Chapter 15 All That She Carried
Betsy Wright was all cried out. So she didn’t shed a tear as she stood in front of Lula Dean’s house, where the yard bristled with campaign signs.
make troy great again. vote lula dean.
lula loves libraries!
fear god, praise jesus, vote lula!
Lula was running for mayor against Beverly Underwood. That’s what you got in Troy—a choice between a rich blond white lady and a rich white lady with orange hair. Some would say it was progress to have two women in the race. Betsy wasn’t fooled. Those ladies belonged to the same group who’d always run the place. Maybe they were slapping lipstick on their pigs now, but that was the only thing that had changed. And right there was the proof, on a banner fixed to the street-facing side of Lula’s white picket fence.
rally in support of troy’s confederate heroes!
jackson square, 6 p.m.
tonight!
Betsy read it twice over, her heart breaking for her husband, James. She’d warned him time and again not to place so much faith in Lula Dean. Betsy knew Lula better than most people in town—and she knew Lula loved novels that wouldn’t make it past any censors. Lula leading a crusade against dirty books was like Colonel Sanders waging a war against chicken. But James had believed in his heart that Lula’s cause was righteous. Even though she’d predicted he’d end up disappointed, Betsy hated to see herself proven right.
Confronted by the hateful sign, she almost turned around and walked away. But she’d brought something that belonged to Lula, and she was determined to return it. Betsy opened her pocketbook and pulled out the book her son Elijah had given her. Rivals and Lovers had no place in a little library where young children might find it, so Betsy slid it into Lula’s mailbox and raised the red flag. Before she left, she closed her eyes and prayed that would be the very last contact her family would ever have with Lula Dean.
As she passed through the town square, the courthouse clock told Betsy there was time left on her lunch hour. The florist shop where she’d worked for thirty years was less than three blocks away. She had a few minutes to sit and think. She’d started at Fairview Florist right out of school, cleaning the floors and plucking faded petals off all the roses. When the owner retired, she’d bought the place from him. She was the boss now, but she’d never forgotten how hard her father, who’d worked at the mill from the age of sixteen, had fought for the right to eat lunch in peace. So Betsy took a sixty-minute break every day in his honor. She rarely ate much of anything, but not even the Queen of England could persuade Betsy Wright to fill an order between the hours of one and two.
Instead, she often came to Jackson Square to sit, and she always chose the same bench near the fountain in the center of the park. When her boys were little, she’d brought them here to run wild and get the silliness out of their systems before she took them home to their father. She did so because of that statue that loomed over the square, not despite it. She wanted Augustus Wainwright to see her sons enjoying their birthright—the beautiful park that had been bought and built with the blood, sweat, and tears of their people. Few things delighted her as much as imagining that bastard rolling around in his grave.
A flock of starlings took flight, and Betsy saw Isaac and Elijah chasing after them. In her mind, the boys were still little. In her heart, they would never grow up. Isaac was seventeen years old and well over six feet, but just a week back, she’d caught herself reaching out for him as they crossed a street. Elijah was big enough now to pick Betsy up and toss her into the air. But he still needed a kiss from his mama before he went to sleep every night.
In the old days, it was Elijah who’d worried Betsy, not his brother. The boy had been born without filters or restraints. Whatever he was feeling spilled right out of his mouth. Every impulse that hit him got indulged. He sang when he felt like it. He petted every dog and chased every squirrel. Once, at the Piggly Wiggly, he’d run up to Mr. Pig and jumped right into his arms. Russell Moore was a good man, so Elijah had gotten a hug and an apple in return. Betsy made sure her son knew that others around town might not be so kind, but Elijah couldn’t conceive of an enemy. He’d never met anyone who wasn’t a friend. And though everyone liked to pretend times were different, that zest for life could still get a Black child killed.
Betsy had thanked the Lord every day that Elijah had Isaac to keep him safe. As an infant, Isaac rarely cried, but he was naturally cautious. When he took everything in with those big beautiful eyes, you could almost see the gears in his mind whirling as he studied the situation and calculated the risks. As a boy, he’d never stopped his brother from reveling in life, but he was always there, waiting to step in if necessary. When Elijah danced too close to a campfire, Isaac yanked him back. If a pit bull decided it didn’t want to be nuzzled, Isaac would distract it while Elijah escaped. And on the many occasions when his motormouth brother got himself sent to the principal, Isaac would show up to act as his counsel.
Isaac reminded Betsy so much of her father, who’d died long before her boys were born. When she was a girl, her father made sure she knew the history of their town—and the unacknowledged role their family had played in it. Betsy was proud to learn that her father had been one of the workers who’d fought for fair treatment at the mill—and surprised when he admitted how scared he’d been. Over time, though, she realized what he’d described was bravery. Her father had known just how high the stakes were at the time. Other families had been run out of town—or worse—for protesting. But her father wouldn’t let those in power use his fear to control him.
Elijah may have been fearless, but his brother was the brave one. Betsy had seen it when Isaac told them all he was gay. He’d announced it at dinner, with no preamble or explanation. Looking back, she was sorry she’d burst into tears. But Isaac didn’t know the world the way she did. For once, her brilliant, brave boy had miscalculated the risks. He hadn’t anticipated his father’s reaction. He hadn’t consulted the pastor or the Bible. And he certainly hadn’t considered how hard life could be for a young man in the South who was Black and homosexual. But the truth was, Betsy didn’t fault Isaac. She cried—and kept crying—because she was to blame. A mother’s most important role is to prepare her children for the day when she’s no longer there to protect them. When Isaac insisted he was the same person he’d always been, she knew he was right. She’d been too blinded by pride to set her boy on the right path from the very beginning. She was the one who’d let him go astray.
For three weeks, she’d watched in despair as the revelation ripped her family apart. James needed something to blame, and Lula Dean stepped in with a scapegoat. Betsy knew that a book hadn’t turned their son gay any more than the romance novels she’d once loved had made her a harlot. Betsy wasn’t convinced the Concerned Parents Committee even cared about books. She pointed out that some of the members—like that Walsh boy—seemed downright sketchy. Even James’s faith wavered after Nathan Dugan was exposed as a Nazi. But Lula swore she hadn’t really known Dugan at all. The committee was open to the public. She had no control over who showed up at the meetings.
Betsy knew why James was so willing to believe her. He’d always been one of the most conservative members of their community. Family and faith were the bedrock of his existence. Finding out he’d raised a gay son had shaken both. Joining the CPC had given him a sense of control. James couldn’t stand feeling helpless—and Betsy loved him too much to tell him there was nothing he could do. The die had been cast. Their son was not going to change.
Betsy saw her husband flail while her eldest son pulled away, and she felt helpless to prevent the disaster she saw hurtling toward them. Then Elijah came to her with a book—the same book James believed had ruined their eldest son. The boy was convinced that Rivals and Lovers would change her mind about his brother’s fate.
“You really read this?” Holding the three-hundred-page book in her hand, Betsy couldn’t help but be skeptical. Elijah had many fine qualities, but he’d never had the attention span for reading. It had taken him two months just to finish Old Yeller.
“Yes, ma’am,” Elijah confirmed. “But don’t worry! I still like girls. Well, one girl. Anyways, it didn’t make me gay.”
Betsy merely nodded at that. It was not the time to speak her mind on the subject of Bella Cummings.
“You read the whole thing?”
“Yes, ma’am. This afternoon,” Elijah told her. “It’s really boring. All they do is drink wine and have babies. I think you should read it, too.”
“You’re asking me to read a boring book about gay men drinking wine?”
“Not for me, Mom. For Isaac. Please?”
It wasn’t what Elijah said. It was the way he said it. It sounded like he was pleading for the person he loved most in the world. Bringing their family back together was all that mattered to her youngest son. And in a moment of perfect clarity, Betsy realized it was the only thing that mattered to her, too.
“I know you’re worried about Isaac’s soul, but we’re going to lose him while we’re here on earth,” Elijah told her. “And I really don’t think hell could be any worse.”
Out of the mouth of babes came the truth. Pure and simple and unmistakable. “Okay, honey,” Betsy promised him. “I’ll read it.”
Elijah’s face lit up with a joy so pure it had to be heavenly. That’s when Betsy began to wonder if maybe the Lord wasn’t sending a message. Then Elijah told her where he’d found the book, and she almost dropped to her knees. “God talks to people all the time,” Betsy’s father used to say, “but most of us never listen.” This time, Betsy heard him loud and clear.
It had been a good five years since Betsy and Lula had exchanged more than a brief hello as they passed each other in the grocery store. Lula quit work at the florist after her husband died unexpectedly and the insurance made her rich. Before that, she and Betsy had worked side by side for almost fifteen years. Lula had hated every minute of it. She felt the work was beneath her and wasn’t afraid to say so. Betsy had to ask Jesus for patience whenever Lula rambled on about the Lambert mill—or talked about how much respect she had for “you folks.” Both subjects came up almost daily.
Mostly, though, she felt sorry for Lula, who kept careful track of where everyone stood on the town’s social ladder. When they lost the mill, her family had slipped several rungs, and Lula spent most of her waking hours trying to work her way back up. Lula didn’t consider her coworker competition, and Betsy had no desire to play the white women’s game. But that didn’t make it any less fascinating to hear Lula’s tales of treachery, betrayal, and backhanded compliments. The ladies of Troy had devised a secret language just to put one another down. You could insult someone’s whole family by bringing the wrong dish to a potluck. They used words like nice and sweet as their daggers and would stab you right in the heart with a cute. And heaven forbid anyone ever said you mean well.
Lula knew the language, and she was a talented storyteller. Betsy told her as much, though she was convinced Lula’s flair for drama could have been put to much better use. The tales Lula told always left her agitated or enraged or somewhere in between. For reasons that remained shrouded in mystery, Lula was obsessed with Beverly Underwood. None of it made sense to Betsy. Here was a woman who had a kind husband, a comfortable home, and two children she adored. Lula had everything she needed to be blissfully happy. Instead, she insisted on taking part in a game that made her life miserable. It never occurred to her that she did not have to play.
After Lula’s husband died, Lord knows what might have become of her if it hadn’t been for the twins. Taylor and Talia were babies when Lula came to work at the florist shop, and Betsy got to know them both over the years. They were pretty little things—so well-behaved and polite. Lula was right to be proud of them. Her devotion to those children was a marvel to behold. She often arrived at work exhausted, having worked half the night making them the beautiful clothes she couldn’t afford but thought they deserved. Whenever one of the twins starred in a school play or musical, Lula would tape a poster in the florist’s front window and pass out flyers to anyone who stopped by. She devoted her weekends to the pageant circuit, and crafted extravagant costumes to distract the judges from Talia’s stage fright.
Then, the day they graduated from high school, Lula’s children up and vanished. Betsy saw Lula at the Piggly Wiggly later that summer and noticed how much she’d changed. She was still a young woman, but it was like the life had gone out of her. She told Betsy the twins were at Ole Miss and left it at that. She didn’t brag about their grades, accomplishments, or countless charms. Later, Betsy heard she’d been telling people they were both at Tulane. Now she claimed the twins were living in Birmingham, “doing the Lord’s work.” Whatever that meant. But one thing was for certain. In the years since they’d been gone, neither one of Lula’s children had paid their mother a visit. And in those years, Lula Dean had lost her mind.
Betsy understood. Lula was all alone. Few knew how her husband’s death had shaken her. All they saw was the money. People whispered she’d killed him, and Betsy couldn’t imagine how much that hurt. Lula must have known then that no matter how hard she tried, they’d never let her fit in. When her kids skipped town, it probably felt like she had nothing left. There she was, all by herself in that frilly pink house, with no one to give her the attention she coveted or the respect she desired. So she did whatever it took to get it.
Lula spent two weeks in front of the rec center informing parents that yoga could turn their babies Hindu. She wrote passionate Facebook posts complaining about the pornographic swimsuits being worn to the local pool. She bought three boxes of Samoas from a Girl Scout troop in Jackson Square—then called 911 to complain they were running a business on public property. Her behavior made Lula a local joke. Most folks went out of their way to avoid her. People who knew Talia and Taylor claimed she’d driven them nuts. Then Lula had found a book filled with dirty cakes—and with it came all the attention she’d ever craved.
When Betsy took Rivals and Lovers back, she’d planned to pay Lula a visit. She wished she’d done so years ago. Maybe she could have worked the conversation around to Taylor and Talia. See if she could find out if there was anything she could do. That woman needed her children just as much as Betsy needed hers. Then Lula had to go and plan a rally for Augustus Wainwright.
“Passed your boy on Main Street a few minutes ago.”
Betsy opened her eyes to see Delvin Crump coming toward her. He nodded at the statue. “Suppose I’ll be seeing you and James here at the rally this evening?”
“Excuse me?” Her husband had known Delvin Crump since grade school. Despite their political differences, they’d always been friends. Betsy had assumed Delvin was solid. But the postman was clearly on drugs. “You’re going to celebrate this town’s Confederate heroes?”
Delvin’s forehead furrowed like she’d just spoken gibberish. “I’d rather eat glass than celebrate the Confederacy. I want to see what Isaac has planned.”
Betsy pressed one hand to her heart. “My Isaac?”
Delvin reached into his postal bag and pulled out a flyer, which he passed to Betsy.
join us in jackson square at 6 p.m.
and learn the truth about
troy’s confederate hero
Betsy stared at the piece of paper. The truth about Troy’s Confederate hero. Dear Lord, she asked herself, what has Isaac discovered?
“Isaac and Bella Cummings were passing them out. You didn’t know?”
“All I know is that Cummings girl has Isaac putting himself in harm’s way and Elijah swooning like a lovesick fool. She’s trouble for both my boys, that one.”
“So I’m guessing the protest didn’t get your stamp of approval,” Delvin noted.
“Isaac should know better. If there’s a price to pay, he’s the one who’ll be paying it. That pretty little prom queen’s got nothing to lose. Nobody’s going to shoot her or drive her car off the road. Things are different for Isaac. Those men hunted down Ahmaud Arbery, and all he did was set foot on a building site. He didn’t demand they pull down a statue. Imagine what they’ll do to protect their damn heroes.”
Delvin wasn’t smiling after that. He knew every word she said was true. “I don’t think the protest was Bella’s idea.”
“Probably not.” Betsy knew she’d been uncharitable. “That boy gets more like his granddaddy every day.”
“Well, for what it’s worth, I’m grateful. That statue needs to be sent straight to the scrapyard, and Isaac is brave for saying what needs to be said. You and James did a wonderful job bringing that boy up. I’m happy to help y’all watch out for him.”
The jury was still out on her parenting, but Delvin was right about Isaac. If only the world would see him the way she did. “You know he’s gay, don’t you?” She hadn’t meant to say it. The words just slipped out. She whispered it like a secret, even though the whole town must have heard.
Betsy was shocked to see the postman shrug like it meant nothing. “That’s what they’re saying, but I’m not sure why it should make any difference,” Delvin said. “Books are being banned in this town. Nazis are hiding in basements. Lula Dean is running for mayor, and folks are worried about kids being gay?”
“The pastor says Isaac’s soul is in jeopardy.”
“Oh, come on,” Delvin said gently. “You really believe that?”
Betsy didn’t know what she believed anymore. “The Bible says men lying with men is an abomination.”
“The Bible’s got about a million words and that’s the only quote people can ever come up with to prove God frowns on gay folks. It’s from the Old Testament, which also says pigs are unclean and shouldn’t be touched. I don’t recall the pastor turning his nose up at any barbecue.”
Betsy laughed at the thought. “Last time he was at our house for dinner, I was pretty sure he was going to eat a whole pig.”
“Even if he did, he’d only be guilty of gluttony,” Delvin declared. “Once Jesus arrived on the scene, all those Old Testament laws no longer applied. The New Testament tells us we’re supposed to follow Christ, not the old ways. And as far as I know, Jesus never said a damn thing about gay folks or barbecue. But he sure did talk a lot about love.”
Those words lingered in Betsy’s mind for the rest of the workday.
She had been blessed with two wonderful sons who had brought her immeasurable happiness. Why in God’s name would she want to change them? Why would she think for one second that was what the Lord wanted? The book Elijah found was a message, that much was certain. It was God’s way of warning her not to share Lula’s fate. Her duty was to keep her family together and love them with all of her heart.
That was something Betsy knew she could do.
When she arrived home that evening, Betsy found her husband sitting on the screened-in back porch. The ice in the tea beside him had melted, leaving a layer of clear water floating atop the dark liquid. The back porch was where he came to fume or sulk. He stared out at the pokeweed forest that grew every summer on their neighbor’s property and dripped purple poison berries into their yard.
“I walked by Lula Dean’s house this afternoon,” Betsy told him.
“I’m through with all that,” James told her.
Betsy said nothing, just pulled up a chair beside him. They’d survived so many disappointments over the years—watched so many people reveal their true selves. But even now, after all they’d been through, Betsy couldn’t bear to know he’d been hurt. She felt James’s pain more intensely than she felt her own.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
“I thought she had changed. I was sure she was a righteous woman now.” He turned to his wife. “Can you believe she had the gall to ask me to attend that rally and stand on the stage next to her and Mitch Sweeney? She wanted a Black face up there so she can claim she’s not racist.”
Betsy had no trouble believing it. “Lula’s a troubled soul,” she told him. “No doubt. But we have bigger fish to fry right now. Isaac is staging a counterprotest at the rally. I think maybe he knows about Augustus.”