The Pecan Man(50)

Chip and Clara Jean Smallwood arrived the next day at 1:00 p.m. and took me to the graveside service out at the county cemetery. I recognized the chaplain from the prison. He had aged since the last time I saw him, but I remembered him as a kind man and one who genuinely cared about the souls of the inmates.

He was standing by the casket, speaking with a woman I had not met, but knew immediately. She was as dark as Blanche had been, but the opposite in stature. Tall and thin, Tressa Mims Hightower was an imposing figure, strikingly beautiful with sharp, intense features that did not immediately reflect the ready smile that greeted me when I introduced myself.

“Miz Beckworth, at last.” Tressa’s voice was as smooth as her mahogany skin.

“You’re Eddie’s daughter,” I said.

“Yes, Ma’am. I’m Tressa Hightower.”

“I have his belongings. He had two pictures of you, and a couple of others. Would you like to have them back?”

“Yes, Ma’am, I would. We don't have many photographs of my family in the early years.”

I nodded. It was yet another thing I took for granted. I searched for something to say.

“Will you stay in Mayville for a while or are you leaving after the memorial?”

“I’ll be leaving tomorrow morning. I have to stop in Montgomery before I head home.”

“Business?” I asked.

“Always,” she smiled. “I’m an attorney.”

“Oh,” I failed to keep the surprise from my voice. “Eddie didn’t…Eddie never…”

“That’s quite all right, Miz Beckworth,” Tressa smiled again. “I didn’t speak of him much either.”

“I knew your father to be a good man,” I said, suddenly a bit defensive.

“At times he was,” she agreed. “I owe him a great deal.”

“But?”

“Buts don’t matter now, Miz Beckworth. It was what it was and it’s over now. You’re very kind and I appreciate what you tried to do for him. I know he appreciated it, too.”

I didn’t know how to respond to that. And it was not the time or place, regardless. I’d like to think it was kindness that I extended to Eddie, but I can’t look back to a single thing I did for him that was selfless in any way.

A car pulled up beside us breaking the brief uncomfortable silence that had just taken hold. All four doors opened at once and Blanche’s girls appeared, solemnly at first, but unable to disguise the smiles that were meant for me alone.

“Miz Ora!” Grace cried and bolted into my arms, causing Clara to clutch my elbow to support me.

Grace was rail-thin, almost emaciated. What frightened me the most was that Patrice told me how much better she looked now that she had been clean for a few months.

It was as if I were still holding that tiny broken child I took from Blanche’s arms so many years ago. I wanted to go tuck her into bed and hide her wounds with soft chenille and a mother’s sorrow.

“Let me look at you,” I said and, forcing a smile, pushed her away from me and held her at arm’s length.

“Miz Ora,” she cried again, her tears flowing freely.

“Stop, or you’ll make an old lady cry,” I grumped.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “It’s just been so long.”

“Too long,” I agreed. “And who are these other women with you? My heavens, your sisters are getting old!”

Danita and ReNetta moved forward, each kissing me soundly on opposite cheeks. Patrice stood back, smiling like a mother with her brood. Blanche had been dead for only three years, but Patrice had always helped raise the other girls. It was Patrice who stayed in touch and kept me up to date with their lives. It was Patrice who continued to visit Eddie in prison when it became too difficult a journey for me to make. She saw him only two weeks before his death, took him a pound cake baked by Dovey Kincaid’s daughter, who was now Patrice’s best friend. The Lord works in mysterious ways, I’ve always thought.

Tressa Hightower cleared her throat behind me.

“Oh, goodness,” I said. “I’ve forgotten my manners. Girls, there’s someone I’d like you to meet.”

I brought Tressa into my circle of family and made the necessary introductions. “These are Blanche’s girls, Patrice, ReNetta, Danita and Grace. Girls, this is…” I hesitated only for a second. “This is your Aunt Tressa."

I’m not sure who was more stunned by my revelation. I hadn’t intended to tell the girls until after the funeral. But, in that brief moment of introduction, truth compelled me like it never had before.

I explained, as briefly as I could, what Eddie's letter had revealed. We would talk more of it later, but for now it was only fitting and proper that the girls know for whom they were grieving and honor their grandfather for his life and for his sacrifice.

While everyone stood in open-mouthed silence, the chaplain called for the memorial to begin. The chaplain’s words were kind, but rather generic, I thought. He spoke of Eddie’s gentle nature, how he never caused trouble in his ward and how he was often called on to pray for others. He told of the pictures Eddie kept on his wall and how he must have truly loved and missed his family. He spoke of God’s forgiveness and I felt comforted by that. By God’s grace, I would one day be redeemed for my own shortcomings and that day had never seemed closer than it did when they lowered Eddie’s body into the earth. I decided not to bury my lie with him, no matter what the cost.