The Sweetest Thing (27 page)

We sipped our drinks at the table with Mae Pearl and Sam, trying to ignore the first few moments of awkward silence. But then Spalding and Sam began talking about football and then baseball, and Mae Pearl and I listened, both pretending to be interested. At length we went back to our cars.

As Spalding started the engine, Mae Pearl hurried over to the car. I doubted she could have missed the disappointment on my face, even though I tried to mask it. She said, “We can't get you two to change your minds?”

“I'm afraid not,” Spalding said briskly.

Mae Pearl brushed her hands through her hair and wrinkled her brow. “Okay then, kids. Have fun.”

I nodded in a stiff, wooden way and wondered briefly if my life was going to be a continual submitting to the desires of Spalding Smith.

CHAPTER

23

Dobbs

Perri all but ignored me at school. I took to sitting at a lunch table with Lisa and Macon and some of the younger Phi Pis. I carried a perpetual ache inside so that I only nibbled at my food. I could not pray; my Bible was left unopened. I felt as if I had lost all the faith inside of me.

I cringed with the memory of Aunt Josie's words.
“You're acting just like Billy used to after he received bad news.”

Now I understood why my father hated sin so much. It had ruined his life. It was ruining mine.

Uncle Robert and Aunt Josie knew the cause of my angst, and I survived that month because they cared. Aunt Josie let me call Mother at her mother's house every week, and we followed Coobie's progress as if it were episodes of
Amos and Andy.

I shared the news with Parthenia, too, and her little face was often drawn into a frown as she worked. Occasionally I heard her mumbling to herself, “They betta bring her down here fast where she kin git well. They betta do it if'n they know what's good for 'em!”

My friends noticed my mood and tried to cheer me up. Brat told her jokes, and Lisa and Macon recounted the latest gossip from parties, which I listened to numbly. In spite of my heartache, I was thankful to go to school, to have homework, to be forced to stay busy.

I watched the Seminary girls in a different way, socializing with more of them now that I spent no time with Perri. It had taken me almost a year to realize, but finally I understood that they had plenty of work to do right here in their society.

And they were doing it. I had been so blind. I had ignored their service.

People in this part of Atlanta were not poor like the people on the streets of Chicago or the ones in Oklahoma who had their homes blown away in clouds of dust, or the ones in south Georgia who had to eat their animals.

But many families, like the Singletons, had lost so much and had little money with which to purchase necessities. Common human goodness was helping people survive in Atlanta, just like in every other part of the country. The fruits and vegetables that Frances and Coobie and I had canned with Parthenia over the summer now were handed out to families in need. Whenever hobos showed up at the house, which happened a lot that winter, Aunt Josie invited them in and served up a plate of food.

I once overheard my aunt and uncle discussing the huge number of unpaid bills from Uncle Robert's customers and how every month or two, my uncle burned the bills. He said it wasn't worth sending them out, since people couldn't pay anyway. My aunt and uncle's goodness humbled me, convicted me, and the hole of sadness I had fallen into seemed only to grow deeper.

I attended the Phi Pi meetings halfheartedly, and early in February, Mae Pearl shocked me by saying, “Mary Dobbs is going to tell us a story at Bible hour tomorrow afternoon, so everyone be sure to come.”

“It's about time!” said Lisa. “We've gone nearly two months without a story.”

“You just make up all those stories, don't you, Mary Dobbs?”

I found Mae Pearl after the meeting. “I don't have any more stories,” I told her.

“I know good and well that isn't true! You haven't ever told them about the lady whose son died or the mangy dog or . . .”

“I don't want to tell any more stories, Mae Pearl.”

“Goodness, Mary Dobbs. What's the matter? It's Perri, isn't it? She's off with Spalding all the time and never sees you.”

“It's not just that, Mae Pearl. It's other things too. Things that I can't talk about. But thanks for caring.”

“Well, can't I help? There must be something I can do.”

I looked at Mae Pearl, her pretty blue eyes just oozing sweetness, and I said, “
You
could tell the story tomorrow, Mae Pearl.”

“Me? I don't have any good stories.”

“Tell them a Bible story, Mae Pearl,” I said without enthusiasm.

She brightened. “Why, that's a great idea! Yes. I'll tell them a Bible story, and I'll pray. I'll pray for you, Mary Dobbs, just like you always do for us.”

“Thanks, Mae Pearl,” I mumbled, and then, seeing her standing there with such concern on her face, I added, “Pray for Coobie. She's been real sick, and it worries me.”

“Oh dear. Not Coobie!”

“I'm sure she'll be okay,” I said, without a shred of conviction, and hurried off.

I received two visits from Andrew Morrison at the Chandlers', each time accompanied by a beautiful bouquet of flowers. I asked him to go to the Phi Pi Valentine's Dance with me, telling myself that if Hank truly knew what was in my heart, he wouldn't want me to be his girl anymore. No matter Hank's proclamations, no matter the letters he wrote me twice a week, I convinced myself that I was no longer worthy of him. He needed a strong woman of faith, and mine had evaporated.

I had not written to him since I'd returned to Atlanta.

Mother's letters tried to reassure me about Coobie, but I had heard the cough, and I knew the truth. I remembered exactly how Jackie sounded in the months before she died.

Perri

To my great surprise, Mae Pearl led the Bible lesson on Tuesday, and Dobbs did not even attend. Mae Pearl confided to me that she had stayed up half the night preparing, and as she talked her cheeks grew pink, and I heard something strange in her soft voice—passion, belief, conviction.

She finished her teaching, closed the Bible, wrinkled her brow, and said, “There's this verse in Scripture where Jesus is telling a parable, and at the end, He says, ‘For unto whomsoever much is given, of him shall be much required; and to whom men have committed much, of him they will ask the more.'

“Girls, think of all we've been given. We have families and houses and food and clothes, and we have churches to attend, and we have this fine institution where we can get a top-notch education. Remember how back in December Mary Dobbs asked us if we tended to be Pharisees or publicans? Remember? Well, I went home and made a vow to be a better person. And I told that to Mary Dobbs, and she said, ‘Mae Pearl, we can't be better on our own. Not really. We need Jesus in us to be better.'

“So anyway, I thought about that, and then I was thinking about all we've been given and how sometimes we complain. But hey, listen, we live okay, even with horrible things, and I think we just have to keep on helping the poor around us and giving gifts to the children and going out to the Alms Houses. It may not seem like much, but I think it
is
something, and I think when we do it, in the right way—you know, how Mary Dobbs says—well, I think God must be awfully pleased, and so . . .” She stopped, blushed, and finished timidly, “So that's all I have to say today, and thank you ever so much for listening.”

She sat down next to me, and I saw how much her hands were trembling.

Lisa stood up and asked, “Does any one know where Mary Dobbs is?” She looked straight at me.

I felt the heat rise in my face, but I shrugged and shook my head.

Mae Pearl answered, “I think she's just awful sad, and I don't know all the whys, but I promised we'd pray for her, like she does, ending every meeting with prayer.”

To my astonishment, fifteen girls bowed their heads and sat in what Mae Pearl called “a few minutes of silent prayer for our dear Mary Dobbs.”

Finally Mae Pearl finished by saying, “Lord God Almighty, you sent us Mary Dobbs to help us learn more about you, and now she is sad, and so we pray that you will comfort her in her affliction. And help her sister get well. Amen.”

I caught up to Mae Pearl as she was leaving the classroom. “What's the matter with Dobbs's sister? Which one?”

“She didn't tell you? Coobie's been real sick, and she's worried about it. She didn't tell me any more than that.”

I frowned at the news. I knew how protective Dobbs was of her little sisters. But to Mae Pearl I simply said, “You did a good job.”

“I was scared stiff, but it went okay. I'll have to tell Mary Dobbs.”

I watched her leave, and it was as if my focus was sharpening, just as it did behind the camera. I ached inside. Even if Dobbs's revival stories were made up, the things she taught from the Bible weren't. I had to admit she was making a big impression on some of my friends. In fact, it looked to me like Mae Pearl was on her way to becoming devout like Dobbs.

———

I missed seeing other boys. I longed again for lazy afternoons with loads of boys coming by the house. I found myself bored at times with Spalding's constant banter. At other times, I shivered with the way it seemed he wanted to possess me. In those times, Dobbs's voice whispered around me,
“He's not right for you; he'll only cause you heartache.”

At least I had told Dobbs the truth about one thing: I wasn't in love with Spalding Smith. And I no longer believed he was in love with me. He liked me a lot, but he wanted me to behave exactly as he desired, and I knew I could not keep up that charade.

I was too proud to admit that to Dobbs, so I took my photographs and developed them in the darkroom, alone.

At night, I thought about Philip Hendrick and the letters he sent me every week and the way he signed them and our shared interest in photography. Right before I turned out the light, I read from
Patches from the Sky.
I wondered how I could distance myself from Spalding and find a freedom that I needed like fresh air. I began gasping for it until at long last I could admit that more than money and stature in the community, more than surviving our particular tragedy in the midst of the Depression, what I wanted was to know that somehow, somewhere, with someone, I could be safe.

I had said it before. I wanted peace.

Occasionally at night, cuddled in bed under plenty of covers, I whispered prayers into the dark, whispered them with great fervency, because I wanted, and desperately needed, help. And every time I whispered them, what came back floating in the air were Dobbs's words about faith and God's provision and the way we were all trying so hard to fill ourselves up on something so that the desperate void and pain of the present would subside for just a while.

———

I was leaving school on a Friday afternoon when Lisa caught up with me in the hall. “Perri! Wait up. I was going through a folder with old photos from last year's
Facts and Fancies,
and I came across these for you.” She handed me an envelope with my name across it.

“Thanks, Lisa.”

I walked outside, shivering in the frosty air, opened the envelope, and took out three photographs. I remembered having lent them to Lisa the year before, in case she could use them for the yearbook in a section entitled
Back When We Were Young.
The photos had been taken by a professional and were from Lisa's birthday party when she was six or seven. In one, we were all sitting at our dining room table with party hats on. Mamma and Mrs. Young were both there with us. That was the year we'd offered to have Lisa's party at our house because her house had caught fire and was under repair.

The next picture was of Lisa and me making silly faces.

I looked at the last photo and felt chills run from the top of my head all the way down to my toes. Five of us little girls were crowded around Daddy's desk. We had sneaked in there and surprised him by bringing him a piece of Lisa's birthday cake. The other girls were smiling their toothless grins at the camera, but I was not looking at the camera at all. I was snuggled tight in my father's lap.

I gave a little gasp, remembering my plea in my father's study.

“
Oh, Daddy. I would give anything to be a little girl again, sitting in your lap.”

It was windy outside, curling the edges of the photographs I tightly gripped. I stopped and stared at that photo of me in my father's lap.

No one else in the whole wide world knew the plea I had voiced alone in Daddy's empty study in late December—another chance to sit in his lap. But it was what I wanted more than life itself, and here, in a strange way, my plea had been answered.

Just as quickly, another scene flashed in my mind. I was accusing Dobbs of her God never providing, and she said, “
I'm praying that one day God will provide something for you, you alone, Perri Singleton, in a way that you won't be able to doubt it is from Him.”

“Daddy!” I began walking faster, now seeing the men's faces on that dark street in downtown Atlanta and then hearing someone calling my name and feeling that my father was somehow right there beside me. Then it rustled by me gently, a breeze across my face. Not Daddy, but a father nonetheless,
the
Father in heaven that Dobbs talked about. He had been present that night, and He was present now.

I forgot about meeting Barbara after school or waiting for Jimmy to pick us up. In a blur of excitement, my heart racing, I walked to the streetcar stop, hopped on, and rode it all the way down Peachtree, near the corner of Wesley. I hurried off and ran the half mile to our old house, our
real
house, panting as I climbed the steep driveway. By the screened-in porch I noticed that two purple crocuses had pushed their way out of the ground, and there was a faint smell of spring in the air. In our backyard, I spread my arms out and turned around and around, giggling as if I were Mary Dobbs Dillard. I finally stopped, out of breath, sat down on the back steps, looked again at the photo of me cuddled in my father's lap, turned my eyes upward, and whispered one word. “Thanks.”

———

Two days later, I was sitting in the pew at St. Luke's, like I did every Sunday morning, with Mamma beside me. She had on her light pink suit and the pink straw hat with the little pink see-through veil that came down just over her eyes. Mamma kept dabbing her white-gloved right hand, in which she held a tissue, under her left eye to remove tears. Occasionally, she'd even bring the tissue to her nose and dab softly underneath and give a tiny polite sniff.