others something we really didn't know we had. And by the time the last note had been sung, we all were exhausted from the effort. The choir sang one final amen, and the minister opened his arms as if to embrace us all. He announced that it was time at last to move this wonderful celebration downstairs.

Samuel and his parents left the sanctuary together, the three of them holding hands with the rest of the Stephenson family and the minister following close behind. And whether everyone else was eager to fill his aching stomach or to personally welcome Samuel home, I'm not really sure. But every single body in that church stood and headed in one fluid motion toward the stairs, making it almost impossible for the Groves, feeling a bit hesitant and out of place, to exit our pew and join the throng. A few men shook Uncle Thad's hand, and Mother smiled and spoke to every woman who stopped to welcome her to Mt. Zion A.M.E. Church. And when the sanctuary was finally empty, we took our places at the end of the line.

It was probably an hour before I could even see Samuel standing a few feet ahead of me. He spent so much time with everyone that for a while I thought it might be midnight before I got close enough to touch his hand. His smile was so big and his laugh was so wonderfully tender that, as I got closer, I only hoped he would have something left for me.

Mother spoke to Nathaniel's wife first and then to Nathaniel. She hugged him tightly around the neck and whispered something in his ear. He smiled and gently patted her shoulder. Then she moved forward one step and was standing right in front of Samuel. Samuel's smile faded just a bit, but his eyes were still warm and open. When Mother reached out to shake his hand, you could see his surprise. They exchanged a few words. They both smiled, and then Mother moved on.

I have no memory of what I said to Samuel's mother or to Nathaniel. All I really remember is standing in front of this boy who seemed so familiar and so distant all at the same time. He was dressed more like a G.I. Joe doll than the boy I used to know, who wore old, faded blue jeans and a ball cap on his head, the same boy who thought my name sounded funny, the same boy who fell on top of me and loved me the night my father died. I wanted to talk to him like I used to when we sat by Uncle Thad's swimming pool, dangling our feet in the water, sharing everything and nothing.

"Bezellia," Samuel said, and I closed my eyes for a moment and just let the sound of his voice fill my head. "Hey, how've you been?" he continued, warmly but cautiously.

"Pretty good," I said, and then I paused for a minute. "I sure did miss you," I said faintly, so not even Nathaniel could hear.

Samuel just shook his head. "Wrote you a bunch of letters."

"I know. I read them all ... at least a hundred times." Samuel looked confused, and his smile began to fade away.

"I never heard from you."

"That's not true. I did write, not long after you left. Maizelle even gave me your address. But when I didn't hear from you, I thought ..." My voice fell silent. Samuel didn't understand what I was saying, and I didn't know how to explain it to him. But I knew in that moment, sitting someplace on the other side of the world, Samuel Stephenson had already convinced himself that I didn't love him.

He just shook his head again. "Heard a great song about you too. Glad you've been feeling all right."

"It's just a song. He just made all that up."

"Doesn't really matter," he said and then seemed to be almost searching for the next person in line, someone else who would hug him and tell him how wonderful it was that he was home.

Nathaniel looked at us both as if he didn't approve of our lingering conversation. And before I could think of anything more to say, he leaned between us and announced that he needed to borrow his son for a minute. He wanted him to give the blessing, and there were a lot of hungry people waiting to hear him speak. As the two of them walked away, I felt like that little girl standing on the porch at Grove Hill, knowing then as I did now that Nathaniel didn't want us to exchange much more than a few nice words. Samuel looked at me as if to thank me for coming and then walked off with his father, maybe even feeling relieved that he had been whisked away. And while everyone bowed their heads and praised Jesus one more time, I snuck out the door and crawled into the backseat of my mother's Cadillac.

This was certainly not the homecoming I had imagined. In my dreams, Samuel was going to hug me and kiss me and not care who was looking. He was going to forgive me for not writing. He was going to tell me that he had missed me, that he still loved me. But that was just a dream, I guess. I'm not sure how long I was there in the backseat of that car or how hard I cried, but I woke to the sound of my mother tapping on the window gla.s.s.

"Bezellia, we've been looking for you. Didn't know where you'd gone off to. Did you get something to eat?" she asked as she opened the door and slid onto the front seat. "Looks like you've been crying. Why are you sad? We're supposed to be celebrating. Nathaniel's son has finally come home. I didn't remember him having a son that age. Sure seems like such a nice young man."

"I just got overwrought, I guess, isn't that what Maizelle would call it? But do you think we could go home? I really want to go home."

"Sure. I'll go find your sister and Uncle Thad. I last saw them waiting in line for a piece of that chocolate cake. You want me to bring you a piece? It sure looked good," she said, and then she stepped out of the car and disappeared back inside the church, fortunately not seeming to understand why I was hiding in the back of her car.

When we got back to Grove Hill, the sky had turned a dark, wet gray. I ran to my room and immediately fell on my knees. I couldn't really see what I was doing, but through the tears I reached under the bed and grabbed an old shoe box. I threw the lid aside and reached for the bundle of papers, the letters Samuel had written, the only proof that he had in fact loved me. I left the empty box on the floor and headed back downstairs.

Mother was on her way to bed; she said the day had exhausted her. She sure hoped I felt better in the morning. Maybe I was coming down with something. "I wouldn't know what to do if you got sick. Is Maizelle here?" she asked, already looking nervous at the thought of caring for a sick child. I rea.s.sured her that I was fine and that she should go on and get some rest. I could hear Adelaide on the phone in her room, telling Lucy all about the service and the whole pig roasting on a spit behind the church.

I flew down the back stairs, almost tripping on my own two feet, and then out the kitchen door, kicking my high heels off as I stepped off the concrete porch. I ran barefoot toward the creek. I couldn't even feel the freezing earth beneath me. By the time I got there, a light snow was starting to fall again from the sky. I watched for a moment as the water moved over the rocks, and then I dropped the letters into the current. I could hear Samuel calling me a princess as the papers floated on top of the water and drifted out of my sight.