Mary's Innocent Passion

"Thank you!" she said, smiling from ear to ear. "I'm so grateful," she continued, then her face fell as she took in Evey's bedraggled condition. "Oh, my. Did you fall? I'm so sorry."

"Don't worry about it," Evey reassured her. For the first time, she had a chance to take in her features, and her heart skipped a beat. She's younger than I thought. A senior in high school, maybe? Or just out of high school. But damn, she's fine.

"I should probably follow you home," she said, shaking off her momentary distraction. "Just in case..." her voice trailed off as she noticed that there were two other people in the interior of the car.

She bent down, smiling. "How are you doing, girls?" she asked cheerfully, one hand gripping the edge of the doorframe.

The younger girl stared at her silently from the passenger seat, one thumb stuck as securely in her mouth as a cork in a bottle. The older, in the back seat, looked at her in frank curiosity. "Hello," she said cheerfully. "I'm Rebecca. What's your name?"

"I'm Eveline," she smiled back. "But my friends call me Evey."

"Eee-vee," she pronounced carefully. "That's a nice name. That's my sister," she continued, pointing to the front seat. "Her name's Deborah. But we call her Debbie, mostly. She doesn't talk much yet," she finished, with the air of someone divulging important information.

She nodded gravely. "I can tell." She winked. "It's hard to talk when you've got your thumb in your mouth, isn't it Debbie?" she finished, smiling at the solemn little face in the passenger seat.

She backed away, shivering as a blast of rain hit her face. The cold sting told her that sleet was mixing in, just like the weatherman on KRNL had forecast. "We better get going. I don't know how much longer that connection is going to last. The wiring in this thing is pretty much shot. Drive slow so I can keep up with you."

"You don't need to-" Mary began, but Evey interrupted her.

"No, I don't. But I'm going to anyway. What's going to happen if that wiring fails again? You're going to be stuck on the side of the road in the middle of a sleetstorm with no way to keep those girls warm.

"Stop arguing," she concluded, "and get on the move."

"Yes, ma'am," Mary said. If Evey didn't know better, she would have thought the young woman was mocking her. But her face was completely serious. Too serious. The poor girl looks like she hasn't had an easy day in years. If ever. She climbed into the car and closed the door. After a moment, Evey followed suit in her own car.

*****

As she drove towards her apartment house, Mary threw up hosannas of praise to a God she had sworn a thousand times over never to pray to again. She could not believe her good fortune. The woman had appeared out of nowhere, like an angel! And the way she had fixed the car was little short of miraculous! She flushed in shame as she remembered how she had mentally criticized her clothing in the store earlier, without even knowing her. How many people would have stopped to help a complete stranger?

She pulled into the parking lot of the apartment house, sighing in relief as she turned off the engine. Hopefully it would start again in the morning. Despite Evey's warning, she really had no choice put to trust to luck. If she could nurse the old rattletrap Regal through one more winter, she would be all right. Next fall Becca would be eligible for the pre-K program in her school district. That meant less money going to pay Diana for baby sitting. Which meant more money for "luxuries" like car maintenance.

She snorted as her mind ran through the mental rut for the thousandth time, then climbed out of the car. She walked over to where Evey had parked beside her. She rolled down the window so they could talk.

"Safe and sound," she said, then noticed the way the older woman was shivering. Really, though, she's not that much older. Twenty-four, maybe twenty-five. No more than that. "You're soaked clear through, aren't you?" she said, her voice taking on the no-nonsense tones she used when the girls were acting up.

"I'm fine," Evey said. But Mary didn't miss the way her teeth were chattering, even though the heater in her luxury sedan was turned on full blast.

"Don't be silly," she countered. "After all you've done for me, the least I can do is offer you a chance to dry out. Come on upstairs with me and the girls and you can take a shower and put your clothes in the dryer. Or you can borrow some of mine." She looked her over with the shrewd eye of someone who had sewn far too many sets of clothes. "I think we're close to the same size."

For a moment, she thought Evey was going to refuse. But she gave a grateful nod and got out of her car. Despite her shivers, she insisted on helping carry her groceries up to her third-floor apartment, an offer Mary accepted gratefully, as it saved her another trip outside in the rain.

"We're home!" Becca shouted cheerfully as Mary turned on the lights. She took off her jacket, then helped Debbie do the same thing, hanging them up neatly on the battered coatrack by the door. Free of the jacket, Debbie toddled over to her, her small round face creased in a frown.

"I'm hungwy, Mommy," she said.

"I'll have something ready for you in a few minutes, sweetheart," she said absently. Then she realized that Evey was looking at her with something like horror in her eyes.

*****

'Mommy?' This child? Evey's mind reeled. She had thought the two girls were Mary's nieces. Or perhaps she was a babysitter. She looked at the two children and her mind did some rapid mental math. She couldn't have been more than fifteen when her first child was conceived. If that. Maybe less.

Mary looked at her, her chin raised, daring her to say something. "They're both mine," she said with painful dignity. "and no one is going to take them away from me."

"I wasn't judging," she replied quietly. "I do social work myself. I've seen worse, believe me. I've seen thirteen-year-old boys strung out on heroin. I've seen women who shouldn't even be allowed to be near children having baby after baby. I've seen...too much," she finished lamely, unwilling to catalog all of the horrors she had seen over the last three years.

"You talk funny," Rebecca observed, from a spot down around her knees.

"Rebecca!" Mary said, her voice horrified. She looked at Evey in apology. Instead, she knelt down to kiss the child's cheek.

"Ah do, don't ah, punkin?" she said, emphasizing her Georgia drawl. "Why, bless yo heart, but you're just as sweet as pah."

The little girl giggled, then spun away to sit on the couch. "You mentioned a shower?" Eveline asked, feeling her frigid, waterlogged jeans sticking uncomfortably to her thighs.

"Of course," Mary said, blushing. She led her down a short hall to a bathroom. "Just toss your clothes outside the door. I'll put them in the dryer. It's one of the few extras this place has."

She skinned out of her wet clothes quickly, tossed them blindly out the bathroom door, then stepped under the blessedly hot spray of the shower, letting the heat soak into her bones. Unwilling to get her long black hair wet when she had a long drive home in terrible weather, she lathered with a bar of soap over and over, until the last remnants of chill had been driven away.

She stepped out, drying herself with a threadbare but clean towel. She was just hanging it up and beginning to wonder what she was gong to wear while her clothes finished drying when there was a polite tap at the door. Mary came in, with a small pile of clothes held in her arms.

"I thought these might fit," she started, then broke off, staring at her naked body. Her pale face, her skin like cream under Evey's gaze, flushed scarlet.

Eveline kept her face carefully neutral. Oh. So it's like that, is it? But inside, her heart leaped, even as her belly spasmed in frustrated longing. Two children, and a lesbian? She must have one hell of a story to tell. And I doubt it's a happy one.

"Thanks," she said calmly, taking the clothes. She did not, by word or deed, let her own budding attraction to Mary show. But her eyes hungrily devoured the wonderfully curved figure she could see underneath the drab waitress' uniform.

"I've...I've got your clothes in the dryer," Mary stuttered, still unable to peel her eyes away from her chest. "Come on out when your ready."

*****

Mary ladled soup into a bowl, and set it in front of Rebecca, to go along with the requested grilledcheese sandwich. In the high chair beside her, Deborah was contentedly munching on carefully cut-up squares of buttered bread and chopped apple slices.

Evey stepped into the room, dressed in one of the pairs of baggy flannel pants she had bought at the thrift store, with a loose sweater on top. White socks completed the ensemble. She looked, Mary thought, absolutely lovely, with her dark hair spilling down her back like a wave. Even the faded sweater couldn't hide the high, proud glory of her breasts. And her face was clear and unlined, a template of female beauty.

She sat down at the table, but waved away Mary's offer of a meal. "I'm fine. I just need to get my clothes dried out and get out of your hair." She sounded apologetic.

"It's no trouble," Mary replied. She leaned back against the kitchen counter, nibbling on a grilledcheese sandwich of her own. The crunchy crust contrasted wonderfully with the melted cheese inside. "So you say you do social work?"

Evey nodded. "Ever since I graduated from Wake Forest," she said.

"Where's that?"

"North Carolina."

Mary frowned. "So what are you doing in Iowa?" she asked. Then she blushed, hearing how rude the question sounded.

In the silence, the buzzer for the dryer was jarringly loud. Evey got up and pulled her clothes out. "Ah. Nice and dry," she said. Ducking back into the bathroom, she got dressed, delighting in the feel as the toasty-warm clothes slid over her skin.

When she emerged, Mary was waiting for her. "Wait," she said, laying a hand on her arm. "I haven't thanked you properly." She pulled a small wad of bills out of her pocket.

Evey recoiled. "Good grief, I don't want your money. And there's no need to pay me. Anyone would have done the same thing!"

At the table, Rebecca looked up in reaction to her words. Mary frowned. "Anyone could have. You did. No one else." Reluctantly, she put her money away. "At least come over to dinner on Friday night. I'd like..." her voice quavered, then firmed. "I'd like to repay you. Somehow. And if you won't take money..."

Eveline ran through her social schedule, which, ironically, didn't last long. Her recent move to Iowa had left her little in the way of local friends, and her one serious romantic relationship had soured in a matter of weeks. She smiled at the teenage girl. "Sure. What time do you want me?" she asked then bit her lip at the unintended double entendre.

"Maybe...seven o'clock?"

She nodded. "That sounds good. Give me your phone number and let me know what you plan to make, so I can bring something to go along. And also to let me know if you have to cancel."

After putting Mary's number into her phone, she smiled at the girls, who were finishing their dinner. "I'll see you again soon, okay?" With a nod at Mary, she slipped out the door and down the staircase, smiling as she emerged into the cold night rain, which didn't feel nearly as bad as it should.

*****

The next three days went by in a blur for Mary. She finished and mailed off two more tests for the correspondence courses she was taking for her high school equivalency certification. And on Thursday, she was able to pick up a extra half-shift in the evening when one of the regular evening waitresses had to stay home to take care of teenager who had broken his arm skateboarding. The extra money she had to pay Diana to watch the girls was more than offset by the extra hourly wages and the tips she picked up. One table, containing what appeared to be a young man, his girlfriend, and her mother, left her a ten-dollar tip on a thirty-dollar tab. She closed her eyes in gratitude, wondering if they knew how much the money meant to her.

With a little extra cash in her pocket for a change, she scrapped the plan she had made for Friday's dinner with Evey, and bought an entire chicken, already cut up and ready to fry. She justified the expense to herself with the thought that she could pack the leftovers for the girls when they went over to Diana's the following week, and save the older woman the trouble of making lunch for them.

It was just before seven o'clock, and the chicken was simmering on the stove, when the muchanticipated knock came at the door. She answered it to see Evey waiting with a smile on her face. She held a bottle in one hand and a covered dish in the other.

"I come bearing gifts," the older woman said, stepping in to the apartment. She sniffed the air appreciatively. "That smells wonderful."

"Thank you," she replied. She relieved Evey of the dish and peeked under the lid.

"It's nothing fancy," Evey said apologetically. "Just asparagus with onions and herbs. I'm not much of a cook. But I brought some wine, too."

Wine? Mary looked around the kitchen helplessly. She didn't have a corkscrew. Or proper glasses. Her hands began to shake. What had she been thinking, to invite this beautiful, glamorous woman to dinner? She would see how stupid she was, how she couldn't even prepare a simple meal without screwing it up...

Just as her thoughts began to threaten to run away with her, she heard a popping sound. Evey waved the cork at her, stuck on the end of a corkscrew she had obviously brought along. Moving through the tiny, cramped kitchen as if she had been born there, she was soon pouring generous splashes of wine into a pair of mismatched glass tumblers.

She handed one to Mary, who took it reluctantly. "Are you sure this is a good idea?" she asked. "I'm only nineteen. I wouldn't even be able to get served at a bar."

Evey returned a conspiratorial smile. "You're not planning on driving anywhere, are you? Then I promise not to tell," she finished, as Mary took a tentative sip. "Sometimes we girls have to let our hair down and relax. And trust me. Looking the way you do, you could get served at any bar in town."

They drank the wine slowly as dinner finished cooking. The girls wandered into the kitchen from time to time to check on them. But in short order they sat down to a substantial dinner of fried chicken, roasted red potatoes, asparagus, and buttermilk biscuits. Mary put Deborah beside her in her high chair, and cut up child-sized portions for her. Becca, on the other hand, peppered Evey with questions throughout the meal, and Mary was happy to see that the beautiful woman had a large supply of patience.

When she pushed her chair back at last, her stomach felt more full than it had in months. "Time to clean up," she announced, and began to carry plates from the table back into the kitchen.

"How can I help?" Evey asked.

"Thank you, honey," she said to Rebecca, who had handed her her plate. She began running water into the sink. "I have to wash dishes," she said. "If I don't they pile up in a hurry. Would you like to wash or dry?"

"Neither?" Evey said hopefully, laughing at her horrified expression. She got up with a groan. "You're a cruel woman, Mary Durham," she said. "Plying me with food and now you make me work. And on a Friday night, no less. I guess I'll dry." She winked at Becca, who had been watching the conversation with wide-eyed interest. "Does your mommy make you clean up, too?"

Rebecca nodded, her wavy blonde hair bouncing. "I have to clean me an' Debbie's room every Friday when we get home. Debbie tries to help, but she's not very good at it yet."

"Well, soonest begun, soonest done," Evey said resignedly. She helped carry plates and platters into the kitchen, where Mary thriftily stowed the leftovers away in her mismatched plasticware. After, the girls sat on the couch, looking at picture books, while the two older women did the dishes.

"You're good with the girls," Mary observed quietly, passing a clean plate to Evey.

The older woman shrugged. "I have to deal with kids a lot at work. I've found if you don't talk down to them, you'll do all right."

"So how did a woman from Georgia end up being a social worker in Iowa? What's your story?"

*****

Eveline sighed, drying another dish. She wasn't sure she wanted to go over her history, even to someone as sweet and innocent as Mary.

But she felt drawn to this fragile young woman. She wanted to know her story. And she knew, in her heart, that if she wanted to draw her out, to have her confide in her, she would have to give her the gift of her trust.

She smiled crookedly at Mary as she set a clean plate in the plastic dish-rack beside the sink. "Well, to start off with, my family's rich."

"Oh," Mary said, but her face told her she didn't understand.

"Old money," Eveline expanded. "Old southern money." She grimaced. "It started out as slave-trading, to be honest, back about two hundred years ago." She grinned briefly. "Mama used to get so mad when I would mention it when there were important guests around. As if it were perfectly acceptable to enjoy the fruits of that wealth, but not to admit where it came from.

"Well, my however-many times great-grandfather got lucky. He bought himself an exemption so he didn't have to fight in the Civil War, and his sons were all too young to go. And Sherman's soldiers somehow missed the plantation when they marched through Georgia back in 1864, so the Kershaws were one of the few wealthy families in Georgia that came through the war intact. They got out of the slave-trading business and got into banking and railroads and politics."

She sighed. "Georgia was never as bad as some of the other states in the deep south, like Mississippi or Alabama. And my family was fairly progressive, for the time.

"But that's only by the standards of rich white southerners. Who are not exactly the most liberal people in America, as you might have noticed.

"So when I came out to my parents as a lesbian, and told them I was in love with a black girl at my ohso-prestigious boarding school, well, I might as well have told them I was a Satan-worshiper, or didn't like football, or, or a Republican," she said with a wry grin. "My mother couldn't believe it. She couldn't understand why I didn't want to go to the University of Georgia, pledge a sorority, get a degree in Communications or some other phony major, marry a frat-boy with a business degree, and settle down in Gwinnett County like all the rest of her friends' daughters."

Mary frowned as she scrubbed at a stubborn spot on a plate. "From what I understand, I'm surprised your parents aren't Republicans. I mean, isn't it the Democrats, mostly, who are in favor of gay marriage?" In fact, Mary was sure of it. She remembered hearing the news on the radio, and had laughed until her sides ached, imagining the impotent, spittle-flecked fury of Brother Ezekiel and the rest of the members of the Church of the Holy Death and Fiery Resurrection.

Evey smiled at her. "Ah, I can tell you don't understand Southerners. My family has been Democrats for nearly two hundred years. They would no more change their political party than they would buy Japanese cars or start going to the Lutheran church, instead of the Episcopalian. Some things, darling," she drawled, "are simply not done. They'll keep on happily voting Democratic and patiently wait for the party to admit it was wrong on gay marriage and a slew of other things, like school desegregation and the nineteenth amendment.

"But to get on with my story, I wasn't kicked out of the family or disowned. Not quite. But after I graduated college it was made clear to me that it would be preferable if I moved away. A long way away, where I wouldn't embarrass them." She shrugged, trying to pretend the hurt wasn't still there. "It was a blessing, really. They couldn't touch the trust fund my grandfather had set up for me, thank goodness, so I'll never have to ask them for money. And being away from them means I can do the work I want to do."