The Battered Heiress Blues

The Battered Heiress Blues - By Laurie Van Dermark





PROLOGUE





Sissy was the smallest black woman I’d ever laid my eyes on. What she lacked in stature, she far made up for in gumption. Her bark wasn’t worse than her bite. Her words, spewed forth with clear fervor, made white men tremble, but the bite- well my father shed more than one tear on her account. My nana often called her the greatest gift she’d ever given my mama, as if Sissy was of the character to stay where it didn’t please her most emphatically. She was four feet ten inches of pure stubborn power with micro braids down the length of her back. In so much as John Spencer felt he was the head of his own household, Sissy worked for Nana and no other. Father worked diligently to have her dismissed, but she never departed the mansion and never left my mama’s side for a second. Where one went, the other followed. When I came along, she became my devoted guardian, hiding me beneath her protective wings from John’s indifference to the birth of a daughter. In Sissy’s eyes, I was the grandest and most treasured gift she had. This shelter continued as my mama bore John a son- my brother, Thomas.

Mama had grown tired and slept for stretches of time. Sissy made excuses, but I knew that all was not well. My father began making time in his busy schedule to take her on multiple shopping trips to Atlanta. I was young and naïve, but not stupid. Mama hadn’t been well since she turned up pregnant with Tommy. For all of Sissy’s convincing and her infinite planning to keep me busy, I saw Mama wither like a delicate rose on the vine at the end of a glorious season. Though she became a prisoner to her carved wooden bed, she seemed at any moment to arise and entertain the high cotton sort that was Savannah royalty.

John blew through abruptly and left just as quickly, never staying longer than a night, unable to face the gravity of losing his beloved Grace. Thomas and I held vigil at her bedside daily until Sissy would muster the energy to half carry and half drag us down the hall to our beds. Mama had become a shell that housed multiple tubes. One snaked down her nose, one in her arm, and another in her chest. She’d wake briefly and shower us with smiles before drifting off again. Thomas was too small to feel the sharp sorrow that pierced my heart. She was larger than life to me.

“I don’t want a sick Mama anymore, Sissy,” I cried, watching the nurse adjust the tubes that made the most beautiful woman in the world a human pincushion. Turning away, my body found its haven in the arms of my shadow. Pulling me close to her bony chest, she brushed the dark unruly curls back over my shoulders.

“You wipe those tears dry, you hear? You’re a lucky girl, Julia Spencer.”

“My mama’s dying. That’s not lucky,” I whimpered, burying my face against her.

“Well, God sure didn’t see fit to give me a mama like yours. My mama was as mean as a cottonmouth snake. She used to make me pick my switch before she beat me with it. Your mama is an angel. Now, look at her. Is she not the finest woman we know?”

“Of course,” I replied softly, shaking my head in agreement, as I turned to see the pile of bones under Sissy’s homemade quilts. Only her head was visible, displaying the exquisite ebony silk that sprung forth from her scalp, meticulously coiffed by her old friend.

When the nurse left, Sissy laid out a picnic blanket at the bottom of Mama’s bed and presented Thomas and I with a basket of food to explore. He thought Mama was merely sleeping but we knew her silence was from the stuff that flowed through the tubes- the medicine that kept her quiet and free from pain. Sissy grabbed our hands, blessed the food, and prayed over Mama for healing before we broke bread. We talked about the blue water that stretched out into the horizon just beyond our backdoor and made plans to swim in the morning. Sissy handed out her special chocolate chip cookies and fruit punch that we held tightly while she sang old hymns. The sound radiated beautiful tones that filled the room- almost visible. She didn’t miss a note as she spied my brother’s body beginning to slant in the direction of the soft mattress. Rescuing the glass from his tight grip, she placed it on the vanity dresser where Mama once sat and brushed her hair.

Footsteps pounded heavily against the wooden floor in the hall, getting louder as they approached the bedroom. The melody stopped mid-phrase. Suddenly, the door flung open and my father filled the space between us with anger and rage, sucking life’s air out of the room like a vacuum. His face was as red as the inside of a watermelon. He walked with determination to where Thomas lay and grabbed him harshly, disappearing from our sight. The cries of my startled brother became more muffled as Father stormed further down the hall. Only moments passed before he returned and instructed me to leave with haste.

“I’m not leaving my mama,” I said defiantly.

“Oh yes you are, young lady, and I mean directly,” he replied, pointing to my exit.

Sissy took a step toward me, volunteering to incur his wrath on my behalf.

“You best stand back, Sissy,” he said, shaking his fist in her direction.

Looking to her side and then the other, followed by a lingering glance behind, she responded with an equal amount of hostility, “Just who do you think you’re talking to? You see a slave in this room? You forget yourself, Mr. Spencer.”

“You’re fired. Leave.”

“Well, you’ve already fired me one hundred and thirty-five times and I am still here. I’ll still be here tomorrow, and the next day, and the next day after that. I don’t work for you. I work for Nana- the one who bankrolls your business and bought you this fancy house. Grace is my best friend. You have no authority over me. Collect yourself before you scare your daughter.”

Opting to go around the mountain instead of through it, he slipped by her to the opposite side of the bed and started to pull my right arm with conviction, causing the red juice to splash against the ivory quilt.

“Look what you did. You let that child loose,” she demanded.

“Or what? Your benefactor is not here, is she? Run along, Sissy. Go tell Nana.”

Father was committed to his present course of action, but a scrappy African goddess who was part sugar and part salt raised me. I wouldn’t go down without a fight and I had absolutely no intention of being removed from my mama’s presence. “Leave Julia. Now,” he yelled, making Mama flinch, though her eyes remained closed.

“The hell you say,” I responded, grabbing hold of Mama’s hand that barely fell below the edge of the quilt.

Both Father and Sissy said my name in unison, in its entirety, the very second the profanity left my lips, “Julia Grace Spencer”. Just as quickly as they came together on common ground they receded back into their corners.

“I am sleeping in Mama’s bed again tonight and I’m not leaving,” I said with resolve.

Father scooped me up from behind, breaking my connection to Mama, and began making forward progress toward the door, but my hands found the wooden posts at the end of her bed. He pulled and pulled until the sweat began to gather around my fingers, causing me to lose grip. Catching the doorframe as we passed through it, I recommitted to my cause. Sissy began speaking with wild contempt at a speed that no mere human could understand, cursing him to be sure. Thoroughly frustrated and impatient, John finally grabbed my hands and ripped them across the metal doorplate, sending a stabbing pain straight through me. Blood spattered across the planked floor and Sissy spun into action, removing the scarf from around her neck and winding it around my hand.

“You’re wicked. You’ve done gone crazy, John Spencer. Get out of here. Go on, you hear? Your heart has turned as black as the night. You’re no good to no one.”

Father looked at me with both hostility and remorse. He was as broken as the woman that was bound to her bed. I had one parent dying of cancer and another dying to share her fate. Thomas and I weren’t enough to keep him engaged in reality. We were reminders of the life he had envisioned with a beautiful Southern sorority girl all those years ago.

He left that night and didn’t return from New York, until the day that Nana signed the papers to shut off her only child’s life support. After the funeral, I rarely saw Father, with the exception of holidays. Sissy died soon after Mama in a terrible car crash, leaving me disillusioned and jaded. No doubt, her exit was planned all along to reunite her with her dear white sister Grace. Nana did her best to trudge on in Mama’s place, giving Tommy and me many years of happiness and affection before leaving to join those rowdy women in heaven.

But I was heir to the Spencer fortune. There had been no contingency for sorrow. Weakness wasn’t an option. I grew up, only sure of one thing-my father and I were done, forever.