Sullivans Island-Lowcountry 1 (58 page)

filled with regret—regret that I couldn’t reconcile how a man

who was such a bastard to the ones who loved and needed him

most gave his very life for the Civil Rights movement. While I

hated the way he had treated us, he had possessed strength in his

character I’d never considered. He was a fighter. Like me. I was

like
him. He had never acknowledged that. Neither had I.

For years and years I had said in anger that I was glad he was

dead. For the first time in my entire life I missed him. I felt the

weight of sorrow in a way I had never known I could. I wanted to

wail like a child. I wanted someone to tell me they would make it

all right.There was no one who could have done that. I wanted to

lie down on the floor and sleep. But I just stood there, my

thoughts racing as I tried to sort out the pangs of despair I felt.

Maybe if he had lived he would have been proud of us. He

would have seen me become a woman, a mother, a single parent.

He would have seen how capable we had all become. How suc-

cessful, how strong. Maybe we would have found peace with him.

I couldn’t find it in my heart to blame him anymore. I just

wished I had known him better. I wished he had known me.

Maybe somehow through my recognition of his heroics he could

feel that now. I prayed that wherever his spirit was, he knew

I forgave him. And missed him. And, finally, that I was proud

of him.

Nineteen

School

}

1963

T home, I lived in diaper land. I could see myself

raising my own sisters and eventually becoming

AMomma’s nurse as she had been to her mother. It

was the southern way. It was what was expected of girls. I

guessed they thought Maggie could make a good marriage and

I was so homely, I’d never find a husband.

My only hope was to somehow get to college, which

seemed less and less likely. I’d probably wind up teaching public

school, the plain girl’s other option. I’d wear a big bun on my

head, pencils sticking out of it, and kids would tape kick me

notes to the back of my moth-eaten cardigan sweater. Just the

thought of it was depressing. No, I’d figure another way out of

my mother’s prison.

I was very happy to go back to school after the holidays.

School was the only routine in my life that made real sense to me,

and it was time off from the house. Most people loved summer,

but winter was my favorite time of year. The summer tourists

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D o r o t h e a B e n t o n F r a n k

were long gone and not due back for months. The silence of a

walk along the shore with the spray of the ocean in my hair, on

my face, let my mind travel. I could imagine myself to be Cather-

ine searching for Heathcliff on the moors or, better yet, I could

search for Simon in a place where I could be alone with him. I

wanted to get past the silly banter and teasing that defined our

conversations. I spent a lot of time thinking about him and his

lips.The rest of my daydreaming involved refining various escape

plans. At one point I considered taking a bus to Atlanta, pretend-

ing to have amnesia and throwing myself at the mercy of the

biggest Catholic church I could find. But I knew my accent

would betray me as a Lowcountry girl. One call to the bishop of

Charleston and I’d be back home in no time. I was too young for

enlisting in the army and not holy enough for early entrance to a

convent—that was my most desperate plan. So I filled my days

with school.

One morning in January, I was in class when Father O’Brien

appeared again.We all jumped up from our desks and called out,

“Good morning, Father,” as good children with nice manners

did. He wanted me to come to his office.
I hope nobody died
was

my first thought, then I realized there weren’t that many people

left
to die in my family, so it must be another reason. I immedi-

ately left my class, with all my classmates staring at me.

“How’s your momma?” he said, closing the door and ges-

turing for me to sit in the big oak chair opposite his.

“Fine,” I said,“everybody’s fine.”

“Good, good. I see they finished the investigation into your

daddy’s accident.That must be a relief to have that behind y’all.”

“Yeah, it is, Father.”

In fact, we were sick and tired of seeing Daddy’s name in the

paper and answering questions about his death. Fat Albert and

the police department in Charleston had decided Daddy’s death

was not a conspiracy.They finally decided he had a heart attack

and ran off the road. Because of all the trouble Daddy had when

he was building the black school, they probably thought the

S u l l i v a n ’ s I s l a n d

397

Klan might have had something to do with it. So they poked

around, asking the same dumb questions over and over again.

Stuff like, Did he have any enemies? Excuse me, but my daddy

was building a heated school for colored kids smack dab in the

middle of the Civil Rights movement. He had more enemies

than the Japs after Pearl Harbor. Starting with his own family

and every bigot who ever heard of him.

Not that it would bring Daddy back to life, but I kept

thinking they weren’t exactly wearing themselves out with the

investigation. Seemed like the newspaper articles asked more

intelligent questions than the police did. It had been the biggest

story the newspapers had had since the polio epidemic. I was

just glad that Marvin Struthers hadn’t blamed us for giving

Daddy a heart attack.

“Well, that’s not the reason I called you in here,” Father

O’Brien continued. “I wanted to talk to you about your school

record.”

“What did I do? Oh, my library books! I know they’re

overdue! Am I in trouble?”

“Heavens, no, child. In fact, you’re doing surprisingly well,

amazingly well. Bring the books back as soon as you can.” He

cleared his throat with a grown-up
ahem.
“Susan, every year

the archdiocese of Charleston sends a student on scholarship

to St. Anne’s Academy in Columbia. Are you aware of that?”

“No, Father.”

“Are you familiar with St. Anne’s?”

“I thought it was a home for unwed mothers.”

“No, honey, that’s the Florence Crittenton Home. Not the

same thing at all. St. Anne’s is a privately funded Catholic girls’

boarding school. Over ninety-five percent of their graduates

finish college and go on to have careers, teaching or nursing or

some other appropriate line of work for ladies.”

“Oh.”

“What’s the matter?”

“I don’t want to be a teacher or a nurse.”

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“Well, then, do you know what you’d like to do?”

“Yeah, I mean, yes.” I was twisting in my seat.“I want to be

a writer and live in Paris.”

“I see.Well, there’s no harm in having a dream, I always say.”

“Right. So did the Brontë sisters and George Sand.”

This caused a major clearing of his throat. “In any case,

every year we hold a sort of competition for that scholarship to

St.Anne’s, and I’d like to submit your name as a candidate. Have

you ever thought about going away to school?”

“No, Father. I mean, yes, I have, but I thought about going

away to college, not high school.”

“Of course, and you should’ve been thinking about that.

Well, I suppose what I’m asking you is if you’re interested? If

you are, I can talk to your mother about it for you, if you’d like.”

“Um, Father O’Brien, what are my chances of winning it?”

“Oh, I don’t know, probably pretty good.”

“Well, if it’s all the same to you, why don’t we see if I can

win it and then we can talk to Momma about it. I mean, there’s

no point in putting another burden on her, you know, ’cause if I

lose, then she’s gonna feel bad and all.”

“And she’s been through enough?”

“Exactly. I mean, I’d also like to think about it a little. Like

what would happen to the twins if I left? Can Momma handle

it without me? I don’t really know.”

“I see.” He reached into a folder and pulled out a

brochure, handing it to me. “Have a look at this. It tells you all

about the school. You have to wear uniforms, but they are

included in the scholarship, as are all your books. Plus a stipend

of fifty dollars a month goes to the winner for spending

money. All medical bills are covered, in case you’re ill or need

glasses or something. All you have to do is maintain a B-plus

average and you can stay for four years. It’s an excellent pro-

gram, Susan. I think you should give it serious thought.”

“Oh, I will! Of course I will!”

S u l l i v a n ’ s I s l a n d

399

“And, if you’re worried about getting homesick, you can

come home on weekends and, obviously, all the holidays.”

“Right. I mean, thank you for thinking of me and every-

thing. I really appreciate it. I’m sorry, it’s just that I never thought

about anything like this before and I’m not sure about Momma

and all.You know?”

“Of course I do. But, I think let’s try for it and if you win,

let me handle your momma, all right?”

“Okay.”

“Fine.”

“Father? Thank you.Thanks a lot. I really mean it.”

“I know you do.”

Something like this could change my life forever, I thought,

it could be my ticket out.

I sat on the back steps that afternoon, tossing a stick for

Rascal. I scratched him behind the ears every time he brought it

back to me. I’d miss this little dog if I left, I thought. He was so

eager to please and so grateful for attention. White seagulls

swirled all around, squawking at each other.

I tried to imagine what it would be like to leave the Island

and live in a dormitory with a bunch of girls.What if they were

mean? What if they were all rich and stuck up? I could always

come home if I hated it.What if it was a really hard school? What

if I couldn’t do the work there? Going to school in Columbia

wasn’t like school in Mount Pleasant, after all. Columbia was the

capital of the state.

I heard the door close behind me.

“What are you doing, chile? Sitting ’eah playing with Rascal?”

I turned away from the afternoon sun and stared up at

Livvie.“Oh, just thinking.”

“Mm-hm. I thought I smell wood burning!”

“Yeah, that’s me. Burning wood like a furnace out here.”

“What’s in your head, ’eah? Tell Livvie.”

“Oh, I don’t know, Livvie. Life is so confusing.”

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“Ain’t that the truth!”

She folded her dress under herself and sat down next to me.

Rascal came bounding up the steps, jumped in her lap and

started licking her all over her face.

“Get down, boy!” I said.

“Oh, that’s all right. I don’t mind him none. Better than get-

ting bit.”

“Yeah, that’s for sure.” I looked out across the yard to the sky

and her eyes followed mine.

“So, you gone tell me what or do I have to sit ’eah till the

supper done all burn up?”

“Livvie, if you had a chance to do something really big,

would you do it?”

“Chile, I
am
doing something really big. I’m praising Gawd

every day! Iffin that ain’t big enough, then tell me what I should

do!”

“No, that’s not what I mean.”

“Then spit it out, chile.”

“Okay, Father O’Brien wants to enter me in a competition

to win a scholarship to St. Anne’s boarding school for girls in

Columbia.”

“Oh! Lawd have mercy! Your momma gone take a fit iffin

you get it too, ’eah?”

“Exactly.”

She thought for a minute.“This is a good school, I expect?”

“Yeah, look at this.” I pulled the brochure from my pocket,

unfolded it and showed it to her. It had pictures of smiling nuns

and serious students working in a biology lab over microscopes,

a picture of the dormitory rooms, a classroom photograph and a

picture of the campus. She whistled through her teeth.

“Humph.All right now. Tell me how you feel in your heart.”

“I’d love to go to a school like this.Who wouldn’t? But I’m

a little scared too.”

“What you scared of ?”

“Leaving everybody.”

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401

“They don’t let you come home none?”

“Oh, sure, you can come home every weekend if you want

to. But what if I don’t fit in?”

“You raise your head up high, ’eah?”

“Yeah, you’re right. I mean, this could be my only chance to

get out of ’eah.”

“Then, that’s all she wrote.You ain’t got no choice.”

“What about Momma and the twins and Timmy and

Henry?”

“Honey, don’t fret none over y’all’s momma. She gone do

fine. Timmy and Henry gone get to go to college anyhow,

’cause your uncle gone see to that. Them twins is mine. Don’t

you worry none about them twins.”

“Well, I gotta tell Father O’Brien something by tomorrow.”

“Honey, Gawd’s got a plan for you and it ain’t about raising

your momma’s children for her. You needs to be in the world and

maybe this is His way of helping you. Iffin it’s Gawd’s will, gone