Chapter 1
Forest Drive
Tilly--1937
Our home on Forest Drive stood among towering oaks draped in Spanish moss, and was surrounded by influential people and perfectly manicured lawns. Yet beneath its polished exterior, it was not a happy place.
Invitations to my parent’s parties on Forest Drive were the most coveted events by the socially connected in Columbiana, Alabama. Almost every weekend, our home was swarming with people and a seemingly endless supply of food, alcohol, and cigarette smoke. Yet, despite the respected family shields of the attendees, the drunken behavior of my parent’s guests surpassed the conduct of the everyday town folk at local pig pickings and cattle auctions. Family breeding, it seems, was no guarantee of common decency, courteous behavior, or manners. In fact, I felt safer among the working class of Columbiana than I did in my own home.
I sat with my little brother, Finn, our legs dangling through the banister as we watched the people below. The ladies wore alluring dresses adorned with beautiful beads in all patterns and colors. Pearls and delicate jewels swung around their necks as they promenaded around the floor beneath us. The men had their hands everywhere on the women’s bodies, something I never remember them doing in town. I looked at my four-year-old brother, who was totally unaware, then glanced back down at the scene below. My cheeks blazed red, not knowing what to do while they freely groped each other in front of us. I knew I shouldn’t be watching the adult-rated scenes below, but even at nine years old, it was too hypnotizing not to stare. They held each other close, rubbing and fondling each other as they slid across the floor while carelessly spilling their drinks and dropping their cigarette ashes onto our beautiful wooden floor.
I was mesmerized by my father’s banker, Mr. Norris, a man with a large handlebar mustache, as he spun his partner around the floor with such expertise; she appeared to be dancing on air. He had a large cigar hanging from his mouth and a drink he never once spilled as he danced. He saw me watching and he hurriedly dipped the beautiful blond, kissed her passionately, patted her on the rear and sent her on her way.
“Thanks for the dance, sweetie, but I may have found a new partner,” he said staring up at me. I felt my heart skip a beat as he silently moved across the floor towards the stairs.
“Hey Tilly, why don’t you come down and take a spin with me?” He winked and slowly caressed his crotch then beckoned me to join him. “Well, are you coming?”
I pulled my legs in from between the banister and grabbed Finn’s hand. I wasn’t sure who I was more afraid of, the man following us now or my father’s anger. Dragging my brother down the hallway, I heard Mr. Norris’ footsteps following us. Grammie had told me many times, to stay away from my parents’ parties and to lock myself and my brother in my room until they were over.
“Come on, Finn, hurry.” I pushed my brother through the open door and quickly turned the bolt. I tucked Finn into bed without answering the questions he was obviously asking but not saying. The puzzled look on his face was familiar, but one I had learned to ignore. I didn’t want to destroy the little bit of innocence he had left by trying to explain things I knew little about myself. I heard a tap at the door and watched the knob turning back and forth.
“Come on, let me in,” Mr. Norris yelled in a whisper. “Come on, Tilly. I thought you liked me.”
Surprisingly, his cries for my attention calmed my quickened heart beat and I could feel the heat and the color drain from my cheeks. I had grown accustomed to the behavior of the drunken men my father brought into our home, and, I had complete faith in the lock Grammie secured on my door.
Our parent’s parties finally ended with the depletion of alcohol or the light of day, whichever came first. Finn and I were happy to help our maid, Violet, wipe away all the signs of the party from the night before. However, no matter how hard we scrubbed, cleaning cloths and soapy water could not wash away the visions of drunkenness and sexual exploits that had become a regular part of our lives on Forest Drive.
. . .
Finn and I walked around the house the morning after the party. My brother was fascinated by the empty glasses that crowded our living room, dining room and kitchen; red and pink lipstick smiles left behind. Ashtrays full of cigarette butts and half smoked cigars littered the first floor of the house. Clumps of gray ashes and black smudges covered the dark wood flooring. One of our large velvet curtain panels had escaped its pull back cord and its hem was laying amid the dirt and ashes on the floor.
“What is this?” Finn asked pointing at a glass on the steps with a dark blob floating on top of brown liquid. I immediately thought of Mr. Norris, and his large handlebar mustache. He probably left it there as he followed us up to my room. I would tell my mother about his visit, but she wouldn’t care. As usual, she would say he was married and would never do such a thing.
Mother enjoyed herself the night before. I knew this because she didn’t get up to fix Finn and me breakfast and it was almost lunch time.
The front door opened and Violet, our maid, walked into the house.
“Well, hello there,” she said smiling at Finn and me. “Another party?” She asked, frowning as she looked around the house.
I followed her gaze. It was bad. Worse than usual.
I felt sorry for Violet after our parent’s parties. The guests didn’t seem to care about the mess they left behind, and never offered to help clean up. I got in trouble for pencils and crumpled paper left behind after homework, and got a lecture about respecting other’s property. I wonder why my mother never lectured her guests.
As Violet gathered her cleaning supplies, I ran over to the closet by the front door where coats were hung when guests arrived. There was always a few left behind. I guess the drinking and dancing left people too hot to even remember the coat or fur they arrived wearing. I opened the door as Finn skipped up behind me. Staring down at us was the face of a fox. Its eyes wide open and its teeth bared. It had four paws buried in the fur that covered its body, and a long bushy tail. I jumped up, grabbed the head, and pulled it to the floor. Finn laughed, as he growled at the fox, then threw it around my neck.
“Don’t worry, he’s not real,” Finn said.
“What are you kids doing?” Mother interrupted as she descended the stairs. She reached down and picked up Mr. Norris’s drink, then covered her mouth and set it back where she found it. “Is Violet here yet? Put that fur back in the closet before you ruin it, Tilly. You have to learn to respect other people’s things.” She never stopped to say good morning, but instead headed to the kitchen in search of Violet.
“I’m hungry, “Finn said, staring at my mother’s back as she walked past us.
“I know you are, but can you give me a moment to catch my breath?” she asked, shaking her head as she walked to the kitchen calling Violet’s name. Despite my mother’s obsession with looks, she had not combed her hair and she was wearing her slip. Her long white pearls still dangled between her breasts, lipstick was smeared across her face, and black smudges encircled her eyes which were swollen and red.
As usual, I knew we were on our own for breakfast and lunch. It was always this way the morning after a party.
A few hours later, Finn and I were eating oatmeal in the kitchen when a loud knock interrupted the silence. Thanks to Violet, the kitchen was back to its normal state, and Mother had disappeared upstairs. Our Father had yet to make an appearance. Since Violet was still busy in the living room, I ran to the front door and pulled it ajar, peeking, nervous to see who was here now. I was happy to see Grammie standing on the doorstep with a smile on her face, holding a covered dish.
My maternal grandmother was small but strong, and didn’t put up with back talk from anyone, including Mother and Daddy. Her proper name was Nadie Tilliford Martin, but was always “Grammie” to my brother and me and just “Mother” to Mom and Aunt Julia. She was the one adult I knew would do anything to make sure we were safe.
Grammie’s maternal grandmother was a full-blooded Cherokee who met and married her husband after the Creek war of 1813. Grammie inherited her sewing, cooking and gardening skills from her grandmother. She also had her beautiful olive skin, black eyes, and dark hair streaked with surprisingly small wisps of gray. I hated looking in the mirror at my blonde hair and blue eyes, an inheritance from my father and the Hanover family. I promised God I would do anything if he would make my eyes and hair dark like Grammie’s and the rest of the Martin family.
“Hello my darling,” Grammie said. She stepped into the house and handed me a warm plate, while she took off her coat and hung it in the closet. Seeing the fox fur, she sighed and looked at me. “So, there was another party last night?”
“Yes, and a big one.” I said, setting the warm dish on the floor and removing its cover excited to see what Grammie had made for us. It was her famous chicken pot pie. I didn’t realize how hungry I was until the smell of the pastry drifted up to my nose. “Can Finn and I have a piece now?”
“Of course you can,” Grammie said pulling me up off the floor and retrieving the plate. “Come on, sweetie. Where’s Finn?”
“He’s eating oatmeal.”
“Well, let’s get you two fed. No doubt you need something a little more substantial.” She glanced around the living room and shook her head, but didn’t say anything about the mess. She nodded at Violet then turned back to me. Where’s your mother?” Grammie asked, walking into the kitchen.
“Still upstairs. Daddy too.”
Finn jumped up at the site of our grandmother and ran into her arms. “Grammie! He screamed. You’re here. We saw a furry fox today. Someone left him in the closet. I guess they didn’t want him anymore because he can’t even growl.”
“Yes, Finn, I saw him. I wish I had known there was a party here last night. You and Finn should have stayed with me and Aunt Julia in town. I don’t like you here when your parents have these events. Did you stay in your room with the door locked?” Grammie stopped serving the pie and looked back at me. “Tilly, did you?”
“Yes, we did, Grammie. Well, most of the night,” I replied, knowing I couldn’t lie to my grandmother.
“What have I told you about staying away from your parent’s parties? You know I don’t want you and Finn anywhere near all the drinking that goes on. You’re too young.” Grammie frowned, shook her head back and forth and went back to serving our plates. She poured us two glasses of milk and set pot pie in front of us both.
“I saw some people dancing,” Finn said. He jumped up and twirled around, mimicking the guests he watched the night before.
“What?” Grammie asked, frowning at me. “Tilly?”
“We only came out for a few minutes, Grammie. The music was so loud, and I love to watch them dancing.”
“I don’t care how loud it gets, Tilly. You need to stay in your room with Finn. I don’t trust the folks that attend these things. Next time, you and Finn will stay with me, you hear?”
“I know, Grammie. But I always look after Finn. We were fine.”
“You are growing up too fast for my taste, Tilly.” Grammie smiled and handed us both a fork. “Eat up.”
After finishing his pot pie, Finn ran over to me, slapped me on the back and screamed,
“You’re it!” He dashed through the kitchen doors and headed for the stairs, laughing. Before he reached the steps, he tripped and fell to the ground. I ran past him, slapped him on the back, and headed upstairs, expertly taking two steps at a time.
“Now, you’re it!” I screamed, looking at my brother struggling to pick himself up off the floor.
Trying to evade Finn, I darted into Daddy’s office and slipped into his closet. The air was thick with the scent of mothballs and aged fabric, a musty stillness settling around me as I held my breath. Crouching down in the small space, my eyesight finally adjusted to the dark and I saw an opening in the floorboard. I pulled it up and discovered a secret storage space. Looking through Daddy’s things I discovered a stack of cash, papers, envelopes and Daddy’s gun. I knew Daddy owned a gun because I saw him cleaning it on the dining room table. The door to the closet opened and I looked up expecting Finn, but instead saw my father.
“What are you doing in here, Tilly?”
My father was tall and handsome yet, despite his smile, he scared me. I never knew what he would do next. He might appear to be calm and in control, but then his temper would flare up quickly without notice. Expecting his anger, I instead watched as he knelt down on the floor beside me and took the gun. He showed me how to pull the cylinder open and expose the bullets inside, how to aim and pull the trigger. He was completely mesmerized by the cold metal object, as was I.
“You know, Tilly, this is a powerful tool, and can turn any situation in your favor, if you have the courage, that is.” My father turned the gun over in his hands and pointed it towards the door. “You can easily stop anyone from hurting you,” he said. “As long as you have this, you’re in control.” Daddy placed the gun back under the floor, pushed the plank back down and looked at me. “Stay out of my things, Tilly,” he whispered. “Now get out.”
Chapter 2
Present Time
Tilly-2008
Running through the woods, my clothing and skin snag on the Scarlet Firethorn shrubs. I feel trails of blood streaming down my arms and legs. The deafening ring of gunshots encircle my head. The taste of dirt and copper is burned into my throat. Dark, dead eyes stare back at me. A powerful force pushes me closer to home. I have to keep running. I must warn her.
I glance back and see Mattie. Her moans are disturbing. My mind flashes back to the barn. My steps falter. I tumble forward as if in slow motion. A sharp pain rips through my shoulder. Yet, the throbbing instantly disappears as I scan the woods and see I am now alone.
The lack of saliva forces my tongue to the roof of my mouth. I struggle to catch my breath. My heart races faster and faster, threatening to burst through my chest. I feel the terror erupting from the depths of my soul and rushing into my throat. Suddenly, the silence of the forest is rattled by the echoes of my screams.
I’m awake.
My breath remains shallow and fast. My eighty-year-old heart beats wildly within my chest. I feel a chill hasten up my legs and goosebumps break out across my body. I struggle to stand, nausea ripping through me, fear dominating my emotions. I stare into the flames of the fire as I catch my breath, and suddenly the smell of lilies and ammonia bring me back to the reality of my brother’s room.
I am angered by the ashen shade of Finn’s skin and skeleton like appearance. His beautiful wavy hair is gone. The chemotherapy and radiation have not only stripped him of his healthy appearance, but have stolen his mind and his memories.
“Grammie, where are you?” Finn screams, his voice hoarse, frail, and trembling, a cry for relief the morphine cannot dull. He glares at me while spit runs down his chin and onto his chest. His wild eyes search the room as if expecting to find someone else, then stops on my face. “Why did you do it, Tilly?” He cries. “Why did you kill Grammie?”
“What? I ask, helpless to answer his question. “I didn’t kill Grammie, Finn.”
Finn wipes his chin and shifts to his side, pulling at the catheter tube draining the fluids from his body. His eyes close and his breathing returns to normal. The powerful effect of the morphine wreaks havoc on his sleep and waking hours; screaming one minute and falling into hypnotic sleep the next. For now, he’s quiet again, but his accusations still leave me tangled in confusion.
Since Finn’s diagnosis of cancer and his move into my home, our past seems to be resurfacing for air every day. I don’t understand what he is thinking or feeling, or why he seems so urgent in his screams for Grammie. Yet, even in Finn’s altered state, he seems so sure I had something to do with her death.
Glancing around the room I understand the feeling of restraint in every corner. It is painted beige, a lack of color and emotion I have craved since our childhood.
