House Divided
Authors: Jennifer Peel
House Divided
By Jennifer Peel
© 2015 by Jennifer Peel.
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Amazon Kindle. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
To my daughter, Ashley, who made us a
House Divided by choosing to be an Auburn fan. Thank you for reminding me of
the wonderment of young love. Roll Tide!
Contents
My Aunt Lu had three rules that had to be
abided by: Rule one, your blood must bleed orange and blue. ‘War Eagle’ are
sacred, oft spoke words. If you’ve ever lived in Alabama, you know what that
means. There is a law irrevocably decreed in the state of Alabama that you must
choose a team. You’re either an Auburn fan or an Alabama Fan. There is no fence
sitting or waffling. It’s one or the other, and one must never, ever change
sides. Rule two, no beauty pageants or crowns. If you knew my Aunt Lu, you
would probably think this was a strange rule. You see, she was Miss Alabama and
then Miss America. LuAnne Eaton was the fairest creature in all the land back
in her day, with her long auburn hair, fair skin, and deep brown eyes. But you
have to know rule number three to understand rule number two. Rule three was the
most important rule, and it superseded all other rules. No Eaton woman will
ever date a Jackson man. From what I can gather, Aunt Lu was once engaged to
Isaac Jackson—that is until she brought home her friend, Elizabeth Lawson,
First Runner-Up in the Miss America Pageant. Elizabeth Lawson became Elizabeth
Jackson.
Of course, then there is the unspoken rule:
One must attend church every Sunday. But that’s just because we live in the
south.
The Jackson Family had three rules too.
They were as follows: Your blood bleeds crimson, you must date and marry a
beauty queen, no exception. (The more crowns and titles, the better.) And most
importantly, no Jackson man will ever date an Eaton woman.
In Kaysville, Alabama, where we all lived,
everyone knew the rules, and you were either a friend of the Eaton Family or
the Jackson Family—there was no intermingling. We were a town divided between
Eatons and Jacksons, Auburn and Alabama, the left and right side at church. If
you were a friend of the Eatons, that meant you sat on the right side of church
and you had blue and orange blood. The only person not required to choose a
side was the pastor. To be a pastor at the church in Kaysville, you had to
remain undeclared or half of your congregation would have you ousted. Just ask
poor Pastor Giles, who now lives out of state.
Isaac Jackson owned the only bank in town,
Kaysville First National, and half the town. My Aunt Lu owned the other half.
Aunt Lu had married a rich oil tycoon from Texas, who had a penchant for beauty
queens; and he’d left her the sole beneficiary in his will. Aunt Lu also
inherited something else, maybe inherited isn’t the right word, but either way,
she took me in and raised me as her own. She never had any of her own children,
and for all intents and purposes, before Aunt Lu, I never had real parents.
From the time I could remember, I was
taught to eat, live and breathe the rules. Don’t get me wrong, living with Aunt
Lu was the best. Those were really the only rules she had. If I wanted
chocolate cake for breakfast, I had chocolate cake. If I wondered what Paris
was like, we went to Paris. We had tea parties on the veranda, pillow fights
and late night cuddles. And although I was never allowed to be in a beauty
pageant, I was schooled in how to walk, talk and act like a beauty queen. I had
piano, dance, voice, and elocution lessons. Aunt Lu made sure I was bred to be
a proper southern lady, but every day before I walked out the door she would
say, “Remember, Ella Lu, you’re more than a beautiful face.”
I loved Aunt Lu more than anyone, and she
would always say, “I love you more than air, Ella Lu.” Because of that, I did
my best to follow all the rules. Even though I didn’t enjoy football, I
pretended really well. I had lots of blue and orange in my closet, and of
course I promised Auburn would be my only school of choice. Rule number two was
easy; being in a beauty pageant never interested me, maybe because I already
felt like such a princess at home. Then there was rule number three, the
granddaddy of all the rules, so of course it was the one I was destined to
break.
It’s not like I set out to break it, I
honestly tried my best not to.
The Jackson family had four sons: Beau,
Booker, Benjamin, and Brady. They liked B names apparently. Funny enough, my
aunt had B names for their momma and their daddy, but we won’t mention those.
The three older boys had followed all the Jackson rules to the tee. Beau
graduated from the University of Alabama and married Miss Georgia; they resided
in Macon, where he owned a string of car dealerships. Booker graduated from med
school at the University of Alabama at Birmingham; he became an
anesthesiologist in Montgomery where he lived with his wife, Miss Mobile, who
was also the second runner-up in the Miss Alabama pageant. Benjamin also
graduated from the University of Alabama with a degree in economics; he married
Miss Teen USA and became an analyst for a financial firm in D.C. That left the
baby, Brady, who was quite a bit younger than all of his brothers. Like me, he
tried to follow the rules too.
In a way, we can hardly be blamed. When
you’re told your whole life not to look at or talk to a particular person, it’s
kind of hard not to notice them. I felt like I always had to be aware of where
he was or what he was doing, just so I could make sure to stay away from him.
Our families always made sure, during our grade school years, that we were
never in the same class, but they couldn’t do anything about lunch rooms and
recess, and of course Sunday School. We never talked to each other, and of
course we never had the same friends, but I observed him on almost a daily
basis, and from what I could tell, he was a nice boy.
As we grew older and entered junior high
and high school, our families couldn’t keep us out of the same classes. In
seventh grade we had our first class together, pre- algebra, and the teacher
must have been new because we were seated next to each other. I didn’t say
anything to her, because I was curious about this sandy-haired, blue-eyed boy
that I was taught was the devil’s spawn since I could remember. He didn’t say
anything either, he seemed just as curious about me. We never talked to one
another that first class, but once in a while, he would smile at me and I would
smile back.
Then ninth grade happened. Brady and I
both ended up in the same P.E. class. Of course, Brady was a star athlete and
was already being groomed to play football for his beloved team. I’d never
understood why gym teachers thought it was a great idea for boys and girls to
play football together, even if it was only flag football. One fateful day, a
couple of Brady’s buddies got carried away and I ended up on the ground with
stars in my eyes. When I could see clearly, the first person I saw was Brady.
There he was, with his outstretched hand, waiting for me to take it so he could
help me up. I wasn’t sure how to react, and I felt like the whole class waited
on bated breath to see what we would do. He smiled at me with all of his
southern boy charm, and I hesitantly reached up and took his hand. His hand was
warm, and it made me feel kind of fuzzy inside.
“Thank you,” was all I could mutter when I
was upright.
“You’re welcome, Ellie,” he replied in his
southern drawl with a twinkle in his eye.
I looked at him funny, no one called me
Ellie. He just smiled and walked away.
As the teacher brought me an ice pack, I
noticed all of our classmates were still frozen. Everyone knew Eatons and
Jacksons were not to mix. I spent the rest of the class on the bleachers,
watching Brady. A couple of times he looked my way and grinned.
Being the small town it was, by the time I
got home, my Aunt Lu had heard the news. I was again reminded about rule three.
I told her I remembered and not to worry, but I couldn’t help but think about
Brady Jackson the rest of the night. From that day on, I seemed to run into him
a lot at school; we never talked, but there were lots of looks and smiles. The
last day of freshman year came, and it also happened to be my fifteenth
birthday. My friends decorated my locker that day and brought me a birthday
crown to wear, it was the only time I had ever worn one. I felt ridiculous, but
happy and loved. Then the oddest thing happened as I was leaving school. I
walked past Brady, and I felt a note being pressed discreetly in my hand. I
didn’t even stop to look at him. I just kept walking forward and went straight
to the bathroom, walked into a stall, and quickly opened up the note with my
shaky hands.
Ellie,
Please meet me at the carnival tonight.
7pm behind the funhouse.
Brady
P.S. I like the crown.
I didn’t know what to think. Maybe it was
a trick. My aunt had always said you could never trust a Jackson, but I had
watched Brady Jackson for years and he seemed like such a good boy. It didn’t
hurt that he was all sorts of cute, and for some reason I kept getting that
warm and fuzzy feeling around him. I had never had that before. I loved Aunt Lu,
and I knew it would break her heart if I met up with Brady Jackson of all
people, but I was so curious about why Brady Jackson would want me to meet him.
I returned home that afternoon with
swirling thoughts of Brady Jackson. Aunt Lu and our housekeeper, Doris (who was
more like a friend we paid to take care of us), greeted me at the door in party
hats, noisemakers, and lots of confetti. This only made me feel guiltier for my
thoughts. My Aunt Lu was the only person in the world that loved me. She had
taken me in after my momma left my daddy (when I was just a year old) and my
daddy took to the bottle and never left. How could I even think of meeting
Brady Jackson?
My friends came later that afternoon for
my traditional birthday dinner of chicken fried steak, mashed potatoes, and
homemade biscuits. Not to mention my cake that was, of course, decorated in
Auburn colors; the A in Ella was even made to look like the Auburn symbol. All
reminders of rule number three. My aunt outdid herself every year on gifts, and
this year was no exception. Prada shoes and a Coach handbag. Looking back,
gifts like those seemed outrageous for Kaysville, Alabama (Or anywhere for that
matter. What fifteen-year-old needs those kinds of gifts?), but my aunt was all
about the outrageous. She did it her way.
After the festivities, my best friends,
Grace and Andi, and I were headed to the annual Kaysville carnival at the
fairgrounds. I still couldn’t get Brady out my mind, but there was no way I
could talk to anyone about the note I had been given, not even my best friends.
Everyone knew the rules. I’m surprised they hadn’t been set in stone yet and
placed near the Ten Commandments at the courthouse. We purchased our tickets
and rode everything from the tilt-a-whirl to the bumper cars. As we headed to
the Ferris wheel, I realized it was almost seven o’clock. One of us would have
to ride alone on the Ferris wheel, so I thought maybe I should stay back and
let Grace and Andi ride together, plus I really didn’t like heights. Yes, they
were all just excuses. It was wicked, I know, but I couldn’t help but think
about Brady Jackson and why he wanted me to meet him.
“Girls,” I said before I could talk myself
out of it. “Why don’t you two ride the Ferris wheel? I’m going to get some
lemonade.”
“Are you sure?” they replied in unison.
“Uh huh.”
I watched my friends get in line, and then
I immediately turned and headed toward the fun house. My wicked heart was
racing. I was like a cat, and curiosity was killing me. I tried not to think
that what I was doing would kill my Aunt Lu. I rationalized it would be one
meeting and that was it, no harm would be done. As I neared the funhouse, I
looked around to make sure no one was watching me. It seemed so absurd that I
would have to worry about such things. I sneakily made my way back; I was five
minutes early, but to my surprise, Brady was already there pacing back and
forth. When he heard me approach, he turned around and his eyes lit up at the
sight of me. We both stood there, looking at each other for several seconds; I
don’t think either of us knew what to say or do, but I knew I wouldn’t be the
first to talk. After all, he asked me there. He cautiously walked toward me.
For a moment, I thought I should turn and leave—this was wrong—but he looked so
sweet and all country, from his tight blue jeans and cowboy boots to his white
t-shirt. I had that warm feeling again.
“Miss Ellie,” he said.
“My name is Ella.” I probably said that
with more sass than was necessary, but I was a southern girl.
He grinned. “I know your name, Ella Lu
Eaton.”
He walked closer, and I held my breath and
twirled my hair nervously. He stopped about six inches from me. He was already
quite tall, so I had to look up at him and his light blue eyes with dark
eyelashes. He had just gotten his braces off, and his grin showed off his newly-straightened
teeth. For a fifteen-year-old boy, he sure was cute. He put his hands in his
pockets; he seemed nervous too.
“Happy birthday, Miss Ellie.”
“Thank you.”
He reached up and tugged my hair. “What
happened to your crown?”
I couldn’t wear that crown home. Aunt Lu
would not have been pleased at all to see me in it. I just smiled. Surely he
knew the rules. “So why did you ask me to meet you?”
He seemed to gain his confidence as he
stood up taller. “Well, Miss Ellie, I was hoping to get to know you better.”
I stopped twirling my hair and stepped
back. “You know we can’t.”
