I had never been somebody who went looking for trouble.
At my age, I had learned to be careful about the things I couldn't afford to lose.
My home mattered.
My little bit of money mattered.
So did my peace of mind.
I didn't have much room for mistakes.
After Rosella called, I spent the rest of the day wondering why the county register of deeds would want to speak with me.
I tried to think of something I might have done wrong.
I couldn't come up with anything.
I had never owned the Lockridge farmhouse.
I had never handled their accounts.
I had never signed anything involving their property, as far as I knew.
Still, the woman had asked for my full name.
She had specifically asked me to bring identification.
That made the call feel official in a way I couldn't ignore.
I wondered whether somebody had used my identity.
I wondered whether there was a debt attached to my name that I didn't know about.
I wondered if the Lockridge family had somehow become involved.
The last possibility frightened me most.
Carlton and his brothers had money.
They had connections around the county.
They knew people I would never meet, and they had the kind of standing that made others listen when they spoke.
I had an old Buick.
I had a small home.
I had Social Security and the money Carlton had handed me through the screen door.
That was the difference between us.
I knew it, and I didn't need anybody to explain it.
I called Alfreda.
I told her about the woman from the courthouse.
I repeated the name Rosella and explained that she wanted me to come in with identification.
My daughter was quiet while I spoke.
Then she gave me the advice I had been afraid she would give.
"Mama, please don't get mixed up in anything with those men."
I told her I didn't know what the call was about.
She said that was exactly why I needed to be careful.
"If this has something to do with their property, you don't want to start a fight you can't finish."
I leaned back in my chair.
I could hear the concern in her voice.
Alfreda wasn't trying to keep me from something good.
She was afraid I would get hurt.
She had seen how quickly the Lockridge family could make decisions without considering what those decisions meant for me.
She knew I wasn't in a position to fight wealthy people over a misunderstanding.
Neither did I.
I told her I would think about it.
She reminded me to be sensible.
Then we ended the call.
I remained seated for a while, listening to the quiet house.
There was a part of me that wanted to call Rosella back and tell her I couldn't come.
I could say I was busy.
I could say I didn't feel well.
I could tell her I had no reason to be involved in anything concerning the Lockridge family.
If I stayed away, I wouldn't have to hear something that frightened me.
I wouldn't have to explain myself to Carlton.
I wouldn't have to stand in front of those men and discover that they had found another way to make me feel small.
Avoiding a problem had always seemed sensible when I couldn't see a way to solve it.
But there was another thought I couldn't shake.
Why had Rosella asked for Elnora Ruthanne Whitsett?
Not just Elnora Whitsett.
My full name.
I thought again about Mrs. Lockridge writing those names on the napkin.
At the time, I had believed it was nothing.
Now I wasn't so sure.
I tried to remember exactly how Mrs. Lockridge had behaved that morning.
She had asked the question calmly.
She hadn't seemed confused.
She had looked at me while I answered, then written the name down carefully.
When I asked why, she had given me no real explanation.
I had accepted that because I trusted her.
I had never imagined the answer might matter after she was gone.
The following day, I stayed home.
I didn't go to the courthouse.
I didn't call Rosella.
I told myself I needed more time to think.
I went about my usual tasks, though there wasn't much to do.
I straightened the kitchen.
I prepared food.
I tried to occupy my mind with ordinary things.
But every time I passed the telephone, I remembered the call.
I imagined Rosella waiting for me.
Then I imagined Carlton finding out I had gone to the courthouse.
I could hear Alfreda warning me again.
Don't start trouble.
It was easy to tell somebody else to stand up for herself when you weren't the one who would have to live with the consequences.
That thought made me feel guilty.
Alfreda was my daughter.
She cared about me.
She wasn't responsible for the position I found myself in, and I couldn't blame her for being afraid.
Still, I felt alone.
I had lost my job.
I had no new source of income.
And now I was frightened of answering a simple request from a woman who worked in a county office.
That was what my life had become in the space of a week.
I could not decide whether staying home was caution or cowardice.
I told myself there was no shame in protecting what little I had.
Then I remembered the screen door.
I remembered standing outside a house where I had worked for twenty-six years, holding a check while the family drank coffee inside.
I had protected myself that morning by saying nothing.
I had been polite.
I had taken the money.
I had walked away.
And the silence had followed me home.
I didn't want to spend the rest of my life being frightened of what other people might do if I asked a question.
That thought stayed with me through the night.
Thursday morning came.
It was the day I had always washed the floors at Mrs. Lockridge's house.
For twenty-six years, Thursday had been a working day.
I used to wake knowing exactly what I needed to do.
I would gather my supplies, drive to the farmhouse, and begin with the rooms that needed the most attention.
This Thursday, there was no farmhouse waiting for me.
There was no work to prepare for.
But I still woke early.
I sat on the edge of my bed and considered calling Rosella.
I could hear my daughter's warning in my head.
I could also hear the question that had brought me to this point.
Why had Mrs. Lockridge wanted my middle name?
I got dressed in my best Sunday clothes.
I checked that I had my identification.
Then I took the keys to my old Buick and left the house.
I didn't feel brave.
I felt nervous.
There was a difference.
Bravery sounded like something people spoke about after they had done a difficult thing.
What I felt was the fear of a woman who had spent too long alone with her worries and finally decided that not knowing was worse.
The drive to the courthouse passed slowly.
I held the steering wheel and kept my eyes on the road.
I considered turning around more than once.
Each time, I told myself I had already come this far.
I could at least hear what Rosella wanted.
I didn't have to agree to anything.
I didn't have to argue with anybody.
I only had to listen.
When I reached the courthouse, I parked and went inside.
The building was quieter than I expected.
I approached the counter and gave my name.
The woman behind it looked at me for a moment.
Then she smiled as though she had been expecting me.
She was close to my age.
She wore glasses attached to a beaded chain, and she spoke with the careful manner of someone who understood that the person standing in front of her might be worried.
"I'm Rosella," she said.
I nodded.
She asked to see my identification, and I handed it over.
She checked it before returning it to me.
Then she looked at my face again.
"I knew Henrietta Lockridge for forty years," she told me. "We played bridge together every Tuesday."
I didn't know what to say.
I had heard Mrs. Lockridge mention friends over the years, but I had never met Rosella.
The woman seemed to understand that.
"Before Henrietta died, she asked me to make sure I contacted you myself."
My fingers tightened around my purse.
Mrs. Lockridge had asked her to contact me.
Not somebody else.
Me.
Rosella stepped out from behind the counter and came around to my side.
She touched my arm gently and asked me to follow her.
I went with her down a short passage to a long table.
A large book lay open nowhere yet; it rested closed on the table, its heavy cover worn from years of use.
It reminded me of the family Bible I had kept since childhood.
The spine carried gold lettering.
Deed Book.
I stopped beside the table.
Rosella stood across from me.
For a moment, neither of us spoke.
Then she opened the volume and turned several pages.
The paper made a dry sound as she moved through it.
She seemed to know where she was going.
Finally, she stopped at a page marked with a narrow strip of paper.
She turned the book toward me.
I leaned forward.
Rosella placed one finger beneath a particular line.
Then she looked up to make sure I was following.
I had come to the courthouse afraid that someone had used my name or that I had somehow become involved in a problem I couldn't afford to solve.
Now I was standing in front of a public record because a woman I had served for twenty-six years had arranged for somebody to bring me there.
I looked down at the page.
My full name was the reason I had been called.
And Rosella was waiting for me to understand why.
Click here to continue reading: PART 5: The Name Beneath Rosella’s Finger Belonged to Me, but I Had Never Imagined Mrs. Lockridge Would Leave It in a Book Like That
For Twenty-Six Years, I Thought I Knew My Place in That Family, Until Mrs. Lockridge Asked Me a Question I Couldn’t Understand
Part 4 of 24
