PART 14 – My Daughter Feared the Lockridge Brothers Would Make Trouble, but I Was No Longer Willing to Let Fear Answer Every Question for Me

Alfreda called again two days later.

She wanted to know whether I had heard anything more from the courthouse.

I told her I hadn't.

There had been no new telephone call from Rosella, and I had not gone back to the county office.

I was waiting until I could think clearly about what I needed to ask.

Alfreda sounded relieved.

"Maybe that's a good thing, Mama."

I knew what she meant.

If nothing else happened, perhaps I could return to my ordinary life.

I could look for cleaning work.

I could stretch my money.

I could leave the Lockridge family alone and hope they left me alone in return.

For a moment, that sounded appealing.

Then I remembered my name in the deed book.

I remembered Rosella explaining that Henrietta had wanted me contacted personally.

I couldn't make myself forget those facts simply because ignoring them would be easier.

"I don't think this is something I should pretend I never saw," I told Alfreda.

She went quiet.

"I don't want you getting hurt."

"Neither do I."

That was the truth.

I was not looking for a fight.

I did not want to embarrass Carlton or upset his brothers.

I had no desire to become the subject of gossip around the county.

I wanted to know what Henrietta had arranged and what it meant.

That was all.

Alfreda asked whether I had enough money for the week.

I told her I was managing.

I didn't tell her how many times I had counted the bills in my purse.

I didn't want her to feel guilty for being unable to take me into her home.

She had already told me where things stood.

I had accepted her answer, even though it hurt.

After we hung up, I stood beside the kitchen table for a while.

The house seemed smaller than it had before Henrietta died.

Not because anything had changed in it.

Because I was suddenly aware of how much depended on my ability to keep paying for it.

I had always been proud of managing my own affairs.

I had worked for my money.

I had paid my bills.

I had tried not to ask anyone for help unless I truly needed it.

But pride could become a burden when a person was frightened to admit that she needed answers.

I thought about the day I had driven to the courthouse.

I had almost stayed home.

I had spent the entire previous day convincing myself that avoiding trouble was the sensible thing to do.

If I had listened to that fear, I would still be sitting at my kitchen table with no idea that Henrietta had made arrangements concerning the property.

I might never have learned that Rosella had promised to contact me.

I would have gone on believing that Carlton's dismissal had ended everything.

That thought troubled me.

Not because I knew the record would give me something.

Because I had nearly allowed fear to keep me from finding out what was true.

I took the paper from the drawer and placed it beside my bills.

Then I wrote down the questions I wanted to ask Rosella.

What exactly did the record say?

When had it been entered?

Why had Henrietta asked that I be contacted personally?

Were there any steps I needed to take to understand the record properly?

I read the questions over.

They were ordinary questions.

Nothing threatening.

Nothing that accused anybody of wrongdoing.

I folded the paper and put it in my purse.

The next morning, I decided I would call the courthouse if I still had not heard from Rosella.

I didn't want to rush her.

I also didn't want to let the matter disappear because I was afraid of the Lockridge sons.

I made myself breakfast and ate at the kitchen table.

Then I washed the plate.

For years, Fridays had meant coffee and biscuits with Henrietta.

Even after her death, I found myself thinking about those mornings when Friday came around.

I could almost hear her telling me that the floors would wait.

She had said it often enough that the words had become part of our routine.

I had never questioned why she wanted me to sit down.

Now I understood that she had valued those moments in a way I had not fully appreciated.

They had been a chance to talk.

A chance to share something ordinary.

A chance to be more than an employer and the woman she paid to clean her house.

I wished I had known that while she was alive.

I might have told her how much those Fridays meant to me.

I might have thanked her more often.

Instead, I had accepted the coffee and biscuits and gone back to work.

There was no way to change that now.

But I could decide what to do with the opportunity she had left behind.

I could continue to be afraid.

Or I could learn what she had intended.

By the end of the morning, I knew which choice I would make.

I would speak with Rosella again.

I would ask the questions I had written down.

And I would listen carefully to the answers.

I would not accuse Carlton of anything.

I would not demand something I had not been promised.

I would simply find out what the official record said.

For the first time since the check had passed through the screen door, I felt I had made a decision for myself rather than reacting to somebody else's.

It was not a grand decision.

It was only a decision to keep going.

But at seventy-two, I had learned that small decisions could matter.

I put the folded paper back in my purse.

Then I set the purse by the front door, ready for the next trip to the courthouse.

Click here to continue reading: PART 15: I Returned to the Courthouse With Questions Written on a Small Piece of Paper, Determined Not to Let My Fear Speak for Me