The Battered Heiress Blues (2 page)

“I’m not leaving my mama,” I said defiantly.

“Oh yes you are, young lady, and I mean directly,” he replied, pointing to my exit.

Sissy took a step toward me, volunteering to incur his wrath on my behalf.

“You best stand back, Sissy,” he said, shaking his fist in her direction.

Looking to her side and then the other, followed by a lingering glance behind, she responded with an equal amount of hostility, “Just who do you think you’re talking to? You see a slave in this room? You forget yourself, Mr. Spencer.”

“You’re fired. Leave.”

“Well, you’ve already fired me one hundred and thirty-five times and I am still here. I’ll still be here tomorrow, and the next day, and the next day after that. I don’t work for you. I work for Nana- the one who bankrolls your business and bought you this fancy house. Grace is my best friend. You have no authority over me. Collect yourself before you scare your daughter.”

Opting to go around the mountain instead of through it, he slipped by her to the opposite side of the bed and started to pull my right arm with conviction, causing the red juice to splash against the ivory quilt.

“Look what you did. You let that child loose,” she demanded.

“Or what? Your benefactor is not here, is she? Run along, Sissy. Go tell Nana.”

Father was committed to his present course of action, but a scrappy African goddess who was part sugar and part salt raised me. I wouldn’t go down without a fight and I had absolutely no intention of being removed from my mama’s presence. “Leave Julia. Now,” he yelled, making Mama flinch, though her eyes remained closed.

“The hell you say,” I responded, grabbing hold of Mama’s hand that barely fell below the edge of the quilt.

Both Father and Sissy said my name in unison, in its entirety, the very second the profanity left my lips, “Julia Grace Spencer”. Just as quickly as they came together on common ground they receded back into their corners.

“I am sleeping in Mama’s bed again tonight and I’m not leaving,” I said with resolve.

Father scooped me up from behind, breaking my connection to Mama, and began making forward progress toward the door, but my hands found the wooden posts at the end of her bed. He pulled and pulled until the sweat began to gather around my fingers, causing me to lose grip. Catching the doorframe as we passed through it, I recommitted to my cause. Sissy began speaking with wild contempt at a speed that no mere human could understand, cursing him to be sure. Thoroughly frustrated and impatient, John finally grabbed my hands and ripped them across the metal doorplate, sending a stabbing pain straight through me. Blood spattered across the planked floor and Sissy spun into action, removing the scarf from around her neck and winding it around my hand.

“You’re wicked. You’ve done gone crazy, John Spencer. Get out of here. Go on, you hear? Your heart has turned as black as the night. You’re no good to no one.”

Father looked at me with both hostility and remorse. He was as broken as the woman that was bound to her bed. I had one parent dying of cancer and another dying to share her fate. Thomas and I weren’t enough to keep him engaged in reality. We were reminders of the life he had envisioned with a beautiful Southern sorority girl all those years ago.

He left that night and didn’t return from New York, until the day that Nana signed the papers to shut off her only child’s life support. After the funeral, I rarely saw Father, with the exception of holidays. Sissy died soon after Mama in a terrible car crash, leaving me disillusioned and jaded. No doubt, her exit was planned all along to reunite her with her dear white sister Grace. Nana did her best to trudge on in Mama’s place, giving Tommy and me many years of happiness and affection before leaving to join those rowdy women in heaven.

But I was heir to the Spencer fortune. There had been no contingency for sorrow. Weakness wasn’t an option. I grew up, only sure of one thing-my father and I were done, forever.

1

S
lowly surrendering to the fate of dying alone, I struggled to keep my eyes open. The clinic’s light swung overhead casting shadows on the dusty floor, making me question whether he was gone. A strange voice, angelic in nature, commanded me to remain still. As my body shivered with each shallow breath, the warm red blood pooling under me was oddly comforting. I was cold.

An eternity seemed to pass in silence. No one came, but I remained obedient to the voice that made me motionless. In the distance, I heard the faint sounds of crying, but my mind was too detached to assign a sense of familiarity to the voices. I was slipping away. I welcomed the end.

There she was- the African goddess of my childhood, sent to protect me. I felt my body move upward and find its rest in her small lap. Leaning toward me, the braids brushed over my beaten face and the smell of my blood was replaced by the fragrance of a hundred honeysuckles. My guardian had returned to keep me safe. I called and called to her in a loud whisper, still fearful that my attacker was not quite done, but she never answered. Sissy only began to sing as she stroked my matted hair.
His Eye is on the Sparrow
, filled the room- its notes forming a cocoon around my frail and lifeless body. The song became harder and harder to hear until the melody and my angel disappeared altogether. I was alone again, but no longer afraid.

Peace washed over me. My mind displayed a montage of life experiences- small triumphs and heart wrenching losses. The images appeared one right after the next until a strong kick summoned me, with a fortitude that no longer matched my own. Clutching my belly, I let out a guttural scream. I’d forgotten him. I was dragging him into this abyss. He was an unwilling participant; his kick reminding me that our fates were linked. Climbing out of the quiet, I found my voice. “Help me. Please help my son.” With my strength fading, the tenseness in my body relaxed and my eyes closed. My body was becoming his tomb.

Chimbote was a far cry from the privileged life I led in Manhattan. Fleeing to Peru was my most masterful escape to date. John Spencer the third, my father, labeled my trip a vacation. He related stories of me traveling in style to tourist destinations like Machu Picchu, neglecting to share that my departure was precipitated by finding my husband in bed with his associate. Somehow, disclosing that information would have embarrassed the family. I was certain that he blamed some inadequacy on my part for Jackson’s little indiscretion. And so, I broke through my shackles and outran the search parties. The only person to eventually locate me was Henry. He was the only man I had ever loved. He was my
Tru
.

Henry Truman Walker was my father’s right hand man. He was his lawyer, confidant, and all around errand boy. I had no doubt that my father would play upon our past, in asking Henry to find, and persuade me to come back to the States. He hadn’t taken into consideration that I was my father’s daughter. As much as I despised John, I could be every bit as stubborn as he.

Henry had it all- a Harvard law degree, stellar relations, and the good looks to match his English pedigree. He came to our family business as an intern, but quickly surpassed the skills of John’s upper level executives. You couldn’t help but be dazzled by his charm and dedication.

Deep down, I knew that Henry would have insisted on coming. College sweethearts- we were now the best of friends. I preferred his empathy to my father’s work the problem mentality. We had a history. He was the first person I called when Jackson cheated on me. Henry was the clear choice. The priest in Tommy would have instructed me to pray, and my father would have cautioned about the impending scandal, but Henry just wanted to kick his ass. I loved that about him.

I felt his warm touch as I tried to open my eyes, squinting to shield them from the bright, harsh lights of the hospital room. I’d lost time. My body felt very heavy.

“Jewels.” There was an apprehension in his greeting.

“Tru?” My head was pounding and my stomach uneasy. The room began to turn circles as if I were looking through a kaleidoscope. I tried to focus on his eyes.

He rose over me and kissed my forehead. His image was clearer now as I adjusted to my surroundings. “Thank God you’re awake.” His delivery was solemn, as he sat next to me on the bed. He was never very good at disguising truth- it just poured out of him.

“What’s the matter?” I said, becoming keenly aware of the immense pain in my abdomen as I reached to greet him.

“You’ll be okay, Jewels.” He stroked my forearm without meeting my gaze. His evasiveness betrayed him and I began to panic.

Memories flooded back into my hazy consciousness.
I was stabbed. My baby. My Conner
. My hand slid down to my belly and anxiety swept over me. “Where’s Conner? Take me to him,” I demanded angrily.

His head dropped and after a long pause, he whispered, “He’s gone.”

“What? Gone where? I don’t understand. Just take me to him.” My mind wouldn’t allow his words to register- self protection. I would find my son alone, if need be.

Struggling to get my body upright, Henry braced my torso and pushed me back down on the bed. I fought against his hold to no end. I was too weak. He placed his arms under my neck and drew me to him, whispering in my ear, “He didn’t make it Julia. I’m so sorry. There was so much damage. The knife severed the cord. The baby wasn’t getting oxygen. The doctors worked on both of you for such a long time…”

I couldn’t process what he was saying. My breathing became erratic. There wasn’t enough air. Hysterically, I grabbed my throat. Instinctively, Henry pulled me forward to the edge of the bed and placed my head between my knees. The nausea was overwhelming. Pushing by him, my hands secured the trash can. The familiar sensation of warm fluid pooling beneath me startled him and he began to yell for help as my stomach purged itself of the remaining anesthesia. Succumbing to my irrevocable state, my head surrendered to the coolness of the tile floor.

I couldn’t hear the noises that must have accompanied the staff entering. My view became the shoes that scurried in and out of the room. I was alone with my mind. I had my silence back. My only desire was to become smaller until I disappeared.

Henry protectively crouched down at my side as countless hands grabbed at my body. His face appeared in my line of sight speaking words with no sound. Pulling my body onto his lap, he motioned for the hospital staff to stand aside. A nurse steadied my arm and added medicine to the intravenous line. The heaviness of my limbs returned, but he easily lifted me as the nurses kept their instructed distance. I felt the softness of the bed before the medication overtook me.

A surgical resident woke me in the early morning hours to examine my incisions. He spoke very little; just mentioning insignificant details like how much fluid had collected from the tubes that were protruding from my abdomen. I couldn’t blame him for the lack of conversation. What do you say to a woman who has lost her mind? – Whose baby suffered a tragic death? He uncovered me, lifted my gown, admired his handiwork and expeditiously left, waking Henry who had fallen asleep in a rocking chair across the room.

“Hi love.” He walked over to the bed and helped me prop my back up on the pillows. Sitting down next to me, his fingers traced the colorful bruises on my face which I had only then discovered as I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. They stained my otherwise pale complexion. He pushed a stray piece of my long dark curls behind my ear. Tears began streaming down my cheeks, having no control over them. His jaw tightened as he tried to stifle his anger. My hands found his and I tried desperately to pull myself together. Learning to compartmentalize my emotions would be a necessary tool if I were to survive the days ahead.

“How did you know about all this?”

“The Bishop called your brother’s parish. Tommy phoned your father. We were in a meeting. I came straight away.” He busied himself out of nervousness, taking the water pitcher off the table and pouring me a glass. When I didn’t eagerly accept it, he placed it in my hand.

“You didn’t have to come.” He looked away as if I had injured him with my low expectations, but I quickly recovered. “I’m glad you did.” I took a sip of the water and placed the glass down.

“Where else would I be?” Pulling me forward, his embrace was delicate and full of compassion; an effort ruined by the words that were to follow. “Your father wants you home…immediately. I’ve made arrangements.” Henry pulled a thick ivory colored envelope from his jacket pocket and held it in front of my hands, subconsciously willing me to grab the correspondence. “He asked me to give you this. John sends his love.”