Finding Eliza (4 page)

The First Baptist Church of Everett Springs was a historic, older building. One of the first churches in the area, it was built when the community was still in its infancy. The building saw many additions and renovations over the years, yet its sweet country charm still remained. Lizzie had attended this church from birth, making it a place of comfort to her. She knew the cracks and crevices of the building better than those in her own home.

Lizzie crossed the familiar room to put away her jacket. For some reason the evenings this fall were cooler than normal. Most days she welcomed the break from the south Georgia heat but the early occurrence made it a little unsettling this time.

I hope this isn't a bad omen, she thought.

Putting it out of her mind, she decided that she would have to learn to enjoy the state’s crazy weather one day at a time. After all, it gave her an excuse to pull out the beautiful accent scarves that she loved so much. Lizzie stopped to bury her face deep into her lacy alpaca scarf. Its warm fiber felt like home. She couldn’t help but smile.

“A good scarf can feel like a hug, can’t it darlin’?” Blue placed her hand on Lizzie’s face and smiled. She knew right away what Lizzie was thinking while standing in the entrance to the coat closet. With a wink and a smile, Blue floated out of the room as quietly as she had appeared.

Lizzie’s mother had an astonishing creative ability. She could take a piece of tattered yarn and turn it into a beautiful accessory when you weren’t even looking. Grace Hines was the one person the women of the church wanted to get as their Secret Sister partner at the annual women’s retreat. She passed her love of fiber to Lizzie as a young girl. First, Grace had taught her to crochet. As her young fingers got caught in the yarn, Lizzie would beg to quit out of frustration. Grace was patient, just as her name suggested, and would show Lizzie one more time how to execute the troublesome stitch. Just before her death, Grace had begun teaching her daughter how to knit. Unfortunately, Lizzie wasn’t meant to master that craft. She couldn’t bring herself to pick up a pair of needles after losing her mother.

Lizzie hung up her coat and wound the scarf around the neck of the hanger. She picked up her worn leather messenger bag and headed toward the tables set up for the event. In preparation she had filled it with notebooks, pencils, and sticky notes. Coming prepared was her way of trying to toss an olive branch to her grandmother. Jack was right. She had to at least feign interest so that Grandma Tru could feel as though someone in the family would one day care for the work that she had done. Because their family was so small, that someone would have to be Lizzie whether she liked it or not.

As a child, Lizzie learned not raise her voice or run in the sanctuary of the church. It was for reserved, polite, and respectful behavior. It was appropriate for worship times and altar calls to get emotional. Hands could rise while the choir sang and the Spirit took hold, but it was not a place for childish exuberance. The Fellowship Hall was a different world for a Southern Baptist child. It was one of her favorite places. The hall was where events filled with dancing and laughter took place. Wedding receptions and baby showers built memories through unrestrained happiness and joy. It was the area where kids ran at birthday parties when the weather kept them from being outside. This space was meant for celebrations.

Lizzie stood looking around at the aged room. Though important, the hall wasn’t gorgeous. A thick coat of old pale blue paint covered the cinder block walls. Secretly Lizzie always wondered if Miss Blue had something to do with that. Much to Blue’s chagrin, this was one room that Tru was lobbying to change. She wanted to breathe happiness and joy into the space. Looking around, Lizzie could understand why. The dark brown carpet showed wear from years of use and carried the stains of red punch from celebrations past.

The Gals were the main cornerstones of the Tuesday Night Genealogy Gathering. The number of regular attenders was small, but each meeting usually saw a few additions from the congregation. Judging by the number of chairs available, it looked like there would be around fifteen coming tonight. It would be the perfect size for lively conversation while not being too intimidating for new attendees. As promised, Claud had set out a spread. A small table in the back presented bite-sized double chocolate brownies, salty pretzels to balance the sweets, and the same two drinks that showed up to every church function in the South: sweet tea and lemonade. The snacks and drinks were light by Claud’s usual standards. Even though she was new to the group, Lizzie knew that you didn’t have a lot of food or drink at a gathering like this. There were too many opportunities for accidental spills around valuable family history documents. Her grandmother would never stand for that.

Lizzie spied Gertrude setting up a display on a table in the front of the room.

“It looks like a decent turnout tonight, Gran. I guess I picked the right night to come.”

“Hey there, sweetie. I’m so glad that you came!” Like always, Tru was her bubbly self. She gave her granddaughter a tight squeeze and then continued to arrange brochures and slips of paper on the table in front of her. “Are you looking forward to it?”

“You know what, Gran? I am. It took me a little bit to give in to your guerrilla tactics, but I think tonight will be fun.” Lizzie smiled a big smile and hoped that her grandmother believed every word that she said.

“Jack made you promise to say that, didn’t he?” Nothing slid past Gertrude Hines.

“Let’s not split hairs. I’m here. That’s all that matters, right?” Lizzie flashed a cheeky grin. She wasn’t about to tell her grandmother that she was right. “Plus, I missed The Gals. It’s been a few weeks since I’ve seen them all in the same place. I needed my old lady fix.”

“You better watch yourself, Miss. These old ladies can still lick the likes of you. And, we’ll do it in fabulous heels.” Tru winked at her granddaughter. “Go sit your stuff down. You know the rules. No snacks at the table when documents are out. Have some brownies. Claud is all excited that she found a new recipe. Between you and me, it tastes exactly like the old recipe, but don’t tell her that. It makes her happy. We’ll be at this table over here.” Tru pointed to a table in the front of the room to the left of the main display table that she was finishing. “Now, scoot. I’ve got to finish getting these brochures out. We’re helping the local genealogy and historical societies make a push for volunteers. We need to clean up the old cemetery at the north end of town. It is starting to look a disgrace, and I will not have it deemed abandoned. If that happens it’s a slippery slope. Some sleazy developer will come in and pave over our ancestors just so they can put in a big box warehouse company selling discount track suits and bulk jerky. Tacky. Just tacky.”

“Now, Gran. Don’t get yourself in a huff. You know your heart isn’t as young as it used to be.” Knowing that she had pushed it too far, Lizzie ducked and ran into the safe harbor of Blue and Abi who were standing just one table over. “Gals, save a girl, please!”

“You’re on your own, sugar.” Blue said. “We know where our bread is buttered, and it’s with the old lady in the pinstriped pants right there.” She pointed a brownie-filled hand in the direction of Gertrude. “We’ll pack you up a lemonade for the road, though.”

Lizzie couldn’t help but laugh. “Here I thought you loved me.”

“We do love you, dear. We’re just more afraid of Tru than you,” giggled a blushing Abi.

Gertrude threw a wadded up flier just right so it hit Abi in the back of the head.

“See? She fights back.”

With that, the meeting was set to begin.

Chapter Four

The Tuesday Night Genealogy Gathering first started at Everett Springs First Baptist Church during the summer nights of the 1960s. The South is famous for its big kitchen tables and loud family meals. People share family stories as they pass the biscuits spurring on an interest in family history from a young age. During a fellowship meal after service one Sunday afternoon, the idea was born. The church women needed a genealogy club. The ladies already gathered together cooking for the congregation’s usual events of marriages, births, and deaths. They took care of the elderly and ill. Their gatherings provided services that the church needed. It was worthwhile, but they wanted something else of their own that was just for fun.

In the beginning, the group met only once each month. Many of the women involved had young children at home that needed their attention. Over time, the casual monthly gathering turned into a regular weekly meet-up that discussed discovering family stories.

Lizzie stood still for a moment and just watched the movement throughout the room. Conversation buzzed as friends milled about saying their hellos and readying their materials for the meeting. Lizzie noticed an elderly man standing in the hallway that connected the hall to the main building. Thomas Abernathy was a tall, lanky man. His aged figure looked almost ghostlike from across the large room. As usual, his hands were busy completing a task, reaching and tugging at the objects before him. Lizzie couldn’t tell what he was working on, but she could tell that he was struggling. She she set down her things and made her way over to see if she could help.

“Mr. Thomas, can I help you with that?”

“Well, hello, Miss Lizzie. Aren’t you looking fine today? I’m just changing some light bulbs. I may be slow, but I’m determined. It will get done soon enough,” he said with a chuckle.

Thomas was always polite. His gentle grace was a welcomed breeze for Lizzie. He reminded her of the stereotypical grandfather character seen in movies or television. His strong faith and moral compass was an example to all in the church, especially the younger generations. Pushing ninety years young, Thomas had known several generations of her family, including her great-grandfather. Though younger, she imagined him as a window into the generations of family that she hadn’t met and another tie to her parents. He loved to share stories about them with Lizzie. Thomas’ official role in the church was as deacon, but for years he had fancied himself its caretaker. He was the first man in and the last man out on a Sunday morning, even in his advanced age.

“Are you sure you don’t need help? I don’t mind. I like spending time with you, so you’d be doing me a favor.” Lizzie meant every word. He was one of her favorite people in the community.

“No ma’am. You go on back to your meeting. Your granny will get at me if I give you any distraction from that group. She’s put us all on notice. I might even get into trouble for talking to you. Don’t you get me caught,” Thomas giggled. He pretended to hide behind Lizzie so that Gertrude wouldn’t see him. “Go on back to your group, darling. We’ll catch up on Sunday.”

Lizzie pretended to be as covert as possible in saying her goodbyes as she made her way back to the other side of the room as ordered. As she sat at the table chosen for her by Gertrude, she noticed that several small groups were beginning to gather over books and documents. Looking at each face, she noticed that most were widows just like her grandmother. Lizzie realized that these ladies weren’t here just for the hobby; they were here for the companionship. Friends flitted from one table to another looking at the materials each brought to share during the meeting. Women grinned with pride as they pointed to documents and explained the stories associated with each item. They exchanged hugs and encouragement. It was a sweet sight, and one that Lizzie was happy to observe.

In the past, Gertrude had told her granddaughter stories of locating records at the local courthouse. Lizzie had never paid attention, or cared to ask, about the steps that it involved. As the other women gathered, she overheard stories of frustration over missing or damaged records. She listened as they shared their triumphs over missing pieces of information. They giggled and gave high-fives after finding out that a friend had proved a relationship discussed in family whispers. Lizzie found herself surprised at how interesting it was to listen to these ladies. It felt almost magical as mysteries cracked wide open in front of her. They weren’t discussing her family tree but she still found it compelling.

“I cannot tell Gran this is interesting”
,
Lizzie said as she shook her head and stifled a laugh.

Blue pulled a chair up to the table and sat down next to Lizzie. “Tru can go sit over there with Abi. You’re mine tonight, sugar.” Blue patted her on the leg and settled in to listen to the meeting introduction.

This meeting wasn’t about a specific topic such as a repository in the area or researching a certain type of record as many meetings were. Tonight the group decided to discuss the care and keeping of the special items that every family historian hoped to find. They brought out the Holy Grail of family history: family Bibles, photographs, and journals.

Sitting next to her at the table, Blue pulled a small leather-bound book out of her bag that sat at the corner of the table. Lizzie couldn’t tell if it was a Bible or a diary, but it looked old. The cover of the book was worn, and the bottom edge of the spine looked as though it had spent many years on a shelf. The leather was creased and broken in various places indicating either advanced age or regular use. Small, thin strips of leather cord wound around the book to keep it closed. Lizzie wondered what secrets the bound pages held. Before she had too much time to daydream, her grandmother called the room to order.

“Okay, girls. Let’s all get focused. Time to stop trading research stories and get started sharing those treasures!”