What Mother Never Told Me (22 page)

Parris, grateful to find a reason for escape, hurried off to the
kitchen. Once there she leaned over the sink, drew in deep lungfuls of air. She turned on the faucet and tapped her face with cold water to cool her burning skin.
This is what you wanted. This is the moment that you’ve lived for from the instant your grandmother told you she was alive. The truth can be no worse than the images in your mind
. She pulled a paper towel from the roll above the sink and dried her face. Put one foot in front of the other and went to the refrigerator, poured a glass of iced tea and returned to the front room. Emma was still there.

Parris handed her the glass and took her seat.

“Thank you.” She took a sip and set the glass down on the table. “Your grandmother was one of the most highly respected young women in Rudell,” she began, her voice soft, almost lulling in its cadence. “Your great-grandfather, Joshua Harvey, was not only the spiritual leader, but also the community leader as well. When he and your great-grandmother Pearl were murdered in that fire, the town took your grandmother under its wing. David loved her, but it wasn’t enough to keep her from pursuing her dream to sing. She left Rudell and moved to Chicago. She found a job working for a wealthy white family, William and Lizbeth Rutherford. She never made it as a singer, and shortly after the Great Depression hit she returned to Rudell and married David. I was born seven months later.”

Parris’s heart leaped in her chest.

“The day I was born, David took one look at me and knew I could never be his. He walked out, leaving your grandmother to raise me alone. Everyone believed that she’d tricked the beloved doctor, that she’d gone off and slept with some white man in Chicago and the town that once revered her turned their backs on her and on me. I was trapped between two
worlds, neither of which I could belong to, not back then, not in a small-minded town like Rudell.

“I grew up alone, teased, laughed at, talked about and ignored. And each day I resented the woman who’d saddled me with this curse of white skin and green eyes in a black-and-brown world. One day all that changed. That night by the Left Hand River,” she said in a faraway voice. She told Parris of the man who thought she was a white woman and the realization that came to her. How from that day on she began sneaking into the white part of town, sitting in their shops, walking their streets, and she knew she’d finally found freedom. She told Parris about finding the letter from Cora’s friend Margaret and the mention of William Rutherford, the picture in the newspaper article and how she began to put the pieces together. And one day she left Rudell, got on the bus and headed to New York.

Emma reached for her glass of tea and took a long cool swallow. She gently set the glass down.

“That’s where I met your father.” She looked Parris in the eye. “His name is Michael Travanti. He was a soldier.” She drew in a shallow breath. “He was the first person in my entire life who showed that they cared about me, told me that they loved me, did everything they could to make me happy, make me smile,” she said, her voice lifting for the first time with a hint of joy. “I came alive and the feeling was so exquisite, so new and perfect, I knew that I would do whatever I could to hold on to it.” She paused, looked away then down at her hands. “Then one day, there was an article in the paper about William Rutherford. He was having a big fund-raiser. And that need to know, to confront my worst nightmare, bloomed inside of me. I got in to see him…and the moment I told him who I was, he knew, and I could see the guilt in his eyes.”

She told Parris about her demand for money, and how she dropped it at her feet on her way out of the door.

“I never saw him again after that. He would never openly claim me as his daughter, no matter what I looked like on the outside. He’d raped my mother—a black woman, his housekeeper—when she was barely out of her teens. He could never have anyone know that. And that part of my life I’d closed the door on. It no longer mattered.

“Michael and I married shortly after that and in less than a year I was pregnant…with you. I was terrified. But I convinced myself that I looked white, I’d married a white man and, of course, I would have a child that could pass. But you couldn’t.”

She told Parris about the night of her birth, the joy and the fear, the knowing that if Michael ever found out he would leave her the same way that David left Cora, and the love that she’d spent her entire life looking and hoping for would be snatched away from her. Gone forever. She couldn’t do that. She couldn’t go back to living in loneliness.

“So I took you back to Mississippi. I made Mama swear that she would tell you I was dead. That she’d take care of you, because she owed me that much, she owed me some semblance of happiness,” she sobbed, as tears filled her eyes and shook her voice. “She owed me.”

Thinking back to the dark time in her life she could almost hear her mother’s door as she shut it behind her, leaving her two-day-old baby in her mother’s care. With each step that she took she wanted to run back and ask her mother to love her, teach her how to love her child. She wanted to feel her baby’s soft skin one more time, inhale the newness of her. But she couldn’t do that. All she could do was hold on to the memory of what might have been.

Emma wiped her eyes with a handkerchief from her purse. “When you showed up in France…I didn’t know what to do.” She shook her head sadly. “I’d finally told your father about you when your grandmother’s letter came. I couldn’t believe he’d forgiven me. But when you actually showed up…I’d lived the lie for so long…I…” She glanced up at Parris to see tears streaming down her face. “I am so sorry. So sorry.” She covered her face with her hands and wept, her body shaking, for all the years, all the lies, all the loss, the pain that was caused, the lives that were ruined, all because of one man, one night, decades ago. A night that stripped a young woman of her innocence and set out a course of events that marred generations.

As the story and the images swirled through Parris’s mind, she realized the incredible stock of strong women she’d descended from. Each of them during their time were burdened with circumstances that could have broken many others, but they found a way to surmount them. And as much as she may forget that her mother left her, she understood why. She was a young girl who’d finally found acceptance and love and it took a certain kind of strength to let go of your child and place them in the hands of another to raise, hoping that they would give your child the love and the nurturing that they deserved.

When Parris looked up, wiping her face, Emma was putting on her coat. A wave of panic raced through her.

Emma drew herself up and hooked her purse over her wrist. “Thank you for listening,” she said, her voice sounding rough and raw from hours of talking. She sniffed, offered a slight smile and turned toward the door. Then she swung back toward Parris, who couldn’t seem to move.

“I need to know just one thing,” Emma said over the tightness in her throat. “Was she good to you?”

Parris nodded, unable to get the words out, her heart breaking open. “She loved me with all her heart.”

Emma’s eyes filled. Her lips thinned as she fought back the tears. “G-good. That’s good.” She turned back toward the door. A hand on her arm stopped her. She looked over her shoulder.

“If…you’re not in a hurry, I’d like you to meet someone.”

Emma closed her eyes and relief replaced the weight of the years that had burdened her spirit. She looked at her daughter with hope and humility. “I’d like that very much.”

“I
guess we can nix the annual Mother’s Day mourning party this year,” Celeste quipped as she unpacked a box of long-stemmed wineglasses.

After her fallout with her mother, rather than wait for the inevitable ugliness, she used her connections at the real estate office and found a one-bedroom condo that she could actually afford.

Leslie sputtered a burst of laughter. “Girl, you are too silly.” She picked up a box out of the long corridor. “Where do you want this?”

“I think that can go in the living room.”

“This is really a nice space,” Parris said, putting the dinner plates in the cabinet. “I suppose you do have some skills after all,” she teased. She walked over to where Celeste stood and gently touched her shoulder. “You really okay with this?” she asked softly. She knew it had to be a physical shock to Celeste’s
system to move from the elite Upper East Side and a penthouse apartment to midtown Manhattan in a one-bedroom condo. It was probably more of a shock to Corrine Shaw, who was nearly apoplectic when Celeste made her unceremonious announcement, according to Celeste’s version, which was worthy of a stand-up comedian performance.

Celeste turned, shrugged her shoulder. “It’s definitely not what I’ve been used to, but it’s mine. Ya know?”

Parris grinned. “Yeah, I do. So how long will it be before you invite Sam over?”

“As soon as I can get my slow-moving help out of here.”

Parris shook her head and continued unpacking. “Moving as fast as I can,” she said over her laughter.

Worn-out and hungry, Celeste ordered Chinese from the local restaurant and the trio sat around on the floor eating off paper plates. It was the first time they’d all been together at once in weeks. Although they each knew bits and pieces of the dramas unfolding in their lives they’d yet to share the full stories.

“I’m not too sure I’m going to like hanging around with a broke Celeste,” Leslie said over a mouthful of lo mein. “What’s the perk in that?”

Parris dribbled her tea down the front of her shirt.

“Very funny, Les. But for your information, I’ll never be broke. No matter how long my folks stand on their heads about my lifestyle—as they put it—in two years, when I turn thirty-five, my grandfather’s trust fund kicks in. And I can do what the hell I want.” She raised her glass and smiled triumphantly.

“Damn, some kids have all the luck,” Leslie joked.

“Wow, a trust fund. I never actually knew someone who had one of those,” Parris said. She angled her body to face Celeste.
“So what did your grandfather do to be able to leave you a trust?” She spooned shrimp-fried rice into her mouth.

Celeste frowned for a moment in thought. “From what I’ve been told, he was involved in finances from before the depression. But he was completely wiped out when it hit.” She twirled her chopsticks around in the air as she pieced the family history together. “I don’t know exactly how he did it, but he worked, saved, started moving around in the right circles, built his company and even ran for office. He was a state senator for New York for a term or two, I can’t remember. All I know for sure is that Grandpa Rutherford is filthy, stinking rich and he loves me dearly.” She chuckled.

“Wh-what did you say?” Parris stammered, heat burning her chest.

“I said he loves me dearly—”

“No!” she snapped. “Your grandfather, what’s his name?”

Celeste frowned, arching her neck, “What is wrong with you? William Rutherford, why?”

Parris stumbled to her feet. Her food rose from her stomach, stinging the back of her throat.

Leslie reached for her. “Parris, you okay?”

Parris tugged in deep breaths to try and settle her raging stomach. She looked at Celeste, really looked at her, beyond the blond hair and white skin to the green eyes they shared, the tiny cleft in their chins and the emotional connection they had from the time they met.

Celeste stood up. “Parris, you’re scaring me, what is it?”

“I think…” She blinked rapidly as her mother’s voice rang in her head: her meeting with William Rutherford, his apologizing to her for what he’d done to Cora. She focused on Celeste. “Please…tell me what your grandmother’s name is?”

Celeste hesitated for a minute, afraid of where this was going. “Lizbeth.”

Parris’s hand flew to her mouth as she inhaled a sharp breath. She sunk down to her knees on the floor, braced her hands on her thighs.

Leslie’s head snapped back and forth between them. “What is going on? Somebody tell me something.”

Parris folded her hands tightly in front of her, then reached out to Celeste and took her hands.

“Just before the Great Depression, my grandmother Cora Harvey moved to Chicago, she went to work for a couple, William Rutherford and his wife Lizbeth…”

Hempstead, Long Island

“Oh, my goodness, Ms. Celeste. What a surprise. Come in out of the cold.”

“Mary, this is…my…this is Parris McKay.” She squeezed Parris’s hand, in tacit agreement. “Mary’s been taking care of my grandfather for as long as I can remember.” She put her arm around Mary’s shoulder as they walked into the expansive foyer of the two-story mansion.

“And Ms. Lizbeth, too, before she passed, God rest her soul.” They walked through several rooms, one of which was a dining hall that could easily hold more than two hundred people.

“This is where we used to have the annual family Christmas party,” Celeste was saying to Parris. “It’s been a couple of years now.”

“Your grandfather is out in the greenhouse. You know how he loves his plants. Go on back there, if you can stand the heat and steam.” She waved her hand in dismissal. “I’m going to
prepare some lunch. I hope you’re both staying.” She didn’t wait for an answer and hurried back off in the opposite direction.

Parris had remained virtually silent during the entire ride from the city out to Long Island. Celeste tried to make small talk but both of them understood that what lay ahead would confirm what they’d both come to conclude; they were first cousins, their mothers half sisters, and they shared the same grandfather, William Rutherford.

“You ready?” Celeste asked as they approached the greenhouse.

Parris nodded. “As I’ll ever be.”

Celeste pulled the door open and they were greeted by a gust of warm, moist air and the pungent scent of flowers.

A whirring sound drew their attention toward the end of an aisle of lilies. An old man, with thick white hair and deep wrinkles, buzzed toward them in his electric wheelchair. As he grew closer, a small smile bloomed when he recognized his granddaughter. He began to chuckle even before he came to a full stop in front of them.

“Well, now, what brings you all the way out here? Your mother misbehaving…” He caught a glimpse of Parris and his skin went nearly as white as his hair. His face contorted.

“Grandpa, are you okay?” Celeste bent down to his chair but he didn’t take his eyes off of Parris.

“Cora,” he whispered in the voice of one who has been witness to an apparition. He stared at her, that dark night of his past came hurtling at him like a speeding train, unstoppable…It all started with the call from his broker, Stuart…

“Stuart, what do you mean I should have seen this coming? Hell, nobody saw it coming…it has nothing to do with what Hoover did
with the farmer and farm relief legislation…Wheat and cotton prices have been erratic for months. You told me to invest in those stocks, they would level out and the market would become stable…No…No…Damn it, man, I mortgaged my home, borrowed from brokers, from banks, sold my liberty bonds. I have nothing left, nothing!”

He slammed down the phone and began to pace. Then he began to drink, and drink until he felt the powers of the liquor dull his senses, but not his frustration and pain. And then there she was—young sweet innocent Cora who kept his house, fixed the meals and was so grateful for the books he brought home to her. She’d asked him what was wrong, if there was anything she could do to help him, and something inside of him snapped and he slapped her hard across the face, so hard he knocked her to the floor. Her screams, her begging him to stop, her small fists pounding against his chest did nothing to halt his blind rage, his need to regain some semblance of power and control. And when it was over, he never saw her again…until more than two decades later when her spitting image, the result of the one night, walked up to him and announced that she was his daughter—Emma.

As she railed at him for ruining her life, demanding that he look at her, look at what he had done, he felt himself crumble before her tear-filled eyes. His throat worked up and down, the words trapped there for almost two decades, never uttered, had congealed into a knot of remorse that was more devastating than anything he’d ever endured. But to admit that was something he was incapable of doing, standing before this woman who longed to find some part of herself that would somehow validate who she was. To confess to what he had done would make the nightmare of the day a reality, a reality he still couldn’t acknowledge. There was no forgiveness or absolution for a depraved deed. And he accepted that. As long as he kept it tucked inside he could somehow face the day and go out into the world with his mask intact. The worst thing, he understood, was to confess to oneself that there was
a corruption, an illness of the soul that enabled you to become everything you detested in others.

Yet, there she stood. The product of a warped, heinous episode in his life. A young woman who needed more than he could ever hope to give. A young woman he would be proud to call daughter. But he couldn’t. They both knew that. So all he could hope to give her was the money that she demanded, to make a small down payment on his redemption, and perhaps things would somehow be right
.

But as he’d watched his daughter walk away from him, her back straight and her head held high, he knew he must leave her with some measure of comfort, something the money would never be able to do, something from deep in his soul. “I never meant…to hurt your mother. Never.”

The words, no longer a memory, tumbled from his mouth again and again. His thin shoulders shook as Celeste wrapped her arms around him and Parris heard her mother’s voice delivering the message she’d brought Cora from William Rutherford, the day Emma brought her newborn baby back to Rudell.
“I never meant…to hurt your mother. Never.”

Behind the closed doors of his study, William asked his granddaughters to sit down. He wheeled over to his safe built behind the lower shelf of the walnut bookcase. After several tries the safe door opened. He dug around inside and pulled out a thick manila envelope, shut the safe and wheeled back over to where they sat.

He looked into Parris’s eyes and was grateful that he did not see the contempt that could have easily resided there. “I never thought I’d live long enough to see this day and try to make things right for what happened to your grandmother.” He glanced at Celeste. “I know your mother will try to contest it, but it’s airtight. It was written right after Emma came to see
me and I’ve had it recertified every year since then.” He handed the envelope to Parris. “Please see that she gets this. My lawyers have copies as well so there will be no foolishness.” He shook his wizened head then wagged a finger at Parris. “I didn’t know Emma had a child, but I know she will do right by you.” He tapped the envelope. “It leaves this house, all paid for, to your mother. And she will share in all of my financial assets with her half-sister, Corrine. Corrine won’t like it but she’ll have to suck it up.” He snorted. “Corrine’s known about Emma for years,” he softly confessed. “Was standing right outside that door listening to me and your grandmother arguing about keeping Emma in my will.”

“Grandma knew, too?”

William nodded. “The day that Emma came to our home to get the money that she’d demanded, Lizbeth ran in to her when she was leaving. And she’d been there the night Emma came to the Plaza and announced that she was my daughter.” He looked off into the distance. “There’d been whispers for years that I’d had another child, but Lizbeth and I agreed that…it would be too damaging to the family if the truth ever came out. So we put it behind us, moved on.” He turned to Parris. “I’m sure you and your mother hold me responsible for a great deal of things. And you would be right. I know this will cannot make up for what happened all those years ago, but maybe it will help.” The corner of his mouth flickered. “I wish I would have known her…your mother…and you. My life has been less full because of that.”

“Damn, this is waay better than reality television,” Leslie was saying as she, Celeste and Parris did a final walk-through of Rhythms, which was scheduled for its grand opening the fol
lowing night. “Cousins. Humph. I would have paid money to see the look on Corrine’s face.”

Parris and Celeste snickered. “It wasn’t pretty,” Celeste said, “but once she realized the will was unbreakable, and my father of all people talked some twentieth century sense into her, we could put the smelling salts away. I’m sure, knowing my mother, she’ll find a way to put some kind of exotic spin on it all.”

“How’s your mother taking it all?” Leslie asked Parris.

“Pretty well, I guess. She’s dealing with a broken marriage, a found daughter, a half-sister.” She shook her head. “She’s gone out to see her father a couple of times. I think it’s helped her.”

“But what about you, cuz?” Celeste slipped her arm around Parris’s waist and dropped her blond head on her shoulder.

Parris drew in a breath. “Taking it one day at a time. It’s been a lot of years, a lot of hurt and a lot of bridges crossed. But, it’s getting better. I look forward to talking to my mother, hearing about her life, telling her about mine. I know we’ll never have that warm and fuzzy relationship, it’s too late for that, but we’ll have something.”

“Speaking of fathers,” Leslie said, “have you decided what you’re going to do about yours?”

“I tried the number that my mother gave me,” Parris said. “It’s been disconnected. I sent a letter to the house and it was returned as undeliverable.” She lowered her head. “So I don’t know…” Her voice trailed off.