Chapter 5 - Sunday Dinner Uninvited
On Sunday morning, the rain had cleared, leaving the piedmont skies that clean, washed blue that only comes after a cold front.
The fellowship hall at Mount Zion Methodist Church was always loud after the eleven o'clock service. The smell of fried chicken from the local grocery and green bean casseroles made with mushroom soup filled the low-ceilinged room. For forty years, the Millers had occupied the long table near the double doors—Gordon at the head, Russell on his right, Meredith on his left, and whatever grandchildren were small enough to need their ham cut up for them squeezed in between.
I arrived late, after the choir had already filed through the line.
Russell and Tessa were already seated with Lucy and Miles. Lucy, who was twelve now and had Gordon’s gray eyes, was showing her brother something on her phone. Russell was talking to one of the county commissioners about the road bond, his voice hearty, his arm draped comfortably over the back of his daughter's chair.
He looked like the very picture of a solid, Christian businessman who supported the Little League and paid his tithes on the gross.
I didn't go to the buffet. I walked straight to the table, my good wool coat still buttoned, my purse hanging from my forearm.
"Eleanor," Mrs. Abernathy called out from the pie table. "We saved you a piece of the chess pie!"
"Thank you, Clara," I said clearly. "I won't be staying for pie today."
The table went quiet. Russell stopped mid-sentence, his eyes darting to my coat pocket where the corner of Gordon’s envelope was visible.
"Grandma," Miles said, his eight-year-old face bright with uncomplicated affection. "Look what Dad gave me yesterday. It’s an account book with my name on it from the bank."
He held up a small, blue vinyl passbook.
I looked down at the boy. He had his father’s cowlick and Gordon’s broad smile. He didn't know anything about Caswell County timber or Tennessee adoption registries; he only knew that he had been given something that made him feel like a grown man.
"That’s very nice, Miles," I said gently. "Your grandfather worked very hard for forty years so you could have that book."
Russell stood up, scraping his metal folding chair against the linoleum. "Mom, let’s go outside and talk."
"Sit down, Russell," I said. My voice wasn't loud, but it had that particular density that carries across a room full of church people faster than a hymn. Several women at the neighboring tables paused their forks halfway to their mouths.
"Eleanor," Tessa whispered, her face crimson. "Not here. Please."
"Your husband told my grandson Caleb on Thursday that he had to step out of our family because he wasn't blood," I told her, loud enough for Clara Abernathy and the county commissioner to hear every syllable. "He told an eight-year-old child that Gordon Miller’s love had a boundary line that stopped at an adoption decree."
Russell’s face went from pale to a dark, dangerous purple. "This is a private family matter."
"There is nothing private about cruelty, Russell. You made it public when you handed that little boy your telephone so you wouldn't have to look at him while you took a picture of your own children."
The fellowship hall had gone almost completely still. The clatter of aluminum tongs against the chicken pans stopped. In the corner, Reverend Albright looked up from his potato salad with that alarmed, helpless expression ministers get when their largest donors begin to show their teeth in public.
"I have spoken with Arthur Sterling this morning," I continued, looking directly at my son. "I have revoked the waiver of my executorship. Tomorrow morning at nine o'clock, Arthur and I will be in Judge Hendrick’s chambers at the courthouse to file the amended estate inventory."
"You can't do that without my consent," Russell hissed, leaning over the table.
"I can do it because your father left a codicil that you failed to disclose to the probate clerk," I said. "A codicil that explicitly identifies Caleb Vance as an equal beneficiary of the educational trust. And if those checks for Lucy and Miles are not returned to the trust escrow by five o'clock tomorrow afternoon, Arthur will file a motion for an accounting of the equipment loans you took out against the lumber yard’s credit line."
Russell looked as if he had been struck with a four-by-four. His mouth opened, but no sound came out. He looked at the commissioner, then at Clara Abernathy, who was staring at him with her mouth pursed as though she had bitten into a green persimmon.
"Lucy," I said, turning to my granddaughter.
The girl looked up, frightened by the sudden storm around her.
"Your cousin Caleb loves you very much," I told her, my voice softening until it was just for her and Miles. "He spent two hours on Wednesday looking for that wooden puzzle because he wanted to show you how the cherry runner worked. Don't you ever let your father teach you that family is something you measure with a ruler."
May you like
I turned on my heel and walked out of the fellowship hall. The heavy glass doors clicked shut behind me, cutting off the low, rising buzz of seventy church members who had just learned that the Miller family was not nearly as square and plumb as the windows Russell sold them.
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