The Brown Shopping Bags

By Jennifer Johnson

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• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Jul 21, 2010
• ISBN: 9781453526040

Jennifer Johnson

Jennifer Johnson is a sixth grade writing teacher and Christian fiction writer. She is married with three daughters.

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Copyright © 2009 by Jennifer Johnson.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

This book was printed in the United States of America.

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82267

To my mother

Estelle B. Rollins

"Thank you for teaching me, my siblings

and your grandchildren how to pray"

      And He spoke a parable unto them to this end, that men ought always to pray, and not to faint;

Luke 18:1

Contents

Chapter I

Chapter II

Chapter III

Chapter IV

Chapter V

Chapter VI

Chapter VII

Chapter VIII

Chapter IX

Chapter X

Chapter XI

Epilogue

Chapter I

AS THE WARM westerly breeze flowed through the windows of the fast-moving car, Gale Graves Hatchet was rocking to the beat of a well-known song of praise. This was her scheduled day to help her elderly, infirmed grandmother, Bessie Nugent Coleman. It was an honor for each of the six grandchildren to have a part in the well-being of the woman who had made visits to her house an undeniable gift of joy and unconditional love.

Turning into the dirt driveway, she slowed the silver gray Nissan, for she did not want to cause any dust to enter the opened windows of her grandmother’s spotlessly clean house. As she noted the digital clock on the dashboard, it read 6:25. Smiling, she had five minutes to spare, for the elderly woman insisted on getting up at 6:30 a.m. Retrieving her key, she hurriedly opened the storm door and unlocked the heavy wood and beveled glass front door.

Grandma Bessie, it’s Gale, she said, wanting to make her presence known. Not hearing a response, she quietly made her way through the pristine beige and gold living room, down the long corridor that led to her grandmother’s spacious sparsely furnished bedroom. Noting the unmoving, openmouthed body, she almost screamed as she hurriedly touched the cold neck, praying for a pulse that was not to be found.

Tightly embracing the lifeless woman, she unabashedly wept over the life that had passed on, never again to be shared in the manner she and her relatives had come to respect and rely upon, for Bessie Nugent Coleman had been a woman of faith and prayer.

Her first memories of the spirited, fearless woman were at age three during a Sunday afternoon picnic at the twenty-acre farm, where her grandparents had lovingly raised their two sons and three daughters. It was Grandma Bessie’s sixtieth birthday, and the well-attended gala event was celebrated by relatives and friends from across the country. Immediately, she had been drawn to the warm embrace and soft lip kisses on her cheeks. The smell of the fragrant vanilla perfume only added to the overwhelming aura of feeling safe and loved. From that moment in time, she felt special, but as she grew older and became acquainted with her five cousins, she realized that Grandma Bessie made them all feel the same way. The balanced trios of three boys and three girls began with the eldest Purcell Coleman III, Tyson and Beverly Coleman, Sally and Dennis Cane, and ended with the youngest, Gale Graves.

The only person missing at the special occasion was Aunt Gale, her namesake, for she had been killed in Vietnam while performing her duties as an army nurse. Each time Grandma Bessie would look off into the distance, everyone knew she was thinking of her youngest child who had preceded her in death. Grandpa would wrap his big, strong arms around her until she once again became aware of her surroundings. Purcell Coleman had also served in the military during World War II, but vehemently disagreed with his youngest daughter’s decision to enlist in order to become a nurse and serve her country. Even though times had changed, and the armed forces were no longer segregated, he knew that military service during wartime was difficult and oftentimes life threatening, for he had lost several good friends during his tour in Italy. War had caused him to mature quickly and change his attitude about life in general, for it had also served as a reminder that tomorrow was not promised to anyone, especially those in the infantry. Having inherited the parcel of farmland from his father, being the only male offspring, surrounded by five elder sisters, he had returned from the war unscathed physically, but death and destruction had caused him to fully appreciate life, his family and the generational landmark called home. Sixteen-year-old Bessie Nugent had waited for him and never lost hope that they would marry and have a family, but several times as he witnessed the wounding and death of his comrades in arms, he wondered if he’d ever see another day, much less the future he desperately wanted with the only girl he had ever loved. He had survived, married Bessie, and sired five children, but neither Purcell nor Bessie were prepared for the death of their youngest offspring, even though the possibility constantly loomed over their worried minds. Whereas Purcell turned inward, blaming himself for not having prevented their daughter from joining the armed forces, Bessie turned her grief into intercessory prayer for others, thus creating the mystery of the brown paper shopping bags.

As Gale’s eyes rested on the old, tattered bags, one strategically placed on the left and the other placed on the right side of the big comfortable Queen Ann chair, a flood of tears engulfed her again. She could not guess how many prayers on her behalf had been placed in the bag on the left until they had been answered and allowed to rest in the bag on the right.

As an only child, she had been spoiled and willful. Somehow, the death of Aunt Gale had deeply affected her mother, for not only had she given her only child the name of her dead sister, but had also given into her every whim, thus causing a constant riff in the relationship with her husband, Douglas Graves, thereby creating a stubborn, disobedient child who did as she pleased. It had all caught up to Gale in high school as she got pregnant, not certain of the child’s father, had a miscarriage, and because of poor grades barely graduated with her class. Refusing to attend a technical or training school, she used her good looks and body to secure jobs with willing male managers who did not hire her for her experience or knowledge of the job at hand. She not only slept with the last manager, but also delved headfirst into a life of addiction to cocaine, which eventually led her to become the live-in lover of a big-time drug dealer. She lived a lifestyle of new cars, designer clothes, unending money, and getting high. She had escaped the drug bust and a consequent arrest, simply because she had grudgingly accepted a luncheon and shopping date with her cousin, Beverly Coleman Williams, who had been pleading with her to leave before something drastic, occurred. When they had returned to the upscale, lavish house she shared with Jerome Tate, she was stunned by the unfathomable amount of police presence that had invaded the residence. Suddenly, the cocaine she had recently snorted in the ladies’ room at the department store no longer sustained the high she had become accustomed to maintaining. After slowly passing through the high volume of police cars, Beverly cautiously sped up and said, I’m taking you to Grandma Bessie.

Please don’t take me to Grandma’s house. I don’t want her to know anything about the way I’ve been living.

She already knows, Gale. Everyone in the family knows. It’s time for you to get your life together, so I’m taking you to Grandma.

As the tears slid over Gale’s hollow cheeks, she sank low in the car, for she believed she was too far into her habit to change, plus she had no idea as what she was to change into. She had blown her education, and what decent man would want her if she did kick the habit? It was too much to overcome. She was twenty-seven years old and believed her life was over. As she grabbed the handle of the car door, so that she could throw herself from the fast-moving vehicle, the door would not open because of the safety locks that stayed in place as long as the car was in gear. Hopeless, she folded her body into a ball as she loudly screamed and cried.

It took them fifty minutes to reach the outskirts of the city and the house where they had played as children. At Grandma Bessie’s there were no favorites; there was no selfishness or unruly behavior, but there was always a lot of love even when you did make a mistake or misbehaved. It was a place of refuge and forgiveness, for Grandma never let you feel bad about yourself. Once you realized what you had done wrong and apologized, it was over, just as if it had never happened, and no one was allowed to remind you of the mistake you had made. But now that she had arrived, Gale did not believe she could tell her grandmother all the awful things she had done and still be accepted as if nothing had happened, so she scrunched lower in the front seat of the pure white Toyota Camry, refusing to leave the car.

Gale, come on baby. Come into the house with me. You know I love you, and won’t condemn you for what you’ve done. But, Gale, you need help, so please come into the house with me, her grandmother pleaded as she stood at the opened front passenger door.

Steadily crying, Gale allowed the strong, wiry, and spirited old woman to place her arms around her waist and lead her into the house, down the long corridor to her bedroom. Grandpa Purcell had died several years ago as he turned into an old, feeble man who gave up on a fruitful life never forgiving himself for his youngest daughter’s death. It had been needless and senseless to carry a burden that he could not bear, but no matter how many times Bessie begged him to give it to God, he would not let go. In her prayer time, she had written on a small piece of paper, Lord, please don’t let him lose his mind, and give him an end of peace. Placing the folded sheet in the brown shopping bag on the left side of her chair, she did not remove the paper and place it in the bag on her right until the day of Purcell’s death, for he had not lost his mind, and he had died peacefully in his sleep at the age of eighty-six.

Sit down, Gale. I’ve been praying for you, she said as she searched for a certain piece of paper in the bag on her left. On finding the small sheet, she handed it to her granddaughter.

Read what it says, Gale.

Still crying, Gale slowly read the neatly scrawled words. Lord, please get Gale safely out of the house of that drug dealer.

Beverly told me what she saw when she took you home, so the Lord has answered one of my prayers about you, but there are a few more in that bag that I know He will answer in His good time and in His own way. I told Beverly to call your mother and father so they can get you in a drug program, but in the meantime, you are going to stay here with me.

But Grandma, you don’t understand. When I start craving for the cocaine, I will do whatever it takes to get it, and I don’t want to hurt you.

You’re not going to hurt me, child, because Beverly and I are going to tie you to my bed and take care of you until Marissa and Douglas come to take you to the right place.

Grandma, please don’t tie me to your bed, Gale screamed as Beverly seemed to magically appear with cords of rope. It had been a battle to hold the writhing, kicking, young woman in place, but the deed had been completed as the exhausted elderly woman sat in her chair and prayed.

For seven days, Gale writhed, screamed, and vomited, but she survived as her grandmother cleaned her and prayed until she calmed down to await the next turbulent bout of withdrawal. When her parents finally arrived, her father gently wrapped her small frail, lifeless frame in a blanket and carried her to the car. Their imminent arrival was expected at the posh rehabilitation clinic in a quiet, mountainous region of Arizona. It was amazing how fast something could happen if you had money and the right connections. One telephone call to the clinic from her cousin Dennis Cane, a professional basketball player, and she was immediately accepted at the luxurious facility where the rich and famous and their family members were welcomed with open arms as they struggled with their addictions.

Something about the way Grandma Bessie had showered love on her and kept her clean, in spite of the numerous times she had regurgitated, gave her a desire to kick the habit and be free to start over even though she knew it would be a total uphill battle. Determinedly, she entered the program, prepared for the worst ordeal of her life, but instead, she fell in love with a psychiatric counselor, Dr. Jeffrey Hatchet. As his black piercing eyes connected with her large brown pupils, she became too weak and unhinged to lie to him; so session after session she openly told him the truth about her life. Thoroughly believing that such an intelligent, clean-cut individual would have only a professional interest in one of his patients, she tried to hide her feelings as she met with him three times a week. Night after night, as her body writhed with the desire to touch him and be touched by him, she thought she would lose her mind with the overwhelming urges that refused to leave, no matter how diligently she prayed for their removal. Not knowing how to separate sexual desire from true feelings of love, she swallowed her pride and called Grandma Bessie.

Grandma, this is Gale. How are you?

I’m fine, child. How are you doing?

I’m doing well. I should be leaving here in a few weeks.

Well, you sound like something is bothering you. Are you afraid to leave when it’s time?

No, it’s not that. It’s a delicate situation that I don’t know how to handle. I think I’m in love with one of my counselors, but it has turned to pure lust on my part, and I don’t know what to do. I prayed, Grandma, but I can’t stop thinking about him in the wrong way.

Baby, the reason you haven’t gotten any relief is because you think of your body as your own, to do whatever you please to do with it, when truthfully it belongs to God. I’m sure you remember that scripture from Sunday school about your body being the temple of the Holy Ghost and that you are not your own. When you accept that fact, you will be very sensitive about what you do with your body or allow to be done to your body. Change your way of thinking and praying. Do you understand me, Gale?

Yes, Grandma, I understand.

Taking her grandmother’s words into her heart, she stopped touching herself inappropriately and asked God to take control of her body because she knew she could not control it on her own. Surprisingly, the next time she saw Dr. Jeff, she looked upon him as an intelligent, attractive man, whose sole purpose was to help her understand her addiction, instead of serving as her own personal sex toy. In the past, she had traded her body, first for popularity with the boys in high school, then with male bosses for jobs, and finally for drugs from a drug dealer. With Dr. Jeff, there was nothing to trade, for he was there to help her and she had the choice of accepting or rejecting the help that was offered.

She was stunned when two weeks after she had left the prestigious facility, he unexpectedly showed up at her parents’ house to check on her well-being and ask for a date.

Come in, Dr. Hatchet, she heard her father say even though she was sure she had misheard the familiar name of her former counselor. Too shocked and bewildered to believe that Jeffrey Hatchet was in her home, she sat paralyzed in her former childhood bedroom, too afraid to move. It had felt strange returning to the home and room she had left as soon as she completed high school. Her plan had been to leave the overbearing environment and be on her own to do as she pleased. After the miscarriage, she had become wise enough to obtain birth control, even though she had not been wise in choosing her sexual partners. Now that she had left rehab, after learning some hurtful things about herself, she was almost too afraid to return to the real world of adult decisions and choices. Surprisingly, she had timidly embraced the childlike world of her parents’ home and the familiarity of the girlish styled bedroom. Being a responsible, mature adult was a lot harder than she had known, even though she had been warned many times by her father and grandma Bessie.

Gale, Dr. Hatchet is here to see you, her mother said as she tapped on the closed door of the pink, white, and green frilly decorated room.

As her heart pounded in her chest, Gale jumped to her feet. Taking in her full form in the mirror that hung on the back of her door, she ran her fingers through her naturally curly dark brown hair and straightened the white blouse she wore over a pair of tight blue jeans.

I’m coming, she said as she took a last look at herself, hoping she would look good to Jeffrey. Slowly as she approached the large white, black, and glass living room, Jeffrey stood to his feet and smiled. It was the same warm smile she had stamped in her memory and always made her heart skip a beat. For the first time in her life, she thoroughly wanted a man to want her for herself and not for her looks, her body, or for a myriad of sexual encounters. She wanted Dr. Jeffrey Hatchet to love her unconditionally for the person Grandma Bessie had seen on the inside of her, who really had not been given the opportunity to grow and mature into who she had been born and destined to be. But since Jeffrey knew her entire story, she was uncertain if he would want to accept her, much less have an intimate relationship with her.