Chapter 38

Marian watched her daughters becoming more and more sullen. Now that school was out, she could supervise them much more effectively than before, and she supervised with a vengeance. In a little longer than a month, Moses would board a bus and one of the problems would disappear North, hopefully forever. That still left Bernadette, who had graduated, but was not yet eighteen. She wanted to go North too, and Marian knew exactly why. She kept saying “No.” When Bernadette turned eighteen, in July, she would keep saying “No”, hoping that something would turn up that would keep her daughter away from Curtis Lee. She felt like she was in a no-win situation. She knew Bernadette talked about Curtis Lee to her sister, and vice versa. If Bernadette left, say for Atlanta, where Marian still had friends, and might be able to arrange employment, distasteful as that was, maybe Hilda Mae might be a little more manageable. On the other hand, Bernadette would be footloose and fancy free in the big city, which worried Marian to no end. And, Hilda Mae would then be alone, pining for something she could never have, with no sister there to commiserate with her. There was just no answer to the dilemma.

It was, ironically, the 4th of July, when Bernadette came to her mother one morning and asked her to sit down at the table.

“I have to go to Kansas city,” she said, her voice sounding strange.

“We’ve talked about this over and over,” said Marian. “I can’t let you do that. You don’t know what you’re doing.”

“Mamma,” said the girl, her voice strained. “I have to go.” She looked down at the table, unable to keep her mother’s stare. “Something happened ... something I didn’t plan on. I have to go, Mamma.”

Something in her voice set of alarms in Marian’s head.

“What happened,” she asked, her stomach doing flip-flops.

“Curtis Lee came with Nathan last time,” said Bernadette nervously.

“No he didn’t,” said Marian. “He stayed here, with us. He came alone.”

“He didn’t come alone,” said Bernadette miserably. “We couldn’t tell you. You’d have forbidden me to see him. I had to see him, Mamma.”

“What did you do?!” asked her distressed mother.

“I have to go to Kansas city, Mamma. You need to understand that. I have to go soon, before...”

“Before you begin to show,” said Marian dully. “But that’s why I put you on those damned pills,” she said helplessly.

“I forgot to take one,” said Bernadette. “Just one single time I forgot.”

Marian lay her head down on her arms. She didn’t say anything for so long that Bernadette was starting to get worried. Then she raised her head.

“I’ll give you money for a bus ticket,” she said. “I can’t do anything more than that. I can’t send you there, and I can’t give you permission to go. Your father would never forgive me if I did. You’ll have to repay me too. He should pay for this. He’s the one who did this to you.”

“It wasn’t like that, Mamma,” said Bernadette, straightening up. “He fought me the whole time, from the very beginning. He told me I was crazy, and that I’d get us both in trouble. He ran away from me, even. That was why he went to the academy with Nathan in the first place, to leave me here so I’d forget him.”

“But he came back,” said Marian sternly. “Didn’t he?”

“I threatened him, Mamma,” said the girl. “I wrote him secret letters and said I’d run away if he didn’t come back with Nathan. There are things you don’t know about ... things I can’t tell you about ... not now. We’re tied together, Mamma ... all of us kids ... Moses and Johnnie Sue and Jesse... all of us have made plans, and I can’t tell you about it, but I want you to know everything’s going to be okay. I promise!”

“You planned this?” Marian gasped.

“Not getting pregnant,” Bernadette blushed. “Not like this, anyway. I planned on being married first.”

“To him?“

“Yes, even before he left. I told him I was going to marry him. He said I was crazy. But then this other thing happened and it changed everything.”

“What other thing?” asked Marian.

“That’s the part I can’t tell you about. Please, Mamma, all I can tell you is that we’ll be okay. Everything is already arranged.”

“I will skin that boy alive!” said Marian.

“I told you, it wasn’t his fault!” said Bernadette.

“I’m talking about your brother!“ spat Marian. “He’s been sneaking around behind my back, after I let him go off and be with her and ... and ... and” She began spluttering with frustration.

“Mamma, you remember when you first figured out I was in love with Curtis Lee?” Bernadette asked suddenly. “Remember when you came into the bedroom and talked with us for hours?” She leaned forward. “Do you remember what you told us?”

“Of course I do,” moaned Marian. “And you obviously didn’t listen to me! I told you it was damn foolishness to think about boys outside your station in life!”

“You told us about that other boy you liked, Mamma,” said Bernadette. “And you told us how you forgot all about him when you met Daddy, and that we’d forget all about the boys we were interested in when we met the right kind of boys.”

Marian looked confused. She had told them about Phillip. She had told the story differently than she had when she told it to Flossie, but the purpose had been different.

“Mamma, we could see that you hadn’t forgotten about him. Your eyes got all soft when you were remembering him, Mamma. You said you’d forgotten him, but you didn’t really.”

Marian looked at her daughter helplessly. “I love your father,” she said.

“I know you do, but it was clear to both Hildy and me that you also loved this other man. You said he was the wrong kind of boy, but you loved him anyway, didn’t you?” When her mother didn’t answer she went on. “And I love Curtis Lee, even though I know he’s not the right man for me to love, and that our life will be hard, and people will most likely look down on us. But I love him, Mamma, and it’s his baby inside me, and I love that too, even though I’m scared to death. But I have to go be with him, Mamma. I can’t stand the thought of him not knowing, and of me being away from him any more. I love you, and I wish this hadn’t happened this way, but it did, and I have to go, and I promise you we’re going to be okay, even though I can’t tell you why.”

Marian couldn’t think clearly right now. The heart of a mother heard what was in her daughter’s voice, but she couldn’t just accept it ... not just like that. She stood up, rigid.

“I can’t take you to the bus station,” she said. “You must wait until you’re eighteen, or your father will send people after you. You’ll have to find your own way.”

Tears ran down Bernadette’s face, and her voice was choked.

“Okay, Mamma,” she said.

“You can call your brother,” said her mother.

On the fifteenth of July, 1963, in a strange role reversal, Moses Finshaw was taken to Flaerty to catch the bus north. The role reversal wasn’t that Moses was riding, while his mother drove the battered old pickup that was jointly owned by the Finshaws and Jesse Hawthorn’s parents. The role reversal was the fact that, in the back, covered by a tarp, nestled among bags of tobacco, was a white girl, escaping to the North by being smuggled out of the South.

The truck ground to a halt just around the bend that led into town, and Bernadette got out with her suitcase. In her pocket she had a hundred dollars that Moses had pressed into her hand just before he covered her up with the tarp. It was part of the five hundred dollars the Wilson boy had dropped off a couple of months earlier. The truck rumbled on into town, and Bernadette walked the last three quarters of a mile. She bought her ticket and sat down on in the white waiting area, where she could see Moses, who ignored her completely. When they boarded the first of several buses that would take them to Kansas City, they sat apart, as the law required. From St. Louis on, however, they sat side by side. Two men approached them, asking if the boy was bothering her. Bernadette simply said she was fine.

Bernadette had learned of the plans to get her to Flaerty in a note, printed neatly in her mother’s hand, that she found under her pillow. Her mother never said a word about the note, nor did Bernadette ask her anything.

Marian’s decision to help her daughter was influenced in no small way by a conversation she had with Mable Finshaw shortly after she had found out her daughter was pregnant. Knowing now that her younger daughter’s infatuation with Moses was most likely not the rebellious crush of a young girl after all, Marian had gone to speak with Mable. It was then she learned about the money, and the laughable excuse Nathan was giving people about buying and selling antiques.

“I don’t know where they got that money,” said Mable softly as they sat out in the shade behind the house, “but they’ve been giving it to the families of all their school mates.” She paused. “I can’t imagine where it came from,” she went on, “but I can tell you it’s made a world of difference in our lives. That’s a good boy you raised.”

Marian had left that conference a troubled woman. By all accounts, her son had distributed over two thousand dollars, and Curtis Lee had been with him when it happened. She couldn’t fathom where they could come up with that kind of cash, but Bernadette’s heartfelt comment about “things I can’t tell you about” came to mind. That didn’t help much. Marian had learned that all the parents had gotten together to compare notes. They had then questioned and even threatened their children about the mystery, but not even Jesse had caved. At fourteen, he had a presence about him that far exceeded his years. All of the kids had presented a united front, saying they didn’t know anything about it. That they clearly did, just made the mystery deeper. When, as a last resort, Luthor’s parents said he could have none of the money, he simply said “Spend it on the farm, then.”

After another week of worrying and fretting, Marian contacted Mable again. Then she wrote the note that Bernadette had found under her pillow.

On the evening of the 15th of July, at supper, Harvey asked where Bernadette was.

Hilda Mae sat calmly. “She said this afternoon that she was going to go help Miz Hopkins with a new shipment of books. She’s probably over there reading them. I think she took some sandwiches with her.”

“Well, when she gets back, tell her she missed supper and to stay out of the kitchen,” said Harvey heavily. “I’m going to bed. Been feeling poorly lately.”

The next morning, Hilda Mae came to the breakfast table, and sat down. She had taken two bites before she stopped eating and looked around. She was the consummate actress.

“Where’s Bernadette?” she asked.

Harvey looked around.

Marian looked nervous. “Isn’t she still in the bedroom?”

“No. Her bed was made when I got up.”

“Didn’t you talk to her when she got home?” asked Harvey, looking alarmed now.

“I fell asleep,” said his daughter, no trace of guile on her face. “When I woke up I thought she’d already gotten up.”

Marian rushed to the bedroom, already trembling, while Harvey followed her. Bernadette wasn’t there, of course. Marian picked up the pillow, to reveal a note. When she read it she burst into tears. They were honest tears. She was terrified for her daughter, but it was what was written that caused her to cry out, just to keep from laughing.

“I have gone off to find my fortune. I love you both, but I’m all grown up now. I’ll contact you when I’ve found some place to live. Don’t worry about me. Tell Hildy she can have the clothes I left behind.”

To Marian’s eyes, she saw a little girl, in all her innocence, running away from home on a lark of some kind. But she knew that was no little girl, and that, just as she did, Bernadette knew just what was at stake.

Harvey snatched the note from her, and his eyes bulged when he read it. He stomped out of the house, and didn’t come back all day. He had tracked down the constable, who, when he found out the girl was eighteen, said there was nothing he could do. Harvey had then looked fruitlessly for his daughter, and then found someplace to get roaring drunk. Marian shooed Hilda out of the house. There was no telling what Harvey would be like when he was like this.