Trouble Don’t Last Always (3 page)

Forty-four dollars and thirty-three cents wasn’t much to reach New Orleans and start a new life, but it was all she had. Worse, finding a job to earn more would be tough. Myron had never wanted her to work after they were married. Initially he’d used the excuse that he wanted her to stay at home to get Shayla off to school and be there when she came home. In reality, he’d used it as a way of controlling Lilly and keeping her dependent on him.

Lilly had been blinded by his true nature, a nature he hid so well from others that they believed he was just a proud man. What he was, was manipulative and possessive.

But she hadn’t seen that. She’d only seen that finally she had a family she could love and who would love her in return.

She had been determined to show her appreciation for Myron’s faith in marrying her, to show the people of Little Elm she was a decent woman. She had succeeded in gaining respectability but failed in her marriage. She’d stayed these last miserable years because she hadn’t wanted Mother Crawford to spend her last days in a nursing home.

Starting the car, Lilly put it into gear. There was one last stop she had to make.

After parking on the shoulder, she wove her way through the stone markers to the fresh mound of black dirt. A double granite marker was already in place. Minnie Faye Crawford, beloved wife and mother, would rest forever beside her husband, Effraim.

Kneeling down, Lilly placed her hand on the withered gladiolus.

“I’m sorry, Mother Crawford. I tried to make the marriage work, but I couldn’t. I know you understood and tried to help me and Rafe. That terrible fight between Myron and Rafe brought on your stroke. I wish I could have spared you that heartache and pain.” Tears welled in Lilly’s eyes, trickled down her cheeks.

“I’m going now, but I’ll never forget you. I promise, just like I promise to always love you and never forget you were the first person to love me.”

Standing, she walked to her car and drove away fighting tears, fighting fear.

The car died without warning.

Over the faded grayish-blue dashboard that had once been an electric, eye-popping blue, Lilly’s brown eyes widened in alarm as a thin spiral of gray smoke curled from beneath the battered hood. Clutching the steering wheel, she wrestled the aged Ford onto the short-cropping of weeds beside the two-lane blacktop on the outskirts of Shreveport, Louisiana.

Her heart thumping, she watched in growing fear as the smoke blossomed into a thick black cloud. This couldn’t be happening to her. It couldn’t.

Damp work-worn hands clamped and unclamped around the steering wheel. Why did her life always have more misery than luck? She tried to do right. She was a good person.

In despair, she slumped back against the seat. She was still a good six-hour drive away from New Orleans. She didn’t have money to fix the car. After paying the lawyer she barely had enough money to buy food and gas. Closing her eyes, she dropped her forehead onto the back of her clutched hands and fought against panic and the useless tears forming behind her lids.

No matter what, she had to stay strong. She only had herself to depend on. “You can do this, Lilly. You can do this.”

Opening her eyes, she lifted her head and brushed the heel of her hand against the outer corner of her eyes. Bone-dry. Feeling steadier and a bit more in control of herself, if not the situation, she got out of the car. There was no use opening the dented hood to look at the engine; she knew next to nothing about cars.

Shielding her eyes against the hot midday sun, Lilly stared ahead of her and behind. All she saw was the black winding two-lane road bordered by dense green trees, tangled weeds among waist-high bushes, and a creek filled with murky green water that snaked beside the road.

Reaching through the open window, she took out the three-state map that connected Texas, Louisiana, and Arkansas and studied it. The blunt tip of her unpainted nail raked over Shreveport, Louisiana, then paused. Obviously she’d taken the wrong exit off the freeway for New Orleans, but she had no idea how close she was to another town.

She bit her lower lip. Reading maps was something else she wasn’t good at.

“I always told you you were worth next to nothing.”

Myron’s often-spoken words came out of nowhere, seeping into her brain, shaking her newly emerging confidence. For a long moment, as she had always done, she drew into herself, bowing her head, accepting her husband’s accusations.

A gentle breeze tugged the map in her hand, reminding her of her promise to never let him dictate to her again. Her head lifted; determination instead of defeat shone in her narrowed brown eyes. Tomorrow or the next day he’d be served with the divorce papers and she’d be one step further to having her freedom from him.

“You’re wrong, Myron.”

Lilly spoke aloud the words she never could say before. There had to be something in this world she was good at. God gave everyone a special gift; she just hadn’t found hers yet.

So, she’d taken a wrong turn off the freeway and ended up on some back road with her car now smoking like a freight train. She was a grown woman, wasn’t she? She could figure out what to do.

But nothing came to her as one hour ticked into the next. A truck passed, followed by a late-model Chevrolet with three wide-eyed children in the back. Neither slowed despite her frantic waving. Doubt tinged with an escalating fear began to creep into her mind. Glancing back down the road from which she had come, she tucked her lower lip between her teeth. Nothing.

And if another car did pass, would they stop? People weren’t as quick to help strangers anymore. Woman or not.

Opening the car door, she rolled up the windows, then slung the narrow black strap of her purse over her shoulder and locked the car. She’d do what she had done most of her life: rely on herself.

Without further hesitation, she began walking the way she had come. At least that way she knew she’d eventually reach a service station. If she continued, she wasn’t so sure.

Less than two miles down the road she glimpsed the red slate roof of a house peeking through towering oak trees. With excitement rushing through her, her pace increased. When she stood in front of the wide arms of an intricately scrolled black iron entry gate, she realized why she hadn’t seen the mansion when she passed. The two-story house sat at least 500 feet from the road at the arch of the curve. Her attention had been on maneuvering the sharp turn, not her surroundings.

Nestled beneath moss-draped oaks, the immense home was breathtaking. A balcony ran the length of the second floor. To Lilly it looked like something out of a movie of days gone by when the plantation owner took his ease while the slaves worked the fields.

As she walked closer, she saw that the house had a stucco exterior and was painted a pale yellow with white trim. Chastising herself for her wayward imagination, she continued up the tree-lined path. Her mother had always said she kept her head in too many books. But books had been her salvation then and now. Closer, she realized the house hadn’t been here in the 1800s and the owners were probably very friendly toward black people.

But what if they weren’t? Her steps slowed. She hadn’t dealt with many rich people, black or white. In Little Elm the teachers and the funeral home owners were the rich black people and, although they went to work every day, they were in a different social group from Lilly and her truck-driving husband. She couldn’t imagine the owner of this place having a nine-to-five job or worries about the mortgage.

Stepping off the paved road onto the thick green grass, Lilly cut across the yard to the back of the house. Some people didn’t like the hired help or service people coming to the front door. She wasn’t either, but she wasn’t an invited guest, either. One thing Lilly knew was how to keep her place. Another lesson courtesy of Myron.

Rounding the corner of the house, she pulled up short. Two well-dressed black women stood at the bottom of the wooden steps leading into a side entrance to the house. They were deep in conversation. The older woman was of average height and appeared to be in her late fifties. She wore a cream-colored blouse and pants. Her stylishly short reddish-brown hair complemented her attractive cinnamon-hued skin. She kept wiping the corners of her eyes with a white handkerchief.

The younger woman’s lips were pressed together as if she fought her own battle with tears. Model-thin and a head taller than the other woman, she wore a sleeveless black shell and trousers. Silver hoop earrings twisted with each movement of her head. Smooth bangs brushed the slim arch of her brows. The rest of her bone-straight hair fell to the middle of her back.

Behind them the screen door burst open. Both women turned. Out came a tall, beautiful woman in her early thirties wearing a tangerine-colored linen pantsuit.

The door banged shut. The wind had picked up, carrying with it the scent of magnolias, but Lilly didn’t think it had caused the door to slam.

“He’s impossible!” cried the woman coming down the white-painted steps.

The older woman clutched the handkerchief tighter. “Nicole, he still insists we leave?”

“Yes, Mrs. Wakefield.” The answer was clipped and final.

Mrs. Wakefield’s head lowered.

Wide-eyed, the youngest woman stared from one to the other, then back toward the door. “But we can’t leave.”

“Try telling that to Adam, Kristen,” Nicole said, folding her arms, her heavily lashed eyelids blinking rapidly, her magenta glossed lips tightly compressed.

Mrs. Wakefield’s mouth curved upward in a strained smile; then she took Kristen’s agitated hand in hers. “Don’t worry. We’ll find a way.”

“How?” Kristen cried.

The women traded glances, but none spoke.

“Excuse me. Maybe I can help,” Lilly offered before she thought better of interfering.

Three pairs of startled eyes turned to her. Fear quickly gave way to other emotions in their faces. Kristen’s was weary, Nicole’s suspicious, Mrs. Wake-field’s curious.

“Who are you and what are you doing here?” Nicole asked, stepping forward.

Lilly clamped her hands together to keep from retreating. This wasn’t Myron using his size to intimidate and abuse for the simple reason that he could. This woman had a right to demand answers. Trespassing was bad enough, but Lilly had compounded her bad manners by eavesdropping as well.

“Lilly. Lilly Crawford. My car broke down about two miles from here. This is the first house I passed, and I wanted to see if anyone could help or if I could use the phone.”

“Of course.” The older woman visibly relaxed. “I’m Eleanor Wakefield. This is my daughter, Kristen. Ms. Ashe is a family friend.” The nods of acknowledgment were brief. “Samuel, the groundskeeper, is off, but you can certainly use the phone.”

“Thank you.”

“I’ll show you where it is,” offered Kristen, quickly bounding up the four steps and opening the door.

Lilly clamped her hand around the frayed strap of her purse and pushed the words out. “I–I couldn’t help but overhear some of your conversation.” She knew what it was like to feel helpless and without anywhere to go or turn. The women looked as if they were well off, but she was a living testament on how looks could be deceiving. “If I can get my car started and you need a lift into town, you’re welcome to come with me.”

Surprise flittered across Mrs. Wakefield’s face; then it was gone, to be replaced by a warm smile that erased the lines of strain bracketing her mouth. “Thank you, Ms. Crawford, but that won’t be necessary.”

Now it was Lilly’s turn to be surprised. It was a rarity for anyone to address her as “Ms.,” let alone her betters. Nodding, Lilly went up the steps after Kristen.

The house was as magnificent on the inside as it was on the outside. Yellow was here, too, but the mellow color of butter was mixed with the palest blue and green. Highly polished oak floors gleamed beneath the worn soles of Lilly’s sturdy flat black shoes. Persian rugs were scattered throughout. Tall, wide windows were draped in blue silk.

Beautiful antique furniture, crystal lamps, and brass accents gave the home an air of subdued elegance and warmth. Picture-perfect. It would be like living in a little corner of heaven to stay in a place like this. She briefly wondered if the man the women seemed afraid of appreciated the beauty of his home.

“Here’s the phone. The yellow pages should be underneath.”

“Thank you.” Squatting, Lilly opened the door of the cherry drum stand and pulled out the telephone book. Standing, she heard the back door close. Her shoulders stiffened. Myron had taught her early to avoid confrontations at all costs. She quickly began flipping the pages. Nicole had looked at Lilly as if she had crawled on her belly out of the slimy water that pooled in the ditch along the road. Lilly wanted to be gone as much as the other woman apparently wanted her gone.

Lilly’s hand paused. What was she doing? She didn’t have the money to pay for towing or repair. She’d hoped she’d find someone to help fix the car.

“Is there a problem?” Kristen asked, her pencil-thin brows furrowed.

“No.” Turning away from the concern in the young woman’s heart-shaped face, Lilly flipped another page. Lying was easier than telling the truth.

“Excuse me, then.”

“Yes. Sure.” She watched Kristen join her mother and Nicole in an adjoining room with a high ceiling and lined draperies that arched over the windows and pooled on the oak floor. It wasn’t lost on Lilly that Nicole had positioned herself by the oak fireplace mantel so that she could see Lilly. She might be poor, but no one had ever questioned her honesty…until now.

Realizing she couldn’t stand forever in the hall, she picked out a random garage number and dialed. If the towing cost was too high, she’d ...

Her eyes shut. She had no idea what she’d do. She couldn’t sleep in the car, not on a back road leading to who knew where.

She berated herself as she opened her eyes and punched in another number. Why hadn’t she planned better? Why did she always make a complete mess of things?

“Did you decide what we are going to do?” Kristen asked as soon as she reached her mother.

“No, dear,” Mrs. Wakefield answered, worry clear in her cultured voice.

“We can’t just leave him.”

“Don’t worry. Adam won’t be alone,” Mrs. Wakefield promised. “If he doesn’t want us, I’ll find someone else to look after him.”

“How will we do that on such short notice?” Kristen sought reassurance as she always had. She was twenty years old and still unsure of herself despite being eight weeks away from graduation from Stanford with a degree in art history.

“Jonathan may be able to help find a companion for Adam,” Mrs. Wake-field said, her attractive face thoughtful. It was up to her to keep the family together. “After all, Adam only needs a minimum amount of help with food preparation and cleaning his room. However, it will have to be someone who is completely trustworthy, someone who won’t make him feel worse about his condition, and, of course, someone who is willing to live in.”

“Finding someone to live here won’t be a problem,” Nicole said, glancing around the lavishly decorated room. “Adam has made this place a showcase. The problem will be keeping them.”

“I know Adam has been difficult, but he has cause,” Kristen defended hotly. “I get angry just thinking about what they did to him.”

“I didn’t say he didn’t have reasons. But while we have an emotional connection to Adam, anyone we hire won’t,” Nicole replied. “People don’t have the loyalty they used to have for their employer.” She wrinkled her pert nose. “I know. They quit faster at my temp agency than I can hire new ones to replace them.”

“Nicole’s right, Kristen. We love Adam no matter what.” Mrs. Wakefield laid a comforting hand on her daughter’s rigid arm. “We love him now more than ever. We feel his pain as if it were our own. If we can’t get a person to stay out of commitment to doing a good job, we’ll have to offer them a financial incentive. For a thousand dollars a week, they shouldn’t care if Adam is a bit cross with them.”

The phone slipped from Lilly’s hand, crashing down on the cradle and almost knocking over a small floral arrangement of sweet peas. She grabbed the phone and steadied the heavy cut-crystal vase.