Page 86 of Under the Tulip Tree
“This is the Book of Psalms Papa Sam gave Mama Fran when she was in the contraband camp.” She offered it to me. “Mama Fran wanted you to have it. She wrote a note for you. It’s inside the cover.”
I gasped. “Oh, Jael, I can’t take this. It’s a family treasure. You keep it.”
She smiled. “Mama Fran left each of us a keepsake. She had it all planned.” She put the book in my hands. “Just last night she added this to the list. It already has your name inside.”
I opened the book with trembling hands. When I saw my name scrawled in shaky handwriting beneath Frankie’s own, I could no longer contain the tears.
For Lorena Ann Leland. May these words become more important to you than silver or gold.
“Isn’t that what Sam told her the day he gave her that book?” Alden asked from his place next to me.
I nodded, rendered speechless by Frankie’s generosity.
Jael hugged me, her own tears wetting my shoulder. When we separated, she whispered, “I have something wonderful to show you.”
Alden and I followed the young woman down the hall to the bedroom where I’d helped Frankie with her earrings only a few days ago. I clutched the book to my chest before crossing the threshold, needing strength from the words inside.
Frankie was laid out on her bed, her eyes closed as though she were simply asleep. Wrinkles on her face had smoothed, and her lips rested in an eternal smile.
“She looks so peaceful,” I said softly, missing her already.
Alden came up beside me and put his arm around my shoulders. I leaned into him.
“Look closer,” Jael said.
I studied Frankie. She wore a simple dress, with a blanket pulled up to her waist. Her arms were folded across her chest, with her hands resting one on top of the other. The thin goldband I’d seen the day Alden took her picture shone in the lamplight.
I was about to turn away when I stilled.
Something about her hands seemed different. I stared, not understanding what my eyes were seeing. The ring, I realized, was on her left hand, not her right as it had been. A hand that should have been bent and knotted with deformity... but wasn’t.
Jael reached out to touch Frankie’s hands, tears streaming down her cheeks. “I found her like this.” She met my gaze, smiling. “God healed her, Rena. Just like she said he would.”
CHAPTERTWENTY-EIGHT
After we left Frankie’s, Alden dropped me off at Grandma’s house while he took my typed notes to Mr. Carlson. Now was not the time to meet with the man, but I knew I would need to confess the truth about my family connection to Frankie someday soon. In the meantime, I wanted to be sure her story was included in the FWP collection.
When I told Grandma about Frankie’s forgiveness, her death, and her healed hand, Grandma cried.
“I would have liked to have met her in life and offered my apologies for the things our family did to her,” she said, wiping tears off her translucent cheeks. “To honor her in death would be a privilege. If it’s all right with you, I’d like to attend her funeral.”
I smiled. Nothing could make me happier.
At home, Mama and Mary offered their sympathies,although I wasn’t convinced Mama was entirely genuine. I felt drained and excused myself to my room. Fresh tears wet my face when I saw the notebooks on my desk. While it might have been comforting to read through them, the pain of losing Frankie left my heart too raw. I picked up the book on the life of Harriet Beecher Stowe instead.
As I thumbed through the pages, a quote from a letter she wrote to the editor of an antislavery magazine captured my attention.
I feel now that the time is come when even a woman or a child who can speak a word for freedom and humanity is bound to speak.... I hope every woman who can write will not be silent.
Words written more than eighty years prior, yet they resonated within me with profound clarity. Mrs. Stowe’s courage to face the problem of slavery in her day sent a wave of inspiration crashing through me. I wasn’t sure if my participation with the Federal Writers’ Project counted when compared to works likeUncle Tom’s Cabinand her other writings against human bondage, but I couldn’t help but think she would be pleased at the progress I’d made over the past weeks of getting to know Frankie.
When Alden arrived to pick us up the next morning, he seemed unusually quiet. With the somberness of the day, it made sense, yet something told me his frown went beyond Frankie’s passing. Grandma insisted we take her sedan andwent to retrieve the key. While she stepped out of the room, I pulled him aside.
“Are you all right?”
He nodded but avoided eye contact. “We need to talk, but later.”
We arrived at the church on the outskirts of Hell’s Half Acre and joined an even larger crowd than had formed at Frankie’s home the previous day.
