The Weight of Kindness

As for me, those years brought more joy than sorrow.

The Lord blessed me with another child in the year of 1949, a beautiful, healthy little boy whom my great bear of a husband promptly named Silas before I could get two words into the conversation. Lord have mercy, that man was so proud of that baby that folks would’ve thought he’d fathered the first child ever born. From the very moment Silas was placed into his arms, Anthony carried that boy around everywhere he went, showing him off to neighbors, family, strangers at the market, and anybody unfortunate enough to cross his path. There were days when I spent more time trying to get my own baby back than I did actually holding him.

And Marceline, sweet child that she was, almost burst with excitement over becoming a big sister. She followed that baby around from the moment he opened his eyes in the morning until he drifted off to sleep at night, always wanting to help, always wanting to hold him, and always believing herself far more grown than she actually was.

Watching my children together filled my heart with a happiness so pure it almost hurt.

But happiness has a way of sharing space with sorrow.

Marceline had grown up spending so much time with Charles that she looked at him the same way she looked at any other child. To her, there wasn’t no difference between them. She didn’t see his white skin or her own black skin. She didn’t see the rules that governed the world around us. She only saw the little boy who had laughed with her, played beside her, and reached for her whenever she entered a room.

It near broke my heart having to explain to her that things weren’t always as simple as children believed them to be.

A child that young don’t understand segregation.

A child don’t understand prejudice.

A child don’t understand why one door opens for one person and closes for another.

All they know is friendship.

All they know is love.

And sometimes I think that’s why the Lord says we ought to come to Him as children, because somewhere along the way grown folks lose something precious that children seem to hold onto without even trying.

Now that Master Charles had gotten older, I naturally assumed my time at that house had finally come to an end. He no longer needed a nanny hovering over him every hour of the day, and I figured I would spend my time focusing on my own growing family and enjoying the peaceful life Anthony and I had managed to build together.

Apparently, God had other plans.

Nearly a year after Silas was born, I found myself sitting across from Mr. Claude once again.

The moment I laid eyes on him, I could see that life had not been treating him kindly.

He wasn’t sick exactly.

It was something worse.

He looked tired.

Not the kind of tired that a good night’s sleep could fix neither.

This was the sort of weariness that settles down deep inside a person’s bones after disappointment has spent years making itself comfortable inside your heart.

Things between him and Liora had gotten worse around the time I became pregnant with Silas.

Much worse.

One evening, while returning unexpectedly early from a business trip, Claude had walked into his own home and discovered his wife in their bed with another man.

A stranger would’ve been painful enough.

But it wasn’t a stranger.

It was a friend.

A man he trusted.

A man he’d welcomed into his home and shared meals with.

To this day, I’ll give Mr. Claude credit where it is due, because most men would’ve answered that kind of betrayal with violence.

The other man was lucky to walk away breathing.

Yet somehow Claude managed to keep his composure.

More than that, he managed to keep the entire affair quiet.

Partly because he still loved Liora despite everything she’d done.

Partly because men like Claude Landry were raised to protect their pride at all costs.

“Mr. Claude, you feeling alright there?” I asked him softly after we’d been sitting in silence for a spell. “I got a remedy that can help if you’re coming down with something.”

A faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

“No, Mrs. Gallows. I’m well.”

“Nadira,” I corrected gently.

The surprise on his face nearly made me laugh.

“You needn’t call me Mrs. Gallows, Mr. Claude. Nadira is just fine.”

Being older than him by a few years, hearing all that formality between us always felt strange.

He nodded slowly before lowering his gaze to the desk.

Then he began explaining why he’d called for me.

The apology came first.

Claude always was polite.

He apologized for taking me away from my family and for intruding on my time, and then he told me that Charles had been struggling.

The young boy missed me.

He missed Marceline too.

Years of spending nearly every day together had created a bond that childhood alone could create, and Charles was finding it difficult to understand why the people he loved had suddenly disappeared from his life.

Truth be told, I wasn’t surprised.

For most of his young life, much of the affection and comfort Charles received had come from me.

His own mother still couldn’t bring herself to give him what every child deserved.

“I don’t mind returning to work, Mr. Claude,” I told him gently. “But I’d rather not have Marceline or my son spending their time here.”

I spoke the words softly, but I meant every one of them.

I loved Charles.

But I loved my own children more.

And there was too much in this house that I did not want my babies exposed to. 

The spirits was one thing. Spirits cannot harm the living. What worried me was the living and with the way things were with Liora and her temper I did not want that around them.

Because despite everything, Claude still loved Liora.

That much hadn’t changed.

Claude nodded.

“That is perfectly fine, Nadira.”

I should’ve left then.

Lord knows, I should’ve.

I should’ve stood up, wished him well, and gone home to my husband and babies.

But when I looked at that man, really looked at him, I saw somebody carrying a burden too heavy for one person to bear alone.

Before I could stop myself, I reached across the desk and laid my hand lightly on top of his.

Claude froze.

For a moment, he simply stared at our hands.

But he didn’t pull away.

“I cannot pretend to understand what you’re going through, Mr. Claude,” I said softly. “And I won’t make excuses for Mrs. Liora, because there ain’t any excuse good enough.”

His jaw tightened.

“The only thing I can tell you is this.”

Slowly, his eyes lifted to meet mine.

“You’re a good man.”

Something flickered across his face then.

Pain.

Relief.

Disbelief.

Maybe all three.

“You’re a good father. A good provider. And no matter what she’s done, that truth hasn’t changed.”

The room had gone so quiet I could hear the clock ticking on the wall.

“Love her if that’s what your heart insists on doing,” I continued. “But don’t force yourself to forgive her before you’re ready. Not when she has not done anything to earn that forgiveness.”

His eyes looked suspiciously bright.

“Be angry if you’re angry.”

His hands curled into fists.

“Rage if you need to.”

A muscle jumped in his jaw.

“But don’t let her actions turn you into somebody you ain’t.”

For a long moment, neither of us spoke.

Then I squeezed his hand.

“Don’t let what she done steal the goodness God placed in your heart.”

The look he gave me then was one I’ll never forget for as long as I live.

And at the time, I thought nothing of it.

I thought I’d merely offered comfort to a hurting man.

A few kind words.

A little understanding.

Nothing more.

Nothing less.

Little did I know that those simple acts of kindness would come back one day and haunt me in ways I never could’ve imagined.