Chapter 26
June 5, 1936
I cannot sleep, and despite my exhaustion from lack of sleep the past two nights, my brain will not stop. I spent the afternoon with Samuel, and we had our first fight. The sun bore down on our naked bodies as I glowed in the aftermath of our lovemaking…then I made the suggestion.
A stupid suggestion, and I wish I’d never said anything…
“Perhaps, we should rethink jumping on the night train,” I suggested as my head rested on Samuel’s chest. I had been up most of the night before thinking about our idea, our plan to run away together. My heart wanted it, but my mind wouldn’t rest. “I know times are bad, but things are beginning to look up, and the papers say the New Deal will be coming to Georgia soon.”
He stared into my eyes as he shifted his arm out from under me to sit up. “Where is this coming from?” His brow creased in concern or frustration, I couldn’t tell which.
I never felt more vulnerable than when Samuel stared at me so deep.
“You could get a job close by, and once you start working, maybe Papa would agree to us getting married. This way, we won’t have to leave the country. At least, not right now.” I couldn’t bear to meet his gaze. His jawline tensed. I lowered my head and stared at his chest instead. “You could still draw and sell your art. You could even ask Papa for a job?”
He placed a hand to his forehead and rubbed as he lay back on the blanket. “You don’t want to be with me? Is that it?”
“No.” I sat up quickly. “That’s not it at all.” My voice trembled. “I do want to be with you. That’s why I’m suggesting this. I want us to be together, forever.”
“Then what’s the matter? You want to stay here and live with that monster of a father of yours? Is that what you’re telling me?”
“No, I don’t. But, I’m scared, Samuel. I’ve never been outside of Georgia. I think working for Papa would be safer. Easier.”
I traced the tips of my fingers along his chest. I wanted to be near him, touch him, because despite our bodies being so close, it seemed we were worlds apart, and I supposed in a sense, we were, yet despite our disagreement, we each had one thing in common: To keep the other safe.
“I would never work for your Papa as long as I live,” he spat. “I’ve heard rumors of how greedy your old man is, and from the way he treats you, I want nothing to do with him. Why are you trying so hard to get his approval? He doesn’t deserve your admiration.”
He was right, I knew, but the truth was, no matter how bad Papa treated me, he was my papa, and the only one I had. I kept thinking if I did better or tried harder, maybe he would love me again, like he did when Momma was alive.
“He loved me once. He could again,” I protested.
“Love does not abuse, Myrtle. He doesn’t deserve you.”
He sat up, practically pushing my head off his chest. The notion, while not meant to be mean, stung.
I had to get him back, calm him down. “You’re right. Please forgive me. It was a silly suggestion.”
“Do you not love me? Is that what it is?” He stood and reached for his pants. “Because, I thought we were in this together, but now, I’m not so sure.”
“Yes, I love you. Please.” I stared up at him, scared of the argument taking place. His motions were so quick, so forceful as he shoved one leg in then the other. “It’s just…”
“It’s just what, Myrtle?”
He buttoned his trousers and waited, his eyes pleading, his heart practically breaking in front of me, the same as mine. I had to fix this.
“When Papa dies, I will inherit all of the property. You’ll never have to worry about money again. We could sell the land and the house and buy first class tickets on the SS Normandie to Paris if that’s what you want. I will go anywhere you wish. I just desire to do it right. Safe.”
He squinted, and slumped his shoulders as if I had slapped him right in his pride. Fear crumbled inside of me. In my haste to make it better, I’d made everything worse again.
“I would never be with you for your money. I don’t want any of it.” He reached for his shirt. “If we’re going to make it together, it’s going to be based on what I can provide, not the other way around. And sure as hell not some inheritance that he leaves.”
His anger contorted his face; his teeth barred as he reached down to pick up a rock and throw it. Instinctively, I ducked as the rock sailed past me…not at me.
Samuel stood upright, a look of complete shock covering his face. “You thought I was going to throw that at you, didn’t you?”
“No.” I shook my head and glanced down, not meeting his stare. My lips trembled.
“Yes.” In two quick steps he grabbed me by the arms. “Yes, you did. I’m not him, Myrtle. I love you. I’m not him.”
He released me and knelt to punch the ground as a wild scream escaped past his lips. The veins in his neck pulsed as he reached back ready to give the earth another blow.
“I’m sorry.” I shouted. “Don’t. Don’t do that.” I reached out to stop his hand from hitting the ground again, my shaky aim missing his hand and grabbing his arm instead.
“No.” He rubbed his palms on his thighs and shook his head. His shoulders slumped, like all his energy had drained through his fist and into the ground with his punch. “I’m sorry, Myrtle.” His voice shook. “I’m sorry I can’t be more for you. Give you everything you deserve and desire.” He shot to his feet. “I hoped I would be enough, but now I know, I’m not.” He stormed toward the old cabin.
“Samuel. Samuel.” I scrambled after him “Please, come back. Stop.”
“Don’t follow me,” he yelled, barely giving me a backward glance…
I can still feel the cold where he left me standing on the blanket, naked and alone. Never, in all my life, have I ever felt as alone as I do now.
I am sick to my stomach with worry.
Did I lose the one person on earth who ever really loved me?
****
Did she ever love me?
Matthew’s excited voice pulled John out of his miserable thoughts.
“Aunt Emma,” his son raced into his aunt’s arms.
John sat at his makeshift desk in the kitchen, thumbing through old messages, trying to get his mind off her, and his mind on what was important. A new job.
“Hey, guys,” Emma called out to everyone as she scooped Matthew up and placed him on her hip, sliding closer to him at his desk. “What are you doing?”
“Returning some calls. I need to set out for a new job.”
“About that.” She sat Matt on the kitchen counter and pulled an envelope out of her back pocket. “Lesley came by the shop today. You didn’t show up for work?”
Her voice rose, letting him know she asked a question, instead of making a blanket statement.
“That would be right.”
So, Lesley had shown up, talking about him to his sister. Figures. She didn’t even have the guts to talk to him. Her texts she’d sent burned a hole in his mind. Still, he didn’t care about paint colors, or how the walls of her home looked when they were complete. He cared about her. He cared about them…at least he had until she couldn’t seem to decide between her past and her future. Now…he didn’t know what he should care about anymore.
“Why not?” Emma bent down so Matt could place his ball cap on her head.
“Why not?” He pushed his chair back and bristled. “Are you serious? You know what happened. You saw it with your own eyes. She picked her ex over me.” He tossed his notes down on the desk and scooted his chair farther back, the legs grinding on the tile floor. “Her rich husband can hire someone else to finish the job. I’m not going back.” For good measure, he threw his pen across the desk, too. The motion was childish to say the least, but his exasperation sang as the pen sailed the short distance across the wooden top.
“Then I guess the gossip train hasn’t made it to you yet.” Emma’s voice came easy, even happy, like his silly outburst hadn’t fazed her or come as a shock.
Hell, I really am a mess. “What are you talking about?” He pushed his self-loathing aside then pushed himself to his feet before he pulled a beer out of the refrigerator.
“Here.” She shoved the envelope across the counter. “Read the letter. I’m sure it’ll explain everything.” A pink, silly looking piece of stationary stared at him.
“It’s pink. Who’s it from?”
Stupid question. He tapped his fingers on the counter and stared at the note, expecting it to detonate sparkly confetti any second while his heart dared to burst with curiosity, excitement, and righteous anger all at the same time.
“Who do you think?”
“Oh. Her.”
“Yes. Her.” Emma mocked him.
“Who’s her, daddy?” Matt turned and asked.
“No one, big guy. Why don’t you go play with your sister in the living room?”
“You heard your dad, dude.” Emma kissed Matt on the cheek and put him back on his feet, placing the ball cap back on his head. His boy ran into the living room and sat on the couch with Rachel.
With his kids out of earshot, he faced Emma again. “I’m not interested in anything she has to say. She’s said enough, or should I say, didn’t say enough. She should have told that ex of hers to take a hike the minute he strolled up in his expensive, leather shoes.”
How dare Lesley write and not come to him? Not come beg for his forgiveness?
What if she didn’t want forgiveness? Instead, what if she sent him a “Dear John”…through his sister no less? Whatever was in that letter, he didn’t think he could face it. Good or bad.
“John, you’re stubborn.”
“Yeah, well…better to be stubborn than pining over some woman.” Some woman who wasn’t pining over him.
He stared at the bright beacon. The color made him think of Lesley in that little tank top she wore around the manor.
Shit.
Last thing he wanted right now was to think of her.
“I don’t blame you for being angry, and I agree with you.” Emma nodded. “She should’ve told Peter to shove it, but she didn’t. If it was anyone else besides Lesley, I might even accept your decision to not read the letter, but I like her, John. And you love her. If you didn’t, all of this wouldn’t be eating you up so bad.”
“It’s not eating me up.”
Emma pointed to his hand. “Really? Then why haven’t you stopped fidgeting since you stood up?”
He stared at his fingers fiddling with the beer label then narrowed his gaze at Emma. So his twin had a point.
Damn it.
He sipped the ale and turned to stare out the kitchen window instead, fighting the urge to tap his foot. He focused on the storm clouds that rolled in from the east, letting them contain the motion for him. The sky appeared as dark as his mood. Absolutely nothing like that cheery, stupid, happy looking, ugly envelope sitting on his damn counter.
“Yeah, well, sometimes love doesn’t always work out, ya know?” Sometimes it just abandons you, twice.
“And sometimes it does. You just have to fight for it.”
“I fought for Sandra. Every day. Look what good that did me.” It got him nothing more than a hole in his chest the size of his heart. He took another slug of beer.
“Different situations, bro.” She reached around him and took the bottle from his mouth.
“Hey, that’s mine.”
His sister drained the bottle and let out a long exhale, her eyes closed like she drank a piece of heaven. “You’ve got more. Besides…” She popped her eyes back open and shook the bottle. “I only wanted a sip.” Tossing the glass in the recycle, she said, “I’m leaving before this storm hits. Read the letter, then make your decision.” Emma kissed the kids on the head before she left.
John stood in his kitchen, staring at the Pepto-Bismol-colored letter. Just the thought of opening it gave him heartburn. Perhaps since he could feel his heart, it was mending, but allowing it to be broken again…allowing himself to go through the pain, the agony of heartache all over again like he did with Sandra…well, he couldn’t handle that twice.
Never again.
He strode to his medicine cabinet instead and popped an antacid, leaving the pink heartache where it lay.
****
June 6, 1936
I went back in search of Samuel today to apologize for upsetting him so. When he saw me, he ran to me and held me gently, tears streaming down his cheeks. The warmth of his embrace, the smell of charcoal on his skin, his strong arms holding me was all the reassurance I needed that we were okay…
“I’m so sorry, Myrtle. I’m so sorry.”
“Me, too, Samuel.”
He spread kisses over my face, squeezing my cheeks in the process. “I’ll never hurt you like that again. Don’t you ever, for one minute, think I would hit you. Ever. Do you hear me?”
The joy of his apology and his acceptance of mine spread like a wild fire through my veins. “I know you won’t.”
We held each other. The rush of emotion tangled with the love we felt had us crazed, until we stripped and made love again by the pond.
****
July 2, 1936
This past month, Samuel and I have spent as much time as possible together, between me being busy with Lila’s wedding plans, and him taking the trains back into town to try and sell a few drawings.
He says he almost has enough wages to buy our tickets.
But almost won’t get us on the ship…
Lying in the grass with my dress in a rumbled ball with his clothes next to us, I didn’t feel naked or embarrassed; I felt beautiful and radiant as Samuel stared at me with his intense gaze, a gaze of longing, of determination, and most of all, adoration.
The pencil he held made short scratch marks on the parchment as he quickly moved his hand over the pad.
“You really need to get another subject to draw,” I teased.
“I don’t want another subject. I don’t want to draw anything else as long as I live.” He flipped the paper over to let me see. There I sat, all of me, staring back from the paper.
He reached out to touch my cheek, where up until a week ago, bruises had been. A new wave of sorrow filled his eyes.
“What’s wrong?”
“Just remembering how your face was marred. What that monster did do you, and what I wish I had stopped. You deserve so much more. More than the way your Papa treats you, and more than I’ll ever be able to give you.” His hand slid down my face and returned to his drawing pad. “I know you have reservations about picking up and leaving with the economy and the world in such bad shape, and I will understand if you decide not to go.”
I picked up his hand and met his palm with my lips.
“But just know that I do and will always love you.”
I lifted up to kiss him. Our lips held long, our embrace saying so many things words could not. Our fears, our love, our joy, our sorrow, all locked into that one kiss. My heart so full of him, but fear for the future as well.
I pulled my clothes on and whispered in his ear. “I love you, Samuel.”
“I love you more, Myrtle.”
With the influx of visitors for the wedding over the weekend, and the actual event on Sunday, I wouldn’t get to see him again until we left on Sunday night.
He placed the drawing in my hand. “Keep it,” he said. “If you don’t show up on Sunday, I’ll know you’ve changed your mind.” I wrapped him in another embrace as tears slid down my cheeks.
“But, what if there is another accident? What if I do want to come, but physically can’t.” Papa had been drinking heavily the last couple weeks and even more unpredictable lately.
“Do you think our plan would be safe with Jo?” he asked.
“What do you mean?”
“Tell Jo our plan. If something happens, give him word to tell me. I’ll rescue you myself if I have to.”
“It’s too dangerous, Samuel. I can’t put you or Jo in that kind of danger.” The thought of Papa finding him scared me to death.
“It’s our only way, Myrtle.”
“I know.” I nodded. He was right, however, I didn’t like the idea of telling anyone what we planned to do.
“If I don’t hear from you or Jo, I’ll leave Sunday.”
I held him tighter to ward off the shaking of my hands. “I’m scared, Samuel. I’m really scared.”
“I know.” His kissed my forehead.
We both knew the truth. Despite how much I loved him, I still wasn’t sure whether or not I would go with him. All I could think about was my momma, and how she would have wanted her family to stay together. To love each other. But wouldn’t momma want me happy, too?
“Know that no matter what, I’ll always think you’re beautiful.” He reached for my hand with the picture. “Place this under your dress and use your belt to cinch the waist. That’ll keep it from falling down.”
I did as he suggested before he pulled me into a hug and kissed my forehead. “I love you.”
I blew him a kiss and ran back home, my heart heavy with our plight.
I know Samuel will never hurt me, but I also know he can barely provide for himself let alone the two of us. Instead of helping him on his journey, what if I only slow him down? I love him too much to be the thing that gets in the way of his dreams.
My body may have left the oak this afternoon, but my heart…my heart stayed behind.