Little Things

By Linda Harper

About the Book

Latisha Walker Adams is a young married woman, settled in a new home and her long-sought-after career. She's earned her DVM and treats small animals at a veterinary clinic in nearby Oxford, Mississippi. The parting words of her estranged mother haunt her: "You might want to check your DNA" causing her

• Language: English
• Publisher: Linda Harper
• Release date: Mar 10, 2025
• ISBN: 9798348586645

Book preview

Little Things

LINDA HARPER

ALSO BY LINDA HARPER

Under The Fig Tree

Belonging

Copyright © 2025 Linda Harper

All rights reserved.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

Acknowledgment

Life has a way of passing us by; we suddenly realize that we’ve reached a number in years that categorizes us as old, and we are facing the final years of our life. I’m grateful to all who’ve taught me that there’s an antidote to possible negative effects brought about by that sudden realization: living in the present moment. I’m blessed by many who’ve taught me this through example, spoken words, and written words: life is a gift, people are gifts, and we’re never too old to be present to both life and people. I’m thankful for my many experiences that have confirmed this simple truth.

Thanks to all of you who have read my first two books in the Roslyn trilogy and have given me feedback. I’ve had so many excellent conversations over the past few months and am encouraged and energized by your kind remarks. Books are now and have forever been my friends, and to be able to share stories from my own imagination and experiences is a surprise I never saw coming. Thank you, readers, for your part in that.

Getting books into hands that love them is not a solitary journey, and I’ve had amazing support. As always, Phillip, the man to whom I’m married, is my first reader and my first responder when I run into tech issues. He spends many evenings reading or listening to my work for the day, offering helpful suggestions occasionally, and always encouraging me. Two of my Mississippi nieces, Lisa Hill and Vicky Goudy, read my work as I write, offering feedback and encouragement. My sister, Faith Estes, one of my chief promoters, finds locations to offer my books to the public in and around my home town of Noxapater, Mississippi. Many thanks to Sarah Roger and the team at Proton Tech Labs. She kindly answers all my questions, leads her team in getting my books print-ready, and out for distribution. Every cover designed by them has demonstrated their understanding of my story; they prove untrue the old adage that you can’t know a book by its cover.

My final thanks is to Dr. John Perkins (1930–present), a black philosopher, theologian, leader, and mentor to many civil rights activists. He said once in an interview, I use my blackness to extend the Kingdom of God. His declaration left me with the question: Can I use my whiteness to extend the Kingdom of God? In the end, that’s all any of us can do: we can use our experience, our past, our heritage as a platform from which to speak peace. As a white child of the South, I was challenged by the Whites Only signs posted over water fountains, bathroom doors, and restaurants. They puzzled me; I wondered why?

My wondering has led to what Tish called her personal destiny. Dr. Howard Thurman (1899–1981) called it the sound of the genuine. He ended an address to Spelman College graduates in 1980 with these words, There is in every person, that which waits, waits, waits, and listens for the sound of the genuine in himself. There is that in every person that waits, and waits, and listens for the sound of the genuine in other people. And when these two sounds come together, this is music God heard when he said, ‘Let us make man in our image.’ Thank you, Dr. Thurman. Though I never knew you personally, your written words inspire me.

Dedication

For my mother, Margaret Glenn Wells,

who taught me to honor family

&

For my family, all of you, who continue

to teach me

All personal relations which lie only in time are open-ended and unfinished… Yet we, from our end of the relationship, can send out the Eternal Love in silent, searching hope, and meet each person with a background of eternal expectation, and a silent wordless prayer of love.

~ Thomas R. Kelly

"

To

Kindle

Love’s fires

With the twigs

Of a simple life

"

Mechthild of Magdeburg

Table of Contents

A Simple Life Together

Reliving Painful Times

Garden Therapy

Sunday Dinner

Jake

Angel

Anniversary

Return to Memphis

Old Friends Reconnected

Heart and Head Space

Forgiving

Angel and Jake

Fourth of July

She’s Back!

Rescuing an Angel

Telling Tish

Convincing Angel

Just Another Family Dinner

Tunica Resorts

Checking off the List

Telling Rose

Receiving Love

My Brother’s Keeper

The Other Family

No Secrets

Jake and Tish

Good-Bye Angel

Going South

Finding Mrs. Forrester

Thanksgiving

Epilogue

CHAPTER ONE

A Simple Life Together

L

atisha Rose Walker Adams loved small things. She found them to be her salvation: small animals, small spaces, small gestures, small movements… these were the anchoring realities of her life. The kittens birthed by Miss Liberty in the Manley home when Latisha, now called Tish, was a child, hailed the beginning of her career as a veterinarian. Being read to, and later reading for herself from Little Golden Books, sparked a lifelong love of stories that evolved into a passion for the written word, eventually leading her to penning and publishing her own little stories. The small space in Gran’s home that she had called her own became a cocoon from which she could flourish and slowly test her wings in the wider world.

It should have been no surprise when Tish stumbled upon the small house near Paul’s Place just before it was put on the market. She’d known there was a neighbor nearby, had even approached the property from the road, but she had no idea that it was so close when one walked through the pine forest between the two properties. Had it not been for her small Tuxedo cat, Verne, she might have never discovered the path and found the small house that she now called home.

Tish stood on the western porch of the home that she and Grant had purchased before their marriage and gazed at the pine forest that bordered the property. Truth was, she could stand on any of the porches that wrapped around three sides of the house and see a similar sight. Their home (she loved thinking those two simple words: their home) was nestled in the same bowl-shaped almost-valley as Paul’s Place. For years, everyone who visited the small house next door had called it Paul’s Place. This had prompted Liz to have a tastefully crafted block of wood installed over the tiny stoop at the entrance, officially naming the home as such—even though she had purchased the home-turned-sanctuary from him long ago.

Tish was momentarily startled when Verne, her guide through the forest on that day of discovery, jumped to the railing and rubbed her silky side against her arm. You’re my best girl, she crooned as she rubbed the head of the purring cat with her knuckles. Verne purred long and loud, begging for more of her favorite treatment. You knew just where you were going on that cold December day, didn’t you? she said to the cat. Do you remember how terrified I was, thinking I might lose you?

And, indeed, she had been terrified. Tish was leaving The Room when the cat had jumped from her arms and taken off through the trees. She’d never taken the cat into the woods, but decided that she wanted company on that particular day as she surveyed the beautiful space called The Room. She wanted to be married there, and Grant had approved. They would say their vows there in late spring. Not that Verne could speak her opinions back to her, but at least she would have live companionship as she voiced her own thoughts. Somehow that would give validity to her ideas.

Verne, overtaken with the chance for more freedom than she had ever experienced in her life, had leaped from Tish’s arms and dashed away. Tish followed, calling to her as she stepped over fallen branches and dense undergrowth, thinking, good thing I wore my boots!

After what had seemed an eternity, but had only been minutes, Tish emerged from the trees to a wide expanse of dormant lawn. Verne sat

placidly in the middle of the space, lazily licking her paws. Tish, out of breath, stopped to recover, then walked slowly to the cat knowing that after her run for freedom, she would be content to continue cleaning the debris from her dainty feet. As Verne did her grooming, Tish stopped to take in the scene. She was in the large backyard of a small house that she had, up to now, only viewed from the front.

Look at this, Verne, she’d exclaimed. Wouldn’t this be a perfect place to live? She was surprised to see that the porch wrapped around both the eastern and western sides of the house. She had climbed the several steps to the front porch just months ago when she took food to Mr. Johnson after his wife died, but hadn’t noticed that particular feature of the house. She’d stepped just inside to hand off the soup to his daughter, who was still there following the burial—from where? California? Oregon? She couldn’t quite remember, but recalled it being quite a distance away. The front room looked loved and worn, with furnishings and accessories that would have been fashionable forty years ago, but now gave the room a sad, empty feeling. She couldn’t wait to hand the soup off and leave.

On this particular day, she’d seen the house with different eyes. Let’s walk around to the front, she’d invited Verne, scooping her up in her arms again. Naughty girl! Don’t do that to me again! You scared me. As a peace offering, the tiny cat had nestled into the cradle Tish made with her arms. The house, set in a large expanse of lawn, seemed small. As she drew closer, she saw shrubs hugging the foundation below the porch. Hanging from the slim branches were multitudes of rounded multi-flowered blossoms and dead, withered leaves. The back of the house which she had viewed on exiting the trees had a covered stoop with several steps descending to a small deck—now empty and in need of repair.

I wonder…, a thought had begun to form in her head. She had quickly rejected it. How unkind, she chastised herself. To wonder if an old man would have the misfortune of leaving his home just so I could take it over! In spite of the selfish thought, Tish had made a mental note to ask Liz if she knew anything about the property.

Tish was brought back to the present when she was knocked off balance by a golden wet blob on four legs. GeeGee—the Golden Retriever she’d inherited from her friend Coleen—fresh and lively following a swim in the pond, almost knocked her off her feet. She was covered with any leftover debris she hadn’t shaken off—only adding more during her run through the trees. No doubt the ticks still clung. In spite of all the treatments she exposed her to, GeeGee invariably picked up a tick or two. She’d outsmarted the fleas, thank goodness, but a tick-check was always in order after GeeGee came in from exploring. Tish identified with this; after several days in a row at the clinic, she always felt the remnants of interactions with the human race clinging to her. The four-legged companions chosen by humans always energized her, no matter how ill or ill-tempered they might be. Early on in her studies of veterinary medicine, she knew that she wanted to care for living things, the smaller, the better. Animals, not humans. Humans, with the exception of her close circle of family and friends, exhausted her. This quiet haven was her happy place, a place to recover so that she could return to the work she had chosen.

Verne, sleeping soundly in the swing nearby, opened one lazy eye. No! GeeGee, leave her alone, Tish warned. The dog hesitated, then spread herself out on the cool, painted floor, and gazed up at her with sad eyes.

She laughed, You’re not going to make me feel guilty, she said. I know that look. Verne needs her beauty sleep. I know that as soon as my back is turned, you’ll be right in her face. But for now, no. Leave her alone.

Years ago, the two animals had come to Paul’s Place within days of each other. Living together in the small house owned by Liz, Gran’s longtime employer and friend, and Tish’s adopted aunt, had been a perfect solution for Tish and Coleen. They were pleased with Liz’s generous offer when she suggested they live there indefinitely. Indefinitely was never defined, and the months rolled into years, much to their surprise. Coleen ran the Oxford branch of Rob’s vet clinic, and Tish worked in the clinic part-time while enrolled at Ole Miss. In addition to offering close proximity to their work and school, the small house had everything they needed. Except pets, and it was a place designed to accommodate house pets. Upon moving in, they both acted quickly to choose a four-legged creature that suited them. Coleen had purchased GeeGee as a puppy, and Tish chose Verne, a rescue kitty. With their expert understanding of animals, they had helped the very different pets to become fast friends.

When Coleen had moved into an Oxford apartment last year after Tish and Grant’s wedding, she hadn’t the heart to separate Verne and GeeGee. Over the years, they had traded the care of their pets, depending on their workloads and living arrangements. Coleen argued that an apartment complex wasn’t the best home for a lively Golden Retriever and insisted that GeeGee make her home with Tish and Grant. They had both been thrilled, and the animals made the transition from Paul’s house beautifully. GeeGee was especially happy with her almost unlimited freedom in the outdoors.

With both animals settled for the moment, Tish turned to the small wicker desk from which she did her best work. She was developing material for her second book and was having trouble settling on her approach. She knew she wanted to do an illustrated book about how animals are an expression of their owner’s personality, but she couldn’t get a handle on where and how to start. She began to sketch the scene before her: Verne, curled up on the soft cushion of the swing, GeeGee spread out long and lanky on the cool firm painted wood of the porch. Verne, curled in on herself, a stark contrast in black and white; GeeGee a long, stretched out extension of varying shades of gold. A new thought occurred: Verne reflected her, Tish’s—small dark self; GeeGee was an animal reproduction of Coleen. They had each chosen pets that mimicked their own appearances. Fascinating! It was a place to begin. She continued to sketch what she saw in front of her. Lost in her work, she wasn’t aware of the sound of an approaching vehicle, nor the mad thumping of GeeGee’s tail on the porch floor until Grant’s SUV pulled into the gravel half-circle drive in front of the home. He was home for lunch! A welcoming committee of three greeted him at the top of the wide stairs leading to the porch.

Grant loved his job at the university. Even more, he loved the volunteer work he did at Catholic Campus Ministries. Since coming to Ole Miss, he had instituted an IRIS group, Integrated Refugee and Immigrant Services, similar to the one at St. Thomas that both he and Tish had volunteered in while at Yale. After working in stuffy bureaucratic offices in Washington D.C. upon completion of law school, Grant’s work at the university felt like play. His teaching load was light, and he spent quality time mentoring students who were pursuing a law degree, recruiting many of those students for volunteer work at IRIS.

The young couple had quickly fallen into an easy way of living after marriage last June. Tish worked at the Oxford Vet Clinic three days a week, stayed at home to write on Thursday and Friday, and led a group of university volunteers—recruited by Grant from IRIS—at the animal rescue center in Oxford on Saturdays. Hanging out with and teaching university students was the exception she made to being with groups of people. She loved helping them experience the care of animals and was pleased to see that no matter how small the task—cleaning cages, washing down the exercise areas, grooming the animals that had up to now been poorly cared for—they were up for it. Every time she witnessed the scene, she thought of a Bible verse her Gran often quoted: The least of these. The rest was lost to her memory, but these few words moved her. These poor abandoned, mistreated animals definitely fit that category.

Part of Tish and Grant’s routine was a lengthy lunch together at home on Tish’s days off. Nothing elaborate or even carefully planned. They dined on leftovers in the fridge, or Grant brought take-out, often from Main Street Deli. Other times they grilled meat and veggies outdoors.

Noticing that Grant was empty-handed, Tish said, Let’s go see what’s good to eat. We still have that roasted chicken and leftover potato salad in the fridge. And we also have blueberries and strawberries from Lu’s garden. Rob brought them to work yesterday and told us to help ourselves.

Tish started unloading the food from the fridge while giving commands to Grant. Pull out that loaf of Richard’s bread from the bread box and cut some thin slices for our sandwiches.

Within minutes, the couple had their filled plates in one hand and glasses of sweet tea in the other.

How did I live most of my life without sweet tea? Grant asked as they headed to the side porch. You know the only tea close to the real thing in D.C. was McDonald’s sweet tea. They must have a formula that goes to all their stores. It was drinkable, but still just a close second to the stuff you Southerners know how to make. Thank you, Gran, for teaching your baby girl how to make sweet tea!

They continued with easy banter and occasional silences as they enjoyed their food together. Both were happy for the warmth that allowed them to sit outside. With three sides of the house to choose from, the direction of the sun was never a deterrent; they always had a shady spot. And with the passing years, they’d both learned to enjoy the silences that often punctuated their interchanges.

Grant broke the silence between them now. How’s the writing going? Progress today?

Little, said Tish. I mostly just thought about things. For every three hours of thinking, I often produce one hour of true work. This is harder than I thought it would be. I’m wondering if this book will be primarily drawings with few words.

How so? Grant asked. He’d learned that when Tish spoke several thoughts in sequence, there was more to come. Her three-to-one ratio carried over into sharing her thoughts verbally. It took him years to learn to give simple prompts when she began to share her ideas, rather than to expound on what she said.

"Well, this morning, I was thinking about the day Verne led me to our house, which brought me to thinking about when Coleen and I first invited Verne and GeeGee to live with us at Paul’s House, and how Coleen and I had to teach them to be friends. I was so lost in my thoughts that when I was interrupted by a big, wet, hairy blob careening into me, GeeGee almost knocked me off my feet. She was returning from her morning swim and feeling full of herself! She so wanted to snuggle up to Verne who was having her morning nap in the swing, and when I told her no she was a bit peeved with me, but knew she had to obey."

Those two really captured your attention, didn’t they? He wanted to say, take a breath, grab a drink, but knew to keep his words simple and non-judgmental.

She continued as though she hadn’t heard him speak. GeeGee obeyed, reluctantly, but cast her guilt-producing eyes towards me. As I watched them there, looking different, acting different, and still best friends, I realized that people are often like that.

Tish went on to explain to Grant how she’d gone straight to the wicker table and begun sketching the scene in front of her.

When she finished, they both sat for a few minutes until Grant said, Let me see.

Let you see what? Tish said. Oh, you want to see what I sketched.

I do, silly goose, he said, getting up from the table and heading to the other side.

Wait! she called hurrying ahead of him. It’s not finished, and you probably won’t understand.

He waited. She led the way and picked up her morning’s work to show him. As he looked at the unfinished pencil sketches that Tish held up for him to view, he nodded. And kept nodding.

What? Tish asked.

"You know how everyone always said Miss Em knew her subjects well, and it showed in her work? You have that same gift, Tish. You have captured in this first sketch the… he paused, searching for words that were not natural for him to speak. Then he continued, …their souls. You probably don’t need many words because your drawing speaks for itself."

CHAPTER TWO

Reliving Painful Times

G

rant had never known Miss Em, the famous artist who had moved her family to Roslyn seeking anonymity in the middle of her flourishing career. She had chosen not to engage in the social life of the small town, making her fodder for the gossip mill. Later in life, she had lost all she held dear: her love Rudolph, her son Rudy, his wife, and their unborn child, all in the space of a few short months. She was overcome by grief which led her to despair. Her despair led her to contemplate, then plan her own death. Her failed attempt at suicide—and an intervention brought about by a cat she had sought to accompany her in death—changed the course of her final days on earth.

Miss Millie, as she had been known by the townspeople, was brought to live in the home of Richard and Liz Manley. Liz dedicated herself to the old woman, Millicent LaBelle Stich, known to her Memphis friends as Miss Em, and nursed her back to health. Temporarily. During the few months she had on earth, she found a renewed passion for her art and asked for assistance in gathering supplies to paint one more portrait. One more Painted Child: Latisha Walker, the nine-year-old granddaughter of Rose Walker, housekeeper for Liz and Richard. Since Miss Em’s death, the painting, which lived in Liz’s living room for years, was then moved to the home of Rose, where it occupied the place of honor in her gathering room.

Lily Manley, Liz’s daughter-in-law and curator of Miss Em’s vast collection, often loaned out the piece to museums around the country. In 2015, the painting was on loan to The Frick Collection. They would feature Miss Em’s religious icons and several of her Painted Children. All of these paintings of children were properties of families from which the children originated, most of them—in truth, all but one, Latisha—from wealthy and prominent families around the United States.

Latisha, deep in her veterinary studies at Mississippi State University at the time, was reluctant to take time off to attend the opening of the exhibit. Lily encouraged her to travel with her to New York, but didn’t insist. Tish acquiesced after a phone call from Grant who, at the time, was working in the Justice Department in D.C., a job procured by his mother.

You have to come, Tish, he’d insisted. It’ll be an opportunity for us to spend some time together in New York. Please come!

It wasn’t so much the opening as the opportunity to be with Grant that convinced her, and