Finding Eliza (3 page)

“Why, Jack Clydell, if I didn’t know better I’d think that you had a hand in this.” Lizzie laid on her Southern drawl as thick as she could. She added a slow toss of her long chestnut hair for added affect. If she couldn’t argue her way out of this with Jack she’d charm him there.

“Don’t go all ‘Scarlet’ on me. You know that I love plotting against you,” laughed Jack. “I’m also immune to that hair flick thing so keep on moving, lady.”

Lizzie reached for a piece of pizza and settled into the couch. “Gran seems to think that I’ll love it, but I just don’t think that genealogy is my forte. That’s looking at the past. The past is something that we work through, not something that we look for on purpose. I just don’t understand why my attendance is so important to her. She’s got her friends there. She doesn’t need me.”

Jack shook his head causing his bangs to land in his eyes just as Lizzie liked them. “You don’t understand. Lizzie, you’re all she has left. She’s the keeper of the family stories. She’s the one with the photos and the family names. Miss Gertrude lost her husband and her only son. She’s an only child just like you. We haven’t had children yet, so guess what girl? You’re her only descendant. If you don’t care about the family history, no one will. Whether you like it or not, Lizzie, she’s going to pass her research to you. It’s up to you to decide if you are going to carry on her legacy or let it fade away.”

Lizzie knew that Jack was right. Today she thought about a lot of old memories, but she hadn’t been thinking of her grandmother in any of them. Her mind had limited her pain by keeping a tight circle of memories in view. When she gave herself permission to think about her family she couldn't ignore the gaping hole that existed in her family tree. The only branches that remained were Lizzie and Gertrude.

Her paternal grandfather, John Hines, had passed away when she was just a little girl. She had seen his photos and heard her grandmother’s stories, but she didn’t remember him beyond those items. The family stories that Gertrude shared created the only memories that Lizzie had of her grandfather. Family stories and history were important to Gertrude because they proved the ones she loved existed. Less than ten years later, a car crash took the life of Elton, Lizzie’s father and Gertrude’s only child.

Lizzie found herself thinking back to the night of the accident. In her mind, the sky turned dark and lightening flashed. She could hear the sounds of her mother praying. Before she realized it, she was lost in thought two decades away from the pizza that was growing cold on her plate.

“Lizzie? Honey? Where are you?” asked Jack.

Lizzie looked up to see her husband’s concerned face.

“I’m sorry, honey. Did you say something?” Lizzie wasn’t sure how long she was lost in thought, but it had been long enough that she didn't hear a word her husband had said.

“I was just saying that I thought it was a good idea for you to go with Miss Gertrude. It will make her happy, and you need something to occupy your thoughts. You seem to have a lot of them lately,” said Jack. “It might do you some good to find a little distraction.”

Sliding further down into the overstuffed couch, Lizzie wiped her now flush forehead with the back of her hand. The room was warmer than she had remembered. She had lost her appetite as well as her will to fight against both her grandmother and her husband.

“Okay, Jack. I give. I’ll go. After all, it’s just a little family history.” What could go wrong?

Chapter Three

Lizzie’s hands gripped the steering wheel as she slowed the Suburban to a stop in front of the church. She hadn’t realized how nervous she was until she noticed how white her knuckles had become. The sun was setting, casting a shining light in her eyes that caught her off guard. She rested her head against the wheel to avoid the glare and took in deep breaths to calm her nerves. Breathing out slowly, she regained control and sat up straight in the driver’s seat. Before leaving home, Jack had drilled her numerous times to be sure that she would exhibit the proper behavior. Keep smiling. Say she is having fun. Try to enjoy the evening. Check.

“You can do anything for a few hours, Lizzie,”
he said as she left the house.

Lizzie knew that Jack was right. She could do anything for a few hours. “Time to face ‘The Gals’,” she said under her breath.

Lizzie swung the vehicle into the closest parking space. As soon as she threw the engine into park she saw some familiar faces. Two ladies in their seventies approached. One rushed to the driver’s side door while the other swayed slowly to a stop near the front of the truck. These were Gertrude’s trusted friends and confidants. Having been a part of their family long before her father was born, they became the cornerstone of Lizzie’s life. Still, she sometimes felt like a victim of the Inquisition when they swarmed her in pairs. Their sweet faces and graying hair hid the truth: they could pry a secret out of a dead man. Lizzie held back a ripple of giggles as she pictured the scene.

Although she knew both of them by name, Lizzie collectively called them “The Gals.” From the time Lizzie remembered, the friends called each other “gal” as a term of endearment. Hearing it as a child, Lizzie thought it was their name and began calling them each “gal,” much to their amusement. The moniker stuck, and from that point on everyone in their immediate circle called them by the group nickname.

These women had something special. They had experienced joy and pain together for decades creating a bond that acted as both protection and support as needed. When Gertrude lost her husband to a sudden heart attack, The Gals were there. When she lost her son and daughter-in-law in a devastating car crash, The Gals were there. When she wrestled with an emotional and angry teenage girl, again, The Gals were there. As much as Lizzie hated the idea of being part of the genealogy group this evening, she loved how she felt when The Gals were together. It was like Christmas and her birthday all rolled into one because they knew her better than anyone, even Jack. They had become her champions, her cheerleaders, and her best friends. They were her family.

Looking through the window, Lizzie smiled at the faces that greeted her.

“Lizzie, darlin’! I’m so glad you’re here!” Lizzie’s friend raised her hands in the air and shook them in happy celebration being careful that her purse didn't slide down toward her face. “We’ve got the family back together again.”

“Hey, Ms. Abi! Give me a hug. Have I ever missed you.” Lizzie slid out of the truck and into Abi’s arms. Her hug was so familiar that Lizzie felt like a young girl all over again. The stress of the day washed away instantly.

Abigail Langdon was one of Gertrude’s oldest and dearest friends. They leaned on each other through seven decades of joy and pain. Growing up together in Everett Springs, the two best friends dated and later married local boys who were also best friends. Locals had joked that it was a story made in Hollywood. Like Lizzie’s grandmother, Abigail was now a widow. Walter Langdon had passed away following a terrible illness a decade before Gertrude’s husband. The ordeal could have left Abigail broken and lonely if it weren’t for her strong faith and friendships. Never having any children of their own, Abi and Walt considered Lizzie’s father a son of their own heart. After the accident claimed the lives of Elton and Grace, Abigail grieved alongside Gertrude for the loss of her surrogate son. As she had the day Lizzie was born, Abigail once again vowed to be family to the little girl who survived alone. Following through on her promise, she had always been a safe harbor for Lizzie as she navigated her life.

“I see you’re jumping on Gran’s bandwagon to brainwash me into loving genealogy, too,” Lizzie teased.

“You know what, sweetie? I won’t have to convince you to like it once you get in there. Before you know it, you’ll be chasing dead people like the rest of us! Trust me. It’s addictive.” Abi couldn’t contain her excitement as she waved to the woman who stood just beyond the hood of the Suburban. “Blue - look who’s here!”

Agnes “Blue” Meriwether walked around the front of the vehicle and joined the friends. Agnes was another life-long friend to both Gertrude and Abigail. As a child, Agnes loved the color blue so much that everything she wore included it even if it meant adding a thread or an accent of the color. From that point on her nickname became “Blue” to the girls of the town. Like most nicknames, this one was never outgrown. At seventy-eight years young, she continued to be their Blue.

“Please, Abi. We knew it was just a matter of time before our plan got her here,” Blue sang in her slow southern drawl. “This’ll do you good, baby girl. Just you watch.”

“Oh, Blue!” scolded Abigail. “You hush. We promised Tru that we wouldn’t say a word.”

“Stop acting like I’m letting the cat out of the bag. Lizzie isn’t a bump on a log. She knows perfectly well what we’re up to with this plot. This child is struggling, and we’re throwing her a rope. Now let’s get in there before I leave you lunatics and take her out for a drink.”

Blue was a good, church-going lady with a fun wild streak and a fondness for a nip of whiskey every now and again. Spunkier than the others, she took immense pleasure in teasing her teetotaler friends. Lizzie adored her way of dealing with life. Ms. Blue didn’t give you any sugar-coated half-truths. She assumed that as adults, these women could handle the realities of what faced them. If they couldn’t, she intended to teach them how to do it.

Linking arms, the ladies continued their walk toward the church building. Lizzie loved these grounds. Visitors entering the church walked along a stone path leading from the parking lot to the back of the building. As the path continued up the sloping hill, a section of the walkway veered to the left away from the building. The second path climbed to an outdoor venue complete with gazebo, picnic tables, and playground. Outdoor luncheons took place here for events from birthday parties to baby dedications. Lizzie remembered playing on these stones with church friends after Sunday services. The stones sat at such a distance that it made them the perfect tool for a summer game of hopscotch. Many times the kids would steal a stick of chalk from the Sunday School room to create their board. The adults would often pretend to scold them for their illegal act. As an adult, Lizzie knew that in reality they were just thrilled that the kids wanted to stay after service to play on church grounds.

Lizzie howled, indulging herself in the first real laugh of the day. “I knew it! It was a plot!”

She gave them each a glance intended to appear displeased, knowing that they would see right through it. Despite her angst over participating in the evening, she was beginning to enjoy herself. It was sweet to find out that the ladies had worked together to get her here. Their feisty behavior reminded her that despite their age they weren’t ready for the porch of the local senior home. The shared giggles of the three started coming together like the threads on a quilt as they made their way up the hill together.

“Of course we had a plot, sugar. Don’t you think we can see when our girl is having troubles? We’ve been together longer than you’ve been alive, sugar. We know when one of our own needs help. And you, Lizzie, need some help,” Blue said as she turned to give Lizzie a comedic look, complete with rolling eyes.

Blue was spot on, but Lizzie wasn’t going to tell them that.

“I don’t know why you think I’m so delicate. I’m fine. There’s nothing wrong with me. I promise.”

The pair walking with her came to a stop. Taking Lizzie’s face into her aging hands, Abi looked deep into her young friend’s eyes. “My dear, coming up on an anniversary like the death of your parents is enough to make anyone sad. It’s normal. We’re here for you.”

Lizzie patted her surrogate grandmother’s hands. She loved these women more than words could express.

“Yoo hoo!” sang a voice from the church door.

Claudia “Claud” Brown popped her head out of the church door. The fourth and final member of The Gals, she was the only one not native to the town. Coming into the group of friends later than the initial trio, an outsider would never know it from their relationships. Claud’s husband Charlie was the older brother of Abi’s husband Walter. Claud was a local girl who he met while he was a sailor in the US Navy stationed in Jacksonville. After the war, Charlie brought her back home to Everett Springs to marry and raise a family. She was immediately welcomed by her new sister-in-law and included in everything the friends did from that point on. A few years younger than the other ladies in the group, she became the little sister that none of them had. Though just as tough as her friends, Claud had a naive air about her that set her apart. It also happened to protect her from the sadness of life, making her the uplifting spirit in the group.

“Come on in! We’re about ready to get started. Coats in the closet and drinks on the table. Grab a snack and let’s begin. It’s genealogy time, girls!” Claudia squeezed Lizzie a second time and then ushered her into the fellowship hall of the church. “Glad you’re finally here, Lizzie, darling. I’ve missed you. You’ll love it. I promise!”

After the quick hello, Claud was off to make sure everything was in order. Being the hostess of the group, she thrived on any kind of organized gathering. It was no wonder she was the one in charge of social events at the church. Lizzie remembered fondly the many birthday parties Claud arranged for her as a child. Each woman in the group had their own special strengths. Creating fabulous get-togethers was Claud’s.