Chasing Sophea: A Novel Read online

  It was as if Baby could see her own mother the way she spoke, answered, and spoke again. He knew he shouldn’t have remained and intruded on her privacy, but he was compelled to stay there crouched underneath the windowsill until she was done and her mama’s spirit was gone. Witnessing Baby Marseli have a conversation like that with thin air scared him a little at first, until he reminded himself that all of Dallas thought him peculiar as well, and he felt perfectly normal—most of the time, anyway. He’d left then in deep thought wishing that he could do more, praying to the good Lord for a miracle. Baby Marseli had been helping people all of her life, treating folks when no one else would. She was an angel walking, and all he could do was bring her pretty flowers in a jar.

  Percival ordered another rum and coke. He had a tall order to fill. Somewhere out there, there was a child without a mama or a mama who didn’t want her child. He braced himself for the work ahead, because the joy of his heart required much more than purple tulips to make her happy.

  “Ms. Culpepper, as you can see, Dahlia needs serious psychological help, and I can’t help her if you take her to Dallas.”

  “Well, Dr. Kelly, you’re just going to have to help her when she returns. Her life is here; her husband and child are here. Trust me, she’ll be back.”

  “Perhaps I should have a session with her alone. I think it would be beneficial.”

  “I know you do; however, I’m going to do what I should have done a long time ago. Wrap it up, Dr. Kelly, we’ve got someplace to go.”

  Aunt Baby felt a surge of confidence. She’d watched Dr. Kelly work for more than two hours and realized her own power. She didn’t have any fancy Harvard degree, but she knew what had to be done here. His way was to keep Dahlia here talking for hours about nonsense until she experienced some kind of breakthrough. That was the word he’d used. Well, what if she didn’t respond to him at all? What if she kept talking for days, weeks, and years? Phoebe was strong now and only seemed to be getting stronger by the minute. Aunt Baby resolved to help her niece the only way she knew how. She walked out of the office and dug around in her purse for her cell phone. Dahlia’s cure was three states away, and Baby couldn’t waste any more time getting her where she was supposed to be. She dialed home, and when Dante answered, she knew immediately that something was wrong. “Brother, can you hear me?” She held the phone close to her ear and waited for a response.

  “Mom, I’ve been waiting for your call. How is Dahlia? Is everything all right?”

  “What’s going on down there, Dante?”

  “Nothing that you need to be worried about. Did you see the baby, Isabel? I bet she’s a big girl now.”

  “Boy, don’t you lie to me, you hear? I’ve got enough trouble on my hands without you telling tales.”

  “Well, I think you should know that Dahlia’s husband is down here.”

  “Michael’s there at the house with Lucius?”

  “Not at the moment. He’s most likely with Percival; at least, he was last night.”

  “Lord have mercy. Percival is talking to Michael? I knew something was going on what with the way my big toe has been hurting.”

  “Mom, Percival invited him to his house. Michael is probably there right now getting a lesson on Culpepper family history.”

  “Has he spoken to Lucius yet? Has Lucius told him anything?”

  “Not that I’m aware of, and anyway I don’t think it’s Lucius that we need to be worried about these days.”

  “Dante.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Is that all?”

  “Yeah, Mom, that’s all.”

  “There’s nothing else you’d like to tell me?”

  “No.”

  “I see. Well, then I need you to do a favor for me, son.”

  “Anything. What is it?”

  “Call the airline and get me two plane tickets.”

  “Are you sure? I mean, how in the world did you talk Dahlia into coming back here?”

  “You just be at the airport to pick us up and let me worry about Dahlia.”

  “Okay. Give me a few minutes and I’ll call you back with the flight information.”

  “Dante.”

  “Yes, mom?”

  “Hurry, son. We need to come home, and we need to come home fast.”

  Baby closed her phone and narrowed her eyes. Something was brewing back home, and Dante was keeping it from her. Well, she thought, it’s about time for this mess to come to an end. She was worn out, and the real work hadn’t even begun yet. She wasn’t surprised that Michael had found his way to Dallas. She’d always figured he’d show up sooner or later demanding answers to questions Dahlia would never have tolerated. So it was for the best that he was there, and she hoped Lucius would speak to him like family, open up about everything. Baby thought of Percival and immediately smiled. Instinctively she knew he was laying the groundwork for her, doing what he could to make her task easier. He had always looked out for her, and she loved him for that. She would need his help when she got home. She would need everybody’s help to do what must be done.

  Phoebe inspected her nails and called Dr. Kelly an incompetent English asshole for the third time. This entire mind-probing shit was getting on her nerves. The fool actually asked her if he could speak to Dahlia. He’d even asked her in a couple of different ways, as if she were retarded or something. Jesus, she didn’t know what part of “hell, no” he didn’t understand. He, too, obviously thought she had “dumb fuck” scrawled across her forehead. The man was exasperating, and she wanted to pop him in the neck one good time and watch him choke to death, but she figured that would get her locked up in the county somewhere. Baby would stick it to her good, too, probably call the police herself. She knew the old woman would do anything to get Dahlia back, but Dahlia was gone to a place that neither of them could reach. Why couldn’t they both see that and accept her? Some people needed to be hit in the head with a brick.

  She had to get out of here. She was tired, and her head was beginning to hurt. Answering stupid questions and eyeballing Baby had given her a migraine. She had to find Michael before these two turned her into an alcoholic. He would help her and tell everybody to leave her the hell alone. She stood and reached for her jacket. Phoebe had had enough of people telling her what to do. She turned to face Baby, who’d returned. “I’m through here, and I’m not coming back. This was a waste of my time.”

  “I agree,” Baby answered.

  “Really,” Phoebe responded sarcastically. “That makes me feel so much better.”

  Dr. Kelly interrupted. “Ms. Culpepper, Dahlia … er … Phoebe—” Both women silenced him with one glance.

  “Phoebe,” Baby called, oblivious to Dr. Kelly’s attempts to control their conversation.

  “What?”

  “You feel good, do you? Feel like you’re in control?”

  “Hell, yeah.”

  “You feel strong, right—like you can handle anything, go anywhere, and face anyone?” Baby stared so intently into Phoebe’s eyes that Phoebe was the first to turn away.

  “This is bullshit,” she spat. “I’m going to look for Michael. I’m going to find my husband.”

  “You mean Dahlia’s husband, don’t you?” Baby continued gently. “I think you should come on back home to Dallas with me tonight.”

  “And why would I ever do that? Why on earth would I go anywhere with you?”

  “Because home is where you began, and home is where Michael is waiting for you right now.”

  It was raining where Dahlia was—stinging rain, the kind that you sought refuge from, the kind that drove you to higher ground. She was folded in a corner unprotected from the elements with nowhere to run except through the first door that stood tall and thick waiting for her. Suddenly, being in the rain wasn’t as comforting as it used to be. This time, the deluge began as a trickle, a summer misting of sorts, and eventually transformed into a downpour. Water collected around her ankles and slowly inched its way toward her knees.
Soon she would drown, without incident and without fanfare. She blinked salty tears, and the water was at her waist. Panic embraced her, and she willed herself to stop shaking. Still it rained harder, and it was cold, so very cold. She found it difficult to breathe, but she managed to move forward a little at a time, even though the water threatened her survival.

  She stepped toward the door, and the onslaught lessened. Relief and fear collided inside her soul, and she was temporarily paralyzed with indecision. Her momentary lack of movement brought the water to her chest, and she wondered how long it would take for her to die. Die, death, gone. The concept floated around and filled the space she occupied. She allowed the possibility to envelop her senses completely and without hesitation. One word traveled through her, and she clung to it, wrapped her heart around it like a life preserver. “No,” she said, when the water beckoned her home. “No.”

  She waded closer to the door and was amazed at how quickly the water receded. She wished there were someone, anyone, to hold her hand, but she was alone in a space that didn’t allow visitors. She reached the massive door and nearly swam back to the corner. She was terrified, and being washed away in a flood almost seemed preferable to exploring what was on the other side of the rain. Her head throbbed and she was exhausted from the journey, but she closed her eyes, grasped the doorknob, and turned.

  “Hello, baby doll,” the woman said on the other side. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

  Dahlia looked around and wondered where she was. Strange, she was eleven again, and she felt whole and alive, innocent and restless. The nice lady motioned her forward and reached for her hand.

  “Baby doll, do you remember who I am?”

  Dahlia shook her head “no” but felt pangs of familiarity.

  “Here, sweetness, let me help you.”

  And then, like magic, memories from her life that she’d believed were long gone danced all around her. Images reflected off the walls, pranced over the pink canopy looming in front of her, and shimmied across the floor.

  “Yes, I remember you now,” Dahlia whispered, with a wide smile. “What happened to you, Mama? Where did you go?”

  Leezel swelled, Otto beamed, and her father was uncharacteristically silent. Spending time with Verdell had proved to be difficult, but she was able to steal a moment away now and again throughout her pregnancy. Everything seemed normal at home, and her plan appeared to be working thus far; however, something troubled her. It wasn’t any one thing that she could put her finger on exactly; it was more like a feeling that she couldn’t quite articulate. At first, she thought maybe she was overreacting due to an abundance of female hormones, but that wasn’t her style, so she waddled from day to day and hoped that the feeling of doom that was growing inside of her with the baby would vanish along with her leg cramps.

  Percival Tweed was nobody’s fool. There were rumors circulating all over Deep Bellum about a blond-haired German girl keeping company with a pop-eyed yellow hammer. Percival decided to pay a visit to the German café one day in North Dallas in the white section of town. Under normal circumstances, a black man would have been stopped three or four times just for standing on the sidewalk over there, but Percival didn’t concern himself with other people’s stupidity. He had a feeling he simply couldn’t shake, so he walked in the door and asked to speak to Miss Leezel. Customers stopped what they were doing and gawked at the odd-looking black man with the wide-brimmed hat who’d strolled into a white café like it was the most normal thing in the world.

  “Yes, may I help you?” Leezel inquired, aware that her father was watching.

  “I come here to inquire about that bread you’re baking.” Silence. The girl’s father began to walk toward them from the other end of the bakery.

  “You want to buy some of my bread?” she asked, confused.

  “Ifn you ever decide to be charitable, Miss Leezel, I know a place where you can deliver that bread safe and sound. I know someone who would appreciate all of it, love it like she made it herself.”

  Three men surrounded him, and the father growled, “Get on outta here, boy. We don’t serve your kind here.”

  Percival ignored the pink-faced man and continued to address Leezel. “Ifn you need to find me to donate that bread, and ifn you need my help, my name is Percival—”

  Unable to control himself any longer, Wilhelm jumped in front of Percival and in so doing knocked the hat from Percival’s head. “Gehen Sie von heir aus der neger! Now git on away from here. She doesn’t need your help, freak, and she’s not baking you or anybody like you any goddamn bread.”

  “Pappa, please, don’t say such things,” Leezel pleaded. “All he wants is some bread.”

  Percival Tweed retrieved his hat from the floor and turned to face Wilhelm Diezman. He removed his black sunglasses, something that he never did, and answered him directly, flashing unsettling yellow eyes. “I’m not a freak,” he said quietly. “And you ought not to use the Lord’s name in such a disrespectful way, Mr. Diezman. He won’t like it. He won’t like it at all.”

  “Is that right?” Wilhelm hissed.

  “Well, something tells me you’ll be able to ask him yourself soon enough.” Percival nodded in Leezel’s direction. “Tweed, Miss Leezel,” he continued, as he walked calmly out of the bakery. “Percival Tweed.”

  Percival’s mama, Caldonia Tweed—God rest her soul—had always told him to look for the pieces in people that weren’t necessarily obvious. “Ifn you pay attention,” she’d said, “soon enough you’ll see what’s missing.” Something was definitely missing in Leezel Diezman’s crusty old daddy. Even in the worst of men, he’d seen a part of them that was redeemable—a love for their family, a love for their God. But this man was different in a way that prompted Percival to say a few prayers to Jehovah on Leezel’s behalf. Wilhelm Diezman lacked all that was decent and honorable in a man. He was evil, and evil wasn’t ready to retire anytime soon.

  “Lucius, there is something that I need to tell you, something that I should have told you a long time ago.”

  “No, me first. Let me say what I have to say, or I’ll never say it. I took advantage of you, Mercy. I used you to take away my pain. I used you to help me forget what happened, forget Reva, Dahlia, the kids.”

  “It hasn’t worked, has it, Lucius?”

  “No, it hasn’t, even after all these years. I genuinely believed I was doing the right thing at the time. No, that’s bullshit. I—”

  “Stop it.”

  “Mercy, I’m sorry.”

  “I said, stop it. Stop apologizing to me,” Mercy screamed.

  “What?” Lucius interjected, confused. “Isn’t this what you’ve wanted—for me to talk to you—for me to be honest about my feelings?”

  Mercy began to laugh at the irony of it all. Now, after all this time, after she had compounded her sin and betrayed him once more with his brother, he was actually apologizing to her.

  “What is it? What is so damned funny?” Lucius demanded.

  “Trust me, Lucius, if I don’t laugh, I’ll fall apart again, and we both know how much you hate that. You didn’t use me, Lucius. You didn’t do anything to me that I didn’t deserve.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous, Mercy. I was thirty-one years old and you were barely eighteen when we married. I was a grown man with grown-up problems and responsibilities, and you were a child—seven years older than my own daughter, for God’s sake. You didn’t know what you were getting into. You didn’t sign up for this, for me.” Lucius waved his arms around and stared out the window. He didn’t want to have this conversation. He couldn’t face her anymore.

  “Did you know, Lucius, that I’ve had a crush on you since I was twelve years old? I had a crush on a grown man, a married man with a family. It’s funny, I know. I was a little girl then—a foolish little girl. I should have gotten over you, been attracted to boys my own age, gone to college, and made something of myself, but I didn’t; I couldn’t. It was you, Lucius. My life has always been abou
t you until now.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “I’m saying that I came to you. I came to this house of my own free will. I asked my parents to help me get a job here, and I knew exactly what I was getting into—or at least, I thought I did. I’ve made some mistakes, terrible mistakes.”

  “No, Mercy, the mistakes have been mine. I had no right to expect so much of you. I had no right to ask you to save me.”

  “You’re not hearing me. That’s the problem with you, Lucius. You don’t know how to listen. You can’t feel anybody’s pain except your own. I have to tell you something about that day.”

  Lucius finally turned to face her. “Leave it alone, Mercy. That day didn’t have a damn thing to do with you.”

  “No, Lucius, you’re wrong. That day had everything to do with me.”

  “Why are you bringing this up now? What is the point of bringing this up now? You were so young then. You probably don’t even remember it anymore. For me, it’s different. It’s always been different. I remember it, dream it, relive it whether I choose to or not. Living without remembering for me is impossible. Why can’t you understand that?”

  The telling of repressed revelations seemed to be happening in slow motion. She saw her husband’s mouth moving, but the words no longer made any sense. He didn’t know what he was saying. He couldn’t fathom what she had done. Strange, this wasn’t how she thought it would be when she told him, but so much had transpired, and she couldn’t adopt any more lies. She wanted to be free from her life, from her deceptions, and from this house. He would hate her and so would Dante, but their collective hatred was a price she was now willing to pay for her life back—for her freedom. She swallowed hard. “Lucius,” she said softly, “that day, Dahlia—”

  “I don’t want to do this!” he shouted, and began to walk away. She reached for him, he stumbled into her arms, and Dante burst through the door.