Chapter Seventeen

Lily

“Mornin’ Miz Lily,” Raymond murmured when I walked into the bedroom.

He’s awake! I gasped, nearly dropping the tray I was carrying. Hurriedly setting it on the small table near his bed, I grabbed his calloused hand and gave it a squeeze. “Raymond! You’re okay!”

He started to grin, then winced as the movement stretched his split, swollen lip. He raised a hand, tentatively touching his mouth, before stretching a finger to trace his puffy eye, then the bandages on his head. “Yep, I guess I am.” He shifted in bed and groaned. “But I feel like I been run over by a Mack truck.”

I made a face and smiled. “Hate to say it, but you look like it, too, my friend.”

His wheezy chuckle cut off abruptly, and his hands clutched his torso. “Ugh…don’t make me laugh. Hurts too bad.”

I retrieved a glass of water from the tray and gently pressed the straw to the less-injured side of his mouth. He gulped thirstily. “Mmmm…thank ya, ma’am. That shore helps. I’s parched. Dry as a box of sodie crackers is what my granny’d say.” He stared around the room, his good eye round with wonder. “Where is this place?”

“You don’t remember? You’ve been a little out of it. We brought you here a couple of nights ago.”

“We?”

“Jonas and Cleo and me. This is Cleo’s house.”

He wrinkled his brow, trying to remember, but gave up and shook his head. “Tell me.”

“Here…take another drink. I haven’t been able to get much in you since you’ve been here. I know you must be about dehydrated.”

He took another long swallow. “Okay, that’s enough. Now, tell me.”

I hesitated, unsure of how much to say. I knew the power that a person’s mind could wield in any healing process, and I sure didn’t want to create a speed bump on his road to recovery by giving him more information than he could handle. His mental state was a little precarious already. His “lights” had been out for a while, yesterday—eyes open and staring—but nobody had been home. It’d been one of his “bad days.”

“Well?” he demanded. “Whatcha waitin’ for? Go ahead and tell me. Cain’t be worse than wonderin’.”

I wasn’t so sure. “You were beaten up.”

He rolled his good eye. “I think I figured that part out, Miz Lily. By who?”

“Mark Spencer’s men.” I didn’t miss the flicker of some emotion in his eye at the mention of the name. He remembers something.

Raymond’s jaw clenched, then he growled, “Go on.”

“We followed Spencer’s men, and when they stopped to get something to eat, we rescued you from their car trunk and brought you back here. We cleaned you up and bandaged you as good as we could. You’ve been sleeping ever since.”

He stared at me in wonder. “You talk different. Don’t think I ever heard you say that much regular talk before…without usin’ one of them sayings of yours.” Then he sighed, wincing again before closing his eye.

I panicked. Had I said too much? I’d tried to give him as little details as possible, but maybe it was still too much. I should’ve tried to stall him somehow, maybe even lie to him; whatever it took, but I should’ve waited. It was too much, too soon. He wasn’t ready yet.

When he opened his eye again, it shimmered with a glaze of unshed tears. “I be so glad my granny’s done passed on. I’d hate for her to know what I’ve done; it’d shame her, so.”

“Do you need to talk about it? I’ll listen if you do,” I reminded him, softly.

He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down beneath his gray-stubbled chin. A tear oozed from the slit of his bruised, puffy eye. “I thought it was my way out, my chance to be r’spectable. He say he gonna to teach me how to do it, and pay me good money, too. Alls I had to do was keep my big mouth shut.” He shook his head, a mournful expression on his battered face. “I couldn’t even do that. Easy as pie and I couldn’t do it.”

What could I say? Would I have acted differently, had I been in his shoes? I wanted to say yes, but my case was unlike the rest of Savannah’s homeless. I’d chosen my route. The rest of them couldn’t say that. They had no choice. Who could say whether my actions and reactions would be the same if this lifestyle had been forced on me, rather than something I’d chosen. But there was no sense dwelling on it. I couldn’t, no…I wouldn’t judge Raymond for the choice he’d made. Desperation had a way of leading people down paths they never thought they’d travel.

I squeezed his hand. “Never let success go to your head, or failure go to your heart.”

The edge of his mouth tilted up the tiniest bit. “Thank ya, Miz Lily.”

Now that Raymond was truly on the mend, it felt safe to take a break. I wasn’t used to being stuck inside for this long, and cabin fever was about to get the best of me. Rose was probably wondering where I was too.

Rose…I needed to talk to my sister. The hours spent at Raymond’s side had allowed me plenty of time to think. It was time for some straight answers…answers to questions that should’ve been asked many years ago. If I were honest with myself, I’d have to admit that I was a little scared, but I couldn’t keep hiding behind those fears. I had to face them—head on—and Rose was where I needed to start.

But where to look? Probably north, toward the river. Rose frequented Factor’s Walk and River Street, anywhere with the highest concentration of people and action. Even after her death, Rose was a “people person.” She loved to mingle with the crowd—both ghosts and the living. When it was the latter, and it involved a handsome man, she’d even allow herself to become visible so she could flirt to her heart’s content, laughing and basking in the limelight, just like she’d done when she was alive. Not much had changed in that respect.

Before I went anywhere, though, I needed to check in with Minnie; let her know I’d be taking a break. It had taken a lot of work…damage-control tactics by Cleo, and vast amounts of schmoozing on my part, but we’d finally been able to smooth things over with Minnie. You could hardly see any rough places in the housekeeper’s attitude, now. It hadn’t started like that, though. That rocky, first meeting—the night we’d dragged Raymond in—was one I’d just as soon forget.

As soon as she’d seen the blood, Minnie panicked and snatched the phone from the wall, her shaking finger punching the numbers 9-1-1.

“No, Minnie!” Cleo shrieked when she saw what the woman was doing. “Put the phone down. You can’t call the police!”

“What do you mean, I can’t call the police?” her voice was just as shrill. “Nine-one-one is what you’re supposed to call when there’s an emergency. And if this ain’t one, I don’t know what is!”

My heart was racing. A call to the police would defeat the whole purpose of the rescue. It had to be avoided at all costs.

Cleo wrenched the phone out of Minnie’s hand. “You can’t call the police.”

“The dickens you say! Give me that phone!” Minnie tried to grab it back.

I didn’t know what to do, and Jonas couldn’t do anything. He had his hands full with Raymond draped over his shoulder, dripping blood on the hard wood floor.

They tussled for several very long seconds. Minnie’s weight gave her an advantage, but Cleo made up for it in desperation and youth.

“Minnie!” Cleo finally panted. “As your employer, I’m asking you to let go of the phone!”

The big woman froze. Her shocked expression was almost comical; jaw dropped, eyes bugged out. Her hands dropped limply to her sides, she took two steps back.

“I’m sorry I—” Cleo began, but Minnie’s hand snapped up, palm out, halting any other words she might have intended. The hurt, accusing look she gave the girl before she turned away made Cleo’s shoulders droop. She’d obviously never played the “boss card” before.

That night had been a rough one. It was hard to know who’d been more shocked…Cleo or Minnie. Once everyone had calmed down, and Cleo had been able to explain—not everything, but enough—the housekeeper had finally lost some of her huffiness. It still felt like we were all walking on eggshells where she was concerned, so I didn’t dare slip out without letting her know.

Minnie was on the phone and didn’t hear me enter the kitchen.

“I don’t know why you feel like you have to play “taxi driver” every day, Tobias. You know Miz Patricia would be rolling in her grave if she could see you driving her big ol’ car around town, picking up every Tom, Dick, and Harry wanting a ride.”

I cleared my throat just loud enough for her to know I was there. Minnie whirled around as quickly as her sizable girth allowed. She held up a finger, telling me to wait.

“Oh, go ahead. The more you’re out there giving tourists the run-around, the less you’re puttering around here getting in my way. Hope you’re charging enough to pay for your gas, old man. Okay…bye.”

“How’s the patient?” Minnie wanted to know as she hung up.

“I think he’s reached a turning point. He’ll get better quickly, now. Have you seen Cleo?”

“I think she’s still in bed, and I didn’t want to bother her. She hasn’t been sleeping well, lately.” The housekeeper’s eyes moved to my hat and she arched a brow. “Heading somewhere?”

“I was hoping it would be all right if I got out of the house for a while. Raymond’s taking a nap so he shouldn’t be a bother. I’ve been cooped up inside for too long. I’m not used to living like this.”

Minnie gave a fluttery wave of her hand. “Sure, sure…take yourself a good, long walk. You deserve it. You’ve barely left that room for days, and I’m sure you need a break. I’ll check on Raymond in a little while. Go on with you, now.”

“Thank you, Minnie. I’ll just slip out the back way, if you don’t mind. Don’t want folks to see riff-raff like me using your fine front door. That might attract attention we don’t want or need. Tell Cleo I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

****

I took a deep breath of the crisp December air. Ahhhh… It felt good to be outdoors again. Though it had been nice to not have to worry about being cold at night or where I’d get my next meal, I’d missed the freedom I’d grown so used to over the years.

A fleeting glance toward Forsyth Park was all I allowed myself. I’d love to visit The Fountain, but there wasn’t enough time. River Street was all the way on the other end of town and I knew my old bones didn’t move as quickly as they used to. There was no time to waste.

I turned onto Bull Street so I’d at least be able to walk through several squares on my way to the river. The first one was Monterey. To my left was the Mercer House, the place where that young man was tragically killed. Murder or self-defense? No one really knew, even after three trials. It was one of the city’s biggest scandals as well as, biggest mysteries. Place was haunted too, and no wonder, with a history like that. Some fellow wrote a book about it, then Hollywood made the book into a movie, causing people to flock here in droves, even more than they had after that Forrest Gump movie.

I glanced around, self-consciously, hoping the ghosts would understand that I was limited on time, and that my regular glitter-sprinkling routine would have to wait. Maybe they wouldn’t mind too much. The last thing I needed was to get a bunch of ghosts mad at me.

I hurried toward Madison Square. This was where the Green-Meldrim House was…one of my favorites. I loved wrought iron filigree, and this place had iron-work to spare. It was a shame that such a beautiful place had housed that hateful General Sherman during the Civil War. In order to save the city from Sherman’s infamous “march to the sea,” the civic leaders had surrendered in exchange for the general’s promise not to burn the town. He agreed, so no shots had been fired. Sherman had written out his famous telegram to President Lincoln in that very house: “I beg to present you as a Christmas gift, the city of Savannah, with one hundred and fifty heavy guns and plenty of ammunition, also about twenty-five thousand bales of cotton…”

I had mixed feelings about that episode in the city’s history. If it hadn’t happened like that, Savannah would’ve probably been listed with all the rest of Sherman’s “burn towns,” and all the beautiful, historic buildings would have ended up as piles of smoldering rubble. Even so, my Southern blood tended to boil a little at the idea of surrendering to that jack-dog, Sherman. Well, sometimes you had to do what you had to do, even if it went against the grain. Those leaders of long ago had sacrificed Southern pride for the greater good. My eyes swept around the square and I had to smile. I guess the trade had been worth it.

This city had a long list of “firsts” to boast about: the first Sunday school in America, the first orphanage, the first Black Baptist Church, the first golf course. John Wesley, the founder of the Methodist movement, wrote the first hymnal used in the Church of England while in Savannah. The Girl Scouts program was started here, and the first steamship ever to cross the Atlantic Ocean launched its maiden voyage from here, ending up in Liverpool, England in the early 1800’s. It was a city to be proud of. I’d kind of forgotten that.

Maybe it was time…

No! Don’t go there! It’s too late for that. It’s been too long.

I gently pushed my defenses away, opening my emotional door wider. Maybe…

Noooo!

My inner self turned savage, frantically clawing at the hand opening the door, seeking to slam it shut and bolt all the locks at any cost, but the swinging door gained momentum, hauling its unwilling passenger with it, despite the desperate clutching of the knob, the feet dragging against the floor trying to slow the process.

Maybe…

I nodded with a smile. Meeting Cleo and Jonas, the close call with Raymond…these things had opened my eyes. Now I needed to hear the truth from my sister. Once I did, perhaps I’d be ready to drop my homeless façade and try weaving myself back into the fabric of society.

But I needed to talk to Rose, first.

****

By the time I crossed Bay Street and started down the sidewalk bordering Emmet Park, I could feel the beginnings of a blister on my heel. Now, if I’d had my cart, that wouldn’t be a problem. I’d just find my roll of duct tape and fix it right up. Unfortunately, my cart wasn’t with me. It was where it’d been ever since the day Raymond had disappeared; the same place Raymond’s cart was put, after we’d gone back and retrieved it from his bench so it wouldn’t get stolen…in the trunk of Jonas’ car, and I had no idea of where that car was. I’d just have to tough it out.

Steep stairs took me down to River Street’s bumpy cobblestone surface. The stones had once been used as ballasts, for weight and stability in the hulls of huge sailing ships that had brought the first colonists over. Before heavy cargo was loaded onboard, these stones were taken out of the ships and left behind. They made a quaint, but extremely uneven road surface that was difficult to walk on in the best of circumstances. The flopping tendency of my oversized boots compounded the problem, forcing me to be very careful how and where I stepped.

“Lily!”

The masculine voice startled me, causing me to stumble and nearly fall on the treacherous surface. My arms waved wildly as I tried to regain my balance.

“Whoa! Careful!” A pair of hands caught and steadied me, keeping me from a painful fall. Warm brown eyes peered at me from under a disgustingly filthy ball cap.

“Jonas! Thank goodness it’s you.” I straightened my hat and adjusted my coat, my heart still racing from my near-spill. “Anybody else would’ve probably just let an old woman fall.”

He laughed. “I think you might be underestimating humanity a little. Do think you could cut it some slack?”

“Cut it some sla—” I broke off, laughing, then shrugged. “Maybe you’re right; maybe you’re right.” I gave him a head to foot appraisal, and then nodded. “I have to say, your disguise is definitely a success. You fit right in. No one would ever be able to tell that you’re anything other than a genuine, bona fide homeless man. I’m sure that’s a title you’ve always aspired to. So…what are you doing down here?” I gestured to the waterfront.

He didn’t answer for the longest moment, but rather studied me through narrowed eyes. “There’s more to you than meets the eye, isn’t there, Lily?” he finally asked.

“I-I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” I hedged, picking a piece of lint off my sleeve, and avoiding the eyes I could feel still staring at me. I needed to be more careful. Jonas was more astute than I’d realized.

“Ahhh, but I think you know exactly what I mean. I guess I can let you slide for now, though. You can fill me in later.”

I couldn’t hold back my small sigh of relief before prompting him, “You were about to tell me what you were doing here…?”

“Right!” He looked around before lowering his voice. “I overheard a couple of guys say this is the place to be. I saw someone earlier who might’ve been one of Spencer’s guys. He was being unobtrusive, but I’m pretty sure he was watching me. Hey, where’s Cleo?”

“She was still in the bed when I left. According to Minnie, the poor thing’s had some trouble sleeping lately.” I gave him a stern look, cocking an eyebrow. “I wonder why that is?”

“Now, wait just a minute! You helped me with the disguise. I thought you were on my side.”

“I was, until you told me you thought one of Spencer’s men had his eye on you. I’m afraid for you, Jonas. Cleo would never forgive me if something happened to you. She already blames me for encouraging you with this crazy plan of yours.”

“I’ll tell you the same thing I told her. Nothing’s going to happen to me. I’m not some desperate homeless pers—” He winced. “Sorry, no offense.”

I chuckled. “None taken.”

“Anyway, I’m not desperate, and I am going into this thing with my eyes wide open. I promise to always stay one step ahead of them. Okay?”

I nodded slowly, reluctantly. “I’m counting on it, but more importantly…Cleo is counting on it. And young man…?”

He snapped to attention at my tone. “Yes, ma’am?”

“You better not be toying with that child!”

His grin stretched from ear to ear. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Stop it!” I growled, trying to keep the corners of my mouth turned down, but failing. “Remember what Cleo said about that smile.”

Though his face was an immediate mask of somberness, traces of humor and a bit of devilment sparkled in his eyes as he gave me a nod. “Yes, ma’am!” Then he turned and sauntered away.

As I watched him until I lost him in the crowd, an uneasy feeling settled in the pit of my stomach.

****

“There you are!” I cried when I spotted Rose’s fiery red hair in the middle of a group of tourists that had just gotten off one of the river taxis. “I’ve been looking all over for you.”

Rose’s expression cooled as soon as she saw me. My heart sank. My sister was still mad at me for not taking her advice about Cleo. That was going to make this conversation even tougher.

“What do you want?” Rose spoke ventriloquist-style, behind a brilliant smile she was flashing at the gorgeous hunk waving at her from a passing boat. She fluttered her fingers in response, trying to look like she wasn’t connected in any way with a crazy old woman wearing a flamboyant court jester hat.

I was used to it. It was the way she always treated me. Then I stopped, stunned at that sudden realization. I replayed the scene in my mind, focusing on the fact that my sister had tried to pretend she didn’t know me. Similar memories flashed through my mind. Scene after scene, time after time. Others followed…more painful ones, this time: Rose laughing when I failed at something, Rose belittling me—both publically and privately, Rose discouraging any attempt at anything new, demanding all my attention and pouting when she didn’t think she got it.

I’d spent my entire life idolizing Rose, putting her on a pedestal, giving her the devotion she thrived on, squashing my own wants in order to give in to my sister. How could I have been so blind? How could I have missed seeing how utterly self-absorbed and egocentric she really was?

Had it always been this bad?

I thought back to my early childhood: favorite dolls and toys that somehow ended up in Rose’s room; the shows on television…always Rose’s choice; Rose was afraid of clowns and hated the circus, so we’d never gone; my favorite outfit that had gotten ruined with bleach when Rose had helped with the laundry.

My thoughts ranged forward a few years, seeing it through new eyes, observing a pattern that I’d never noticed before. I’d never been allowed to wear anything royal blue even though I loved the color, and everyone thought it looked good on me…everyone, but Rose. My big sister had told me that blue didn’t suit me, so I hadn’t worn blue; hairstyles that Rose recommended always turned out disastrous; the perm Rose had once given me that burned my hair so badly, I’d had to get a pixie cut to get rid of the damage.

I looked down at my clothes; the mismatched patterns, the scuffed boots. Rose had encouraged my transformation into a crazy, homeless woman, too. I shook my head in amazement, having a hard time absorbing this new insight. My sister had been sabotaging me for years, always trying to make me look bad.

I reached up and pulled off my hat, stuffing it into my pocket, then straightened my spine, and drew back my shoulders. It was time for the abuse and ridicule to stop. It was time for the truth.

“There was never an affair, was there?”

My words grabbed her full attention. Her million-dollar smile faded like it was on a dimmer switch.

“I’m sorry, what?”

My lips felt stiff. The words had to be pushed from my mouth. “Michael…all those years ago. There was never an affair.”

She blinked as if I’d flicked water in her eyes. Then a whole range of emotions travelled across her face. It was like looking through one of those old Viewmaster toys, pushing down the little plastic handle to see the next scene: shock… anger… denial… cunning…

Finally, her acting skills kicked in and she pasted her smile back on. “Of course, he had an affair, Lily. Why else would you break things off?” The line was delivered flawlessly…except for the way her voice cracked on the word, “off.”

But before I could say anything, she blurted, “I found out why that girl’s aunt hated her so much.”

The abrupt change of subject was unexpected, and struck me speechless.

She took advantage of it. “Apparently Julie Davenport—that’s the girl’s mother—was a bit of a handful and got herself barred from the private school Patricia had pulled strings to get her into, so Patricia hired a live-in tutor—a Mr. Jake Davis—and the problem appeared to be solved. Julie excelled under his tutelage, and everything seemed fine for a time.” Rose paused to make sure I was paying attention, then nodded. “Now, here’s where it gets good…

“…As time went on, ol’ Patricia ended up developing soft feelings for Jake, even though she was several years older than he was. She kept her feelings to herself, thinking it would be unseemly to entertain such ideas. After all, the man was living under her roof, in her employ. She refused to give her acquaintances food for gossip, so she held her peace, opting to wait until Julie graduated and wouldn’t need him as a teacher anymore, before revealing her true feelings. She’d already introduced her niece to the respectable young man whom she expected Julie marry, a man with good connections and fine parentage…a good match, as far as she was concerned. She was biding her time, but Julie had other ideas…”

Rose glanced at me and raised her eyebrows. “Ready?”

“Oh, just tell me and stop being so dramatic!”

You’d have thought I stuck her with a pin the way she flinched. My outburst was definitely not my usual reaction to her theatrics, and it threw her off. It took her a couple of seconds to recover.

“Okay, well…um…this is the part that frosted Patricia’s—um…I mean…what made her so angry that she took it out on Cleo. Unknown to her aunt, Julie had fallen for Jake, and it was more than just a crush. Even though he was almost ten years her senior, and he tried to discourage such feelings, soon he was as smitten with her as she was with him. The night after she’d officially graduated, they eloped, left Savannah, moved to the mountains of North Carolina, and about nine months later—some say less—Cleo was born.” She arched her eyebrow suggestively, waiting for some kind of response.

I knew what she wanted, and I was determined not to give it to her. It took conscious effort, but I kept my expression cool and detached; looking completely unfazed by her innuendo. The briefest of brief creases appeared between her brows for a split second. Nobody else would’ve even noticed it, but I did.

After a pause, she continued, but was now wearing a forced smile, “Patricia never got over it. After the accident that killed Julie and Jake, Cleo showed up on her aunt’s doorstep, the spitting image of her mother, only with her father’s remarkable eyes. It was more than Patricia could take. The resentment she’d felt at Julie’s betrayal, all the bitter feelings she’d kept bottled up inside, building for years, everything came gushing out the day the little Cleo arrived.”

When Rose finished, I was quiet for a long minute. If I allowed myself to think too deeply, my resolve would slip, so I steeled my spine. “Thank you for finding out for me, but if you think that changing the subject will make me forget about what you’ve done, you’re very much mistaken.”

I gave my sister a long, hard look, felt the sting of tears in spite of iron-fisting my emotions. “Goodbye, Rose,” I whispered.

Then I turned and limped away.

****

I’d taken no more than a half dozen steps, when someone grabbed my arm and spun me around. “There you are!” Cleo exclaimed. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere! No wonder I couldn’t find you…you aren’t wearing your hat.” She gave me an impulsive hug before demanding, “Are you okay?”

I nodded, my heavy heart already lightening a bit in the face of Cleo’s exuberance.

“Why didn’t you wake me up? I could’ve walked with you, done some more sketches.”

“A good laugh and a long sleep are the two best cures for anything.”

Cleo laughed. “Yay! I never thought I’d say this, but I’ve been missing your little sayings lately. What are you doing way up here?”

“I had to ask my sister something.”

Cleo’s eyes went wide, darting in every direction. “Rose? Rose is here?”

I stared over Cleo’s shoulder. Rose was still standing there, statue-like, in the same position, an unreadable expression on her face. “No, she’s not here,” I replied firmly, my eyes locked with my sister’s. Then I added, “Never make someone a priority, when you’re just their option.” At my words, Rose disappeared.

“Uh…okay,” Cleo replied, a confused look on her face. I was sure she was trying to figure out what relevance my comment had to the situation, but then she shrugged and asked, “Where are you going now?”

“Back to your house to check on Raymond, and to find a band-aid.”

“Band-aid? Are you hurt?”

“Just a blister.”

“Oh, wait! I think I have one in my backpack. Let me look.” She unzipped a couple of pockets, scrambled a few seconds and then exclaimed, “Voilà! Success! Here you go.”

I limped to a nearby step and sat down, unlacing my boot. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

“Better?” Cleo asked brightly, once I had retied my bootlace.

I groaned with relief. “Much! But I still need to check on Raymond.”

“Okay, but can I draw while we walk?”

“Life is about using the whole box of crayons.”

Cleo’s giggle made me smile.