“I got there before he’d raped Junie, thank God, but she was a blubbering mess. He’d grabbed her out the tub, snatching her by her hair. A chunk of it lay on the floor.”
I close my eyes, but I can still see it in my memory. I draw a steadying breath and continue. “I got Junie dressed—which wasn’t easy; her teeth were chattering and she was shaking like a leaf in a storm—and threw a few clothes in a bag. We went to a friend’s house. I told the mother what had happened and showed her Junie’s head and the bruises on her arm. She said come in, she’d doctor it up—but then her husband said they couldn’t get involved, that it wasn’t their business, that it was our family matter. When I explained that we didn’t have any real family, they let Junie and me stay the night, but we had to leave in the morning. Back then, I didn’t think of calling the police, and no one suggested it; it was just too shameful.”
“That’s awful!” Quinn’s voice is low and horrified.
“Yes, it was, but that’s how things were back then. The next day, I tried to phone my aunt Kathy again, and learned she’d died. So I went to the library and tried to look up a home for orphaned girls, thinking I’d find us a place to go. I needed the librarian’s help, so I made up a cockamamie story about researching a school paper, but Mrs. Clemmons saw right through me. Before I knew it, I’d blurtedout the truth. She took us under her wing, bless her heart, and used her research skills to start looking into the situation.” She was the reason I later decided to become a librarian myself.
Quinn takes my hand. I clutch it and continue talking. “She called up Mama’s old friends and acquaintances—that’s the advantage of a small town, where everyone knows everyone else—and asked if they knew anything about any of Mama’s out-of-town relatives. Someone remembered a male cousin from Baton Rouge who’d come to visit Mama towards the end. Mrs. Clemmons telephoned every man in Baton Rouge with Mama’s maiden name and finally found my uncle Ted. I didn’t remember ever meeting him, but he and his wife, Opal, agreed to take in Junie and me. ‘Blood looks after blood,’ he said.”
I fall silent for a moment. “Junie and I lived with them until we went off to college. Uncle Ted gave me away at my wedding, and I cared for Aunt Opal in my home the last year of her life.”
Quinn’s eyes brim with tears. “No wonder you were so intent on finding Lily’s father.”
“I know how vulnerable a child can be with no family.”
Quinn folds her other hand on top of mine. I squeeze it. “I suffered terrible guilt all my life that I hadn’t protected Junie by looking for a blood relative right away. I didn’t want to make the same mistake with Lily.”
“You had nothing to feel guilty about, Miss Margaret.” Quinn’s voice is full of conviction. “You couldn’t have known what was going to happen. Besides, you were just a child yourself.”
“I see that now. But for many, many years, I blamed myself.” I look out the window and watch cars drive by on Jefferson Highway. “Shame and guilt sometimes haunt the wrong people.”
“That’s so true. Especially children.”
We sit in silence for a moment.
“Whatever happened to Mr. Earl?” she asks.
I lift my shoulders. “He left town and never came back. I found out years later that one of the people Mrs. Clemmons called wasthe police chief. I believe that’s what prompted his sudden departure.”
“And Mama Betsy?”
“She moved about a month later. Took all the furniture in the house, which wasn’t hers to take, but I suppose that was a small price for getting her out of our lives. I heard she married a man in Jackson.”
The door swings open. A fresh-faced nurse’s aide smiles at me. “Mrs. Moore, it’s time for your group exercise class.”
“Oh, fiddle! I thought I was through for the day.”
“I promise it’s not too strenuous. Besides, you’ll get to meet some other patients, then you’ll all have dinner together.”
Quinn kisses my cheek. “Thank you so much for sharing your story.”
“I never told Brooke about that. Never told her mother, either.”
“Well, I think you’re heroic and brave and a true inspiration. I’m so glad you told me.” She touches the top of my head for a moment. It feels like a motherly touch—or maybe a blessing. “Good night. I love you!”
“I love you, too.” We’ve never exchanged those words before, but I mean them with all my heart. I watch Quinn leave, and my gaze lingers on the door after it closes behind her.
“You’re fortunate to have such a devoted granddaughter,” the aide says.
I have no intention of correcting her. “Yes,” I say. “Yes, indeed I am.”
CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE
Zack
Wednesday, June 12
WHILE LILY ANDAlicia play tag outside, Quinn tells me about her visit with Margaret yesterday afternoon. We’re in the kitchen, watching the girls through the windows and fixing dinner together. The tale makes me freeze in the middle of chopping yellow squash. “No wonder Margaret went on that donor site to find me,” I say.
