The Pecan Man (13 page)

“Are you ready?” I
asked.

“Yes, Ma’am,” she
replied. “Where are we going?”

“Christmas
shopping,” I said with a lightness I did not feel at the moment.

Patrice and I slid
into the back seat of the taxi and I asked him to take us to the J.C. Penney
store downtown.

“Meter’s been
running,” he said as he pulled away from the curb.

I ignored the
comment and turned toward Patrice.

“Tell me about this
young man - what was his name? Sidney?”

“Cedric,” she
sighed. “What do you want to know?”

“How old is he?”

“Twenty-one,” she
answered.

“Does your mama
know about him?”

“She’s known Cedric
since he was a baby!” Patrice sounded a bit defensive.

“I didn’t ask if
she knew
him
; I asked if she knew
about
him. There’s a
difference.”

“What about him?” I
was surprised at how well this sixteen year old child could deflect questions.

“Well, for
starters, why is he visiting you without your mama being home? Does she know
about that?”

“No, ma’am,”
Patrice groaned.

“Do you think she
would approve?”

“No, ma’am.” She
was near tears now. “Are you going to tell her?”

“I don’t like to
lie to your mother.” The irony of my phrasing was not lost on me.

“She’ll kill me for
lettin’ him in the house when she isn’t there.”

“Patrice,” I
sighed, “You’re a bright girl. Exceptionally bright from all I know. Do you
realize the chances you’re taking with your life?”

“We were just
hanging out together, Miz Beckworth! Honest, we weren’t doing anything wrong!”

“If your mama
doesn’t know about it, it’s wrong. What I’m worried about is what
you
don’t
know.”          

“I know he likes
me,” she said defensively. “He thinks I’m smart and mature…” She paused and
then added, “and pretty, too.”

“Lot of people
think those things about you,” I agreed. “But not all of them want the same
thing from you as he does.”

“How do you know
what he wants?” she asked, suddenly sullen, as if she knew very well what I was
going to say.

“Because I know,
that’s how.”

Patrice sighed and
slumped into the corner of the back seat.

“Patrice, you have
promise. Do you understand that? You have the talent and intelligence to break
free of your situation and make something of yourself.”

She rolled her eyes
and turned her head toward the window.

“Something much
more than just a young single mother, or a wife if you’re lucky.”

“Bible says being a
wife is a good thing,” Patrice countered with the only argument she could find.

“It is a good thing
- at the right time and under the right circumstances. Otherwise, it can wind
up being a life sentence.”

“You didn’t have it
so bad, did you?”

“I wasn’t having
sex at sixteen.”

That got her
attention. Patrice sat up straight and looked me right in the eye.

“I never did, Miz
Beckworth!
Never
!”

“Good!” I beamed.
“And I’m going to help you keep it that way!”

She sat completely
still, staring now at the back of the driver’s seat.

“Are you gonna tell
Mama?” A single tear escaped the eyes that had long been full and threatening
to overflow.

“No, I’m not,” I
replied.

“What are you going
to do, then?”

“I’m not sure just
yet. We’ll have to wait and see.”

Just then, the taxi
pulled up in front of the two-story J.C. Penney building three blocks from my
house. I could see the twins and Gracie getting off the bus and racing toward
my front porch. They never looked in our direction as I paid the cab driver.

“Let’s go,
Patrice,” I said jovially as I took her arm and guided her into the square
beige building. “We’ve got a lot of shopping to do and only a little time to do
it.”

We climbed the
marble stairs to the children’s department and found plenty of clothes from
which to choose. Patrice knew all the new styles and the sizes the younger
girls wore. We chose a dress for each of them, with matching lace socks and patent
leather shoes. I thought the socks might be a bit too childish for the twins,
but Patrice assured me they would be good for church functions.

We bought smock
tops and two pairs of jeans for each of them, and completed our shopping with fancy
new underwear from the children’s department.

Then we headed back
down the wide staircase to the Misses’ section. I knew Blanche’s size from
purchasing uniforms over the years. Patrice and I found a bright blue suit and
a matching wide-brimmed hat for Blanche to wear to church. Afterwards, I chose
two house dresses and a pair of soft white slippers that I thought Blanche
would enjoy.

Once that was done,
I ushered Patrice to the Junior Department and told her to start trying on
clothes.

“For me?” she
asked, her eyes glistening with unshed tears.

“Of course, for
you!” I laughed. “What? Did you think you weren’t included in Christmas?”

“I thought maybe
you were mad at me,” Patrice said shyly.

“Don’t mistake
concern for anger, child. I care about you and I care about your mother and I
can’t stand the thought of her bearing anymore heartbreak.”

With that, the
tears spilled over in her eyes and she brushed them away with the back of her
hands.

“Okay, no crying
allowed,” I said, and pushed her toward the clothes. “Let’s see how some of
these things look on you.”

I took my initial
purchases back to the service department to be gift-wrapped. When I returned, I
found a chair near the dressing rooms and let Patrice model every outfit she
liked, which turned out to be a considerable few. I paid careful attention to
sizes and favorites and, when we were done, sent Patrice to the back to collect
our wrapped goods. I chose three pairs of slacks, two shirts and a dress that
Patrice had adored, even though I thought it a bit too short for my standards.
After paying the clerk for them, I asked her to have them wrapped and told her
I would pick them up later.

I didn’t want
Patrice to see what I had purchased, so I had the clerk take the other items
away from the register, thinking Patrice would return any moment. When she
didn’t, I headed for the service department. She wasn’t there, either, and the
clerk I had originally seen had been replaced by a middle-aged woman whose thin
lips were flanked by the lines of a perpetual scowl.

I identified myself
and asked for my packages.

“Oh, Mrs.
Beckworth,” the clerk gushed, “I’m so glad you’re here! I just had the most
unpleasant experience with a Negro girl over your packages.”

I must have been
stunned, because it didn’t register with me what she meant.

“What happened? Did
she pick up my gifts?”   

“Oh, of course
not,” the clerk said confidently. “There is no way in the world I would let one
of those people steal your things.”

“Steal my things?”
It took hindsight to realize that the sinking feeling in my chest hit before I
truly understood what she was saying.

“Why, a girl was
just
here
, trying to take your gifts. I turned her away, of course. She wasn’t
going to pull anything over on me!”

“Where is she?” I
demanded.

I suppose she
thought my anger was directed at the object of her scorn because she nearly
crowed in triumph, “Why, the manager has her in his office right now. I imagine
he’s searched her and…”

I didn’t stay to
hear the rest. I headed right for Red Bascomb’s office, which was just three
doors down. I didn’t bother to knock.

“Patrice!” I called
her name even as I was turning the knob. I saw Bascomb’s back before I saw the
frightened child huddled against the wall. He whirled to face me and she inched
from behind him and ran straight into my arms.

I held her against
my shoulder and did my best to comfort her, all the while glaring at the
stunned man in front of me.

“What is the
meaning of this?” I demanded of him.

“Why I was just… I
was told…” Red Bascomb faltered. “Is she with you?” he finally managed.

“Looks like it,
doesn’t it,” I said through clenched teeth.

“I think I’ve made
a mistake, Ora,” Red Bascomb admitted.

“What gave it away,
Red?”

To his credit he
had the decency to blush.

“I was told she was
attempting to collect items that didn’t belong to her,” Red stammered in his
defense.

“She was with
me
!”
I hissed.

“I see that now,”
he said, his composure nearly regained, “and I certainly apologize. But, it was
an honest mistake. I truly didn’t know, Ora.”

I actually stamped my
foot at him. Then I took Patrice by the shoulders and turned her sodden face
towards him.

“Tell
her
that.”

Red let out a sigh.
“I
am
sorry, Miss Lowery. I hope you will forgive me, but I didn’t
realize who you were.”

Patrice just nodded
and turned away. Then, bless her heart, that child drew herself up to her full
height and walked serenely from Red’s office and through the store. I followed
as she stopped at the service desk and faced the clerk.

“I’ve come to
collect Miz Beckworth’s packages,” she said to the bewildered woman, who simply
stood with her scowling mouth hanging wide open.

I slapped my hand
down on the counter, my bracelets jingling noisily. “Did you hear her?” I
asked.

The clerk fumbled
with several large bags behind the counter and eventually handed them to
Patrice, who took them in each hand and proceeded through the store. Apparently
the grapevine was short there, because every clerk in the store stopped what
they were doing and watched that child pass with head held high and tears nearly
dried.

I wish I could say
that I fully comprehended what took place that day, but it is only in the
retelling of the story that I understand my part in it. And, Lord forgive me, I
just now realized how much my indignation was misplaced. I was upset that
Patrice had been treated badly; there’s no doubt about that. But, it never
dawned on me how wrong it was that I tied her innocence to the fact that she
was with me, not who she was, and I am humbled by my ignorance.

Fifteen

The girls had a ball retrieving my decorations from the
attic that night after supper. In fact, they found a good bit more than just
decorations. It had been years since I had climbed the narrow steps to my
attic, but the girls would not have it but that I join them there to see the
treasures they had found.

A cedar chest full of my
grandmother’s old clothes and my mother’s wedding dress lay in one corner. One
box held a variety of crocheted doilies and embroidered handkerchiefs and other
various tablecloths and linens. There was an entire stack of hatboxes and a
hall tree sporting a half dozen more hats on its hooks. Another box held
scrapbooks full of pictures dating to the late 1800s. My wedding album was
there and I sat down at my mother’s old dressing table to look through the evidence
of my innocent hope. In one picture, I sat in an ornate chair, smiling up over
my shoulder at Walter with an expression of unabashed adoration on my face. He
was returning my gaze with a beguiled grin of his own.

Funny, I hadn’t remembered
adoring Walter like that. Nor did I remember him ever being particularly
captivated by me. As I sat there in my attic, with three little girls busily
rooting through and trying on various costumes of another era, I wondered if
time had so altered my memory that I had forgotten such things as love, or if
pictures did indeed tell the story.

I finally dragged the girls
away from their plunder by promising hot chocolate while we decorated the tree.
I also assured them we’d return to the attic to play at some later date.

Patrice, sufficiently recovered
from the afternoon trauma, washed the dishes and made the cocoa while Blanche
rested in Walter’s recliner and watched our festive doings. Blanche would
normally have gone home much earlier, but it was Friday and the girls wouldn’t
have to go to school the next day, so we were all carried away with our
merriment. Before we knew it, the clock chimed eleven times and we looked at
each other in amazement. Blanche was snoring softly from the chair and Grace
had fallen asleep on the couch, but the rest of us were still going strong when
we put on the last ornament, a brightly lit angel to adorn the treetop.

I sent the twins to the guest
bedroom and Patrice to Walter’s old room, which hadn’t been used once since his
death. Blanche kept it clean and changed the sheets every couple of weeks, but
I had scarcely opened the door in the past year.