11/1/04
You could call it a premonition, though if you tried to quote me on that I would say I never said it—after all, I like to consider myself a good church woman and our church doesn’t hold with all that premonition business. But call it what you will—premonition or hunch or God’s will—I knew all along that Lillie wasn’t long for this world.
It wasn’t just her daughter. MOST of it was her daughter and she would tell you that herself, if she was here; if the heart disease hadn’t killed her or the bleeding ulcer or the cirrhosis of the liver that I knew she MUST be getting by now, that girl was going to be the death of her and I knew it, she knew it, all her friends knew it too. That girl was nothing but trouble and it was just the trial of her life, the cross God had given her to bear. It was the girl who had kept her drinking for all these years—I mean, what was she to do? Everyone in the neighborhood had seen her daughter, all dead-eyed like a fish, dirty and skinny, coming home in the middle of the night. Everyone had seen her and That Man she went around with. Wouldn’t you drink too?
But like I said, Lillie wasn’t the healthiest woman in the world to begin with, and we all knew her suffering was soon to end anyway. She had a pacemaker, and a whole list of medicines she had to take—for her heart, for her blood clots, for her arthritis, for her ulcer, for her depression. Every dinner conversation was all about her health and some of us were a little bit weary, I’ve got to tell you, of hearing about all her problems.
Be that as it may, though—none of us would have wished for her in a million years what really took her in the end. Not even her daughter, I would like to think, though I may be giving that girl a little too much credit by saying it. But I try to think the best of everyone, and so even if I don’t believe for 100% certain that the girl wouldn’t have wished her mother dead by some stranger’s hand, I can at least try to be Christian about it.
I will admit it, though—when Kay called me and told me what had happened, I have to admit the thought crossed my mind. After all—the girl was a dope addict, pure and simple, and then there was that colored man she was living with. Who knew what people like that were capable of? I mean, really. Lillie told me that one time when we went to Door County for the weekend, she came home and her great-grandmother’s silver candelabras and a pearl brooch were missing. SHE said it was the cleaning lady, who knew where the spare key was kept—but we all knew she was just trying to save face. We all knew who had really taken those things. And if she’d steal from her mother—or even if she didn’t do the dirty work herself, even if she’d just set up one of her friends with a spare housekey and told them where to find the valuables—anyone who could do something as cold-hearted as that...well, someone like that could kill, couldn’t they? Especially when they thought there might be something left to inherit?
And frankly, no matter what the police say, I still think the girl might have had something to do with it. They can say all they want that it was that man from the soup kitchen who killed Lillie—but who’s to say he wasn’t a friend of her daughter’s too? All those hopheads know each other, anyway. Lock them all up and throw away the key, I say, but no, all these bleeding hearts want to SAVE them. Even Lillie, who I would have thought had better sense than all that, wanted to SAVE people. That was why she was ever at the soup kitchen in the first place...”I just want to feel like I’m doing some good for someone,” she said. “And if I can bring a few of these poor souls back to God, well, that would be even better.”
As for me, I thought God was doing plenty fine without a bunch of dirty scum to worry about, though of course I never said that to Lillie. I did tell her, though, that I thought she was being foolish, going into a neighborhood like that. After I said it, though, I felt a little awkward, when I remembered that her daughter had moved somewhere around there. But Lillie knew what was what, after all—she’d said it herself, half a hundred times, how much she wished her daughter would move to some other part of the city. I think maybe working in that soup kitchen was Lillie’s way of trying to keep in touch with her only child—I don’t know. But I did tell her she was courting trouble—that I did.
It wasn’t just her daughter. MOST of it was her daughter and she would tell you that herself, if she was here; if the heart disease hadn’t killed her or the bleeding ulcer or the cirrhosis of the liver that I knew she MUST be getting by now, that girl was going to be the death of her and I knew it, she knew it, all her friends knew it too. That girl was nothing but trouble and it was just the trial of her life, the cross God had given her to bear. It was the girl who had kept her drinking for all these years—I mean, what was she to do? Everyone in the neighborhood had seen her daughter, all dead-eyed like a fish, dirty and skinny, coming home in the middle of the night. Everyone had seen her and That Man she went around with. Wouldn’t you drink too?
But like I said, Lillie wasn’t the healthiest woman in the world to begin with, and we all knew her suffering was soon to end anyway. She had a pacemaker, and a whole list of medicines she had to take—for her heart, for her blood clots, for her arthritis, for her ulcer, for her depression. Every dinner conversation was all about her health and some of us were a little bit weary, I’ve got to tell you, of hearing about all her problems.
Be that as it may, though—none of us would have wished for her in a million years what really took her in the end. Not even her daughter, I would like to think, though I may be giving that girl a little too much credit by saying it. But I try to think the best of everyone, and so even if I don’t believe for 100% certain that the girl wouldn’t have wished her mother dead by some stranger’s hand, I can at least try to be Christian about it.
I will admit it, though—when Kay called me and told me what had happened, I have to admit the thought crossed my mind. After all—the girl was a dope addict, pure and simple, and then there was that colored man she was living with. Who knew what people like that were capable of? I mean, really. Lillie told me that one time when we went to Door County for the weekend, she came home and her great-grandmother’s silver candelabras and a pearl brooch were missing. SHE said it was the cleaning lady, who knew where the spare key was kept—but we all knew she was just trying to save face. We all knew who had really taken those things. And if she’d steal from her mother—or even if she didn’t do the dirty work herself, even if she’d just set up one of her friends with a spare housekey and told them where to find the valuables—anyone who could do something as cold-hearted as that...well, someone like that could kill, couldn’t they? Especially when they thought there might be something left to inherit?
And frankly, no matter what the police say, I still think the girl might have had something to do with it. They can say all they want that it was that man from the soup kitchen who killed Lillie—but who’s to say he wasn’t a friend of her daughter’s too? All those hopheads know each other, anyway. Lock them all up and throw away the key, I say, but no, all these bleeding hearts want to SAVE them. Even Lillie, who I would have thought had better sense than all that, wanted to SAVE people. That was why she was ever at the soup kitchen in the first place...”I just want to feel like I’m doing some good for someone,” she said. “And if I can bring a few of these poor souls back to God, well, that would be even better.”
As for me, I thought God was doing plenty fine without a bunch of dirty scum to worry about, though of course I never said that to Lillie. I did tell her, though, that I thought she was being foolish, going into a neighborhood like that. After I said it, though, I felt a little awkward, when I remembered that her daughter had moved somewhere around there. But Lillie knew what was what, after all—she’d said it herself, half a hundred times, how much she wished her daughter would move to some other part of the city. I think maybe working in that soup kitchen was Lillie’s way of trying to keep in touch with her only child—I don’t know. But I did tell her she was courting trouble—that I did.
posted by GJC at 10:49 PM
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