March 25, 1993
Little Am leaned forward eagerly, a glint of excitement illuminating her dark brown eyes. “So the amethyst heart returned to where it belonged. That’s so cool.” She grinned. “And even cooler that my grandfather beat the tar out of Dooley Layton for it.”
Amethyst held up a hand. “Maybe. I never found out exactly what happened, but that was my understanding as well. Although Conrad never told me, I assumed that Dooley was part of the Klan group that broke in and set fire to the house. Since he had lived there, he would have guessed where to look for anything of value.”
“But what happened to the missing pearl?”
“I’m not sure. I suppose it must have come loose when it was in Dooley’s possession.” Amethyst shrugged. “It’s appropriate, though, considering what my grandmother said about the brooch when Silas gave it to her.”
“Something about human nature, wasn’t it?”
“Yes. She said the missing pearl served as a reminder of the human condition—beautiful, yet flawed. Priceless, even in its incompleteness.”
“And you never had the pearl replaced.”
“No.” Amethyst shook her head. “It seemed fitting, somehow, to leave it as it was.”
“Did he ever apologize to you? Dooley, I mean.”
“No.” Amethyst shook her head. “That’s the sad part. He might have found a place of peace if he had just owned up to what he had done and asked forgiveness. I heard rumors some years later that he died in prison, but I don’t know for certain.”
“Yeah, but we know how my grandfather turned out.”
“Try not to be too hard on Conrad, child.” Amethyst sighed. “He had a difficult time, growing up without a father, and he’s made some questionable choices over the years. But I have to believe that deep down, he has a good heart. He’s just never let it take priority over his wallet.”
Little Am sat in silence for a moment. “I guess so,” she conceded at last. “Still, I don’t agree with his values.”
Amethyst gazed at her great-granddaughter, and a warm rush of love and pride coursed through her veins. This girl would do all right. In her own way, she would take up the family legacy and live out the principles Amethyst had tried to instill in Conrad. Sincerity, Purity, Nobility.
It was ironic, really. Less than two weeks ago, when the family had gathered for her ninety-third birthday, Amethyst had looked at the girl and seen a rebellious teenager. Now she saw the future of the Noble name. The mantle had fallen upon Little Am’s shoulders, and Amethyst could only release her to God and trust that the girl would find her path and live out the heritage she had been given.
She felt a little like Simeon in the temple, watching, waiting for years to see the coming of the promise. Maybe this was why the Lord had let her live so long.
“And so you married Dixon Lee Godwin,” Little Am was saying. “I wish I had known him.”
“I wish you had, too, child. He was a wonderful man, a godly and just man. Although I have to admit that I never really fit the role of a pastor’s wife.”
“Because you didn’t play the piano and teach Sunday school?” Little Am grinned.
Amethyst laughed. “Partly. But mostly because I couldn’t manage to keep my mouth shut.”
“You? Opinionated?” Little Am rolled her eyes. “I’m shocked, Grandam.”
“Actually, I have to give Dix credit. He never tried to force me into that mold. And to tell the truth, he didn’t fit most people’s idea of what a minister should be. He had a pastor’s heart, and he loved and cared for his congregation. But he also had a passion for justice, and he stepped on a lot of people’s toes.”
“But he never got fired?”
“Miraculously, no. I think the members of First Presbyterian—most of them, anyway—realized that change was inevitable, and were glad to have someone in leadership who could guide the church into a peaceful, Christ-centered response.”
“Seems to me that’s what the church should be,” Little Am declared solemnly. “But so far all I’ve seen of church is a bunch of rules and regulations, people putting on a religious act to impress each other.”
“I know,” Amethyst said. “It’s easy for a church to get caught up in numbers and buildings and rules. But there are churches out there that serve as agents of justice and truth in the world. Places where people are encouraged to find their own relationship with God, and live out that relationship in action. And sometimes you find church without a building, in connection with other people who share your faith and values.”
“You mean like what Grandma Pearl wrote in her journal: ‘To believe is to care. To care is to do.’”
“Exactly. You have been listening, child!” Amethyst smiled wryly. “I thought all teenagers had five-second attention spans.”
“Most of us will listen,” Little Am countered, “if we’re given something worth listening to.” She gave Amethyst a grin and a wink. “So, finish your story. Once you married Dix, you didn’t keep running the boarding house, did you?”
“Not officially. Once Bailey and Silvie married, they moved into Uncle Enoch’s house. Then, during the sixties, when the Civil Rights movement was in full swing, some of Bailey’s lawyer friends stayed at the house when they came to Mississippi. But by then, Dix and I didn’t really need the money, and the work had become too much for me. We kept the apartments and used them for what Dix called ’sanctuaries’—places for people to stay when they needed temporary housing. Over the years we took in five or six unwed mothers, as well as a number of battered women and their children. Helped a few homeless people find jobs and get on their feet again.” She paused, her mind drifting to those days. “A lot of laughter and tears. A lot of precious memories, and a few minor miracles.”
“Then it’s no wonder you don’t want to give this house up,” Little Am mused. “I can’t believe my grandfather wouldn’t understand that.”
“I believe he does understand it, on some level. But at the moment he can see nothing except his own financial problems, and the fact that I’m ninety-three and bound to go ahead and die sooner or later.”
“But he doesn’t have the right to—”
“We’re not sure yet what he has the right to do. That will be up to the judge when we meet with her tomorrow.”
Amethyst watched as Little Am’s jaw clenched and a determined look came into her eye. “Well,” she muttered fiercely, “we’ll just have to see about that, won’t we?”
March 26, 1993
At 4:45 on Friday afternoon, Conrad sat once more in Judge Dove’s chambers. The timing of this meeting could not have been worse. Everybody knew that judges became surly and uncooperative on Fridays, especially at five o’clock, when they wanted to be out of their robes and starting to relax for the weekend.
Her Honor probably did it deliberately, he mused. Setting him up for the kill.
Mimsy fidgeted in the chair next to him, and this time the office was a bit more crowded, with Mother and Little Am wedged into the extra chairs that had been brought in for the final showdown.
Con eyed his mother warily. She seemed calm, even a little complacent. Not at all ruffled to be appearing before the judge.
And his granddaughter! Much to his dismay, the girl had shown up looking not at all like a ghoulish figure out of a horror movie. She was wearing neat navy slacks with a bright fuchsia blouse, and had fixed her hair and put on subdued and tasteful makeup. Why couldn’t she have been her natural self and arrived looking like a freak?
He studied Little Am’s demeanor as she conversed quietly with her great-grandmother. The two of them were getting along like mashed potatoes and gravy, he thought sullenly. And the girl looked positively smug, as if she were privy to some fascinating secret.
A sudden thought struck him, and his stomach turned to lead. What if the two of them had cooked up some kind of plan to get on the judge’s good side? Mother had, after all, kept the girl to herself for nearly two weeks. Little Am might be bullheaded and independent, but two weeks was surely long enough for Am to be influenced by Mother’s brainwashing.
No. He pushed the thought aside. His granddaughter was just like every other teenager in the country—only interested in herself, or in malls and boys and television and computer games. You could dress her up, but that didn’t change her essential nature.
Judge Dove entered, smiling and nodding cordially at Little Am and Mother and Mimsy. When she turned to him, however, her countenance sobered and her eyes narrowed.
“Ah, Mr. Wainwright. We meet again.”
“Yes, Your Honor.”
She glanced pointedly at her watch and cleared her throat. “Well, let’s get on with it.”
Conrad winced. He knew it was a mistake, having this meeting on a Friday afternoon. But he hadn’t been given much choice in the matter.
“Mr. Wainwright, I’m waiting.”
Con snapped to attention and faced the judge. “Right. Well, Your Honor, as I told you before, my mother is ninety-three years old and lives alone. She is not an invalid, as you can see, but she is getting on in years. What if she fell and broke a hip, or left something cooking on the stove and set the house on fire? I’m only interested in what’s best for her.”
“And you think it’s best for your mother to be in an assisted-living facility.”
“For her own good, yes. I’ve already made arrangements at a state-of-the-art place near Memphis, where we would be close by and could keep an eye on her.”
The judge pulled her glasses down to the tip of her nose and peered over the frames. “You’ve made arrangements. Don’t you think that’s a bit premature, Mr. Wainwright? Or do you think I’m so senile that I already made my ruling and forgot what I decided?”
Conrad felt a cold sweat break out on his forehead, and he jerked a handkerchief from his pocket and blotted his brow. “It’s a—ah, a preliminary arrangement, Your Honor. Purely tentative. Nothing set in stone.”
“Ah. Well, it’s good to know I’m not losing my mind.” She gave him a chilly glance and turned to Little Am and his mother. “I’d like to hear from you, Miss Amethyst. You are, as your son has stated, ninety-three years old?”
She nodded. “I am.”
“I must say you don’t look ninety-three.”
“I’ll consider that a compliment, Your Honor.”
“All right, now—” Judge Dove looked down at the paperwork in front of her. “Mr. Wainwright here contends that you are no longer able to care for yourself. What do you have to say about that?”
Conrad held his breath. Please, he begged, please let her say something outrageous.
Amethyst watched out of the corner of her eye as Conrad fell silent and waited for her to speak. His face bore an expression of desperation, as if willing her to give the judge one reason, just one, to rule in his favor. If she did, Noble House would be gone forever. Con would have money in his pocket to pay off whatever debts he owed and live high on the hog for the rest of his days, and she would end up in a nursing home until she died of sheer boredom. A lot was riding on her answer to Judge Dove.
She felt a movement at her side as Little Am reached to squeeze her hand. It was all the encouragement she needed.
“Certainly, Your Honor, I believe I am still capable of caring for myself. As you can see, I haven’t yet killed myself, and I’m not completely addled—at least no more than I have a right to be at my age. But I’m sure most elderly people would say the same thing. I simply urge you not to put my future in my son’s hands simply because I’m old.”
“You’re not accusing me of age discrimination, I hope,” the judge said tersely.
“Not in the least.” Amethyst considered her next words carefully. “But you must admit that our society does prejudge the elderly. The universe revolves around youth, and often the wisdom and experience that can accompany gray hair and wrinkles are altogether ignored.”
“Your reputation has preceded you, Miss Amethyst,” Judge Dove interrupted. “You’re something of a crusader, I believe. But please spare me the agism rhetoric and let’s concentrate on the issue at hand.” She shuffled the papers and picked up a pen. “There are a few questions that need to be answered.”
Amethyst nodded.
“First, you are the sole owner of the property at 4236 Jefferson Davis Avenue, is that correct?”
“Yes.”
“Your legal name is Amethyst Noble Wainwright Godwin?”
“Yes.”
“Widowed?”
“Twice, Your Honor.”
“Conrad Wainwright is your only son and heir to the property?”
“Only son, yes. Heir? That remains to be seen.”
Judge Dove suppressed a smile. “Did you or did you not lock your doors and threaten your son with a shotgun?”
“I did. But it wasn’t much of a threat. The gun wasn’t loaded. I don’t even own any shells for it.”
The smile widened. “Do you have a mortgage?”
“No, Your Honor. The house has been in my family for more than a hundred years.”
The judge’s eyebrows went up. “Ah, yes. Your house is that grand old planter home, with green shutters and white columns.”
“That’s the one, Your Honor.”
“Hmmm. You’re to be commended for keeping it up so beautifully. Most of the other stately homes in the area have been taken over as law offices.” She slanted a scathing glance at Conrad. “Do you owe back taxes?”
“No, Your Honor. I always pay my bills on time.”
By now the judge was reading questions perfunctorily, checking off boxes on her list. “Ever been arrested, or convicted of a crime?”
“Yes, Your Honor.”
“Ever been—” Judge Dove stopped suddenly. “What did you say?”
“I said yes, I have been arrested. Several times.”
Out of the corner of her eye, Amethyst saw Conrad’s eyebrows shoot up into what was left of his hairline. His lips twitched, as if doing a little victory dance.
The judge laid down her pen and leaned back in her chair. “Let’s hear about that.”
“The charge, if I remember correctly, was disturbing the peace.” Amethyst took a deep breath.
“You?”
“I’m afraid so, Your Honor. I was arrested five—no, six times, I believe, between 1960 and 1965. Spent a few nights in jail, too.”
Conrad couldn’t restrain himself any longer. “I never knew about this, Mother. Why didn’t you tell me?”
She turned and leveled her gaze on him. “As I recall, you were too busy building your practice in Memphis to call your mother.”
This time the judge chuckled out loud, then sobered herself, made a few quick notes on her pad, and went on. “You were in your sixties at the time of the arrests?”
“That’s right.”
“What in heaven’s name did you do?”
“I parked myself on the courthouse steps and refused to budge. I participated in a sit-in at a lunch counter in Jackson. I protested in Birmingham, and marched in Selma and Washington, D.C.”
Judge Dove leaned forward. “Really? I was a junior in college in 1963, and I went to the Washington march, too. Were you there for the ’I Have a Dream’ speech?”
“Yes. I remember being on the left, about halfway down the reflecting pool. I was standing on the ledge of the pool, and my husband, Dix, had his arm around my waist to keep me from falling in. I looked down into the water, and I could see the reflection of all those people standing out in the August heat, cheering—”
“Could we take this little trip down memory lane later?” Conrad interrupted with a growl. “Maybe the two of you could go out for dinner this evening and catch up on old times.”
The judge slapped her hand down on the desk. “One more word out of you, Mr. Wainwright, and you’ll be having dinner from a tray slid through the bars of your cell.”
She turned back to Amethyst. “Obviously, your arrests will not be held against you when I render my judgment. The Civil Rights movement was an important cause in the history of this nation, and I applaud your participation in it. Dr. King’s speech, in fact, was the turning point in my decision to enter law school.” She turned and cast a withering glance in Conrad’s direction. “If you had been the loving, concerned son you paint yourself to be, you’d have known that your mother was in jail.”
“Yes, but—” Conrad stammered.
“Still,” Judge Dove went on, ignoring him, “my own mother is getting up in years. If she were your age, Miss Amethyst, I might not want her living alone, either.”
Amethyst closed her eyes and fought back tears. Her heart felt like a stone in her chest. She was going to lose Noble House. It didn’t matter if the judge put the proceeds from the sale in trust for her. She didn’t care about the money. She only wanted to live and die in the home where Pearl and Silas had lived, where she had loved and married two exceptional men, where her memories sustained her and her heritage surrounded her.
She heard a shuffling sound and opened her eyes to see Little Am leaning forward in her chair.
“Your Honor?”
The judge looked at Little Am. “Ah, yes, the granddaughter.”
“If I may, Your Honor,” Am said politely, “I’d like permission to say something.”
Conrad jumped to his feet. “No!”
Judge Dove shook her head and gritted her teeth. “I warned you, Mr. Wainwright. I’m fining you one thousand dollars for contempt.”
“A thousand dollars? But—”
“No buts. One question—answer it with a yes or no. Is this young woman your granddaughter?”
“Yes, Your Honor.”
“Not exactly the teenage mutant you described.”
“No, Your Honor—I mean, yes, your honor. She, uh, doesn’t usually look like this. It’s an act, put on for your benefit.”
“Perhaps you could learn something from her, then, about putting on an act for my benefit. Being respectful might be a good place to start.”
Conrad shut his mouth and sat down.
“Now,” the judge went on, turning back to Little Am. “Let’s hear what you have to say.”
Am had thought this was a great idea when she came up with the plan. Now she wasn’t so sure. This Judge Dove was a powerful lady, and Am felt a little intimidated in her presence. Still, this was something she had to do—not just for Grandam, but for herself. It was probably impossible, this scheme she had come up with. Con and Mimsy would never go for it, not in a million years, and they were still her legal guardians. But Grandam had said something that had stuck with her, something that gave her the guts to go on.
I’m not doing this because it’s possible, she reminded herself, but because it’s right.
“Well?” Judge Dove prompted. “Let’s hear it, young woman.”
“I’m seventeen,” Am began haltingly. “A junior in high school. I turn eighteen in September. Ever since I was a little girl and my parents were killed in a car wreck, I’ve lived with Con and Mimsy. And they’ve been good to me, I guess. Mimsy smothers me a little, but that’s just her way.”
She turned and cast an apologetic glance in Mimsy’s direction. “Anyway, I appreciate all they’ve done for me, and I love them and all, but—”
The judge was leaning forward, listening intently. “Go on.”
“But I’d like to live with Grandam. My great-grandmother.” Am looked in Grandam’s direction. She was dabbing at her eyes, and Am wasn’t sure if Grandam was upset with her or happy about the suggestion.
She hurried on before she lost her nerve. “My great-grandmother didn’t know I was going to suggest this,” she said. “And Con and Mimsy may not be too happy about it. But what I’d like to do is move in with Grandam as soon as school is out. That’s only a couple of months away. I can finish my senior year in Cambridge, and then go to the university here. I’ll be in the house with Grandam, so Grandpa Con won’t have to worry—”
She paused and cut a glance at him. His face was red and his eyes were beginning to bug out. He looked as if he might bust an artery at any minute. “It would solve a lot of problems, wouldn’t it, Judge? Grandam wouldn’t have to live alone, and she wouldn’t have to give up her house, either.”
“I won’t have it!” Con sputtered. “I won’t have my own granddaughter turned against me.”
“I’ll be eighteen by the time school starts next fall,” Am said quietly. “I guess then I can make my own decisions—as long as Grandam wants me.”
Judge Dove’s expression softened, and she gazed at Am with wide, soulful eyes. “But what about your school? Your friends in Memphis? I don’t know many teenagers who would willingly transfer during their senior year.”
Am shrugged. “I guess I’m not like most teenagers.”
“No, I guess you’re not.” She turned to Mimsy and Con. “You, Mr. Wainwright, have made your position perfectly clear, so you keep your mouth shut. Mrs. Wainwright, do you want to add anything to this discussion?”
As usual, Mimsy had that deer-in-the-headlights expression on her face, but when she glanced at Con, it turned to a look of determination. “I love my granddaughter,” she whispered. “But I’m not so sure my husband has the right motives in all this. If Little Am wants to live with her great-grandmother and keep an eye on things, I won’t stand in her way.”
Way to go, Mimsy! Am thought to herself.
“Well,” Judge Dove declared briskly, “it seems as if a compromise has presented itself. Mr. Wainwright, your motion to have your mother declared incompetent and have yourself named as her power of attorney is denied, and you are ordered to pay court costs, as well as your thousand- dollar fine, to the bailiff on your way out. Miss Amethyst, is this agreement acceptable to you—to have your great-granddaughter come and live with you for the foreseeable future?”
Am turned toward her great-grandmother. Tears were streaming down Grandam’s cheeks, but she was smiling.
“It’s more than acceptable,” she said with a nod and a chuckle. “It’s cool. Way, way cool.”