Under the Tulip Tree

by Michelle Shocklee

I was sick of ignoring the fact that our family was broke and broken.

So many words flew to my lips. I stopped them all from escaping.

He retreated from my world and barred me from his, with a whiskey bottle between us.

“Baking bread ain’t hard, but it takes patience to get it right. Young people these days don’t slow down long enough to do nothin’. Always lookin’ for the easy way.”

The Almighty had taken from me time and time again—Mammy, my babies—to the point I quit believing in him altogether.

“I don’t like remembering the bad times, but the Lord has a way of using them to get you to where he wants you to go.”

don’t let anyone, not even your mother and father, keep you from doing what you know you’re called to do.”

the one thing I’d fought to maintain control over was my emotions. No one could force me to love or hate. They were mine to decide.

Maybe confidence in oneself had nothing to do with what other folks thought or did. Maybe it was deep down inside you, just waiting to be let loose like a spring of water gushing to the surface.

Wasn’t that what life was about? To know and be known. To offer encouragement to others and share the burdens we all face. No matter the color of one’s skin, weren’t we all supposed to care about each other?

I understood that bad things are gonna happen in this world and that we’ll all walk through the valley of the shadow of death. But I needn’t live in fear anymore. The things I endured in my pitiful life as a slave didn’t mean God isn’t good or that he don’t love us.”

Tangible fear had a way of silencing a soul,

God is all about love and goodness. Why did he let slavery exist in the first place?”

Hatred. Darkness, always lurking in the shadows of my soul. Sometimes I could hide it and pretend it wasn’t there. Since meeting Sam and Illa, I’d witnessed what love truly looked like, felt like. I wanted that, and yet the darkness wouldn’t let it take hold. Not completely, anyway.

It was easier to hate. Hatred had been my constant companion for so long, I wasn’t sure I could love.

The Halls had taken everything away from me except my hatred. That I refused to relinquish.

I remained where I stood, a block of ice carved into a woman.

Was that the key to surviving, no matter what life hands you? Find the good among the ashes?

“Tears wash the windows of the heart.”

“Hatred is a powerful thing. It can turn a person into something they ain’t.

“Maybe not, but that’s between her and her Maker. I won’t let hatred steal away the peace I have in my heart. You can’t let it steal yours either.”

“Nothin’ surprises the Lord. He’s got a plan and a purpose for everything. We just have to wait on him.”

I hope every woman who can write will not be silent.

“To do that would forfeit the truth. Their lives weren’t neat and orderly. They were messy and ugly, and yes, sometimes the details were graphic. How can he—we—edit someone’s life story when we weren’t the ones who lived it?”

The words of Harriet Beecher Stowe came back to me. “I hope every woman who can write will not be silent.”

“My confidence isn’t in my ability, sir, but in the people whose stories I’ll write.”

There, under the tulip tree, peace—real, tangible peace—settled in my soul.

They say your articles will make people stop and think. About how we need to learn from the past and make the future a better place for everyone.”

“There are always going to be people who oppose change, but I think they’re in the minority. Most people desire to live in harmony with others, no matter their differences.”

I felt honored to be a small pebble on the path to the peaceful existence among people of different races and socioeconomic status, beginning with my own family.

Having his grandchildren around worked some kind of miracle and helped him climb out of the dark pit he’d lived in for seven years. He still had a long way to go, but for the first time in a long time I saw hope in his eyes.

my thoughts turned to Frankie. I would always be grateful God brought me to her doorstep. She’d taught me about life, about pain and sorrow, and about courage in the face of it all.

As Grandma prayed, thanking the Lord for his goodness to our family despite the hardships each of us faced, I silently said my own thanks for the events that led me to this place in life. Seven years ago, my hopes and dreams for the future had shattered in the wake of the stock market crash. I couldn’t see a way through it to the other side. Meeting Frankie and hearing her story changed that. Her courage to overcome the pain and suffering she endured taught me what it meant to be a survivor.

Life might not be exactly as I’d envisioned it seven years ago, but I wouldn’t change a thing.

As a lifelong student of history, I’ve come to appreciate a simple truth: Everyone has a story to tell, and no one should be silenced.