I know I have feelings for Capp. Mary says those feelings are just puppy love. I hate it when she says that. How does she know what I feel? Makes me not want to talk with her about Capp. I wonder about you and Daddy, Mama. Was that puppy love? Seems to me you really loved my daddy.
I look at the map and try to figure it all out. Meadowlark wants to take me to the Mississippi Delta. I could see where I was born (I think) and some of the places on your map. Meadowlark said maybe one day it would work out for us to go and have a few concerts in Vicksburg with his friend Slick. But Mary won’t let me go unchaperoned. She says it’s not right for a young lady to travel with a man. I’m learning that Mary has lots of rules about men, especially Capp.
Mary hired a tutor to teach me history, literature, math, and some science. He works on my vocabulary and communication skills. He comes on Wednesdays and spends the day with me. We talk a lot with each other on the days he is here. Mary says education is the key to getting along in the world and thinking straight. My tutor is Dr. Calloway, a retired college professor from Springfield. He is old, but I like him. He says when he is satisfied with my learning, he’ll write a letter explaining my education and maybe I could get into college. I don’t know nothin’ about college. I don’t think I need to go. I’m so busy here. Capp is here. My horse is here. Meadowlark, Ol’ Jon, Leon, Philippe, Sugar, and all my other friends are here. I don’t want to go away. I may never get back. The thought scares me.
Although I don’t know why I am scared. Glidewell is my legal home now. Mary and James had their lawyer write up a paper that makes them my legal guardians. It’s for my protection, James said. Even though I’m eighteen, should something happen, things would be better for me. So my legal name is Maizie Sunday Glidewell Freedman. Mary said she was happy, but she sure was crying when we signed the papers. We all hugged, like a family—even James was emotional. I love them. I wish they could have been your guardian angels, Mama. I hope you’re happy they’re mine.
You know what I wonder most? I wonder what life would be like if you had lived. I feel guilty when I think that my life here was only because you died. What would we be doing now, Mama? That makes me sad. How can I be happy and sad at the same time?
Good night, Mama.
Bonn nuit, Maman,
Maizie
Chapter 88
Marital Discord
Tilly sat in her father’s home office. The sun was shining in the south side window causing a glare on her paperwork. Standing, she walked to the window. Shading her eyes with the palm of her hand she looked outside. Parked along the fence was Martin’s highly polished red truck, sun rays bouncing playfully off the hood. It was a beautiful truck, but in the short time she and Martin had been married, she began to see the truck in a new light. It was Martin’s escape from her and the drudgery of living on her parents’ farm. Martin was not the perfect partner. She never did love him really. He was just there, for the picking. He still had been unable to convince his father to buy or lease the farm and he did little to help out with the running of the place. Tilly’s father had taken Martin under his wing, but Martin was more interested in hopping into his truck, picking up his friends and heading out for a boys’ night out. Tilly pulled the window curtain closed and returned to the desk and her paperwork.
She tried to concentrate on her task at hand, but she had much on her mind. She thought of their small wedding at Churchill Downs. She thought of how unhappy Martin’s parents seemed, unwilling to share the joy of the young couple’s nuptials. She thought about the many times she and Martin made love, both of them so drunk that the deed was quite difficult and labored. Things were not working out, and now, after all these months, she knew she was pregnant. It was time to tell Martin. Maybe the news would help their union, make things more meaningful.
Just then she heard someone come in the front door. It was Martin. She could tell by the sound of his steel-capped boots as they tapped along the hardwood floor. It was an incessant sound when Martin was in the house. He seemed to pace, finding sitting difficult. Disgust began to fill her. Tilly walked to the office doorway.
“Martin, can we talk while my parents are gone?”
“Sure babe, after I shower. I’ve been working hard.”
“I bet. You’re such a workhorse.”
“What? You don’t think I work hard?”
“That’s right. You don’t.”
“Please, let’s not fight, Tilly the Filly.”
Tilly rolled her eyes. Martin approached her and pulled her toward him. She pushed him away.
“Not in the mood, Martin. I’ve some news. Pour me a whiskey and I’ll tell you.” She walked to the couch and took a seat. The grim expression on her face and her crossed arms resting on her breasts signaled her testy mood.
Martin walked to the drink cart situated near a large oil painting of a chestnut stallion named Warrior, the thoroughbred that had been the only great hope of the Coombs Farm. He was an impressive racehorse—at least his painting was, but that was about it. The horse had been put out to pasture years ago. Martin looked briefly at the painting and shook his head. Then he poured two shots, one for Tilly and one for himself.
Walking to the couch, his
