Read The Battered Heiress Blues Online
Authors: Laurie Van Dermark
The Battered Heiress Blues
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents in this book are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual events, persons, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2012 by Laurie Van Dermark
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever without the expressed written consent of the author.
Cover photos courtesy of Katie Hallmark Photography.
(
The Arlington Home, Birmingham, Alabama
)
ISBN: 0615579914
ISBN-13: 9780615579917
eBook ISBN: 978-1-62110-151-2
Library of Congress Control Number: 2011962877
CreateSpace, North Charleston, SC
Please visit the author’s website at
www.laurievandermark.com
For Noah and Izzy
TABLE OF CONTENTS
A
wise man once directed me to the writings of Gustavo Gutierrez, who says in part, “Neighbor is not he whom I find in my path, but rather he in whose path I place myself, he whom I approach and actively seek.” I have met many along the path who have contributed to the work in progress that is Laurie Van Dermark.
First and always, praise and glory to my very patient God.
Thanks to my dear parents for their support and encouragement.
Nothing but love for Michael, my quick-witted brother, for our verbal sparring. Spending time with you is like going on a mind vacation. Thanks for the trips.
My precious children who are so loved. The years have flown by since your adoptions in Guatemala. Your cooperation and humor have made this book a reality.
Jacy, I feel bad that other people don’t have you as a best friend! You are the real deal- selfless and present. No matter the time or request, you are always there- no excuses. You are a rarity in this world.
While living in New Zealand, I was fortunate enough to meet some truly stellar Kiwis. I would like to express a special thank you to Maureen and Daniel Tustin. The kids and I will always be in your debt. You taught me the meaning of Kia Kaha.
Additionally, being in the presence of the following people has enriched my life so greatly: Shane and Jen Waters; The White family; Fr. Gerard Boyce; Hector Bosse for introducing me to humanitarian work; Monsignor Richard Lynch for our chats in Chimbote; The Bookalam family; Donna Estes; and Katie Hallmark.
I met Fr. Jack Davis and Sister Peggy Burne in 2000 when I answered a call to experience the life of the poor in Chimbote, Peru. While our missionary group was bringing tangible goods to help the poorest of the poor, living outside the mission walls, we received far more than we could ever give. Jack and Peggy work tirelessly to try and meet even the simplest needs like food, water, and shelter, which most of us take for granted. Watching a large family crowd into a one-room estera shack with dirt floors, no roof, food, running water, or bathroom facilities is appalling. Not only do these heroes of humanity struggle to give the poor the dignity and care that is their God given right, they also work to raise funds for healthcare and education; without which, the next generation doesn’t stand a chance for a better life. Every time I travel to Chimbote, I leave a piece of my heart there. Please visit
www.friendsofchimbote.org
to help.
John Tinney, my legal representation, for dealing with the distractions.
I am blessed.
S
issy was the smallest black woman I’d ever laid my eyes on. What she lacked in stature, she far made up for in gumption. Her bark wasn’t worse than her bite. Her words, spewed forth with clear fervor, made white men tremble, but the bite- well my father shed more than one tear on her account. My nana often called her the greatest gift she’d ever given my mama, as if Sissy was of the character to stay where it didn’t please her most emphatically. She was four feet ten inches of pure stubborn power with micro braids down the length of her back. In so much as John Spencer felt he was the head of his own household, Sissy worked for Nana and no other. Father worked diligently to have her dismissed, but she never departed the mansion and never left my mama’s side for a second. Where one went, the other followed. When I came along, she became my devoted guardian, hiding me beneath her protective wings from John’s indifference to the birth of a daughter. In Sissy’s eyes, I was the grandest and most treasured gift she had. This shelter continued as my mama bore John a son- my brother, Thomas.
Mama had grown tired and slept for stretches of time. Sissy made excuses, but I knew that all was not well. My father began making time in his busy schedule to take her on multiple shopping trips to Atlanta. I was young and naïve, but not stupid. Mama hadn’t been well since she turned up pregnant with Tommy. For all of Sissy’s convincing and her infinite planning to keep me busy, I saw Mama wither like a delicate rose on the vine at the end of a glorious season. Though she became a prisoner to her carved wooden bed, she seemed at any moment to arise and entertain the high cotton sort that was Savannah royalty.
John blew through abruptly and left just as quickly, never staying longer than a night, unable to face the gravity of losing his beloved Grace. Thomas and I held vigil at her bedside daily until Sissy would muster the energy to half carry and half drag us down the hall to our beds. Mama had become a shell that housed multiple tubes. One snaked down her nose, one in her arm, and another in her chest. She’d wake briefly and shower us with smiles before drifting off again. Thomas was too small to feel the sharp sorrow that pierced my heart. She was larger than life to me.
“I don’t want a sick Mama anymore, Sissy,” I cried, watching the nurse adjust the tubes that made the most beautiful woman in the world a human pincushion. Turning away, my body found its haven in the arms of my shadow. Pulling me close to her bony chest, she brushed the dark unruly curls back over my shoulders.
“You wipe those tears dry, you hear? You’re a lucky girl, Julia Spencer.”
“My mama’s dying. That’s not lucky,” I whimpered, burying my face against her.
“Well, God sure didn’t see fit to give me a mama like yours. My mama was as mean as a cottonmouth snake. She used to make me pick my switch before she beat me with it. Your mama is an angel. Now, look at her. Is she not the finest woman we know?”
“Of course,” I replied softly, shaking my head in agreement, as I turned to see the pile of bones under Sissy’s homemade quilts. Only her head was visible, displaying the exquisite ebony silk that sprung forth from her scalp, meticulously coiffed by her old friend.
When the nurse left, Sissy laid out a picnic blanket at the bottom of Mama’s bed and presented Thomas and I with a basket of food to explore. He thought Mama was merely sleeping but we knew her silence was from the stuff that flowed through the tubes- the medicine that kept her quiet and free from pain. Sissy grabbed our hands, blessed the food, and prayed over Mama for healing before we broke bread. We talked about the blue water that stretched out into the horizon just beyond our backdoor and made plans to swim in the morning. Sissy handed out her special chocolate chip cookies and fruit punch that we held tightly while she sang old hymns. The sound radiated beautiful tones that filled the room- almost visible. She didn’t miss a note as she spied my brother’s body beginning to slant in the direction of the soft mattress. Rescuing the glass from his tight grip, she placed it on the vanity dresser where Mama once sat and brushed her hair.
Footsteps pounded heavily against the wooden floor in the hall, getting louder as they approached the bedroom. The melody stopped mid-phrase. Suddenly, the door flung open and my father filled the space between us with anger and rage, sucking life’s air out of the room like a vacuum. His face was as red as the inside of a watermelon. He walked with determination to where Thomas lay and grabbed him harshly, disappearing from our sight. The cries of my startled brother became more muffled as Father stormed further down the hall. Only moments passed before he returned and instructed me to leave with haste.
