I remember one of those conversations vividly. It had been decided that Blanche’s entire family including Marcus, who would be home on leave from the Army, would have dinner at my house for Thanksgiving. It was the first year we would do such a thing. Every year before, I had given Blanche a turkey and a ham, an extra twenty-five dollars in her paycheck and four days off for the holiday. By the standards of the day that was rather generous for hired help and it made me feel good, benevolent soul that I was.
Walter and I always ate dinner out after serving at the Episcopal Church’s benefit meal. Walter, an insurance agent and local philanthropist, used every opportunity he could to make contacts in the community. Charitable events were his thing and my job was to help coordinate the details and then show up in a nice dress. I was never a great beauty, but I cleaned up well.
The twins helped me polish the silver for Thanksgiving dinner. They wanted to know all about the silver and why we were spending so much time polishing it for use at only one meal. ReNetta was the more inquisitive of the two, although in all other ways the two were identical and I had yet to find a way to tell them apart.
“These sure are some pretty forks, Miz Beckworth.”
“They belonged to my mother,” I said. “She gave them to me when I married Mr. Beckworth in 1931.”
“Dang! That’s a long time ago.”
“Mmm…thirty-five years,” I agreed.
“How many times you reckon you used ‘em since then?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Not so many times lately, but fairly often when I was younger and Mr. Beckworth was trying to make a name for himself in Mayville.”
“What’s silverware got to do with that?” ReNetta asked.
“What, indeed!” I thought, but then I snorted a little and replied genially, “Back then, it was important to be a good hostess. Wives played a big role in their husbands’ success in the business world.”
“How come?”
I thought about this a minute. It was a perfectly reasonable question and it had a perfectly reasonable answer. I was sure of it.
“Well, it’s important to meet the right people if you want to increase your business.”
“Can I have some more polish, please?” Danita spoke up from the other end of the table. She had finished her stack of serving pieces. The quiet ones always finish first, I’ve learned.
“‘May I have some more polish?’ is how you ask that question, Danita.”
I ignored the roll of eyes as I passed the jar of silver polish to ReNetta and nodded toward her twin sister. ReNetta held it out for Danita, but kept on with the conversation.
“So, you used the silverware to meet people?” ReNetta had a knack for making me feel ridiculous, although I’m certain that was not her intent. She was genuinely puzzled by the whole idea.
“Okay, Miss Nosy, enough with the questions. I’m going to tell you a story. You just listen and then, if you have any questions, I’ll be happy to try to answer them.”
“You gonna tell a story?” Danita perked up at her end.
“Mmm-hmm. That okay?”
“Is it one Grace can hear? She likes stories.” Danita was the more maternal twin, always thinking of her little sister and trying to include her in things. ReNetta didn’t intentionally leave anyone out. It was just that she was a bit single-minded by nature.
“Grace is more than welcome to listen, although it may be a little boring for her.”
Danita was out of her seat before I finished speaking. She dashed from the room nearly causing Blanche to drop the armload of linens she was bringing into the dining room.
“Whoa!” was all Blanche could manage.
“’Scuse me, Mama,” Danita threw over her shoulder. “I gotta get Grace. Miz Beckworth’s gonna tell us a story.”
Blanche raised an eyebrow at me. “They botherin’ you, Miz Ora?”
“Not a bit,” I replied honestly.
It was Blanche’s turn to snort before she turned around and headed back for the kitchen.
When Grace and Danita were settled back down at the table, I began to tell my story.
“I met Walter Beckworth in 1928, when I was home from college for my father’s funeral. Walter was new in the insurance business, but he had inherited my father’s account and was helping my mother with the paperwork to collect on Daddy’s life insurance policy. Daddy died unexpectedly and Mother had never dealt with paperwork of any kind before. Needless to say, she was a bit overwhelmed. Now, I was perfectly capable of helping her with it, but when I saw how kind and honest Walter was, I stepped back and let him handle everything for her. As a matter of fact, I remember pretending to be a little overwhelmed by it myself, just so Walter would show up more often. I think that’s when I knew Walter had the potential to be my husband. I’d never met a man who could make me feign ignorance when my intellect was my greatest pride.”
“You sure use a lot of big words, Miz Beckworth.” It was Grace’s turn to make me feel silly.
“Nothing wrong with using big words, Grace.”
“Except if you don’t understand ‘em.”
“Which ones didn’t you understand?”
“All of ‘em.”
“Perhaps I’d better get to the point, then.”
“Yeah, perhaps.”
Grace wrinkled her nose and grinned. She may not have understood the words I was using, but she sure did know how to tease an old lady.
“Grace!” Danita was horrified.
“Shhhh!” ReNetta just wanted to hear the story.
“Okay, where was I?”
“You met Mr. Beckworth and decided to marry him.” ReNetta was as concise as she was curious.
“It wasn’t exactly that fast, ReNetta. He courted me for a year before he asked me to marry him.”
“And when did you?” ReNetta asked. “Marry him, I mean.”
“Not right away. I finished college first.”
“Why’d you do that? Weren’t you just going to get married and live happily ever after?”
“Well, I certainly hoped so, but I did have the good sense to know that things could happen. My father was not old when he died, remember. I think that had the most to do with my finishing my degree. I could always teach if being a wife and mother didn’t work out.”
I hesitated then. Motherhood hadn’t worked out for me. My empty womb had made me doubt myself in ways I hadn’t imagined were possible. That was another story, however, and certainly not one for young children.
“You a mother, Miz Beckworth?” Leave it to ReNetta to leave no stone unturned.
“No, ReNetta, I was never blessed with children.”
“You didn’t have no babies at all?” Grace looked at me with innocent surprise. My stomach pinched into a tiny knot.
“Not a one.” I smiled feebly and sighed.
“I’m sorry,” was Grace’s reply.
“Me, too.” I took a deep breath. “But, we were talking about silverware, not children, weren’t we?”
Grace flopped her elbows onto the table and rested her face in both hands. It gave her a comical expression with her mouth pulled into a wide flat-lipped grin and her eyes twinkling behind three rolls of cheek pushed high on her face. I laughed out loud.
“But, if I’d had a child, I’d want her to be just like you, Gracie-love.”
She wiggled happily in her seat and pushed her cheeks even higher.
“Okay, let’s see,” I searched my ever-fading memory. “Mr. Beckworth and I married in June of 1931. It was right after my graduation from Agnes Scott College in Atlanta. My mother had to plan most of the wedding without me, but that didn’t bother me a bit. I never was big on pomp and circumstance, but I’d go along with just about anything Mother said was the right thing to do.”
“What’s pop and circus hands?” Grace demanded.
“Pomp and circumstance,” I corrected. “It means fancy stuff.”
“Oh,” she sighed.
“Grace, hush!” ReNetta c
omplained. “We’re never gonna hear this story if you keep askin’ so many questions.”
I continued, “I picked out my china pattern and a wedding dress when I was home on spring break and got home from graduation just in time to have a bridal shower and help my attendants get fitted for their dresses. Mother picked out the flowers and everything else.”
“Was it pretty?” Danita wanted to know this. Danita, the dreamer, I was coming to know.
“I thought so. But, mostly it was suitable. Suitable for a young lady from a good Southern family. The right china patterns, the right customs, the right number of bridesmaids and the right food at the rehearsal dinner. I was a suitable bride for a suitable man.”
“Sounds kinda boring to me,” ReNetta grunted.
“I honestly didn’t think so,” was my bemused reply.
“So, what’s all this got to do with silverware?” ReNetta was not going to let up at all.
“Well, the silverware was just part of the whole thing. When you got married, you had things you just did, like the things I told you about. You got fine china and your mother’s silverware pattern and you went from being someone’s daughter to being someone’s wife and then that had its own set of expectations, which you just fulfilled, same as everything else.”
“Were you happy?” Danita wanted to know.
“Well, of course I was happy,” I replied. “What’s not to be happy about?”
“You never said why you only used the silverware sometimes, though.”
“Too much work,” I replied a little too sharply.
“So how come we’re using it for Thanksgiving?” Grace quite logically asked. I sighed and shook my head.
“Some things are worth the effort,” was all I could think to say.
Seven
Thanksgiving that year was the first time in a long, long time that I filled my house with so many happy, laughing people. Marcus arrived home on Wednesday, and on Thursday the whole troop of Lowerys arrived on my doorstep at 10:00 a.m.
Blanche and I had baked pies the day before and the turkey was stuffed and ready to be put in the oven. Marcus found several things to do around the house which I felt certain Blanche had mentioned to him in advance. Patrice set the table as if she had been doing it for years. Blanche had obviously been attentive to her training all along, if Patrice’s confidence were any indication. The twins were charged with entertaining Grace, which they happily did. Close to noon, Blanche appeared in the doorway of my living room where I had retired to rest my feet.
“Reckon Eddie has anywhere to go today?”
I felt a sudden twinge of guilt. It had been over a month since my yard had been mowed for the last time that year. I had offered to find a few things around the house to keep Eddie busy, but he had allowed as how he might take a few months off to rest. I hadn’t argued and assumed he was doing exactly as he said.
“I hadn’t thought of it, Blanche, but I’m sure there’s something going on at one of the churches. The Episcopals still have their event every year.”
Blanche dried her hands on the towel she was holding. “That’s clear across town.”
“What are you getting at, Blanche? Do you want to invite him to dinner here?”
“Well, not exactly, but I was thinking maybe Marcus could take him a plate later on.”
“He could, but wouldn’t it be kinder to just ask him here to eat?”
“He may not be comfortable with that, Miz Ora.”
“Why don’t we give him the option?”
So, that’s what we did. Marcus was dispatched to the general area of the old man’s living quarters, if you could call it that. He reappeared a half hour later with the news that Eddie would indeed like to join us and would be along in an hour or so. I must say I was a little surprised at that, seeing as how the man had never ventured past the left corner stoop of my house.
An hour later he showed up looking somehow neater than I remembered. His face was clean shaven and his hair so closely cropped that you could see the distinct tiny curls of gray and white that littered his scalp like a field of dandelion. They looked equally fragile, too, as if one good puff of air might blow them all away. Gone was the cap in hand, gone the threadbare shirt. If I hadn’t known better, I’d have thought he’d gotten a real job and a roof over his head somewhere. But Marcus had found him where he always stayed, so I knew that wasn’t the answer.
“I’m so glad you could make it. Won’t you come in?”
I assumed my hostess role by habit I suppose, despite the fact that I had relieved myself of all duties the moment Walter was laid in the ground. I had always assumed we would retire together, but Walter worked right up until the moment he succumbed to a massive heart attack in the men’s room at the Rotary Club downtown. Bless his heart, he hadn’t even managed to pull his pants up before he slumped to the floor in front of the toilet. It was an undignified ending for such a fastidious and dignified man and I hadn’t quite gotten over that yet. I decided to retire immediately. I told myself it had nothing to do with having to face all the whispers at the Woman’s Club and the Ladies’ Auxiliary. I imagine I wasn’t the only one who felt relieved by that decision.
Anyway, there I was with a homeless man as a guest in my home. My instincts took over and I did my best to make him comfortable. We chatted as we made our way to the living room.
“Thank you, Miz Beckworth. I ‘preciate the invite, I sho do. I wasn’t lookin’ forward to walkin’ ‘cross town to the shelter for Thanksgiving dinner.”
“You’re most welcome, Eddie. I’m delighted to have you.”
Was that what I was? Delighted? It didn’t really seem to fit. Pleased to have him? Maybe. Certainly not displeased; I was glad he wouldn’t go hungry today. Come to think of it, I was rather pleased. Pleased with myself for not hesitating in my offer. Pleased that Blanche had not successfully called my bluff, whether she intended that or not. Pleased that I had been tested and passed.
I did a quick mental comparison of this particular feeling of pleasure and the one I felt each year before, when I had helped plates down at the Episcopal Church’s Annual Thanksgiving charity meal. It‘s easy to feel benevolent when you‘re wearing an apron and gloves over a Chanel suit and dishing out turkey and dressing to a long line of the “least of these.”
This was different. I’m not sure I would have invited Eldred Mims to my home for Thanksgiving if I hadn’t been backed into this corner and that’s just the plain truth. But, there he was and there I was and, by God, I had an audience. I wasn’t about to fall on my face.
“We’re planning on eating at two, Eddie. I hope you’re not starving…”
My voice trailed off helplessly. I generally keep my feet out of my mouth when I’m entertaining, but this one was wedged in tight. I didn’t even try to take it out.
“I’ll be right back. I need to check on Blanche’s progress and see if she needs any help.”
Eddie did not reply, but if I wasn’t mistaken, I’d swear there was a twinkle in his eye that I had never seen before. And I’m dead positive I heard him chuckle when I left the room.
We sat down to Thanksgiving dinner promptly at 2 p.m. Marcus sat at one end of the long formal dining table and I at the other end. I had intended to do place cards, but didn’t, and Grace had that under control anyway. Directly at my left sat Grace, who had established that seating arrangement immediately upon learning that it was her personal responsibility to keep me company. She sat “Mr. Pecan”, as she called him, on the other side of herself and directly across from her mother. Patrice was to my right and the twins sat on either side of Marcus at the other end. Eight of us - just right for my old mahogany table, which had scarcely been used in the past forty years and possibly never used to seat an entire family at once.
Blanche set a steaming bowl of giblet gravy on the table and took her seat. Hands immediately reached out to each other around the table. I took a deep breath. I had never prayed aloud that I could remember. Walter
had always done that for us. After his death, I mostly ate alone and so I bowed my head and thanked God silently before every meal. I suddenly couldn’t remember the etiquette for this situation. All I could manage was, “Who would like to say Grace for us?”
Grace sputtered, “Why you want somebody to say my name?”
Blanche jumped in with, “Hush, child!”
Marcus looked flustered and deferred to Blanche, who closed her eyes, took a deep breath, opened her eyes, breathed out and said gently, “Eddie, would you please ask the blessing for us?”
Of all the silly notions… I couldn’t believe Blanche would do such a thing to that poor old man. Why, she couldn’t possibly know if he even believed in God, much less worshiped Him.
Eddie nodded, his voice cracking slightly as he began, “Father God, have mercy on us po’ sinners gathered before you on this fine, fine day. Father, we are grateful for this food and for these friends and we ax’ yo’ blessin’ on us all.” His voice gathered strength with each word and I was reminded of the evangelists I heard on television. There was a pleasant rhythm to the way he spoke, and not just because of the sharp smacking noises that provided percussion to his words.
“Forgive us, Father, for our transgressions and keep us mindful of yo’ sacrifice every single day. Lawd, make us truly thankful for all these things you have done, in Jesus’ name, Amen.”
“Amen!” was the chorus that preceded the next thirty minutes of feeding frenzy. Marcus carved the turkey as if he had been doing that task for years, and he probably had. Grace chattered happily to her new friend, the Pecan Man. If the events of two months prior had any lasting effect, you wouldn’t know it by the way Grace responded to Eddie.
Blanche had convinced the child that her horror in September was all a bad dream. That was how she had handled it with her other children as well. Grace had had a bad dream and it frightened her terribly, so no one was to discuss it. End of story. I wasn’t convinced it was a good way to deal with the situation, but it seemed to be working for now.
The Pecan Man Page 4