Yesterday by Fern Michaels

Parker Manor, Callie, and Mama Pearl. He’d worked like a damn dog. He’d never complained, never whimpered. He’d done all that was required of him. He remembered it like it had just happened—Clemson Parker’s funeral and his fear that he’d be sent back to the preacher because he hadn’t been adopted the way Mr. Parker had promised. That fear hadn’t been there when Mrs. Parker died, but then he’d never actually seen Mrs. Parker. Once or twice he thought he saw her by the window, but Callie said she didn’t get off her chair at all. Maybe the sun played tricks on the window glass, and he just thought he saw her.
    Mama Pearl’s face was worried the day of the funeral, and she looked so tired. That scared him, too. Callie fretted all day. They were on the swing, Callie complaining about her shoes. He’d tried to be helpful. They were sitting on the swing . . .
     
     
    Bode held her hand and wiped Callie’s tears with a snowy white handkerchief Pearl made sure he carried in his pocket. He sat with her all evening on the swing on the back porch making her repeat over and over a prayer he said she needed to say at the cemetery.
    The hour was late, the air warm even though it was October. Pearl sat down on the swing next to the children and told them quietly, “The Judge said right now there are no problems. Maybe sometime there will be a problem.”
    Bode’s heart started to pound. “Do I have to go away, back to the preacher’s house?”
    “No, chile. You’ll be staying here with Miz Callie and me. You belong here. Mr. Parker brought you here and here you stay. I asked the Judge, and he said that’s right. He’s your guardian. Things will be a mite different for a while, I expect.”
    “Will Sela and Brie still come out here?” Bode asked.
    “Yes. That isn’t about to change unless their mamas don’t want them coming here, and I don’t think that will happen.”
    “Can we have some soda pop, Pearl?”
    “I’ll fetch it if you say yes, Mama Pearl,” Callie offered.
    “Bless you, chile, yes, you bring it. Pearl’s feet are tired tonight. Bring some cookies, too.” Pearl dabbed at her eyes.
    “Today is a day of great sorrow,” she told Callie when the little girl returned. “Your papa was a fine man, honest and fair. He was always doing kind things for people in secret. The Judge told me that today.”
    “Was my mama a fine lady, too, Pearl?”
    “Yes, she was, chile. She was sickly all her life, felt like she had failed your papa. She wanted to do so many things for that man, but she didn’t have the strength.”
    “Was she a drunk lady like Sela’s mama?”
    Pearl spluttered. “Now where did you hear such a thing?”
    “Sela told me.”
    “Well . . . I don’t know about Miz Sela’s mama, but I know about your mama, and she didn’t—”
    “It’s all right, Pearl. I don’t want you to have to tell me a lie,” Callie said. “Let’s pretend I didn’t say anything. I remembered the whole prayer today, the one Bode taught me. I should go to church, Pearl. I don’t want to grow to be a heathen. Can I go with you?”
    “I asked the Judge, and he said if I want to take you, I can. You’ll be the only white girl in my church, mind.”
    “Will the Lord care, Pearl? Won’t He be happy that I go to church?”
    “I expect so, honey.”
    “You look tired, Pearl,” Callie said softly.
    Bode held out the tray with three glasses and three bottles of soda pop on it. A plate with six sugar cookies sat in the center, along with paper napkins. “If you want to go to sleep, Mama Pearl, it’s okay. I’ll take care of Callie now. I’ll be the man of the house unless the Judge says it isn’t fitting. Will he say that, Mama Pearl?” Bode sounded anxious.
    “No, the Judge said that same thing to me himself today. You be the man here now. I think I will be going to bed. You children don’t stay up too late.”
    Bode’s chest puffed out. He poured the soda pop and handed Callie a