Forbidden Fruit

Her father, not her mother, came for her. He didn’t speak, just scooped her into his arms and carried her to her bed. He sat on its edge and cradled her in his arms, murmuring sounds of love and comfort.

Glory sank into him, too weak to do more. She longed to tell him she was sorry, that she hadn’t meant to be such a bad, wicked girl, but she couldn’t make her mouth form the words. Just as she couldn’t cry, though she felt like weeping. She had cried herself dry hours ago.

The room grew dark. Still her father rocked her. She squeezed her eyes shut, wishing she could block out the image of her mother’s face, twisted with rage, her eyes hot with something that had frightened Glory clear to her core.

And later, much later, as she lay alone in her bedroom, dark save for the closet light her father had left burning for her, she wished she could block out the sound of angry voices. Her mother’s. Her father’s.

Glory dragged the blankets over her head. She had never heard them shout at each other this way. And although she couldn’t make out much that they were saying, she heard her name, many times. She heard her daddy say divorce; she heard her mother laugh in response.

Glory hid her face in her pillow, guilt overwhelming her physical pain. She was to blame for her parents’ fight. If her parents divorced, that, too, would be her fault. She was to blame for kind Mrs. Cooper being fired. It was her fault Danny had cried.

Her fault, it was all her fault.

Guilt and fear mixed inside her, leaving a bitter taste in her mouth. She had lied to her mother about Danny. She had told her mother that it had been Danny’s idea to look at the books, Danny’s idea to pull down his pants.

Glory drew in a strangled breath. She had promised Danny that everything would be all right. That they wouldn’t get caught.

But they had. And then she had lied.

She was bad and wicked, just as her mother said. She wouldn’t blame Danny if he never wanted to be her friend again.

Just as the rest of the household staff no longer wanted to be her friend, she learned the next morning as she sat alone at the breakfast table. They came and went, silently, their eyes averted or downcast. When they did happen to meet her eyes, they looked quickly away.

Glory wrapped her arms around her middle, eyes burning. Usually, the staff joked with her. Usually, they laughed and winked. No more, she thought, tears choking her. They knew that she had lied. They knew she was to blame for Mrs. Cooper’s being fired. They didn’t like her anymore. Now they thought she was bad, too.

Glory gazed at her plate, at her fried eggs, their gooey yellow yolks spilled across the china plate, and her stomach hurt. She hugged herself tighter and thought of Danny, of the way he had looked at her the day before. He had been her friend. He never would have lied about her to save himself.

She had betrayed him.

She hung her head, remembering all the times they had played together, remembering all the times he had made her smile when she was sad. She remembered, too, how Mrs. Cooper would bring her a snack when she had missed lunch because of one of her mother’s punishments, recalled the times the woman had allowed her a bit of something her mother had forbidden.

Despair pinched at her chest, hurting, making it difficult to breathe. She missed Mrs. Cooper. She wanted Danny to be her friend again. A tear spilled over and rolled down her cheek, another followed. What she had done was wrong. Lying had been wrong. She wanted her mother to ask them back.

Glory heard her mother in the foyer, returning from morning mass. Glory brushed the tears from her cheeks. If her mother knew the truth, surely she would reconsider. Once she understood that none of it had been Danny’s fault, she wouldn’t blame poor Mrs. Cooper anymore.

Glory straightened. Danny had done nothing wrong, neither had his grandmother. If she told her mother the truth, her mother would ask them to come back. Surely she would. Surely she couldn’t punish them for her daughter’s sins.

All Glory had to do was face her mother. And tell her the truth.

Glory began to shake as the image of her mother from the day before filled her head. She recalled the punishing scrape of the nail brush against her skin, recalled the accusatory rasp of her mother’s voice as she had preached about evil and darkness.

Her mother might punish her again.

Glory whimpered, afraid. She shrank back in her chair, making herself small, as small as she could. Maybe she could tell her daddy instead. He could talk to her mama, or rehire Mrs. Cooper himself.

She thought of her parents’ fight. Divorce, her daddy had said. Glory squeezed her eyes tight shut. What would she do if her parents divorced? She knew how these things worked; she would have to live with her mama. How would she be able to stand it?

Glory straightened, fear souring the inside of her mouth. She couldn’t ask her daddy to do this. She had to talk to her mother herself.

And if she chickened out, she would never see Mrs. Cooper or Danny again.

She had to tell. She had to.

Glory swallowed hard, the taste in her mouth turning her stomach. She scooted off her chair and, heart pounding, tiptoed across the floor. She paused at the doorway to the foyer and peaked around the doorjamb. The foyer was empty, but she had a good idea where her mother was. Every morning after mass, her mother had a cup of tea and read the paper in the garden room.

She found her there. Glory hesitated in the doorway, her heart thundering. Her mother looked so pretty now, with the sunlight spilling over her, softening her, making her lacy white blouse glow like angel-garb.

She looked like an angel, Glory thought, struggling to control her fear. A dark-haired angel.

“Mama?” she said softly, her voice shaking.

Her mother looked up, and the celestial image evaporated. Her mother’s eyes had not lost their fevered light; her mouth was set in a tight, unforgiving line. Glory caught her breath and took an involuntary step back.

Hope made a sound of impatience. “What is it, Glory?”

Glory clasped her hands in front of her, so tightly her knuckles popped out white in relief. “May I…may I speak with you, please?”

Her mother hesitated a moment, then nodded and folded her paper. That done, she met her daughter’s eyes once more. “You may.”

“Mama,” she began, her voice quivering, “I wanted…I needed—” She cleared her throat. “Mama, I lied to you.”

Her mother arched her eyebrows but said nothing. Glory continued anyway. “I lied about Danny. It wasn’t…his idea to look at the books. It wasn’t his idea to look at…It was mine.”

Still her mother remained silent. One moment became several, and Glory swallowed hard, more afraid than she had ever been. Tears flooded Glory’s eyes. “I wanted you to know that it was my fault. All of it.”

“I see.”

Those two words held a world of disapproval and disappointment, and Glory hung her head. “I’m sorry, Mama. And I’m ashamed.”

Her mother brought her teacup to her lips and sipped. She then returned it to its delicate china saucer and patted her mouth with a napkin. “Is that all?”

“No.” Glory took a step into the room, a measure of her fear easing. Her mother was not flying into a rage. Her face was not contorting with fury, not transforming into that of a person she didn’t know but feared beyond measure. “I thought…I hoped that you might ask Mrs. Cooper back.”

Save for the way Hope tapped one fingernail against the teacup handle, she didn’t move. She seemed to not even breathe. Finally, she lifted her gaze to look thoughtfully at her daughter. “Why should I?”

“Because…because I lied.” Glory pressed a hand to her chest. “It wasn’t Danny’s fault. It wasn’t his grandmother’s. They shouldn’t be punished for my behavior. Please, Mama. I’m sorry and very ashamed. Please ask them back.”

Her mother stood and crossed to the window. For long moments she gazed out at the bright, hot day, then turned back to her daughter, a small smile playing at the edges of her mouth. “It’s good that you’re ashamed of your behavior, you should be. It’s good that you’re sorry. But how do I know you really are?”

“I am, really!” Glory took several steps toward her mother, hope surging through her. “I promise I am. Please ask Mrs. Cooper back.”

“I may,” she said softly. “I just may.”

Glory brought her clasped hands to her heart. Her mother would ask Mrs. Cooper back. Danny would be her friend again. The rest of the staff would like her again. “Oh, Mama, thank you! Thank you so mu—”

“I’ll ask her back,” her mother interrupted. “If you can prove to me that you can be a good girl. If you can show me that you can be the kind of girl the Lord expects you to be.”

Glory burst into a smile. “I can, Mama! I’ll show you! Just you wait, I’ll be the best girl ever!”