Chapter Eleven #2
Winnie was a collector of rocks, each one representing a memory.
Once the Mason jars on her kitchen windowsill were filled, Winnie painted a few and shared them with others to make space for new rocks.
New memories. While passing Bailey Rae a palette of oils and a brush, Winnie allowed silences to stretch between them as they looked for the latest, smoothest stones to decorate.
A patient woman, proving she wasn’t going anywhere, she’d given Bailey Rae as much quiet space as she needed.
After a few art sessions, Winnie commented how the overflowing rocks were like stockpiled emotions, and when they overflowed, sometimes a person had to find a way to showcase the most important ones.
June tapped the edge of the market table with her knuckle. “Bailey Rae? Earth calling Bailey Rae?”
“Oh, sorry.” Bailey Rae jolted, shifting her focus to June and tucking the rock into the pocket of her jean shorts. “What were you saying?”
“I was chatting up Officer Underwood earlier, the fella who took your statement by the river.” June leaned closer.
“I slid in some questions about Gia—an easy-enough segue since she’s the drowned man’s sister-in-law.
Anyway, I’m sad to say she never did file a report for an order of protection against her husband. ”
“That’s disappointing.” To say the least. She was keenly aware that Aunt Winnie wouldn’t have failed. “I’m worried about her but running out of ideas to help.”
Bailey Rae wanted to race down to the police station and shout for justice. Except Winnie had lectured her more than once about catching more flies with honey. All a part of Winnie’s ongoing crusade to teach Bailey Rae about overcoming her anger-management problem.
She slammed the tailgate closed just as Libby’s voice carried on the wind.
Keith pushed her wheelchair while Thea and her husband walked arm in arm alongside.
Bailey Rae wanted to climb into the cab of her truck with her dog, go home, and crawl under the covers until the grief and frustration eased inside her.
No sooner had the thought formed than a memory blindsided her of hiding under a blanket in the back of her mother’s old station wagon, with the paneled siding and squealing brakes.
Bailey Rae dug deep and plastered a smile on her face, waving to her approaching friends. “I’m all out of the peaches. Sorry.”
Thea tucked her gloved hand deeper in the crook of her husband’s arm. “Looks like you sold most everything . Congratulations, dear.”
“One step closer to moving.” Why did she feel like there was unfinished business for her here, no matter how much of the old barn she cleared out?
“In the meantime, you know you’re welcome to stay with us. We have all those empty rooms since the kids moved away.”
Smiling, Bailey Rae shook her head. “Mr. Councilman, do you offer those spare rooms to everyone in town?”
“Only family,” Howard Tyler said, ever the politician. Polished and affable. The winning combination. Along with his family’s money from their paper mill.
Bailey Rae scratched her tightening throat. “Maybe I’ll take y’all up on that when I come to visit.”
Thea rubbed her elbow. “I’m going to hold you to that—”
Libby interrupted, waggling her cane from the wheelchair. “Thea, see that young lady over there? Doesn’t she look just like that teenager Winnie and I helped from North Carolina? She wouldn’t leave her dog behind, because how could she abandon her to the hands of—”
“Howard, honey,” Thea interrupted, hugging her hubby’s arm tighter. “If we hurry, we can get some fresh fruit before that last truck pulls away. Libby, would you like some too?”
“Oh yes, I’ve got a hankering for blueberry pancakes.
” Libby grabbed the arms of her wheelchair and began to push upward, only to sag back.
“I seem to be feeling a little weak today. I must have put in too much overtime at the paper mill. The assembly line is easier than when I worked custodial. But still. Maybe I’ll just sit here for a spell. Where’s Keith?”
Their close group went silent, the sorrow heavy as Libby inched even further away, retreating to a time when she and her friend had been able to help others. It hurt Bailey Rae to see, so she could only imagine how the woman’s decline pained the friends who’d known her for decades.
June squeezed Bailey Rae’s elbow, whispering, “I should help Keith. When Libby starts like this, she goes downhill fast. Are you okay with loading the rest?”
“I’ve got everything under control,” Bailey Rae said, understanding how much June would want to be with her friend right now. “Keith needs you far more than I do right now.”
When she was a kid, she’d thought that Keith and June were a couple.
After all, they were about the same age.
Later, as Keith married and divorced again and again, Bailey Rae realized they weren’t an item.
Their connection was more of a brother and sister sort.
They were a part of this strange family that went out of its way to help each other and just about anyone else who blew through town.
What would it have been like to add Gia and Cricket to the community? They would have fit right in. And she really didn’t want to think about how the only thing she looked forward to involved time spent with Martin. Because she tried so hard not to be like Yvonne.
Sure, Martin wasn’t like the men her mother had chosen, but that didn’t stop the fear of lowering her guard and losing control of her life. Better to focus on things she could fix, like checking in on Gia and readying for her final market on the Fourth of July.
Her hand went to the painted stone she’d pocketed earlier, the memory of Winnie ever present. The only answer for the anxiety churning inside her was to focus on her future and add pages to a photo album of her own making.
1978
I’d walked into the Bent Oak Public Library more times than I could count over the past seven years, but I’d never envisioned myself becoming an official part of the network that helped women find new lives away from abuse.
Yes, I’d promised to pay it forward, but more like being asked to donate a coat or give someone a ride.
As for the scary parts? I had planned to keep my head down.
Those other aspects of the operation could be handled by those more seasoned in the process.
For at least the fifth time in the past five minutes, I adjusted the paperwork on the table in the back room, in between running to peer outside the library’s massive stone-silled window overlooking the back parking lot.
Still no powder-blue Ford Maverick. The transport was only eleven minutes late, but each second felt like hours.
When I’d spoken to Annette at the hospital, the prospect of managing an intake had felt like an exciting adventure.
Now I couldn’t lie to myself. I was scared to the roots of my hair.
Not for myself. I’d already survived some of the worst heartaches life could throw at a person.
My fear stemmed from worry I would fall short, and this woman’s safety would be at risk.
Or that in some way I might jeopardize the entire network shielding other vulnerable women and children.
That day, though, when Thea had finally pulled into the parking lot in the blue compact car, I had no choice but to set my fear aside and step up.
Thankfully, Libby was manning the library’s front desk while I handled the rest. Initially, I’d worried that Libby might be jealous or hurt because Annette had put her trust in me for the riskier part of helping Thea take the next steps in assuming her new identity.
Outwardly at least, Libby seemed relieved to take her post, date-stamping books.
I suspected Annette had chosen me because I didn’t have a child depending on me if I got caught in the crosshairs somehow. I hoped Libby understood the same.
As I peered out the window into the back lot, I was reminded all too fully of how little we really knew about each other, not even our real names.
Finally—thank heaven, finally—the pale-blue sedan slid into a parking spot by the concrete steps. I yanked open the door and threw myself into the distraction of settling this new woman into our community—the newly named Thea Young.
From the moment I set eyes on her, I forced myself to think of her only as Thea. Her other name no longer existed, just as I had scrubbed my own from the corners of my mind. I certainly didn’t want to risk revealing her connection to the Davis family.
I wouldn’t have guessed at their kinship if Annette hadn’t told me, but that was a good thing.
That would make Thea’s new identity less complicated.
Thea was tall and confident, with the most incredible black hair spiraling past her shoulders.
She wore a chic jean jumpsuit, somehow managing to radiate composure and class during what had to be the most terrifying time of her life.
As I waved her into the back room, I wondered if I had ever been that sure of myself. I didn’t think so. Although that made me wonder how much harder it might be for her to adapt to a new life when her old one had brought her such self-assurance.
Then Thea’s appearance of confidence dimmed a bit as her coal-dark eyes darted around the back room of the library. “Where’s Annette?”
“I’m Winnie. I’m sorry to let you know that Annette’s in the hospital. She had a heart attack.” I rushed to add, “She’s going to be all right.” I prayed. “She sent me in her place. I’ve helped her in the past.”
That seemed the safest way to lend credence to my assistance, rather than explain I’d once stood in her very shoes. Well, not exactly her shoes. I wore my sneakers, scuffed from shifts at the mill, and she wore high heels with faux wood soles.
Thea fidgeted with her neckline, her pulse throbbing visibly in her throat. “I’m not in a position to argue.”
My nerves faded the deeper we sank into the meeting.
“Annette sent a note, if that helps.” I passed over the folded piece of paper.
According to Annette, she hadn’t written anything incriminating but shared a message in a code that the young woman would understand.
“I hope it makes sense to you. She said something about your grandmother teaching you to understand the special language.”
Thea unfolded the lined notepaper, scanned, then breathed a sigh of relief.
“My grandmother—Annette’s cousin—was a codebreaker during World War II.
Not something many people know. After the war, the men came home and took back their jobs.
My grandmother made a game out of sharing her skill with us. ”
Annette hadn’t gone into that much detail, but I treasured the nugget of information about Russell’s extended family.
I tapped the manila envelope on the round table. “Here’s the information about two job interviews for a bookkeeper position. One for a feed and farm supply store and the other at the paper mill.”
“Bookkeeper?” she said, her face a study in disappointment.
On the one hand, I felt sorry for her. On the other? Well, that other hand remembered all too well the sting of bleach from working long janitorial shifts.
“It’s a place to begin.” I tried to make the transition easier, because all mop buckets aside, I did comprehend the huge shock to the system that came from launching a whole new identity. “I realize you’re overqualified, and that none of what has happened to you is fair—”
She gave her head a shake. Resigned. “I understand. It’s what has to happen.”
As Thea kept rubbing the tissue along the tabletop, I noticed her fingertips were raw, much like mine had been back before I learned not to plunge my hands in a bucket of cleaning solution.
What had happened to her on her way here?
“Could I get you some lotion? I really wrecked my hands when I started working in the paper mill, with the chemicals and all.”
Pulling away, she clenched her fists. “It’s not that. I just can’t be found. Ever.”
The steeliness of her voice was underscored by the way her spine snapped straight.
Resolve, yes. But underneath that? A deep-seated fear that helped me understand the reason for her raw fingertips.
She’d scrubbed away her fingerprints to reduce the chance of detection.
Perhaps also the reason she kept cleaning off the table, just in case.
Annette had briefed me on Thea’s past, but I hadn’t considered the implications of a wider network, a dangerous one, determined to locate her. Such a different scenario from my own. If anything, Phillip wouldn’t have wanted to find me at all.
Any resentment over her pencil-pushing job vanished.
My heart ached for her. “Thea, I promise you,” I vowed, reaching across the table but stopping shy of touching her.
I could see now the confidence was a mask to hide her brittle control.
“I will make it my mission to help you find something that puts your education to good use.”
I’d experienced how the soul could wither when talents were denied. We’d had to make ourselves smaller in so many ways to escape detection. There had to be someplace to funnel our new sense of selves. A place for us to feel a sense of purpose and meaning.
Pushing the packet of paperwork across the tabletop, I passed on her new identity just as Annette had done for me, and the rush of fulfillment almost drove me to my knees. Was this a part of my purpose? A role in my life that had real meaning?
On some cellular level I’d come into my own, and I knew just what to say next.
“Thea, as Annette let you know, I can be trusted. But please understand that stories about your past like that one about your codebreaking grandmother can be as identifiable as fingerprints. You have to be very careful going forward how you spread them about.”
As I uttered those words, stepping into Annette’s shoes, a complete peace washed away the last vestiges of fear. I could do this. I would do this.
Finally, after all those years ago watching and admiring women on my old television set making a difference, I had found my way.
Close on the heels of that revelation came the realization that for the past seven years, I’d still been allowing others to take care of me.
Now I felt a soul-deep calling that it was my time to look after others.