A little while ago I wrote a blog about how a movie from 1989 had a particular affect on me. I could say it has influenced this novel with which I have been struggling to fill in the gaps for the last two years. The influence manifests itself in one scene, through the journey of one character. A peripheral character... and yet one whom I admire more than any other in the story. This short scene details her heroism and how her family fears her bravery.
August 1964
Agnes sat down slowly on the couch. The images on the television weakened her
knees and trapped her voice in her throat.
She was glad when Helen came into the room with her glasses and the pile
of bills she went through every first week of the month.
“They found those young men,” Agnes spoke in a hoarse
whisper when Helen settled in her chair and looked up at the television. But the screen changed to a commercial for
floor cleaner.
Helen put on her glasses and looked at the stack of papers
on the table. “I’m glad to hear it. Now those families can mourn.”
“Helen, I’m scared for Carolina.”
“I am, too,” Helen still looked at the papers, but lifted
her eyes and took off her glasses. “I am
also glad she is there, working to make things right.”
“Is that how you felt about Andy?” Agnes knew she should
regret her question, but sometimes she doubted Helen’s sympathy. Her coldness about Evelynn confused
Agnes. She knew Helen clipped the notice
about her wedding and the birth of her grandchildren, but not once had she
spoken to her daughter or Andrew in fifteen years. How could she understand what Agnes
felt? How could she know how dangerous
it was for her daughter to be in Mississippi?
“It was important to him to be able to fight. Important enough to lie about his age,” Helen
met Agnes’ eye. “But that was
different.”
Helen went back to her bills. Agnes lifted up the shirt to which she had
started sewing a new button when the news came back on. She picked up the needle and pulled the
thread around the holes. She kept
looping the thread until she realized the thickness made the button lopsided
and cut through the thread so she could start over again.
She looked back at the television, which had switched to a
music variety show. Helen tore a check
off the notepad and put it in an envelope.
“Agnes…” Helen pulled her attention from the black and white
screen.
“I know… I know this is different than the war,” Agnes spoke
before Helen let go of the breath and the thoughts she kept with it. “I know my daughter is braver than me.”
“Agnes…” Helen started again. “You are brave.”
“I want to go to college.
George said it was possible. He
said I should study science. I would
like to teach science, like he used to teach me. Not just cooking,” Agnes looked down to stop
the tears from leaving her eyes. “I want
Carolina to be as proud of me as I am of her.”
Helen cleared her throat and took off her glasses. “She
wouldn’t be there if you didn’t give her courage to believe that she can make a
difference.”
Agnes picked up the shirt again and glanced at Helen.
“I still worry about her.”
“Yes,” Helen looked back to her checkbook.
Agnes sighed and looked for her needle. “I saw you brought in some cucumbers from the
garden. Maybe I’ll make a salad for
dinner,” she threaded the needle and then set it on her lap. “I do want to take a class in September.”
“You can tell Carolina all about it,” Helen flipped over the
invoice before scribbling in her checkbook.
“When she comes home.”
