Secrets at Dillehay Crossing - Chapter 10 - The Dresser Box
Grammy paused at her dresser, picking up her hand-held mirror. It had that patina of age over its bronze frame, and Grammy stared at herself through the black splotches on the surface of the glass, double-checking her make-up. She glanced down at the many framed photographs that stood on her dresser including her black and white wedding portrait. She was a petite bride, dressed in pure white, standing tall and proud beside a man a head taller than herself. Grammy’s eyes flickered between her aged image in the mirror and the youthful bride that stared back at her. Traces of the young woman she was lingered in her smile and the thinness of her body.
She applied some rouge to her once velvety soft face, now dried and leathery like potpourri. She retrieved her brush from her vanity, running its thick bristles through her once wavy russet brown hair, now short and thin like a dandelion. One by one, the years have flown by, and the woman I was has completely vanished. It’s as if I never existed at all. Grammy laid down her brush, gazing into the wedding photo reflecting upon the halcyon days of her youth when the world excited her and she saw opportunities at every turn. I recall so little of what I did back then—the lunch counter rendezvous and the crazy times with a budding new romance. If only I’d gotten to him to the doctor sooner, she lamented, remembering the last time she saw him alive, weak from a high fever and persistent cough that worsened far too quickly.
A single tear slid down from Grammy’s warm, butterscotch eyes, followed by another one, and then another one until soon a steady stream of salty tears flowed down her rouged cheeks, releasing the sadness and sorrow that she so often held inside. I mustn’t let Lilly see my tears—not today. She plucked a tissue from her vanity drawer, wiped the tears from her cheeks reapplying fresh rouge and powder. She opened her jewelry box, removing the string of cultured pearls from amongst its contents and draping them around her neck.
She glanced in the vanity mirror one last time and retrieved a small dresser box containing photographs, post cards, jewelry, and other memorabilia she wanted to give Lilly. She hurried to the bus stop clutching her tiny casket of memories arriving just as the bus driver was about to close the doors.
“Well, Miss Nora, I’ll be. I hasn’t seen you in a month of Sundays.” The driver stood up and walked toward the door. “Step on up here.” He extended his arm and eased her up to the seating area.
“Thank you, Jake. You’re most kind.”
“Lordy, how long has it been, Miss Nora?”
“I don’t rightly recall.” Grammy deposited her fare in the coin box and seated herself across from Jake. “At least six months, I think.”
“So, how’s that granddaughter of yours?” Jake pulled the lever and closed the doors.
“Lilly? She’s fine—all grown up now, married, and living out in the sticks somewhere.”
“The sticks? Well, that’s a shame. Do you sees her often?”
“Jake, you know how that goes—not as often as I like.” Grammy eased back in the seat, placing her belongings in her lap.
“I knows, ma’am. I don’t hardly ever sees my children anymore either. They has their own lives now, and I guess I can’t expect any more from them.” Jake pressed on the gas pedal, slowly accelerating down the street.
“Today I’m meeting Lilly for lunch at the Whitmore Hotel.”
“Now ain’t that nice. I remembers when Miss Lilly was a little girl. She sat right there in that very seat behind me, jabbering the whole way downtown. That Lilly always had such an imagination and an endless string of stories to tell about those invisible people she saw. What was it she called them?
“Ta-gosh-a-boos.”
“Now I’s remember. Ta-gosh-a-boos. Lilly was so entertaining and so believable! She made my drives downright memorable.”
“Lilly always had what I called her crazy imagination. She heard voices and saw people who weren’t actually there, but in her mind’s eye they were real. I don’t rightly know why she made up those people and stories. I suspect her folks abandoning her at such a young age left a painful hole in Lilly’s heart, and she used her imagination to fill that emptiness and to escape from the pain she felt. She was sensitive beyond measure and easily hurt. If only I’d done more to discourage her crazy imagination.” A pained expression crossed Grammy’s face. Grammy crossed her ankles and grabbed ahold of the seat as Jake turned the corner heading west toward downtown. “I loved her like a daughter, but I’m not sure I did right by her.”
“Now, now Miss Nora. You knows you did the best you could in raising her. You was always looking out for Miss Lilly. So don’t you go frettin’ about all that. We all does the best we can for where we are at the time.”
“Perhaps.” Grammy fidgeted in her seat. “I fear she hasn’t outgrown making up stories about people and seeing things that don’t exist.”
Grammy became silent thinking about all the things she wanted to tell Lilly. She gazed out the bus’s front window; the midday sun illuminated the skyscrapers making them glitter in the western sky. But once downtown, Grammy could barely see from side to side. The streets and buildings were like man-made canyons, and the cars and pedestrians were like water flowing along an overflowing asphalt riverbed. Grammy looked up. From this vantage point, the buildings even concealed the sky itself. The bus descended deeper into the city, and its canyons closed in around her. Her chest tightened, and her breath stuttered in her lungs until she was able to draw only tiny, controlled gasps of air into her lungs. With each gasp, the tension slowly drained from Grammy’s body, and her breathing gradually returned to normal. Now she could face the city and what lay ahead of her.
“Your stop’s coming up, Miss Nora.” Jake halted the bus and opened its doors. “Here, Nora, let me help you down.” Jake supported Grammy as she gingerly stepped off the bus. “You be careful out there, Miss Nora. Downtown, like us, ain’t what it used to be.”
When Grammy stepped off the bus, a blast of hot city air slapping her in the face. She gagged on the smell of diesel fuel, street vendors, and beggars who stank of cheap liquor and dirty sidewalks. She stood at a packed street corner with a hundred other pedestrians, city dwellers and office workers who were rushing back to work from their lunch breaks. How can people who work here stand the smell and the pace? Grammy snapped open her hand-held fan, whisking the hot, smelly air from her face waiting for the light on the corner to change.
When it did, a dry flood of impatient human bodies began moving. She moved along with them, being pushed and shoved. A man in a cheap navy suit knocked against her, hitting her sharply on the knee with his brief case. The man, who was in a blind rush, scowled at her and trotted on, hailing a taxi and disappearing out of sight in a split second.
Grammy remembered when downtown was a respectable place filled with slow-moving street cars and fine dining establishments that attracted genteel ladies and dignified gentlemen. Now it was a wretched place filled with fast-moving vehicles and convenience restaurants welcoming boorish women and impolite businessmen. I’ll just never get used to this atmosphere, Grammy mumbled under her breath.
She paused in front of the Whitmore Hotel admiring its arched windows and pedimented doors. She was just 13 when the hotel first graced the downtown landscape. As a grieving widow some 20 years later, she stood outside the doors awaiting his arrival. If only he’d returned like he promised. She froze in place and choked back the tears, feeling the pain as his face flashed through her mind.
Grammy was scared of what her past held. Her memories never seemed to escape her. They were like pin-point needles constantly piercing her skin and keeping her awake at night. Lately, she’d had trouble living with herself, the memories, the if onlys, the what ifs, and the secrets swirling through her head. Today, they churned unrestrained inside Grammy’s stomach, tying it in knots. She pressed her hand on her stomach and made her way inside the hotel.
“Hi Grammy!” Lilly waved and rushed towards Grammy giving her a big hug. She closed her eyes, basking in Grammy’s warmth and drinking in the lilt of lavender perfume that lingered on Grammy’s clothes. Growing up, Lilly always felt safe in Grammy’s arms, cocooned better than any butterfly-to-be; and her worries and fears disappeared like rain on summer earth. But Grammy’s hugs were never long enough for Lilly. No matter when the hug ended, it was too soon; and Lilly would launch a campaign for more, trailing Grammy around the house.
“I’ve missed you, Grammy,” Lilly said in a thrilled voice.
“Oh, I’ve missed you too, Doodlebug! My house is so empty now that you’re not living with me.”
“You look a little pale, Grammy. Are you feeling alright?”
“I’m feeling a bit nauseous, probably from the smells of the city.” Grammy took Lilly’s arm and wrapped it in hers. “Don’t you fret now, you hear. I’ll be alright as soon as I eat something.” They strolled arm-in-arm, pausing briefly at the bottom of the double staircase.
“Can’t you see Grace Kelly slowly descending this staircase wearing one of her glamorous floor-length gowns, a mink stole, and elbow-length gloves?”
“Now there you go, child,” Grammy scrunched up her face, “escaping into your imaginary world again. I thought you’d outgrown most of that.”
“Oh now, Grammy, relax,” Lilly said, an impish grin crossing her face. “I was just trying to have a little fun, that’s all. Nothing serious.”
“But you shouldn’t . . .”
“Okay, Grammy, okay! Let’s not have this discussion again.” Lilly responded in a slightly sharp tone. “I just want to enjoy lunch with my Grammy.”
“Alright, Doodlebug. You are who you are.” Grammy conceded, for she had too much to share with Lilly to be concerned right now with Lilly’s crazy imagination.
They climbed the staircase and entered the Zodiac Room where the maître de greeted them and escorted them to a table adjacent to one of the windows with a view of the downtown Dallas skyline. While waiting for their lunch to arrive, Lilly watched Grammy sipping on her iced tea. She always wore that cautious, subdued mask that older women often wear. Behind that mask was an echo of the youth inside her, and sometimes Lilly wanted to pull away the veil of age, hear the echo of Grammy’s youth, and see the person inside—the girl and woman Grammy was years ago.
“Grammy, I was wondering . . .” The waiter arrived and placed their lunches on their table.
“Wondering what, child?” Grammy took a few bites of her salad.
“Oh, nothing. Just a passing thought. Tell me,” she quickly diverted the conversation, “Is that your dresser chest, Grammy? Why did you bring it with you?” Lilly asked. Without giving Grammy a chance to answer, she blurted, “Did you know I used to sneak into your bedroom and peek inside, curious about the photos and trinkets you’d tucked away?”
“Yes, I knew you did.” Grammy wiped her mouth with her napkin. “I have so much I want to tell you, but I don’t know where to begin. That’s why I brought this box,” she scooted her chair closer to Lilly. “When a woman reaches my age, she has lots of time on her hands. With all that time, I often reminisce about my days and how I spent them. My memories, like the wrinkles on my face, are deep and many. My good memories keep me going and warm me from the inside, but the bad ones haunt me at night and tear me apart. Yet somehow,” she felt her mouth going dry, “my good and bad memories are inseparable, locked tightly together like two sides of the same coin.”
“Grammy, you sound sad. I’ve never known you to be sad.”
“I’m not sad, really, just feeling a tad reflective and solemn. ”
Grammy took a small sip of water before retrieving an assortment of photographs from the box and laying them on the table. “Here’s a picture of you and I at old Reverchon Park. Do you remember Reverchon?”
“Oh, my! Yes, I do, Grammy! When I was little, you and I met Aunt Ruthie there and shared Sunday afternoon picnics with her. I loved playing on the jungle gym and riding my bicycle along the trails and throwing flowers off the bridge.”
“When you got older, we walked arm-in-arm through Reverchon and simply talked, laughed, and picked flowers. Those were magnificent days, Lilly, and I cherish every one of them.” Grammy thumbed through the pictures, unearthing a photograph she hoped would be a springboard about one of Lilly’s most painful memories. “Here’s a photograph of your parents taken on their wedding day. It’s the only one I have of them, and I want you to have it.”
Lilly hesitated before running her fingers across the faded photograph, angry heat slowly flushing through her body. “I don’t want this photograph! Not now, not ever. The wound is too deep!”
“Now, now, Doodlebug! Didn’t I teach you to place the wounds from the earlier part of your life into the ‘Lessons for Life Category’?”
“Yes, Grammy, you did, but I just can’t! It hurts too bad. They left me with Nana when I was just a baby and never came back. They vanished, and I’ve never seen or heard from them since. How could anyone abandon their own child, their own flesh and blood?” Lilly asked in a pained, pleading voice. “If only I knew why they left me. If only I knew what happened to them. If only I knew why they never came back for me. If only I knew,” Lilly broke into tears, “maybe I wouldn’t feel so angry. If I knew maybe the heartache and pain would go away.”
Grammy cupped Lilly’s face in her hands and looked deeply into her eyes. “Listen, child, you may never know what happened to them or understand why they abandoned you. You’ve got to accept that. You’re too focused on the if only instead of on the what if. What if they knew they wouldn’t be good parents? What if for some unforeseen reason you were supposed to be with Nana and not them? And what if for another reason you were supposed to be with me and not them. Did you ever consider that?
“But Grammy don’t you ever want to know what happened to my father? Doesn’t his disappearance haunt you? After all, he is your son,” Lilly remarked with a scornful tilt of her nose. “ Don’t you ever ask ‘if only I knew what happened to him?’ Don’t you ever ask, ‘if only he hadn’t disappeared?’.”
“For years, of course I did. I tormented myself believing I’d see him again. But my tormenting didn’t change the reality: He wasn’t coming back, yet I focused needlessly on the what ifs and might have beens and lost precious time making myself miserable by creating my own pain and suffering. I don’t want that for you, Lilly. Life’s just too short, and you’ll find yourself wanting one more day, one more picture as the old ones begin to fade. You’ll want that one final hug to have lasted a bit longer. You’ll want the fondness of the remembrance—the whens to outnumber the what ifs and might have beens. You’ll want more years, more months, more weeks, more days, more minutes, and more seconds. You’ll want the happily ever after you thought you deserved but didn’t get. But the only thing actually promised in this life is uncertainty. Uncertainty is the reality, the challenge we face. For your own good, Lilly, promise me you’ll think about what I’m saying.”
“Alright, Grammy,” Lilly said reluctantly, disengaging momentarily from the conversation and staring out the window. “I promise.”
Dessert arrived, and while they nibbled on their desserts, Grammy handed Lilly a photograph of a man sitting in an easy chair in front of a fireplace, his legs stretched out in front of him. Sitting in his lap was a small boy who wasn’t more than about ten years old.
“Who’s this handsome man, Grammy?” Lilly drew the photograph closer to her eyes. “The small boy looks familiar. Who is he?’
“This is a picture of my husband, Claude, and your father when he was just a boy. I took this picture on Claude’s 36th birthday about a month before he contracted pneumonia.”
“Pneumonia? How come I never knew that?”
“I didn’t tell you because talking about his illness and death was difficult for me. But I believe it’s important that you know a little about your grandfather and the circumstances surrounding his death.” Grammy paused, collecting her thoughts. “I best just start at the beginning. Claude awoke one morning coughing and sneezing. We thought he merely had a cold so he went to work, but by the time he returned home that evening he’d developed a high fever and chills. I wrapped him in blankets, put him in bed, and fed him chicken soup and lots of liquids as was the custom at the time. But by the next morning he had shortness of breath, a deep raspy cough, and severe chest pains. I rushed him to the hospital where doctors and nurses treated him., but within a few hours he gasped for his last breath. In an instant, he was gone. I was too late.” Tears rose up in Grammy’s throat. “ If only I’d gotten him to the hospital sooner.”
“But Grammy, you didn’t know how serious his illness was.” Lilly squeezed Grammy’s hand offering a deep sigh and a thoughtful expression. “I just can’t imagine losing your husband and so suddenly. I can’t even begin to fathom what that type of pain and emptiness must’ve felt or looked like.”
“I was traumatized and afterwards, sitting at his bedside for a long time thinking he’d eventually wake up, but the life that dwelt in him was gone, gone forever. The heart that used to beat with love was still, and the mind that felt pain and emotions was blank. For weeks after the funeral, I was in shock. Everything was intense but muffled at the same time. I heard people talking, but their words had no meaning. It was as if I was living in a bubble and no longer felt a part of the world around me. I was numb, but my heartache and pain were so intense that I wanted my life to end too.”
“I’m glad you found the courage to continue life without your husband.”
“I really had no choice. I was left to raise your father on my own. Since Claude and I had very little savings, I did what I needed to do, put aside my feelings, and looked for a job so I could provide for your father. During the 30s, jobs for women were hard to find, but I landed a job at the garment factory, often working 12-hour days. After a respectable mourning period, Aunt Ruthie suggested I let my hair down and go dancing with her. Ruthie loved to swing dance, and the most popular place in town for swing dancing was the Century Room here at the Whitmore. The Century Room was such a magnificent place alive with Big Band music.” Grammy released a deep, weighted sigh and took a tissue from her purse. “It was at one of the these dances where I met him.”
“Whom Grammy?”
“My mystery man,” she muttered under her breath. “Oh, child, I’ve dreaded this day for quite some time.”
“Why, Grammy? You look more upset than I’ve ever seen you.”
“I feared telling you about him would tarnish our relationship or put a rift between you and I. I couldn’t bear losing you, Lilly. But at this point in my life, I’m tired of living in fear and in the shadows of my past and need to set myself free from the burden I’ve been carrying lo these many years. I hope you’ll understand, Doodlebug.”
Lilly leaned toward Grammy and kissed her on the cheek. “Of course, I’ll understand. Please tell me your story, Grammy. I want to know.”
“I’m not quite sure how to begin,” Grammy hesitated before dumping the contents of her dresser box onto the table and rummaging through its contents—a coat check ticket; a stack of letters tied together with ribbon marked Addressee Unknown; some miscellaneous photographs; a sealed miniature keepsake envelope; and a nosegay of forget-me-nots neatly pressed between two sheets of wax paper. “Your Aunt Ruthie and I left our tenement building and jumped onto the uptown trolley,” Grammy began in a low, pained voice.
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