Little Sacrifices (18 page)

Jesus Christ embarrassed me. Not as a person, or son of God or whatever. But I found his everyday presence in the South a little unsettling. Everyone talked about him like they knew him personally.
Jesus Christ touched me
,
Jesus loves me
,
Christ is my savior
and on and on. In my house Jesus Christ only made an appearance when Ma or Duncan stubbed a toe or dropped a plate.

When Ceecee asked me which flock I was cavorting with in Savannah, I told her.

‘What do you mean, you don’t go?’ Her bottom lip hung unappealingly slack.

‘Just what I said. We don’t go.’

‘But why not?’

‘Because we’re not religious.’

‘Don’t you believe in God?’

In those days, no one made any apologies for the fact that God stuck his nose in everything, our schools, our baseball games, even our monetary system. ‘Believing in God is different from going to church, Ceecee. We’ve just never gone to church. Except to see what it’s like. I did. With my friend Lottie. She’s Catholic.’

‘Are your parents Catholics?’

‘I just said, they’re not anything.’

‘But they must’ve been raised something.’

Were they? I didn’t know, had never asked. Savannah was having a curious effect on my history, corroding holes where none, at least that I’d noticed, existed before.

Ceecee’s knee started jiggling. ‘Anyway, what’d you think of church when you went?’

‘Boring, so boring I wanted to cry.’

‘How can you say that? It’s not boring at all!’ Her eyes shone a little maniacally as she sighed. ‘Going to church is an expression of love and praise for our Creator. When the Reverend speaks, the word of God spreads through the world, and He touches me, I know He loves me. Whenever I experience God’s word, I open my heart and let him in.’

I couldn’t hide my smirk.

‘What?’

‘It’s just... You’re awfully, now don’t take this the wrong way Ceecee but you’re awfully, religious.’

‘So? I love Jesus and He loves me.’

‘Well okay. My family just doesn’t go in for all that, that’s all.’

‘You should open your heart.’

‘My heart is open.’ So were my eyes, I wanted to tell her. I wasn’t fooled by her religious enthusiasm, though I didn’t doubt she felt it. She and the other girls may have sung in the choir and studied the bible but I suspected their principles. Ceecee wasn’t any more kind–hearted or forgiving than Ma or Duncan.

At dinner, I asked about religion. Mine specifically. Duncan said he was raised an Episcopalian.

‘What’s that? Like a Protestant?’

‘No, more like a catholic, lower–case “c”.’

‘So you went to confession and communion like the Catholics.’

‘Uh huh, we went through all the same malarkey.’

‘Then why not just be Catholic?’

He chased a lump of meatloaf around with his fork. ‘Fair question. Why indeed? I guess because the Powells came from Great Britain, Scotland actually, and they were Episcopalians over there. When they went to Boston they found the closest thing to what they knew. Episcopalians, Anglicans, same thing.’

‘So we’re Scottish?’ Kilts and bagpipes and plaid and ... bagpipes.

‘Aye lass we are.’

‘You’re American.’ Ma stood up and scraped our plates onto hers. She’d have cuffed me if I’d been as rough with our tableware.

‘I know, but our family came from Scotland. I didn’t know that. What about you, Ma? Are you an Episcopalian, too?’ She looked at Duncan before she answered me.

‘No, my family came from Russia. From Kiev.’

‘Russia? Like ... chicken Kiev? Really?’ Russia was even more exotic than Scotland. ‘When did they come to the US?’

‘I don’t know which year exactly. Your great grandparents came over when your grandparents, my parents, were little. They settled in Boston.’

‘Are they Catholics?’

She paused and chewed the inside of her mouth. ‘No, they’re Jewish.’

I looked from one parent to the other. ‘Jewish? I’m Jewish?’

Duncan answered. ‘Technically, yes. Your Ma was born into a Jewish family and Judaism is passed down on the mother’s side. So technically, uh, yes.’

None of us said anything while I absorbed this bit of news. Ma stopped banging the plates together and Duncan watched me.

‘Is that why your parents don’t talk to us? Because of Ma?’ She flinched. ‘I’m sorry, Ma, I didn’t mean that. I–’

‘No. It’s true they didn’t approve of your Ma, but there’re lots of reasons they’re not in our lives. They didn’t approve of me either, for one thing. It wasn’t just your Ma, it was a lot more.’

I mulled over the implications of what they were telling me. ‘So... if I... get married... and have children, they’re automatically Jewish too?’

‘Technically, yes. But as I said, we aren’t practicing. So you’re not really anything.’

But I was. I was Jewish. Uncomfortable memories sprang to mind. I’d laughed at Jewish jokes. I’d told them. I’d done it my whole life. I’d laughed right along with my friends at my own heritage and didn’t even know it.

‘Honey? Are you okay?’

I got up from the table. I could feel my face burning. ‘You should have told me.’

‘What difference does it make? It’s in the past. It shouldn’t matter.’

‘It makes a lot of difference! You don’t just let someone believe one thing for sixteen years, and then all of a sudden tell them something else. I mean, it’s my history! It’s who I am.’ As I ran upstairs, Jim’s comment resurfaced to bite me. I didn’t know where I came from. And I didn’t know who I was.

Chapter 27

1932 Savannah

Mirabelle played by the rules and never let on that she was more than her niece’s all–time favorite relative. She got to see Cecile every day and make sure she was raised right. And it looked like she was. She managed to melt Clare’s heart, and even Julius, the stiff old codger, doted on his daughter. She turned out to have Mirabelle’s looks and Henry’s temperament, which was no bad thing. She was smart, and proved it with top marks in school. A constant parade of friends through the house cemented Mirabelle’s view that she was the most outgoing and lovable youngster around. For years Cecile didn’t give her parents so much as a day of worry. Then, when she was eleven, she made up for lost time.

Over the course of the summer, the happy go lucky girl gave way to a miserable adolescent. She didn’t laugh often and stopped talking to everyone, even her Aunt Belle. Clare insisted there wasn’t anything to worry about and reminded Mirabelle about her own uncomfortable growing pains. Mirabelle wasn’t having any of it. There was something wrong with Cecile. She knew it with a mother’s instinct.

Mirabelle couldn’t stand by any longer while Cecile fell deeper into herself. She suggested an outing, just the two of them, in Forsyth Park. Cecile was smart enough to know it was just an excuse, but though she tried to beg off, she was no match for Mirabelle when it came to stubbornness.

The park was in full bloom, the tulip poplars keeping time in the soft breeze, and moss on the trees smudging them out of focus. It was stifling beneath their layers of crinoline, but convention didn’t bend for the weather, so the pair munched on their lunches and thought cool thoughts.

‘I told you, Aunt Belle, nothing’s wrong.’ Cecile picked at her plate. She wasn’t hungry, she said.

‘I don’t believe you. Your face tells me different.’ Mirabelle watched her, thinking she was getting too thin. ‘Is it your father?’

Cecile’s eyes flashed. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Well, he’s been pretty miserable since he stopped working.’ Julius’s job disappeared in the first few weeks after the Crash, when his bank went bust. He’d spent his life making a name for himself in finance, and wasn’t the sort of fellow who rolled easily with the punches. He was no picnic to be around when he was out of work.

‘No, it doesn’t bother me, really. We have Grandma’s money.’ She was right. They had more than enough to spare. Cecile was just a toddler when old Mister Reynolds died, leaving Missus Reynolds alone with her memories in the house on the square. Instead of rattling around there, the new widow left it to her husband’s ghost, furniture and all. She packed some clothes and a few mementos, locked the door behind her, and moved in with her eldest daughter. So Cecile grew up in the happy position of having a grandma under the same roof to spoil her rotten. Sadly for everyone except Mirabelle, Missus Reynolds dropped dead a few weeks after the Crash. True to her malicious promise, she left almost every last cent to Clare. There was a lot of money. And since Julius wasn’t a big believer in banks after watching his own close down, Mirabelle wouldn’t be surprised to find most of his wealth buried in pots in the garden. She smiled at the thought of him in his dressing gown, digging for it while Clare held the light.

‘No, that’s right. There’s plenty of money. But that’s not what I mean. I mean, are things, are they, all right at home?’

‘Aunt Belle, you’re there every day. Surely you can see that everything is fine.’

‘But I’m not there all the time. What I need to know is, are your parents nice to you? Do they get on with each other?’ 

‘For pity’s sake, Aunt Belle, will you please.’ She took her aunt’s hand. ‘Please, leave me in peace? I’m all right. Why can’t everyone just leave me be?’ She picked herself up and hurried off, leaving Mirabelle even more worried.

Cecile wasn’t going to talk to Mirabelle. And she knew she wasn’t talking to Clare, so Julius was her only alternative.

She’d never liked her brother–in–law. He was too pompous for his own good, and had a chip the size of a dance floor on his shoulder about her parents. Everyone had to pussyfoot around, to keep from offending his delicate sensibilities. His own family wasn’t poor and, as far as she knew, the Reynolds had never discussed wealth either with him or Clare. In fact, they’d been over the moon when he asked to marry the eldest Reynolds. Since he’d lost his job, she knew he spent almost all his time inside the house. She waited until Clare left, and hopped over the hedge.

He was in his pinstriped suit as if he was on his way to the office, but his face was unshaven. ‘Yes?’

‘Good morning, Julius. May I come in?’

‘Cecile’s not here.’

‘I know. I, I thought we could talk.’ He stepped aside as she entered the hallway. They stood looking at each other. ‘Uh, maybe we could sit down?’

‘Yes, of course.’ He settled prissily on the edge of the sofa. ‘So.’

‘So. Well, I’ll come right to the point. I’m worried about Cecile.’

‘Oh?’ He managed to make her feel unimportant in a single word. She really didn’t care for him at all.

‘Yes. She hasn’t been herself lately. Haven’t you noticed anything?’

‘Er, I don’t think so. But maybe you should talk to Clare about it. After all, she is her mother.’

Even after so many years, it hurt to hear the lie spoken. ‘She won’t talk to Clare either, and I’m worried to death about her. She’s preoccupied, all balled up. Something isn’t right. I guess I hoped that she’d talked to someone about it.’

‘Well if she hasn’t talked to her Aunt Belle,’ he said snidely. ‘I don’t know who else she’d talk to. I’m sure there’s a very simple explanation for her behavior.’ He held up his hand as Mirabelle tried to interrupt. ‘Maybe it’s something at school, or her friends, or even the world in general. I’m sure there’s nothing to worry about.’

‘Bosh, Julius, she’s changed. She’s not the same girl she was a few months ago. Something caused that, don’t you think? She needs to talk to someone.’

‘Frankly, Mirabelle, if she’s not talking to you it’s probably because she doesn’t want to. I’m sure she isn’t keen on being harried by her relatives at every turn. Why don’t you just let her be? She’s not a child anymore. She’ll come to you if she wants to talk.’

‘I know that, Julius. You’ll pardon me if I’m worried about her. I thought you’d have shared my concerns.’ She wasn’t getting anywhere with him. Maybe he was right. She remembered being Cecile’s age. She tried her best to overlook her niece’s moods. By autumn she was almost back to normal, a little more serious maybe, but nearer to her old self.

Chapter 28

I picked up the invitation again and ran my thumb over its raised letters. Ma had her back to me, rubbing raw a grape juice ring on the countertop. ‘Who ever heard of engraved invitations for a child’s birthday party?’ She said. ‘They look like wedding invitations, for crying out loud. I don’t know what her parents are thinking, to waste money on such things.’

‘It’s not like they don’t have the dough.’

‘I don’t care. It’s shameful throwing it away on such nonsense.’

‘Nonsense? I happen to think that a sixteenth birthday is a pretty big deal. It’s nice that Charlene’s parents are pulling out all the stops to celebrate. Just like we did.’ My face reddened when I remembered my construction paper and glitter invitations. ‘Can I go or not? I need to tell Charlene.’

‘It’s ridiculous. We didn’t even have invitations like this for our wedding.’ She looked up and her eyes slid away from mine. ‘You can go.’

I checked the Will Be Attending box, slid the reply into its envelope and set it on the little stack of envelopes destined for the mailbox. I was willing to bet Charlene’s birthday cake wouldn’t be made by her mom.

Nothing so exciting had ever happened in my life. Charlene invited a hundred guests, and cousins were traveling from as far away as North Carolina. I tried on my dress every day just to make sure I hadn’t grown any odd protrusions while sleeping. Though I recognized I’d merely be one of a gaggle of girls, I had an excellent reason to look perfect. Lately Clay had renewed his interest in my whereabouts. As soon as I noticed, all the weeks spent untangling him from my affections went out the window.

The night before the party, Duncan graced us with his presence after dinner. It was a rare evening that he didn’t sneak off to his secret appointment. As we sat in the living room listening to Ma order Dora Lee talking in the kitchen, I thought my father was certainly one of a kind. Then I remembered he wasn’t. ‘Duncan, you mentioned you had a brother. I never knew.’