Faith's Reckoning, page 17
Delsey was surprised but pleased by his enthusiastic blessing. Brett had always been closer to her brother Jesse than to her. Their interactions had been more polite than personal.
“Thank you, Brett,” she replied. “Jesse’s out back. I’m sure he’ll be glad to see you again.”
“Yeah, it’ll be good to see him too.” He started to reach for another egg.
“No more, now,” Maudie said, catching his hand. “Those are for dinner.”
“All right, I’ll wait. I just can’t resist your deviled eggs, Mama. You want me to carry out the ham hock and beans?” He nodded toward the stove.
“That would be great, Brett, and could you call everyone to dinner? And make sure your daddy set up the card table for the younger girls.”
Brett took the large pot to the dining table outside then rang the dinner bell that hung from a tree nearby. The Wiggins clan began to congregate around the tables. Everyone had on their Sunday clothes for the occasion. Faith sat with Grace and Hannah at the little table, telling them a story about the time Brer Rabbit outsmarted Brer Fox. Emma came and stood next to Faith. She loved the stories about Brer Rabbit but she could not stop wiggling. She tugged at the slip bunched around her waist, then sat down. She couldn’t bear the starched perfection of her Sunday dress. Claire and Delta sat at one end of the big table, poised in bonnets and white linen gloves. Claire had taken a leap into womanhood with the start of high school but had left Delta behind in the forlorn land of mid-adolescence. While Maudie and Delsey carried plates and bowls of food from the kitchen, the men gathered at the large table. Before they all sat down, they held hands in a circle. The younger girls scrambled up from their table to join the prayer. With bowed heads, they waited in silence for Maudie to speak.
“Dear Lord, we ask your blessing today on this gathering of family and friends. We come together to celebrate the marriage of our dear Delsey and her husband Plessy. We ask that you watch over them, that you guide and protect them. May they know the joy of their union, blessed in your name. And we are grateful, Lord, that Toby and Jesse could join us today. Please keep them safe in their travels back home. Bless this food to our bodies and us to thy service. In Jesus name we pray, Amen.”
Conversation rose as plates were passed and heaped with food. Jesse sat down at the end of the table next to Brett.
“Been awhile since we were unloadin’ Mr. Hardee’s truck over yonder,” he said, nodding toward the carport next to the house. He searched Brett’s face for some recollection of that day two and a half years ago when he had moved Delsey from Alabama along with most of the Wiggins’ belongings, back when he and Brett still had a boyhood kinship.
“Yep, been awhile,” Brett replied, thinking how much his life had changed in that time. He smiled back at Jesse.
“How’s the farm? I heard your daddy bought a little piece of it for himself.”
“He did. We’re getting’ by. Drought took out most of the cotton crop last year, but we are holding on. You still working for your daddy?”
“No, I’m at Georgia Tech now, getting my degree in aeronautical engineering. And flying with the Air ROTC.”
“Engineering? You some kind of genius? I didn’t know you were even headed to college.”
“Oh, I’m no genius, Jesse,” Brett replied. “I just enjoy learning, like your sister Delsey.”
“Yeah, she’s the smart one of us Clemons,” Jesse said looking down at the table.
They groped in silence for further conversation, muted by the stark difference of their lives. The words that finally surfaced fell leaden from their mouths.
“Nice day to celebrate a wedding,” Brett said.
“Yep, sunny but cool,” Jesse said. He looked up at the sky as if to make his point or gauge if he could fly away from the awkwardness between them. They both knew in that moment that their boyhood friendship couldn’t hold them anymore. “Well, I better check on Dad. He hasn’t been feelin’ too good, lately.”
Jesse got up and walked to the other side of the table. He put his hand on his father’s shoulder and spooned another helping of beans onto Toby’s plate. Toby tried to sit up straighter, fighting the stoop of age and overwork that claimed his body. At forty-five, he had already reached the life expectancy of a Black man in the South at that time. Jesse served himself a plate of food then squeezed in to sit next to his father. There was polite conversation around the table and Plessy and Delsey talked about their wedding and how the work on the house was nearly finished. Jesse and Toby ate their dinner quickly, unable to relax or join in the conversation. Delsey and Plessy were gracious and complemented Maudie on the food. But they too seemed in a hurry, eating their meal while sitting on the edge of their seats. Across the street, a face peered out of the front window, through a crack in the faded calico curtains.
“Come back over here, Fletcher Moody,” Ruth scolded. “They’re gonna see you.”
“It’s wrong Ruthie,” he said, still watching the proceedings going on in the Wiggins’ back yard. “It’s just plain wrong and Hardee Wiggins knows better than to be having Coloreds over to his house.”
“It ain’t our business, Fletch.”
“What goes on in this neighborhood is our business,” he said, starting to sweat despite the cool day. He turned and looked at her over his shoulder, then turned back to continue watching.
“Calm down, Fletcher. You’re just gonna get your blood up again if you don’t stop.”
“Ain’t it enough they’s got good jobs? Now they’re mingling with the neighbors. Next thing you know, they’ll be movin’ in next door.” His face was red now.
Ruth finally walked over and grabbed his arm, pulling him away from the window. She turned him around and looked at him, her face all worry and concern.
“I ain’t gonna let it happen,” he said. “You hear me?”
She hugged him and held on until his breathing slowed a little.
“We’re gonna be OK, Fletch. We’ll be fine.” But even she knew they were only a couple of months away from the breadlines if the sawmill closed. She patted his back slowly until she felt him relax.
“Now come have some dinner, then we’ll go take a little nap,” she winked, enticing him with the only thing that could absorb his attention above all else.
He smiled weakly, weary from fretting, and followed her into the kitchen.
TEXAS 1998, NEW YEAR’S EVE
Faith pulled her down jacket closed, zipping it all the way up. She tucked the quilt around her legs and nestled into the lawn chair that Joe had unfolded. He had placed it in a prime spot to watch the fireworks over Lake Austin. The faint smell of wood smoke drifted up from the valley below. Faith loved coming up here to Mount Bonnell, a lofty name for the cliff outcropping that towered above this swollen stretch of the Colorado River. The arctic blast that had brought ice storms to Austin for Christmas pivoted such that the precipitation left, but the cold remained. The skies were crisp and clear, and she had spent more than one evening up here sipping hot cider or cocoa while watching the stars meander slowly overhead. Diamonds rolling across the indigo velvet of the night.
When Sylvia called at Thanksgiving and begged her aunt to come to Texas for Christmas, Faith had been delighted. She was in a celebratory mood. By luck and perhaps some favor with her oncologist, who knew of her work as a nurse, she was enrolled in a clinical trial for patients with chronic myelogenous leukemia testing the new drug STI571. The pill taken daily had few discernable side effects and was showing miraculous results. Like many patients, she was in a complete remission and had not required a transfusion in two months. She had even put on a little weight and her energy was almost back to normal. She had jumped at the chance to travel again even if only for a short jaunt to Austin. She and Sylvia had grown closer over the last three months through a steady stream of letters, mostly expounding on Sylvia’s life at the Juvenile Probation Commission and her relationship with Joe, but also occasionally touching on the inscrutable nature of God. It was time for them to have another face-to-face visit and time for Faith to meet Joe.
The past week had afforded them a chance to get acquainted. She liked him. He seemed gentle, quiet. And when she coaxed him into conversation Faith discovered his deep intellect. Mostly she liked him because he clearly loved Sylvia. She wanted that for her niece.
Sylvia returned from the car with an extra blanket and a picnic basket.
“What? More food?” Faith asked.
“Just a few things in case you’re hungry,” Sylvia said. She had been trying to fatten Faith up during the visit.
“OK, well let’s see what you’ve got,” Faith said, lifting the top of the basket with a gloved hand. She wasn’t hungry but she didn’t want to dampen Sylvia’s good mood.
“There’s scones and guacamole,” Sylvia said.
Faith looked over and caught Joe’s eye. They exchanged a puzzled look of mutual affection for Sylvia’s eclectic culinary tastes.
“I hope that means you also brought chips and jam,” Joe smiled.
“And the best part,” Sylvia continued, ignoring the teasing, and holding up a large thermos, “Eggnog and brandy.” She leaned over and kissed Joe’s cheek then sat down in the chair next to him.
She fished three mugs from the basket and handed one to Faith, the other two to Joe. Steam rose from the eggnog she poured into the mugs, the sharp bite of nutmeg registering as she tasted it. A first renegade burst of red sparked the night sky, a test firing before the official fireworks show.
“This is the best New Year’s Eve yet,” Faith said, stretching her arms out to embrace the moment.
“Really?” Sylvia asked, her voice rising.
“We’re so glad you came for the holidays,” Joe said. “I’ve been waiting a long time to meet you.”
“Likewise,” Faith replied, dipping a corner of her scone in the eggnog. She considered her next question before speaking.
“Joe, I wanted to continue our conversation about Plato and the pursuit of virtue. But I am also curious about your teaching experience at the University. Would I be prying to ask why you left?”
He paused before answering, taking time to articulate his thoughts. An owl hooted from a nearby tree.
“Faith, from you it is not prying though as you sense it is deeply personal. And it has everything to do with Plato’s ethics.”
“I figured as much,” she said.
“As you know, Plato recognized that ethics is grounded in virtue and reflects the soul of the man or woman.”
“Who one is, not what one does,” she replied.
“Exactly,” said Joe, “The foundation of one’s being gives rise to intention which leads to action. Being is the source of the Good.”
“Or soul is the ground of God, from a Christian perspective.”
“God?” Sylvia began but stopped when Joe reached over and squeezed her hand.
“Yes, you could argue that,” he continued. “I see the pursuit of virtue as a more primal call than Kant’s call to duty, although both hold to a moral absolute.”
“Aha! But who decides what is moral? Doesn’t it depend on the cultural values you inherit? Isn’t morality simply fidelity to your values?” Faith said. She didn’t try to hide the sly provocation.
“Absolutely not!” he said with a smile.
“There you go again with that absolute thing,” Faith said, wagging a teasing finger at him.
“I don’t deny the moral relativist’s premise that the ego, conditioned by culture, filters our perception of the Truth. I personally have wrestled with the mind’s infinite capacity for rationalization and self-deception. But that is the very argument to not give up the pursuit of the Good. To accept moral relativism is to abdicate the hard work of building character, of looking deeply within for an answer as to who we are as human beings. It requires more than accepting what our common society tells us.”
Hoping to move the conversation from the professorial realm to a more personal one Faith gently asked, “Can you live without knowing the answer?”
“Yes. But I can’t live without the quest and that is what the University asked me to do.”
Faith sensed his vulnerability.
“I have found that the more certain my views, the farther I am from understanding, especially when it comes to God. Only when I give up the need to see the face of God do I have any sense of Presence.”
“Such is the spiritual journey, yes?” Joe said.
“And what other journey is there?” Faith smiled.
Sylvia looked for a way to enter the conversation.
“I never thanked you for sending me that book “A Gradual Awakening,” she said.
“Does it resonate?” Faith asked.
“Very much,” Sylvia replied. “I’m doing sitting meditation in the morning now.”
“And?”
“Well, Joe says I’m easier to live with.”
Joe smiled.
“And it makes me curious about what you call Presence.”
“Just keep sitting. The curiosity is all you need,” Faith said. “I look forward to hearing what you discover.”
Faith was careful not to push the matter, trusting Sylvia to find her way. She paused before changing the subject.
“By the way, Joe, I meant to thank you for letting me stay in your caretaker’s cabin for the week.”
“Truth is it’s no sacrifice, Faith. The boss and his family are off skiing in Colorado, so I’ve got to stay in the big house anyway.”
“Well, just the same, it has been a welcome refuge,” she said. She especially enjoyed the piano, its bench well worn by Joe’s hours at the keys. “Has Sylvia’s mother Grace ever heard you play piano?”
“Yep, a couple or three years ago, last time she was invited for a visit.” Joe grinned, nodding towards Sylvia.
“Hey guys, don’t start ganging up,” Sylvia bristled. “New York’s a long way off and Mom doesn’t like to travel since Dad died.”
“I’m not ganging up, Babe, really,” Joe said, reaching out to pull her close. “Truth is I’d like to see more of your mom. She’s a good soul and even if she does have her own beliefs, it’s clear how much she loves you.”
“Humph,” Sylvia muttered.
“He’s right, you know,” Faith said. “And I think she misses you.”
“That woman thinks I’m going to Hell,” Sylvia said. Joe let go when she pulled away.
The first pyrotechnic volley exploded in the sky before them. Green and yellow and red starbursts followed by shards of light falling back to the lake below.
“That woman?” Faith said. “I’ll remind you that ‘that woman’ is your mother. And my sister.”
“Please don’t start, Faith. You don’t know what it’s like. I’m forty-four years old and every conversation still starts with her harping that I should marry Joe and stop living in sin.”
“Fine with me,” Joe piped in.
“It’s not about getting married, Joe. Even if I did there’d still be the other problem,” Sylvia’s voice was weary, worn down by the subject of the conversation.
“So what’s the other problem?” Faith asked, as though she had not heard it a dozen times.
“The problem is Mom cannot rest until I say I accept Jesus Christ as my savior and the only son of God, so that we can spend eternity together. Jesus! That would be Hell. I’m sorry, but my salvation as the key to her everlasting peace? No thank you. That’s too big a burden.” Sylvia said, standing up and rubbing her arms to warm them.
The cold night turned her breath into a small cloud before her face. A round of eight booms rose from the ground below just before the sky was set on fire again. The show dazzled them all into a temporary silence.
“Believe it or not, she just wants you to be happy,” Faith said softly, after the climax of light faded to dark.
“I don’t know about that. I think she wants to love me but she doesn’t know me. Doesn’t seem to want to know me. And ultimately, I think that her ideology is stronger than her love for me. That’s what I believe and I think it’s a shame.” Sylvia was spent. She wanted to tell Faith about the real rupture in her relationship with her mother, the secret that her mother would have found unforgivable.
Faith got up out of her chair and turned to Sylvia. She took Sylvia’s hands and looked into her eyes. Another flurry of fireworks filled the air above them.
“Honey, I think the shame is that a forty-four-year-old woman cannot find her own relationship with God, or whatever you want to call that thing we come from, because she is still rebelling against her seventy-three-year-old mother.” She held Sylvia’s cheek in her hand for a moment then turned back to the lawn chair and, still standing, began folding the quilt she had left there. The silence enveloped them like a heavy cloak. They watched as the last volley of fireworks exploded above in a brilliant display.
“Happy New Year, Faith,” Joe finally said, standing up and walking to Faith’s side. He leaned over to hug her.
“Happy New Year, Joe,” she said, hugging him back. She tucked the quilt under her arm and pulled a small flashlight from her jacket pocket. “I’m going to head on down to the car since it takes me a little longer. I’ll meet you two down there. See you in a few minutes,” Faith said as she reached over and brushed Sylvia’s shoulder with the fingertips of her gloved hand.
“Wait, we’ll go with you,” Joe said.
“Thanks, but I’m fine,” Faith replied.
“Here, take the keys. We’ll be right behind you,” he said.
They watched as Faith carefully picked her way down the stone steps. Joe walked over to Sylvia, her arms now slack at her side, eyes downcast after her outburst.
“Love you, Sylvy,” he said and kissed her. She took it in, prolonging the kiss, his familiar taste soothing her. She had never been able to fathom his patience with her. Joe lifted the lantern from beside the picnic basket to light their way down the path.
