Something Old, Something New Read online

  “I’ll wait.” As he trudged away Trent wondered if that woe-is-me face ever worked on Lily. Not that it mattered. Being dad to Amari had given Trent all the patience he’d ever need. Devon the sad-faced boy was no match for Amari I-steal-cars Steele, so Trent wasn’t the least bit moved to let Devon have his way.

  Devon returned carrying a backpack and his Bible. Trent relocked the door and led him back across the street. Amari was coming out of the house. “Homework’s done. Okay if I go hang with Preston?”

  “Be home by eight.”

  “Okay.” He gave Devon a nod, jumped off the porch, and ran next door.

  Upstairs, Trent showed Devon into the guest room where he’d be sleeping and watched the boy slowly glance around at the furnishings, the curtains, and peer in through the door that led to the adjoining bathroom.

  “This okay?” Trent asked.

  “That’s a big bed.”

  “Yep. It’s a king. Sleeps good, though.”

  Devon walked over to it to take a closer look. He ran his hand over the soft blue chenille bedspread.

  “Okay?” Trent asked quietly.

  Devon nodded.

  Trent supposed the idea of spending the night in a strange room would be challenging to a kid who’d never slept anyplace other than home or at Zoey’s. “Being in a new room can spook you sometimes. Think you’d like to have a nightlight handy, just in case?”

  Devon nodded and then said genuinely, “Thank you for not making fun of me, Mr. Trent.”

  The sincerity made tears sting Trent’s eyes. “No problem, man.”

  Devon then said, “I never had a dad.”

  “So what do you think so far?”

  He shrugged. “Can I ask you a question?”

  “Sure. Shoot.”

  “Why won’t anybody let me be a preacher?”

  Trent wondered if Lily had ever seen the seriousness below the boy’s surface. He was what Tamar called an old soul. “Number one, you’re only nine. And two, you don’t know enough about life to do all the stuff preachers have to do.”

  “Like what?”

  Trent thought it over for a moment. “Take marriage counseling. What would you tell a married couple considering divorce?”

  “I’d tell them to read their Bible. If they just trust—”

  Trent held up a hand. “They tried that. Not working for them. What about a marriage counselor? Do you know how to put them in touch with someone like that?” He added gently, “Do you even know what a marriage counselor does?”

  “No, but the Bible instructs a woman to follow the advice and desires of her husband.”

  “What do you think Ms. Lily would do if you told her something like that?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  “I do. We’d probably find you up on Jupiter somewhere.”

  He looked away.

  “Devon, the Bible gives you wonderful rules to live by, but you have to have some life experience in order to truly understand and apply them, or to show someone else the way.”

  “My grandma said I was anointed.”

  “I know better than to argue with grandmas.”

  Devon tossed back, “And Jesus said, ‘If any of you put a stumbling block before one of these little ones who believe in me, it would be better for you if a large millstone were fastened around your neck and you were drowned in the depth of the sea.’ Matthew, chapter eighteen, verse six.”

  The smug face made Trent again want to smack him upside his head, but instead, he replied coolly, “ ‘Honor they father and thy mother, so that your days may be long.’ Exodus, chapter twenty.”

  Devon stiffened.

  Trent gave him an understanding pat on the shoulder. “Bed at eight.”

  Trent didn’t allow himself to smile until after he sat down on the couch. Once upon a time, Amari had thought himself smarter than the average bear, too, but just like Devon, Trent had set him straight. He hoped the checkmate in this mini challenge would make the little deacon think twice before trying to chastise somebody, especially an adult, with self-serving biblical quotes, but then again, who knew. Trent sensed a lot of simmering going on beneath Devon’s calm exterior and wondered how long it would be before it bubbled to the surface. From the classes and information Bernadine had provided the foster parents that first summer, he’d learned that it sometimes took years for children to reveal their true personalities. Many were carrying so much pain inside that they were afraid to open themselves for fear of more. Devon had only been in the system for a few months before being found by Bernadine, and from all indications he’d been well loved by his late grandmother, thus escaping the traumas borne by Henry Adams’s other children. However, being torn from the bosom of family and set down in a town filled with strangers had to have been traumatic, no matter how you cut it, especially for a boy his age.

  As Trent picked up the remote to turn on the Thursday-night football game, he vowed to be patient, but couldn’t help wonder who the real Devon Watkins might turn out to be.

  The teams were just kicking off when Amari walked in. The dejected look on his face made Trent mute the sound. “What’s up, big guy?”

  Amari sat down in the leather chair across from Trent. “Preston has started looking for his birth parents.”

  Trent studied his son’s face. “Really?”

  “Yeah. He’s got Leah helping him.”

  “Is that why you look so down, because he asked Leah and not you?”

  “No. I don’t mind that so much, but he said he didn’t have time to help me find mine, too.”

  Trent now understood. During the preparation for last summer’s August First parade, Amari had let Preston do all the heavy lifting while he’d basked in the glory until the adults put a stop to the imbalance. Trent didn’t like seeing Amari so glum, but he was pleased that Preston was learning to tell Amari no. “That’s really something you should do on your own, son.”

  “I guess. Which means I’ll never know who my folks are, because no way can I use the computer like him.”

  “I didn’t mean on your own, by yourself. I’d help.”

  Amari straightened. “Would you?”

  “Of course. Tamar is convinced you have July blood and has been asking around the family.”

  “There are other Julys?”

  “Yep. Cousins. Second cousins. Tamar has a brother named Thaddeus, and he has nine kids. There’s also supposed to be Julys still living down on the Texas-Mexico border, where the original outlaw Julys hailed from.”

  “That’s awesome.”

  Trent had a question. “So has Preston talked this over with the Paynes?”

  “Not yet, but he plans to tonight.”

  Trent shook his head with amusement over where Preston had placed his foster parents on the pecking order, and wondered how Sheila and Barrett would react.

  Amari’s voice brought him back. “So when will Tamar know?”

  Trent shrugged. “There’s no telling, but in the meantime, how about you and I do some computer work on our own, and learn how to start this search?”

  Amari beamed.

  “And,” Trent added, “if it’s okay with you, I want to call over to the court and ask about what we need to do to make your adoption final.”

  The wattage on Amari’s smile tripled. He launched himself at Trent and hugged him with all his might. Laughing, Trent held him close, savoring the boy’s joy and his own. After a moment, he drew back and looked down into Amari’s face. “Do I take that as a yes?”

  “Oh, hell yes—I mean, heck yes.”

  Trent’s laughter exploded. “You are something else.”

  “Just being me.”

  “You’re growing up.”

  Amari settled himself on the arm of Trent’s chair. “You think so?”

  “Yep.”

  “Maybe because I got my own family, my own room, my own best friend, at least when Leah lets me borrow him.”

  “That turning into an issue for
you?”

  He shook his head. “I’m just playing. Leah being around Preston is helping him with stuff I can’t.”

  “Like?”

  “Which colleges he should try for. Stuff like that.”

  Amari was an expert at hiding his true feelings, and Trent sometimes had a hard time deciphering the truth. Now was one of those times. “You sure you’re okay with the time Preston is spending with Leah?”

  “Yes, and even if I wasn’t, there’s nothing I can do about it.”

  Trent noticed that he’d said “can” and not “could.” That told him a lot.

  Amari asked, “Do you think you’ll still want to talk to me like this when you and Ms. Lily get married?”

  That question told Trent a lot as well. “If you mean just the two of us, one on one, the answer is always. We’ll still be talking when you have your own kids.”

  Amari met his eyes and nodded approvingly. “I like having our one-on-ones before I go to bed.”

  “So do I, son.”

  “Like being called son.”

  “Like being called dad.”

  They grinned.

  Amari said, “This is getting mushy.”

  Trent chuckled. “I know. So how about we check out the game before you head up to bed.”

  He hit the sound on the remote, and father and son turned their attention to the TV.

  Upstairs on the landing, and hidden by the shadows, the eavesdropping Devon listened for a moment longer, then tiptoed back to the guest room. In some ways, the conversation between Amari and Mr. Trent reminded him of his talks with his grandma. Her voice would be soft with love just like Mr. Trent’s, and thinking about her brought tears to his eyes. He missed her so much it made his stomach hurt sometimes. He knew she was up in heaven, living in one of God’s many mansions, but he wanted her back on earth because he was so scared that he’d forget her when he grew up.

  As he got back into the giant bed and wiped at his tears, he could still see her face and hear her calling his name.

  “Devon! Time to go.”

  “Yes, ma’am. Be right there.”

  Dressed in his suit and tie, he’d step out of his tiny bedroom, and at the sight of him, she’d always say proudly, “You are the handsomest preacher in the state of Mississippi.”

  He’d giggle, and she’d grin.

  Having had their breakfast earlier, there was nothing left to do but for her to pick up her pocketbook and Bible and to take one last look at herself in her big blue hat in the small mirror on the wall. “Gotta look my best for the Bridegroom.”

  Once she was satisfied that she looked just right, they’d set off walking down the dirt road for the half-mile trip to the Good Will Missionary Church of God. She couldn’t walk very fast due to the swelling in her legs from diabetes. Sometimes, if they were lucky, one of their neighbors would drive up and offer them a ride the rest of the way. Most Sundays, however, they walked, rain or shine, and on the rare occasion that she couldn’t muster the strength to make the trip, Devon went alone.

  In his memory’s eye he could see the old abandoned cinder-block building that had served as the church, and the lush, overgrown greenness of the Mississippi countryside that surrounded it. He could hear the off-key singing of Ms. Myrtle, his grandma’s best friend, as she led the hymns. If a raven could sing, it would probably sound like Ms. Myrtle, but she hadn’t cared. What she lacked in tune, she made up for with enthusiasm and volume. His grandma said when Myrtle sang, not even the angels could sleep in on Sunday morning.

  Devon missed Ms. Myrtle and the other ladies of the congregation. He even missed old man Lemon, who came to church every Sunday and slept in the back chair. As the memories filled him, Devon remembered the fun he had planting the garden in the spring and listening to the frogs and crickets at night through the window of his room.

  But all that was gone now, along with his grandma, and tears stung his eyes again. The other Henry Adams kids might like having a new life and doing new things, but he didn’t. He wanted the life he’d had before.

  Down in Miami, Paula Grant plopped down heavily into her old chair, not out of sadness or frustration but out of sheer awe. Talk about miracles. Not only did she have a new job, but from the story told to her by Bernadine and Lily, it was going to be in a little piece of heaven. Yesterday evening, she’d had no prospects; now, it seemed as if she had more blessings than her arms could hold. In many ways, she felt as if she’d somehow stumbled into a parallel universe. How could what Bernadine described as her town possibly be true?

  She turned to her ancient computer and googled Henry Adams. After spending an hour reading articles, watching cable news clips, and researching the Great Exodus of 1879, she was even more blown away. On one hand, she was deeply saddened by the finality of leaving Miami, on the other, she was so excited about what the future might hold, she felt like a little kid. Even though Paula had tried to protest, Bernadine had gone ahead and paid for movers, storage for her old Ford, and even encouraged her to think about the size and layout of the church Bernadine planned to build. Paula thought back on her years spent at Old Ab and the hardships she’d endured heading up a church and a congregation no other clergy wanted or even cared about. She’d worked countless hours and made endless sacrifices to keep the doors open and her people fed both physically and spiritually, and now, God was leading her to a ministry halfway across the country. That Zoey Raymond would be playing a part in Paula’s new life was a surprising twist. When had the little one stopped speaking, and why? she wondered, but hoped she could help in some way. In the meantime, this chapter of her life was closing, with another poised to open.

  She glanced at her watch. It was time to lock up and go home. As she turned out the light, she paused for a moment to say a prayer for the congregation she was leaving behind, and for guidance on the journey ahead. She also prayed to remain humble in the face of the astonishing wealth of Ms. Bernadine Brown.

  Chapter 6

  Lily and Bernadine flew into the Hays airport the following morning. Nathan met them and drove them back to the Power Plant so they could pick up their cars. Lily had made plans last week to take the day off, so she wasn’t going back to the office. Bernadine knew to call her only if the world caught fire.

  Once at home, Lily sent a text to Trent to let him know she was back, then opened a text message waiting for her from Marie. Need to see you asap, was all it said, so she took a quick shower, changed into fresh clothes, and drove out to see what Marie wanted.

  The drive out to the Jefferson homestead took only a few minutes. Marie’s ancestor, Chase Jefferson, had been a sergeant with the Tenth Cavalry before he was elected Henry Adams’s sheriff. His wife, Cara Lee, was the town’s first college-educated schoolteacher.

  Lily parked and walked up the gravel path to the porch. Marie lived with her mother, Agnes, a contemporary and running buddy of Tamar July’s. Staying with them temporarily was Genevieve Curry, who’d moved in after walking away from her marriage to Riley and his hog, Cletus, and who according to Trent had knocked Riley the hell out yesterday. Lily really wished she’d been at the Dog to see it.

  Lily called through the screen door, and Marie came to let her in.

  “Hey there.”

  Marie was tall and thin and wearing her signature cat-eyed glasses. Today’s pair was aqua with rhinestones. Viewing them made Lily give her a smile. “You and those glasses.”

  Marie grinned.

  The house’s interior, with its old-fashioned doily-topped furniture, brought back memories of the years Lily had lived within its walls. After leaving for college, she’d sworn never to return to boring, slow-paced Henry Adams, but life had a way of changing things. “So what’s up with the cryptic message?”

  “Come on into the kitchen.”

  The stylish stainless-steel appliances, courtesy of Bernadine’s improvement fund, were a marked contrast to the doilies and overstuffed sofas and chairs in the living room, or as Ms. Agnes preferred to
call it, the front parlor.

  Lily took a seat at the table.

  “You want coffee?”

  “Love some.”

  While Marie did the honors, Lily told her about her trip to Miami, the new reverend, and her connection to Zoey.

  “Let’s hope the reunion will make Zoey smile,” Marie said, placing a steaming blue cup in front of Lily.

  She took a seat on the other side of the table. “Speaking of reunions—read this.”

  Marie passed her an envelope. Lily curiously assessed it and then Marie before taking out the letter. It read:

  Hello. My name is Brian French. I think I am your son. Please call.

  There was a phone number listed.

  Lily was confused. “Whose son is he claiming to be?”

  “Mine.”

  Her mouth dropped. “Yours?”

  “Gave him up for adoption. I was, what, eighteen, almost nineteen. Got pregnant my first year of college. The father refused to marry me, so I came home. You can probably imagine Mama’s reaction.”

  Lily could. Ms. Agnes was all about appearances. The day Lily came to live with them, she’d been sternly warned not to bring dishonor on the Jefferson name, or she’d find herself living elsewhere. At the time, Lily had been the epitome of a good girl. She’d just lost her mother to cancer, and being chastised about her behavior before barely getting her foot in the door hadn’t set well. All these many years later, it still didn’t.

  Marie was staring off as if she, too, was reviewing the past. When she finally turned back, she confessed with a sad whisper, “I never even held him.”

  That broke Lily’s heart. “So are you going to call him?”

  She shrugged. “Leo says I shouldn’t.”

  “But what do you want to do?” she asked, emphasis on the you. Who cared what Leo thought?

  “Not sure.”

  “Do you want to talk to him?”

  “Of course, but what if he’s bitter about my giving him up? What if his childhood was like Amari’s or Crystal’s?”

  “What if it wasn’t? What if he was raised by a wonderful family and just wants to connect with his birth mom? I’m thinking it took a whole lot of courage for him to reach out like this, especially not knowing whether you want the contact or not.”