Miss Lizzy's Legacy (16 page)

* * *

Sickened by the vultures who continued to peck at Judd with their callous questions, Callie fought her way back through the crowd. She grabbed the hand of steel that held the strap twisted at the cameraman's neck.

“Judd, please,” she pleaded. “Let him go.”

When he didn't acknowledge her, she repeated, “Judd, please.”

Slowly her words penetrated the anger and he loosened his grip. With a disgusted shove, he sent the man sprawling to the floor. Shaking free of Callie's hand, he turned and strode from the room without looking back.

Ignoring the questions hurled at her, Callie fought her way from the room and stepped onto the elevator behind Judd just before the door slid closed. Without looking at her, he slammed a fist against the button for the first floor and the car started a slow descent.

“Judd, I'm sorry,” she began.

“It's not your fault,” he said before she could say anymore. He lifted his gaze to the floor indicator. A muscle twitched on his jaw. “I shouldn't have come.”

At the chill in his voice, fear rose in her throat. “You're leaving, aren't you?”

“Yes.”

“Judd, please don't. You can't hide anymore.”

“I'm not hiding.”

“Running, then.”

He refused to qualify her response with a reply.

She laid a hand on his sleeve. “Please, Judd. We can face this together.”

He whirled, catching her by the elbows, his eyes blazing with fury. “Didn't you see what just happened?” he demanded, giving her a hard shake. “Didn't you hear what they said? I won't put you through that. Never again. I won't make you live under the shadow of my bad name.”

The floor floated beneath their feet, signaling their arrival at the first floor. Callie stood staring at Judd, tears flooding down her face. “It doesn't matter, Judd, please,” she begged. “Give us a chance.”

“We never had a chance. They saw to that.”

Helpless anger boiled up in her. “
They
didn't see to anything,” she countered. “Oh, yes,” she said, slicing the air with her hand when she saw his brow arch in surprise. “The media certainly did a good job on you during your trial. They were callous and rude and stuck their noses where they didn't belong. They printed half-truths and sensationalized the rest. But right or wrong, they were doing their job.”

She poked her finger at his chest. “But
you
are the one who empowered them by accepting what they wrote about you. Until you face them, let the world see your innocence, they will continue to print their suppositions, and
you
will continue to live in the prison you've built around yourself.” Her lip quivered and she lifted her chin. “I won't share that prison with you, Judd. It would destroy us both.”

The door slid open with a quiet
shoosh.

Emotion crackled between them in the heavy silence while Callie, her heart in her throat, waited for Judd to respond.

“Are you going up?” a gentleman asked timidly from the crowded foyer.

Judd released his grip on Callie and stepped back, his gaze fixed on her face. “The lady is,” he murmured. “I've already been there and its a hell of a fall back down.” He turned and strode away without looking back.

* * *

Unwilling to face the crowd of reporters in the ballroom again, Callie returned to her hotel room. Once there, she sank to the floor and buried her face in her hands, haunted by the look on Judd's face when he'd turned away. It was all her fault, she told herself. If not for her, he wouldn't have been there tonight. He wouldn't have been subjected to the cruel remarks, the probing questions, the nightmarish memories.

But couldn't he see what he was doing to himself? she raged inwardly. To them? What kind of future could they have together if he wouldn't let go of the past?

The phone rang and she lunged for it, sure that it was Judd.

“Judd?” she asked, frantically swiping the tears from her cheeks.

“No, it's your mother.”

Disappointed that it wasn't Judd and knowing what was coming, Callie sank onto the bed.

“I've never been so humiliated in my life,” her mother raged. “Fighting like common street people in front of everyone. It will be all over the morning papers. I hope this is a lesson to you, Callie. People of our position can never be too careful whom we choose as our friends. Public scenes such as the one we just witnessed are devastating to one's reputation and career.”

Callie banded her forehead from temple to temple with tight fingers. “Mother, I don't need to hear this right now.”

“No, I'm sure you don't,” Frances snapped, then added crossly, “Papa's worse.”

Callie's head came up and her hand dropped to her lap. “What?”

“We received the news when we returned to our hotel. They've transferred him to the hospital and placed him in intensive care. I thought I should let you know the nurse said he asked for you.”

Without a word, Callie replaced the receiver. Papa. Her Papa. She had to see him before it was too late.

* * *

Callie hesitated in the doorway, daunted by the whoosh of the respirator and the click and whir of the heart monitor whose screen frantically sketched the slim hold Papa held on his life. She didn't want to go inside the dimly lit room, but knew she had no choice. She took one step, then another, forcing herself to cross to the bed. Tears burned behind her eyes as she stared down at Papa. When had he shrunk? she wondered, shocked by his appearance. A tall man, robust even in old age, he looked frail and shriveled in the narrow bed.

“Papa?” she whispered.

“I'm sorry, dear, but he can't hear you.”

Callie twisted to see a nurse rising from the chair in the far corner. “Is he—” She swallowed hard, unable to complete the question.

“No, no.” The nurse rose and came to stand beside Callie. “He suffered a stroke earlier this afternoon. By the time we reached the hospital, he had slipped into a coma.” She laid a hand over Callie's and squeezed reassuringly. “You must be Callie.”

“Y-yes,” she stammered, her reply thickened by tears. “His great-granddaughter.”

The nurse nodded, knowingly. “He said you'd come.”

Grief welled in Callie's throat. “I just hope I'm not too late.”

“I'm sure he draws comfort from your presence.” She patted Callie's hand in silent understanding. “I'll just slip out to the nurse's station and leave the two of you alone. If you need me, press the buzzer.”

Callie waited until the door closed behind the woman, then she scooted a chair next to the bed and sat down. She took Papa's hand in hers and nearly wept at the weightless fragility and the paper-thin skin.

“Papa? It's me, Callie. I came as quickly as I could.” Not knowing what to say or even if he could hear her, she stumbled on. “I was in Houston at the presentation of my statue. I wish you could've been there. The statue turned out well. I named it Miss Lizzy's Legacy, for your mother. I hope you don't mind.

“She was the most wonderful woman, Papa. You'd have been so proud to have known her. I found the diaries she kept of her journey to Oklahoma. You were told she died giving birth to you, but that wasn't true. I'm not sure how or why, but you were taken from her, and she was told you had died. She never knew you lived, just as you didn't know she did.”

She released his hand to dig the journals from her purse. “I brought them with me, her journals, so you could read them.” She held them out, then slowly pulled them to her breasts, tears budding as she realized the chances of him ever accomplishing that feat. Not wanting to give in to the sadness, she struggled to think of something more cheerful to share with him.

“I wish you could've gone to Guthrie with me. It's such a wonderful little town.” She sighed as her memories carried her back. “You can walk just about anywhere you want to go or there's a trolley you can ride to see all the sights. The whole community is devoted to restoring the old buildings and landmarks and preserving Guthrie's history. There's a saloon and a hotel that's been converted into a bed-and-breakfast and lots of good places to eat. Everyone is so friendly,” she added, thinking of Molly, Frank and Hank.

She dipped her head and bit at her lower lip as memories of her last confrontation with Judd surfaced. Sniffing back the tears, she lifted her chin determinedly and reached out to touch Papa's hand. “I fell in love while I was there, and I know you'll be disappointed,” she said, smiling through the tears, “but I won't be marrying Stephen.” She knew if Papa were able he would hoot with laughter, for he'd always despised Stephen, referring to him as that “posturing peacock,” both to his face and behind his back.

But he would've liked Judd. In some ways they were very much alike. Both with gruff exteriors but with the tenderest of hearts buried beneath. And both as stubborn as mules.

“He's the most wonderful man,” she said wistfully. “Good and kind and handsome. His family owns a building that once belonged to your mother. Some of her trunks were there, and he gave me her journals to read.” Reminded of the books, she opened one. “I want to read to you what she wrote about her journey to Oklahoma and your birth.” She squeezed his hand. “I hope somehow you can hear me and know how much she wanted you and loved you.”

Wanting Papa to know the truth about his mother and find peace, she read and reread each word, each page. As she read, she was reminded once more of the strength and spirit of the woman who'd written the words. Of all that she'd sacrificed for love, only to find that the man she'd entrusted with her heart was undeserving of such a prize. She relived the birth, grieved again with Lizzy at the loss of her son, and wondered anew about all the lost years. What would've happened if Papa had been raised by his mother? Would all their lives—hers included—have changed in any way? Would she have ever met Judd and fallen in love?

Love. She'd never really known the meaning of the word until she'd met Judd. She had no more doubts about the emotion, for as Miss Lizzy had promised in her dream, her heart had told her she was in love. The weight of it still pressed heavily against her chest even at the thought of Judd.

* * *

Throughout the next week, Callie never once left Papa's side. She slept in the chair beside his bed and ate only enough to satisfy the concerns of the private nurse. She read, she talked, she soothed, but throughout her vigil, he never once moved or spoke, nor in any way acknowledged her presence.

Just after midnight on the eighth day of her vigil, she propped the journal against Papa's hip, pillowed her chin in her hand and began to read, yet again. Within minutes, her eyes grew heavy and her head began to nod. Exhausted, she let her head drop to the mattress and she slept.

“Callie? Callie, come here, child.”

She heard the sound of the raspy voice and thought she was dreaming.

“Callie. Callie, wake up.”

She blinked open her eyes to find Papa looking at her, his hand outstretched.

Instantly awake, she grabbed for his hand. “Papa! Are you in pain? Shall I call the nurse?”

“No. No pain,” he whispered. He wet his parched lips, then squenched his eyes. “The light is so bright. Can you see it?”

Puzzled, Callie glanced around the dimly lit room. “No.”

Though feeble, he squeezed her fingers. “It's okay. I saw her, Callie. My mother. She told me you would come. Promise me you'll take me back to Oklahoma, Callie. Promise?” His eyes closed and his hand fell lax in her hand.

“Papa! Papa!”

The nurse heard Callie's frightened call and rushed back into the room. She wedged herself between Callie and the bed, forcing Callie out of the way, then took his wrist between her fingers. After a moment, she placed her cheek close to his mouth. She straightened, then pulled the sheet up over his face. “He's gone, Callie,” she said gently.

* * *

The funeral was a trying affair. The family all gathered, pretending affection for a man they'd detested most of their lives. Each tried to hide their glee to at last be rid of him behind a solemn face. But Callie saw through the cheap veneer of their grief to the greedy hearts that lay beneath.

At Papa's request, and much to the outrage of his survivors, he was cremated. In his will, he requested that his ashes be scattered over his mother's grave in Oklahoma. Everyone was shocked and appalled by this request. Everyone except Callie. To her it was a fitting end. When she asked for the honor of scattering his ashes, no one denied her her request.

So it was on a cold December afternoon that Callie found herself once again entering Guthrie, passing along Division Street, turning right on Noble, then left on Pine. As she passed familiar landmarks, she looked neither left or right. She wouldn't let thoughts of Judd distract her from fulfilling Papa's request.

Within minutes, she passed through the limestone pillars marking the entrance to Summit View Cemetery. She parked near the Bodean plot, gathered the urn in her hands and slowly, reverently, walked to the graveside of Mary Elizabeth Sawyer Bodean. Standing in front of the granite marker, she stared until tears blurred the name. “I've brought him home to you, Miss Lizzy,” she murmured softly. Taking the top from the container, she tipped the urn and slowly walked, letting the Oklahoma wind carry the ashes from Miss Lizzy's grave to that of her son's.

After replacing the urn's top, Callie knelt at the flat granite marker which had started her quest so many weeks before. She traced the familiar name, William Leighton Sawyer, then moved her finger down to trace the date of birth, June 14, 1890. Below it, just as she had requested, the date of his death had been carved. December 16, 1994. Only four days since his death, but it seemed like a year.

“Callie?”

At the sound of the familiar voice, she dropped her chin to her chest. She'd feared that she would run into Judd before she left town, and wished fervently that it hadn't been now, not when all her emotions seemed so close to the surface. “How did you know I was here?” she asked, keeping a neutral tone in her voice.