“I get you some iced tea and cookies,” DessaRae said.
“Don’t bother,” Miss Hamer said sharply. “She’s not stayin’. She’ll be gone before you get back in here with the tray.”
“Yes’m.” DessaRae disappeared, closing the door behind her.
Bessie folded her hands in her lap. “I hope your niece and her friend are settling in,” she said loudly.
Miss Hamer made a scornful noise.
“I hope Miss Jamison is some help to you,” Bessie persisted.
“Help to DessaRae, not to me,” Miss Hamer said. Her voice was cracked and brittle. “Her old back won’t let her lift me and I can’t lift myself. Doc Roberts said I had to get somebody in to help or he’d take DessaRae away from me. Said he wasn’t going to let one old invalid wait on another.” She gave a self-pitying sigh. “Even made me find another home for Robert E. Lee.”
Robert E. Lee was Mrs. Hamer’s dog. Bessie was a little surprised to hear all this, since Mrs. Hamer usually didn’t talk. “Well, it’s nice,” she said in a comforting tone. “That your niece is a help, I mean. Must be good to have family with you.”
Miss Hamer looked at her sideways and said nothing.
“Speaking of family,” Bessie said, “I was thinking of Harold the other day.”
“Who?” Miss Hamer leaned forward and put her hand behind her ear. “Who?”
“Harold.” Bessie raised her voice. “Your brother.”
Miss Hamer gave a dismissive gesture. “Why are you thinkin’ of him? Don’t be a fool, Bessie. You’re too old for romantic thoughts. Anyway, it’s all in the past. It’s done.”
Bessie leaned forward, speaking distinctly. “Not romantic thoughts. I got over that a good many years ago. More like wanting to get unfinished business out of the way.” She paused. “You never heard from him, over the years?”
“Wouldn’t I have told you if I did?”
Bessie chuckled. “I doubt it.”
There was a silence. “Why are you bringin’ him up now?” the old lady asked.
Why? Bessie asked herself, and answered her own question. “Because I found a box of my father’s papers in the attic, and it was his birthday, and I got to thinking about him. And thinking about my father got me thinking of Harold. And then a couple of ladies from the garden club came over and I started telling them that we’d been engaged once. And wondering-”
Miss Hamer turned to look her full in the face. Her eyes were no longer vacant, but sharp, piercing. “Wonderin’ what?”
Bessie lifted her shoulders and let them fall. “Just… wondering, is all. Where he went and why. But mostly wondering why he never got in touch.” She met Miss Hamer’s eyes. “That wasn’t like Harold.”
Miss Hamer turned away. There was a long silence. Finally, she said, “No. It wasn’t like Harold.” She looked Bessie in the face again. “Why don’t you ask your daddy why he left?”
“Ask my daddy?” Bessie said, in some surprise. “Why, Miss Hamer, my father has been dead for over ten years. And anyway, why would he know about Harold?”
“Dead? Ten years?” Miss Hamer shut her eyes, then opened them. “Why didn’t I know he died?” she asked pitiably. “How come DessaRae never told me?” Her voice became thinner, wilder. “How come you didn’t tell me, Bessie Bloodworth?”
“I’m sure I did,” Bessie said, trying to soothe her. “Or maybe I just thought you knew.” Or maybe you forgot, you silly old thing, she thought to herself. “He died over at Monroeville, in the hospital. He had lung cancer. We buried him in his very own cemetery, beside Mama.” Putting him there had been like taking him home.
“Ten years,” Miss Hamer muttered, shaking her head in disbelief. “Your daddy’s been gone from this green earth for ten whole years. And all this time, I’ve been sitting here in this chair, hating him, wanting him dead.” She broke off with a crackling laugh, like dry paper ripping. “Ten years!”
“You’ve been hating him?” Bessie frowned. “Why? And why are we talking about my father, anyway? Why did you tell me to ask him about Harold? He had no idea why you sent your brother away. He didn’t want us to get married any more than you did, but-”
“I sent Harold away?” Miss Hamer’s laugh had a ragged edge. “I did?”
“Yes, you.” Bessie paused and softened her tone, wanting to keep the bitterness out of her voice. After all these years, being bitter didn’t help anybody. “You aimed to keep your little brother all to yourself. You were bound and determined to make life miserable for any girl he cared about. He knew that. So he left. Maybe you didn’t actually send him away, but it amounts to the same thing.”
“Huh!” Miss Hamer said sarcastically. “I reckon that means you don’t know.”
“Don’t know what?”
“It was your daddy who sent Harold off. Offered him money to just up and leave town. Just disappear.”
Bessie felt suddenly cold. “Offered him… money?” she whispered. “How do you know?”
“Because he told me, your daddy did,” the old lady said triumphantly. “Told me his very own self, right here in this room. Bragged that he was goin’ to offer money to Harold to jilt you, and that he knew Harold would take it.”
“But Harold would never-”
“That’s what I said. I told him that Harold was a prideful, stubborn boy, and he had his whole heart set on you. And your daddy laughed and said, well, we’ll just see who is prideful and stubborn-when it comes to money.”
Bessie sucked in her breath. “I don’t believe-”
Miss Hamer pounded her fist on the arm of her wheelchair. “So I told Harold what your daddy had said and he swore up and down to me-yes, right in this room, sittin’ right in that chair you’re sittin’ in now-that he wasn’t going to take the money. He was going to meet your daddy that night and tell him to go to hell. Told me to go to hell, too, when I said to him that he ought to take whatever was offered and leave.” She laughed again, then fell into a coughing spell that went on for a very long time. When she had recovered her breath, she produced a white lawn hankie and wiped her mouth. She said, in a weak, thin voice, “That was wrong of me. I admit it. And I’ve suffered for it all these years. It’s been like a worm gnawin’ at my innards evermore.”
“You told him-” Bessie swallowed and tried again. “You told him to take it?”
“I did. I am not proud of it now, but I did.” Miss Hamer gave a long, trembling sigh and her thin fingers fluttered. “And I reckon he decided to do like I said. He went off to see your daddy that night and never came home, not even to get his clothes. I reckon he was ashamed of lettin’ himself be bought off, which is why he didn’t say good-bye or write to either of us. He was ashamed. Ashamed of takin’ your daddy’s money to jilt your daddy’s daughter.”
“I don’t believe it,” Bessie said fiercely, balling up her fists. “I can believe that my father might’ve offered… something. But I can’t believe Harold took it! He couldn’t. He wouldn’t!”
“Dead,” Miss Hamer muttered. “Your daddy dead ten years, and I never knew.” She licked her lips. “All that hatin’, all that time. Wasted.” She dropped her head into her hands and began to weep. After a moment, she lifted her head and began to beat her balled hands against her breasts, and then to shriek. Long, agonized shrieks that made Bessie want to cover her ears.
The old black woman hurried in. “Best you go now, Miz Bloodworth.” She bent over and put her arms around the shaking woman. “There, there, now, honey,” she crooned, rocking her. “I’ll git you some o’ dat ol’ Miles Nervine Miss Nona Jean bought for you. It’ll be all right. It’ll be jes’ fine.”