When the Tide Ebbs: An epic 1930's love story (A Grave Encounter) (19 page)

I wanted to bite my tongue for being such a clod. With my head thrown back, my eyes closed, all I could say was, “Jeepers, Dabney, I’m such a chump. You’re really a swell gal, and I guess . . . well, I assumed you felt sorry for me, and wanted to . . . uh . . . help get my mind off the pain. Forgive me for being such an ignoramus?”

She wouldn’t look me in the eyes, but staring toward the stars, she gave a little nod and her lips made a weak attempt at a smile.

I sat up and pulled a handkerchief from the back pocket of my dungarees. I took the tip and wiped a tear trailing down her cheek. I smiled and said, “The stars look much brighter from a reclining position. Why don’t we lay back?”

“Are you sure?” She asked.

I smiled. “You have nothing to be afraid of,” I said with a wink. “I promise to be a perfect gentleman.” I pulled off my shirt, folded it up and slid it under her head. We glanced up in time to see a shooting star blazing across the sky. “Look,” I gushed. “Someone once told me shooting stars are the dead making an appearance, to bring us comfort. Do you suppose?”

Dabney turned her head toward me and smiled. Her voice had a soothing, compassionate tone. “No, Kiah. That was a star. Nothing more. Zann’s not shooting across the sky. She’s at peace in heaven, walking among the saints on streets of gold. One day, I’m gonna be walking up there with her.”

I supposed one legend was as good as another, so I didn’t dispute it, though I found it to be quite preposterous. Especially, the part about her strolling around heaven with Zann. Didn’t she understand? Even if there was a heaven, the golden gate wouldn’t swing open for the likes of Kiah Grave and Dabney Foxworthy. Ludicrous. But I didn’t want to debate her. Not now, anyway. I wanted Dabney to tell me every minute detail from the day Zann was raped, to the day she died. As painful as it’d be to hear, I had to know.

“Dabney, when Zann came back to school, she seemed so normal. I would never have guessed. How did she manage to hide something so traumatic?”

“Well, she did put up a good front. And as the weeks passed, I thought she was really beginning to put it behind her. She seemed to be doing fairly well, until she discovered she was pregnant. For the first four months, she didn’t want to believe it, but when her dresses got tight, she couldn’t deny it any longer. She told me first. Bless her heart, I felt so sorry for her, Kiah. I kept wishing it had happened to me and not to her. She was terrified of telling her father she was pregnant. Afraid he’d force her to name her attacker and he’d kill the boy. Frankly, I thought the rascal needed killing, but Zann was concerned her daddy would go to prison and it’d be her fault. But this was not the kind of news she could keep secret for very long. I held her hand in the living room, when she broke the news to her mama and daddy. As you can imagine, they were devastated.”

Dabney screeched when a frightened animal—likely a ‘coon—darted through the underbrush within feet of us, then scampered up a nearby sycamore tree. I instinctively grabbed her in an unconscious gesture of protection. It was a stupid move. Her eyes widened, and her lips parted. I squirmed, when I sensed she didn’t realize it was nothing more than a reflex action. There was an uncomfortable silence.

I tried to hide my nervousness. “Uh . . . I hope you didn’t think—”

She appeared flustered and quickly rolled over and sat up. “Forget it,” she mumbled. With her lips tightly compressed, she dropped her gaze.

I swallowed. I wanted to forget it. Oh, how I wanted to forget it, but I wanted even more for her to forget it.

I sat upright and locked my hands around my knees. “Look!” A bat darted through the darkened trees. “Did you see it?” There was nothing spectacular about seeing a bat, but I was scrambling for an opportunity to replace the tenseness, which hung heavily in the air.

It worked. She craned her neck in the direction I pointed. “What? What was it?”

“A bat.” I winced at the artificial enthusiasm in my voice. I couldn’t have managed to say it with more oomph if I’d been pointing out a dinosaur flying overhead.

“Where?”

“Too late. You can’t blink or they’re gone. First you see them, then you don’t. Amazing little creatures. Funny how they flit around in the dark, blind as can be, yet they seem to know where they’re going. I wish I had their sense of direction.”

“But you don’t need it. You have eyes.”

“True, I have eyes, yet I keep running into obstacles, every way I turn. I can’t seem to find my way in life, Dabney. Maybe I’m blinder than the bats.”

Dabney’s voice quaked. “Oh, Kiah, you don’t have any idea what it’s like to be blind. You have excellent foresight. You can see a future. I admire you. You know where you’re going and you know how to get there. Not me. I try to see ahead, but my future is as dark as my past. I can only see the here and now, with no yesterdays to comfort me, and no bright tomorrows, to promise hope.” She covered her face with her hands. “Jeepers, I don’t know why I rambled on so. You must think me a dim-wit.”

I bit my bottom lip and shook my head. I couldn’t tell her what I really thought. Frankly, I was surprised at the eloquent way she had expressed her feelings. If I hadn’t seen her lips moving, I wouldn’t have believed the words came from her mouth. For the first time, I felt I had a glimpse of the real Dabney Foxworthy. She had bared her heart. I was touched. I wanted to reach over and hold her hand, but what if she mistook my gesture for something more meaningful than a simple act of kindness? Instead, I bungled through something inane, like “Rambling isn’t a bad thing. What’s lovelier than a rambling rose?”

Good Granny, where did that line come from? I lowered my eyes and gasped. I wanted to pound myself on the head for being so stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid. My mouth went dry. I didn’t want to look at her. Had I really said ‘Rambling isn’t a bad thing—what’s lovelier than a rambling rose?’ It didn’t even make sense to me, and I was sure it made no sense to her. What if she was laughing? She’d have every right. I was such a dumb ox.

I slowly lifted my head and glanced her way. She wasn’t laughing. She wasn’t laughing at all. Giant tears made a trail down her cheeks. When she turned her head, the moonlight seemed to capture the softness of her skin, causing it to glow as if she’d been bathed with the silvery morning dew. I wondered at what point she’d stopped wearing the war paint. I hadn’t noticed until tonight, but her face was as fresh and clean as Monday’s laundry. She appeared pure and innocent, and if I hadn’t known better—

“You’re crying. Did I say something wrong, Dabney?”

“Wrong?” She smiled. “No, in fact it was beautiful,” she whispered. “Thank you.”

Now, I was really confused, but we had more important things to talk about. “You were telling me about Zann?”

She exhaled a heavy breath. “Yes. Now, where was I? I pure forgot, after the lovely thing you said. You know. About the rose. It sounded kinda poetic.”

Her voice sounded different—soft and wooing like—scared me silly to think I may have unknowingly said something that could’ve been construed as romantic. Certainly, it was not my intent. Me? Poetic?

Nevertheless, intent or no intent, she embraced my idiotic brand of poetry and clung to it tightly like a proud child with an all-day sucker.

I coughed in my hand. “You said you were with Zann when she broke the news to her parents. How did they react to the news? Had they suspected she might be pregnant?”

“I don’t think so, from the way they carried on. Her mother went to pieces and said the only logical thing to do would be to send her away to a home for unwed mothers, where they could place the baby for adoption. Mrs. Pruitt said it’d be best to keep it a secret for the parson’s sake. Knowing how ugly rumors get started, she said Parson Pruitt might be asked to leave, if folks thought his daughter had—well, you know.”

“I don’t get it. How could she have been so far along without me noticing?”

Dabney smiled. “Kiah, you wouldn’t have suspected Zann Pruitt to be pregnant if she looked like she’d swallowed a watermelon. No one would’ve. But the truth is, she didn’t gain much weight. I think she just stopped eating out of fear. When the parson said they wouldn’t be able to hide it forever, his wife told him she’d let out the waist on Zann’s skirts. Mrs. Pruitt said before Zann had time to really blossom, school would be out. The baby wasn’t due until

September, so she could be back home to start school in the fall, and no one would be the wiser.”

I had a queasy sensation in the pit of my stomach.

“But things didn’t go according to her mother’s plans. Mrs. Pruitt intended for Zann to leave the baby and come home, but, oh my goodness, Zann wouldn’t hear of it. She said she’d never agree to give up her baby. She and her mama went rounds over that one. Emotions were high and tempers flared. So I came up with a solution I hoped would suit everybody. They probably thought it dumb at first, until I explained how we could pull it off.”

“Slow down, you’re losing me.”

“Don’t you get it? I offered to fake a pregnancy. Then when Zann delivered, I’d pretend to have given birth, and the Pruitts could let folks think they adopted my child. No one would ever suspect it was Zann’s baby and not mine. That way, Zann could be with her baby, and the little one would carry the respectable last name of the noble folks who adopted her. She’d never be looked upon as—” She clasped her hand over her mouth. “I’m sorry, Kiah. I wasn’t thinking. I shouldn’t have said that.”

I shrugged. “You didn’t say it. But even if you had, it would’ve been the truth. That was admirable of you, Dabney, to suggest such an arrangement. Not many girls would’ve done something like that for a friend.”

“Zann’s Mama hugged me and agreed it was the answer, but the parson, well, he balked and said it wouldn’t be right and we had to come up with another plan. He called it deceit, but I made up my mind to do it, and I wasn’t gonna let him talk me out of it. Zann cried and said she loved me for wanting to help, but she couldn’t let me ruin my good name, just to save hers.” Dabney smiled. “She actually said that, Kiah, and I think she meant it. I assured her my name wouldn’t suffer. I really wanted to do it for her, and I reckon you might say I put my foot down.”

I swallowed. “You’re swell, Dabney. A real friend.”

“Well, don’t pin any roses on me, Kiah. It’s true my main reason for doing it was to help Zann, but maybe I was doing it partly for me, too. I’d felt like dirt all my life and I wanted to do something worthwhile for a change. This was my chance to make my life count for something. It made me feel good. Like I was needed, you know?”

I had so many questions, yet there was really no right place to begin. “So where did you go when her daddy picked you up in the middle of the night? Mama thought you were going to visit the midwife.” I swallowed hard as I reflected on the vile accusations I’d made, accusing her and the parson.

She glanced down. “Parson Pruitt received a call, saying Zann had delivered and she wasn’t doing well. He came to pick me up and took me to his house, so I’d be there when they got back with the baby. After all, if I was supposed to be giving birth, I needed to be where my baby was, as soon as they arrived back. So I removed the padding Mrs. Pruitt had made for me to wear, and I waited at the parsonage for them to return with Zann and little Alexandra.”

“Was she—” The words stuck in my throat. I tried once more. “Was she still alive when they returned home?”

Dabney’s voice lowered. “Yes, but she was a very sick little mama. Oh, but if you could’ve seen her with the baby. We wanted to take the baby into another room so Zann could rest, but she insisted on having her with her in the bed at all times.”

I choked. “How long did she live?”

“Six-and-a-quarter hours after they arrived home with her. She kept calling for you, and I really wanted to let you know, but I’d made a promise to the Pruitts that it’d be our secret. I couldn’t go back on my word. And yet, now . . . now I’ve broken my promise.”

I tried to console her when she cried. “Dabney, you had no choice. I made you tell me. You needn’t worry. I’ll never tell a soul.”

Her eyes opened wide. She panted and stared at me like a frightened animal. “Promise, Kiah, do you promise?”

“Honest and hope to die,” I said crossing my hand over my heart. “You can trust me. I have two very good reasons for not wanting to tell. One, you asked me not to. And two, because Zann would not have wanted me to tell. I know she wouldn’t.” Speaking of Zann in the past tense caused a lump the size of a frog to swell in my throat. I didn’t want to cry, but I didn’t know how much longer I could contain the intense pain.

She fumbled with the cheap ring on her pinky. “Kiah, there’s something else I haven’t told you.”

I must have looked puzzled. I couldn’t imagine there could possibly be anything more to tell.

She reached for my hand. There was nothing romantic in the gesture, but I stiffened, feeling the need to brace myself. When she hesitated, I sensed whatever it was she was about to tell me was going to come as a shock.

“There’s a letter,” she said.

“A letter?”

Chapter 16

Why did Dabney wait until now to tell me there was a letter from Zann? “Where is it? I want it, Dabney.”

“I don’t have it with me. It’s at the house. In a safe place.”

My heart throbbed at the thought of reading words written by Zann for my eyes only. As we neared Rooster Run, my imagination ran wild. What if she blamed me for leaving her at the bridge, unprotected? She had every right to hate me. What if she revealed her attacker? What would I do? There was no question about what I’d want to do. I wanted to kill him. But would I? Could I?

Dabney was dragging by the time we reached #3, and I’ll confess I wasn’t in tip-top shape, myself. Though I had no way of knowing, I guessed the time to be somewhere between one and two o’clock a.m. Dabney opened the screen door to her cabin, then turned and looked at me with pleading eyes. “Kiah, do you mind terribly if we wait until tomorrow? I’ll get it for you first thing in the morning. I feel a mite washed out, and I know you’ll have questions.”

“No. You can’t ask me to wait, Dabney. Where’s the letter?” Why did she think I’d have questions? Had she read the letter?
My
letter? Did she honestly think I’d say, “Sure, send it over whenever it’s convenient for you?” I couldn’t wait another second. How could she expect me to wait another day?

She appeared reluctant, but motioned for me to follow her into the house. I expected her to light the lamp, but she didn’t bother. The full moon let light in through the window, and I watched as she reached under her bed and pulled out a metal chest the size of a shoe box. She took a small key from a chain she wore around her neck. She reached in, pulled out a business sized envelope and handed it to me.

She mumbled, “Want me to light the lamp so you can read it?”

I clasped the letter to my chest and shook my head. “No thanks. Go to bed. I’ll read it after I get home.” I needed to be alone to absorb every word in privacy.

Though our houses were only feet apart, I was panting as if I’d run ten miles, by the time I reached the front stoop. I heard Mama snoring when I opened the front door. I lit the oil lamp and Mama grunted, threw her hands over her eyes and flounced toward the wall.

“Sorry,” I whispered. Before I had time to tear the envelope open, she was snoring again.

My hands shook as I unfolded six pages of gold-trimmed stationary with the initial “P” in the top right-hand corner. As I read, I tried to drink in the words, as if sucking each syllable slowly through a straw. I couldn’t imagine the pain she must have endured, as her tears had smeared the ink in several places.

My dear, sweet Kiah,

If you’re reading this letter, it means I’ve gone to be with the Lord.

Kiah, I’ve deceived the one person who means more to me than anyone else in this world—you. Not by choice, but I wasn’t allowed to make my own decisions. Dabney wasn’t pregnant. I was. The baby is the result of a rape, but she’s still my flesh and blood and I fought Mama and Daddy for the right to keep her. Now, it looks as if I’ll lose her, anyway.

People in Pivan Falls will believe the baby’s birth mother is Dabney, and that Mother and Daddy adopted the maid’s baby. The idea was Dabney’s. She’s a real friend.

Kiah, I believe had I lived, you would’ve accepted my little Alexandra with open arms and loved her as I do. It would be a lot to ask of most men, but you aren’t just any man. You’re very special. I have a couple of requests, and I have no doubt that you’ll carry out my wishes if the time should come.

Kiah, when she’s of age, will you tell Alexandra the truth? Mama insists my little Allie should grow up believing she’s their adopted daughter and I’m her big sister. Maybe it’s selfish of me, but to think she may never know I’m her mother, tears me apart. Tell her, Kiah. Tell her I said she’s worth the price I paid for her. Tell her I loved her more than life. I’ve named my parents as Alexandra’s guardians, but in the event of their death, I’ve requested that you be named legal guardian. I couldn’t choose a better father for my little girl.

I hate to leave you and Alexandra, but I’m confident God will send someone your way who’ll love you as I do. She won’t look like me, talk like me or act like me, so don’t try to compare the two of us. Your love will be different, but just as strong as the love we shared.

When I was a little girl, I collected seashells. One morning I sat on the beach building sand castles when the tide rushed in and deposited a starfish at my feet. It was the most beautiful shell I’d ever seen. I left it on the sand, thinking it would still be there after I finished my castle. Minutes later, I looked up and the starfish disappeared when the tide ebbed.

Brokenhearted, I cried, but Daddy said, “You waited too late to retrieve it. Be patient, Zann, for God has many shells beyond the breakers, which will wash ashore with the incoming tide. The next one may not look like the one you lost, but will be equally beautiful. When it comes ashore, grab it, or it too, will disappear with the ebb tide.”

So I sat on the beach that evening, waiting and watching. I’d almost given up, when the tide rushed in, and there on the beach was the prettiest pink conch shell I’d ever seen. This time, I knew what to do. I snatched it up, put it in my bucket and carried it home.

The tide’s beginning to ebb, my darling, and soon I’ll be no more. Don’t mourn for what you’ve lost. God has something else in store. Watch for the high tide.

Until we meet again, all my love,

Zann

P.S. Dabney has instructions to give you this letter, if I don’t make it. Please thank her for being such a wonderful friend. Goodbye, my darling.

I tried to keep the tears from falling on the pages and smearing the ink. I held the stationary to my nose, hoping to get a whiff of gardenias. But there was no scent. Not even the subtle smell of lavender, which I detected the day I purchased it from the drug store. I carefully folded the letter and slid it back into the envelope. “Why, God?
Why
? I can understand why you’d choose the loveliest flower in the garden but it doesn’t seem right to pick one while still in the bud. She didn’t have time to fully blossom before you plucked her. It’s not fair. It’s not fair at all.”

I fell across my bed without bothering to undress.

Tuesday morning, Mama shook me. “Get up, Shug. It’s time to get ready for school.”

I grumbled and turned over in the bed. “I’m not going.”

Mama didn’t often raise her voice, but when she did, she could raise the roof. “Kiah Grave, I’ll not stand idly by and let you destroy your life. Get out of bed this instant. You’re going whether you want to or not.”

Another grunt. Then I felt a sage broom pounding down on top of my head. I threw my hands over my face, but she kept beating me with a broom. It didn’t hurt, but I got a mouthful of sage—not a pleasant way to start the day. I yelled, “For crying out loud, Mama, what’s got into you? Calm down. I’m going, I’m going.”

I pumped enough water to draw a bath. “My overalls are too dirty to wear,” I yelled. “Did you iron my other pair?”

Mama grumbled. “Wear the ones you wore yesterday. You’ve only worn them once. They should be good for another day or two at least.”

“Well, they’re not.”

She picked up my clothes that I’d thrown across a ladder back chair, and shrieked. “Land sakes, how did you get these in such a mess? Looks like you rooted with the hogs.”

I was in no mood to explain my midnight walk with Dabney, or relate how I woke up lying on wet clay, after a fainting spell.

Mama reached in the wicker laundry basket and pulled out my overalls, neatly ironed and folded. “Kiah Grave, if you stood over a hot washpot to scrub denim, you’d be a little more particular about taking care of them.”

“Sorry, Mama. What’s for breakfast?” I wasn’t hungry, but I knew if I didn’t fake it, Mama would ask more questions than I was willing to answer.

“Oh, my stars, the biscuits need to come out of the oven.”

“I got ‘em,” I volunteered. Wrapping a dishrag around my hand, I reached in and pulled out the hot iron griddle and sat it on top of the stove. I reached for one of the tender, flaky biscuits when my arm touched the hot iron, burning a patch of flesh the size of a half-smoked cigar on the back of my wrist. I jerked back and sailed the biscuit across the room.

Mama grabbed the syrup and insisted she put it on the burn. I turned away. “It’s no big deal, Mama. Forget it.” I walked over and picked up the biscuit from off the floor.

“But Kiah, shug, the syrup will take away the sting.”

“Mama, that’s an old wives’ tale. Syrup has no medicinal value.” Mama’s remedies usually worked, but I decided I’d rather burn than be doused with thick cane syrup.

“Suit yourself, shug, but I’m telling you, it’ll help cure it.”

I sneered. “Yes’m, and so does kerosene mixed with sugar.” She caught the intended sarcasm.

“Go ahead and poke fun. Kerosene and sugar might not cure burns, but it’ll get shed of the croup, and that’s a fact. I almost lost you one night, when you was a little bitty fellow. Your breathing was heavy and had a frightening sound. The nearest I can describe the awful noise coming from your throat, was like a bobcat on the prowl. You was gasping for air, and I put a few drops of kerosene on a spoonful of sugar, and it cured you in less than an hour. Your breathing eased and the hacking stopped.” Mama’s eyes glistened. “I sat up and looked at you all night long, just thanking the good Lord for a thimble full of kerosene. You woulda died without it, and that’s the Gospel truth.”

I’d heard the story too many times to fake an interest. I carefully reached for another biscuit, and loaded it down with freshly churned butter. When Mama’s head was turned, I gently smeared a dab of cane syrup over the smarting wound.

All the way to school I questioned if I was doing the right thing. Should I continue on my way, or head back to the house to stand up to Mama and tell her I was capable of making my own decisions, good or bad. If I chose to quit school, I had the right. I was of age, and it would take more than a sage broom beating to change my mind. That’s exactly what I’d tell her. I turned around and headed toward the house.

As I walked back, I considered the scholarship and what an education would mean to me and Mama.
To me and Mama
? The thought stuck in my craw. I’d wanted the scholarship so I could become somebody. Someone Zann would be proud to marry. The dream died with her.

Nothing mattered anymore. Not even my goal to become a famous college professor. Neither fame nor fortune was an incentive to continue with my education. Mama would have a fit if I mentioned dropping out of school, but only because she wanted a better life for me. She didn’t want it for herself. Maybe she was perfectly satisfied living in Rooster Run, being a washwoman. Crazy thoughts stole my logic, twisting it until the absurd sounded reasonable.

I turned back and ran all the way to the school house. I slid in my desk, as the bell rang. When Mr. Thatcher wasn’t looking, I pulled Zann’s letter from my pocket, and held it to my nose again. I sniffed. Maybe there was the slightest scent. Or maybe I imagined the scent because I wanted to believe I could smell gardenias. I mulled over her last request and wondered why—why would she want me to fall in love again? If she could only know the pain I’d suffered because I allowed myself to love once, she wouldn’t ask me to do it again.

Zann told me to explain to Alexandra that she was worth the price paid. I asked myself if loving Zann was worth the price I had to pay. The answer was yes. Would I do it again, even if I knew the heartache, which would follow? In a heartbeat.

But love someone else, the way I loved her? Impossible.

The following days were filled with emptiness. I went to sleep, woke up, ate, went to school, went to work, and went back to bed—carrying on with daily chores, yet feeling like a zombie as I moved from one task to another.

My hardest times came when the bell would ring for lunch. Every day, I trudged toward the big oak where we shared lunch so many times. I felt as if someone had thrust a butcher knife through my heart. I didn’t bother to take a lunch pail. No need. I couldn’t swallow. I sat down and leaned against the tree and cried like a baby. I didn’t think anyone was close enough to see me, but even if they could, there was nothing I could do to stop the flow of tears. Oh, how I missed her.

When I heard my name called, I looked up to see Dabney Foxworthy standing there. She was holding a white wicker basket. Zann’s lunch basket. “What are you doing here?” I asked.

“Do you mind?”

“Of course not. I’m glad you came, but I don’t understand.”

She sat down, pulled a napkin from the basket and handed it to me. I took the cue and wiped the wetness from my cheeks.

“This is Zann’s basket,” I said, as if she might not know.

She nodded. “Mrs. Pruitt packed us a lunch.”

Now, I was really confused. “Mrs. Pruitt? But why?”

Dabney pulled out fried chicken and mashed sweet potatoes. She smiled.” I asked her the same thing, and she said she was doing it for Zann. It seems Zann left us all a letter.”