Now, after saying good-bye to Daddy they came in the house, through the closed-in porch, and straight into Grandma Caroline?s arms. They stood in the middle of the living room clinging together hugging each other, needing each other, hurting and lost.
The whole house smelled of sausage biscuits. In the kitchen, Grandma had already poured a cup of hot tea for Mama and milk for Sammie. Grandma always wore jeans, and this morning a faded plaid shirt covered by a bright apron of patchwork, one of the aprons she liked to sew late at night when she couldn?t sleep. She must be awake a lot because she sure had a lot of aprons, all as bright as picture books.
CAROLINETANNERWORE no makeup, her high coloring and short, dark hair needing no enhancement. She set a tray of sausage biscuits on the table beside a strawberry shortcake. Comfort food, Becky thought, watching her mother, never ceasing to wonder at her calm strength. Becky had been seven when her father was killed in a tractor accident. Two weeks after the funeral Caroline began baking and selling her goods. She was a Rome girl, and the town had given her its support. They had lived on what she made, Becky and her two brothers helping all they could.
Becky was ten, her brother Ron twelve and James fifteen when Caroline got a loan from the bank and extended the kitchen of their little house into a bigger and more efficient bakery and storeroom. Becky and her brothers had helped the carpenter after school and on weekends, as he built and dried in the new walls, then tore out the original walls. The children had learned how to paint properly, how to clean their tools, and her brothers had learned how to plaster. After the stainless steel counters were installed, and the two big commercial refrigerators and two sinks, they had taken the bakery van into Atlanta and brought home the new ovens, the big stovetop, and the smaller commercial appliances. The big window over the sink looked out on the side yard beneath a pair of live oak trees.
Before the remodel, Caroline had done all her baking in their small, inadequate kitchen, her equipment and trays of baked goods spilling over into the dining room, where cookies and breads and cakes cooled on racks, along with those already boxed and ready for delivery. The two iceboxes never had enough space for the salads and casseroles for the parties that Caroline catered. Their own simple meals had been eaten in the living room, worked around the urgent business of making a living. When the new bakery was finished, they?d had a little party, just the four of them, to celebrate the new and more accommodating kitchen, to reclaim their own house.
Within three years Caroline had paid off the van and equipment and could hire more help for the catered weddings and parties, though still, the whole family pitched in for those. All the years Becky was growing up, her mother would be out of bed and dressed by three in the morning, rolling out pie crusts, baking cakes. Becky?s brothers made breakfast until Becky was old enough to cook. Her brothers, as soon as they could drive legally, had done the bakery deliveries before school.
Becky missed her brothers. Even after Ron was killed in the Pacific, she still felt often that he was near her. And though their older brother, James, was still in Japan he was close to them, he liked to write home of that very different part of the world. She looked forward to his return next year when his tour of duty ended.
By the time Becky turned sixteen and got her driver?s license, her brothers had moved on with their lives. She had felt very grown-up, handling the deliveries herself, before and after school. She had helped with them after she and Morgan were married, until Sammie was born. Even during the war years Caroline made an adequate living, using specialrecipes that took little of the precious rationed sugar but were still delicious.
Now, at forty-eight, Caroline was as energetic and slim as ever, a tall, strong woman whom Becky, at this time in her life, deeply envied. She wished she had half her mother?s resilience, wished she could follow better Caroline?s hardheaded approach to life. Caroline Tanner had always tackled problems head-on, stubbornly weighing each possible solution, choosing the most viable one, then plunging ahead with no holds barred. If Caroline had tears during those hard years, she cried them in private.
They were halfway through supper when Caroline said,?The next thing is to go for an appeal. You need a better lawyer.? She looked steadily at Becky. ?I plan to help with his fees. I want Falon taken down, I want to seehim in prison. I want Morgan out of that place.?
?Mama, I don?t??
?It?s family money. Half of it will be yours one day and you need it now. If it bothers you to take it, you can pay me back after Morgan gets out.?
?If he gets out.?
Caroline stared at her.?When he gets out. Morgan is in prison unjustly. We keep at it until we find a better lawyer, get an appeal and a new trial. A fair trial. But not in Rome,? she said bitterly.
Becky laid her hand over Caroline?s. ?You make it sound so simple.?
?There?s no other way. First thing is to find an attorney.?
?I?ve already made some inquiries,? Becky said. ?There are several lawyers in Atlanta I want to see. But, Mama, we need new evidence, stronger evidence, for an appeal. I want to talk with the tellers, with Mrs. Herron and Betty Holmes, and the younger teller. I want to talk with the bank manager, and the witness who saw Morgan?s car leave the bank.? She sighed. ?I mean to talk with Natalie Hooper, though I don?t look forward to facing that piece of trash.?
Caroline gave Becky a long look.?That?s not the way to go.? She rose to cut the shortcake and lathered on whipped cream. ?Let the lawyer do that. You could compromise the case.?
Watching her mother, Becky thought about that. She watched Sammie, too. Though the child made quick work of her dessert she was too quiet, hurting so bad inside, missing her daddy.
Still, though, after the good meal Sammie seemed steadier. Her color brightened; she seemed more alive, less subdued than when they?d left the jail. ?Can I go outside and play??
Becky and Caroline looked at each other.?In the front yard,? Becky said. ?Stay in front of the big window where we can see you.?
Sammie nodded. She walked quietly through the house and out the front door, not running as she normally would. Becky and Caroline moved into the living room to sit on the couch looking out the bay window, watching her.
?The new attorney should talk to the witnesses,? Caroline repeated. ?Particularly Falon?s girlfriend, his key witness. What if Falon found out you?d questioned her? Don?t you think he?d make trouble??
?Mama, I .†.†. tried to speak to her yesterday, in the parking lot after the sentencing. He probably knows that. She was still nervous, even more upset than she showed on the witness stand. I thought if I could get her to say something incriminating .†.†.?
Watching her mother, Becky wilted.?I guess that was foolish. I approached her as she was getting in her car. She scowled and turned away, said she couldn?t talk to me. But,? she said, her hand on Caroline?s, ?it gave me satisfaction that she was so shaky. I .†.†. hoped to scare her, make her think about what she?d done.?
?Leave her alone, Becky. That?s your attorney?s job.? Caroline was quiet for a moment, then her look softened. ?When you?re the most determined, the most set on something, I see your father in you.?