Hope Springs (29 page)

“What?” Stephanie was floored. “Whatever went down must've been serious. I wonder if my dad keeps in touch with her. I don't recall us taking any trips—wait a minute. Do they live in Jersey?”

“That's right,” Libby said. “We went up there too.”

“We
did
visit them,” Stephanie said, “but I was so young I didn't know who was who.”

Janelle was filling in more names on branches below Geri and Elwood, but Stephanie was so intrigued, she wasn't ready to move on.

“Is there a picture of Aunt Gwynn and Keisha around here?” she said. “I want to see what they look like.”

“Long time ago there was a picture of Aunt Gwynn on that living room table with all the other pictures. But it disappeared. I think Grandma took it down because she's hurt that they don't speak.”

“There have to be pictures of them, though,” Libby said. “Doesn't Grandma keep old pictures somewhere?”

“She sure does,” Janelle said. “That would be another good project while I'm here, to put all those old photos in albums for her.” She got up. “No better time than now to start. I think they're in this hall closet.”

The three of them walked over to see, and Janelle pulled open the sliding door.

“There's another project,” Libby said. “That thing's a mess. How could you find anything in there?”

“Good grief,” Janelle said. “Grandma Geri must've kept everything from the last century that ever remotely meant anything.”

She pushed aside brass and porcelain figurines, candles and candlesticks, vases, magazines . . . “I think I see something.” She pulled two big shoe boxes from the back and lifted the lids. “Bingo. This looks like a good place to start.”

They carried the boxes back to the kitchen.

“Hey, that's my dad.” Stephanie picked up a photo. “Ha . . . wait till I tell him about this. He was
stylin
' in that Afro.”

Libby laughed too, looking over her shoulder. “My dad's stylin' right beside him. They thought they were somethin'.”

Janelle pulled out a photo. “Here she is. This is Aunt Gwynn.” She passed it to Stephanie.

“She's so pretty,” Stephanie said. “I wonder how old she is here.”

“I'm guessing late teens,” Libby said. “Probably around the time she got pregnant.”

Janelle continued digging to find Keisha—and pulled out an envelope instead.

“What's that?” Libby said.

“I don't know.” Janelle held it up to read the address and stared at it. “It's postmarked last November. And it's from Pastor Jim.”

Libby frowned. “Why would Pastor Jim write a letter and
mail
it to Grandma when he lived next door?”

Janelle looked at her. “That's what I'm wondering. It looks really thick.”

“Should we open it?” Libby said.

Janelle shook her head. “We can't.”

“Well, who's gonna kn—”

“
I'll
know.”

The three of them jumped.

“Didn't hear you come in, Grandma.” Janelle set the envelope back in the box.

“I see y'all been investigating this morning.” Grandma Geri rested herself in a chair.

“We were making a family tree,” Stephanie said. “And I wanted to see a picture of Aunt Gwynn and Keisha.”

“Grandma, why did Pastor Jim write you a letter?” Libby asked.

Janelle looked at her, probably surprised she'd come right out and ask.

Grandma Geri stared at the envelope. “This was on my mind last night when I said I didn't want to be carrying as much when I leave.” She glanced upward. “Didn't mean You had to put things in motion
that
fast.” She sighed. “I guess it's time.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

J
anelle had planned to attend the Bible study at the diner, but with this impromptu meeting about to get under way, she doubted she'd make it. It was already nine thirty. Aunt Gladys had stayed overnight and joined them in the kitchen. And Grandma Geri had said to call Todd as well. He had brought Claire and Ethan—since Becca was already in Richmond, scheduled to speak in the afternoon—and a couple VeggieTales DVDs to keep all the kids occupied. No one but Grandma Geri knew exactly what was going on, but it was clear it was serious.

Aunt Gladys looked at her mother. “Momma, you want to tell us what this is about?”

“If it's all the same to you,” Grandma Geri said, “I want Jan to read the letter. I'll deal with questions after.”

Janelle didn't like the sound of that. Reluctantly she took the pages out of the envelope and began to read.

Dear Miss Geri,

You're probably wondering why I'm writing this letter, since I see you at least three times a day. But I didn't want to say this in person. Maybe it's that I'm not able to say it in person . . . so much time has passed. I wanted you to read it and ponder it, and let me know your thoughts.

I preached a sermon today at Calvary. It was on Nehemiah 4 in which the people of Jerusalem, while rebuilding the wall, were confronted by the enemy. Nehemiah saw their fear and told the people, “Do not be afraid of them; remember the Lord who is great and awesome, and fight for your brothers, your sons, your daughters, your wives, and your houses.”

After I preached the sermon and returned home, the Lord brought my words back to me. He let me know that when I was faced with fear, I didn't fight. I didn't fight for my daughter.

Daughter?
Janelle looked immediately at Todd. He looked stunned, and Janelle's own heart began to beat faster.

I hate that I can't even speak of having a daughter, since the fact of her existence has remained a well-guarded secret. As close as you and I are, we never even speak her name—Keisha Rochelle Sanders.

“What?” Aunt Gladys looked at her mother in shock. “Keisha is Jim's daughter? Momma, you knew?”

Todd's head was bowed down. Janelle, Libby, and Stephanie were looking at one another. Grandma Geri simply said, “Go on, Jan.”

Janelle cleared her throat to continue.

I've never shared my heart with you about what happened, Miss Geri. I feel a burden right now to make clear to you that I loved Gwynn. I knew her my entire life, but because she was four years younger, which seemed like a wide gulf, I never noticed her in a special way . . . until she came home from college after freshman year. I had just graduated college and was home for the summer preparing for graduate school in the fall. And if you recall, Bruce, Gladys, Wood, and Estelle were all away that summer. Gwynn and I had that summer to ourselves. We took long walks, had long conversations in the porch swing at night, drove more than once to the beach. We fell in love easily. I wanted to marry her even before I learned she was pregnant.

Janelle paused, feeling tears well up in her eyes. She knew the magic he described in that Hope Springs summer, had felt it herself on a small scale. Whatever happened afterward had to have hurt them both.

She continued reading.

My parents and you and Mr. Elwood had begrudgingly endured the romance between us. Oh, you certainly let us know it wasn't proper, that it “wasn't done,” but you couldn't stop us from seeing one another. But once she became pregnant, everything changed.

Janelle's eyes bounced to Grandma Geri every few seconds. What was she thinking? How did she feel? Her grandmother sat stoically, giving nothing away.

You all said the baby had to be given up for adoption, discussing it all amongst yourselves while Gwynn and I talked and cried with each other. I was due to leave for graduate school, and my parents were glad for the timing. I needed to go, they said, make a clean break. I could put the summer behind me and move forward with my life. Gwynn would have the baby, put it up for adoption, and then she could return to college and move forward with her life.

The deck was stacked against us. You all may not have realized it, but just as Nehemiah and the people of Jerusalem were confronted with the voice of the enemy, our parents became the voice of the enemy. “A white man and a black woman cannot be together.” “It would never work.” “You could never marry and raise this baby together. What would people say?”

And I'm ashamed to admit that not only did I not fight for my daughter, I didn't fight for Gwynn. I didn't fight for our love. I accepted the lies, left for graduate school, and moved on with my life. I thought Gwynn would give the baby up for adoption. When I found out she'd kept her, I instantly understood that the fact of my fatherhood would be a secret we would all carry.

But I'm tired of the secret. I want Todd to know his sister. I want to know my daughter, if she's willing. I want her to know she was conceived in love, and that not a day has passed that I haven't thought of her. I want the Sanders and Dillon families to finally be able to embrace the truth that we have been more than neighbors for all these decades. We have been family. But I want us to be in agreement. Let me know.

Signed, James A. Dillon

Janelle slowly returned the pages to a neat fold. Everyone sat in silence.

Finally Aunt Gladys spoke. “Momma, it's only right that we hear from you. What do you have to say about all this?”

Grandma Geri didn't hesitate. “Every word of it is true. Elwood and I, and Jerry and Lenora, didn't know what to do when we saw Jim and Gwynn falling in love. It was obvious, all the time they spent together, the way they looked at each other. We figured it'd fade time they went back to school. But when she wound up pregnant . . .”

Grandma Geri started coughing and tears slid down her face. Janelle got her some water and a tissue.

“I lost my daughter because of it,” Grandma Geri said between coughs. “She's never forgiven me. And I don't know my granddaughter.” She doubled over, the cough increasing. She took sips of water, and the cough slowly subsided.

“Grandma, what did you tell Pastor Jim?” Janelle asked. “Did you write him back?”

“Said I had to think about it,” she said. “Didn't know how it would go over in the family. Didn't know what people would say if he openly acknowledged Keisha as his daughter.”

Todd stood. “I'm sorry, I need time to process this.”

“Of course you do,” Aunt Gladys said. “I think we all do.”

Todd went into the living room and got Claire and Ethan, and they left out the front door. The rest of them stared at one another.

Janelle looked at the clock. “The diner Bible study sounds real good to me right now. I'll be a little late but I need it. Anybody want to join me?”

“I'd like to go,” Stephanie said. She rose from her chair.

“Libby?”

Libby shook her head. “I'll be doing my processing on the road back to Raleigh.”

Grandma Geri was staring down at nothing in particular. Janelle looked at her, wanted to say something to her. But no words came.

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

B
ecca heard the applause as she left the stage, but she still couldn't believe it was over. She'd actually gotten through it, her first Worth & Purpose message, and she hadn't vomited, fallen, or been struck with paralysis onstage. In fact, if she dared believe it, it had seemed to go well.

The audience laughed in places she'd hoped, clapped in places she hadn't expected, and grew very still when she revealed intimate facets of her life. She'd shared this story with friends and with conference audiences of a smaller scale. Now she'd shared it with thousands.

The other speakers were on their feet clapping for her as she returned to her seat. They knew how nervous she'd been. She was the last speaker and had to wait all day to be done with it. They each embraced her, offering encouragement down the line.

“You were fabulous!” Christa Lane said. “You looked so great up there.”

One of the musical artists started into a song to close out the conference. Becca let out a breath she'd surely been holding for weeks. Though she'd told the story before, she hadn't known what kind of feedback she'd get in a crowd this size. It wasn't easy telling an arena full of women she'd gotten pregnant at seventeen.

She'd grown up in love with Jesus, been active in church youth group, served as a mentor to younger teens. But when she began dating a boy in youth group, things went further than they'd planned. She'd been afraid to tell her parents she was pregnant, and about the time it became unavoidable, she learned the baby had no heartbeat. She had to undergo induced labor, then deal with the emotional pain of losing a baby and feeling guilty that she was glad her problem had been solved.

In her meeting with the Worth & Purpose team, they'd agreed she shouldn't sugarcoat that last part. There was power in admitting she hadn't been the “perfect Christian girl” even in the way she'd regarded the loss of the baby. That was the point of her message—that there was no such thing as a perfect Christian girl, only a perfect Christ.