The Banty House

by Brown, Carolyn

  “Thanks,” the one with DYLAN embroidered on his shirt said. “That makes it easier.”

  They got Betsy onto the board and then shifted her onto the gurney, popped it up, and rolled her toward the door, and not one time did she let go of Ginger’s hand. “Am I going to die?”

  “No, ma’am, not if we can help it,” Dylan answered. “Me and Sammy here ain’t lost a patient yet, and we don’t intend to start with you. But you got to let go of the lady’s hand so we can get you in the ambulance.”

  “She’s going with me,” Betsy said. “She promised.”

  “And I promise she’ll be there when we roll you into the hospital, but, honey, there’s not room for her to ride with us,” Sammy said.

  “It’s only ten minutes,” Sloan assured Betsy. “We’re all getting into the car right now, and we’ll follow right behind you.”

  “If you don’t keep your word, as much as I love you, Sloan Baker, I will punish you.” Betsy gave him an evil look.

  “I always keep my word.” He stepped back so Dylan and Sammy could get her into the ambulance.

  Ginger hurried over to the car and got into the passenger’s seat. When they were all strapped in, Sloan started up the car, and they were soon right behind the ambulance.

  “Why’d y’all come back so soon?” Kate asked.

  “I forgot my purse, and Sloan said we could go to Walmart so I could shop for a few baby things,” Ginger answered, then let out a loud whoosh of air. “One of y’all want to tell me what Betsy was talking about when she said she’d lost me?”

  “I expect she’ll tell you that when she’s ready. It ain’t our story to tell,” Connie said. “But we will tell you what happened with that bitch Edith.”

  “I better own up to the background first.” Kate gave them a short version of her involvement with Max Wilson fifty years before. “All this time, I figured he was sleeping with both of us, but I guess old Edith has some skeletons in her closet, too.”

  “Who threw the first punch?” Sloan parked behind the ambulance at the emergency-room entrance.

  “Betsy did when Edith said bad things about Mama.” Connie got out of the car and slammed the door. “You take this to a place in the parking lot where it won’t get scratched, Sloan. Then you can come on inside with us.”

  A random thought chased through Ginger’s head. Sloan had been used to taking orders in the military, so it didn’t bother him so much for Connie to boss him around. It seemed like she’d been listening to people tell her what to do and how to do it for so long that it didn’t faze her either.

  “Gin . . . ger . . . ,” Betsy called out. “Where are you?”

  “I’m right here,” she said as she ran from the car to the ambulance and laid a hand on Betsy’s shoulder. They wheeled the gurney through the doors and straight on back to a cubicle. Two nurses and a doctor rushed into the area, and pretty soon an IV was in Betsy’s arm, oxygen tubes were in her nose, and her arm was stabilized on a different board.

  “Get an X-ray machine in here and get some blood work down to the lab.” The doctor barked more orders and then looked over at Ginger. “Are you a relative?”

  “She’s my granddaughter,” Betsy answered.

  “What happened?” the doctor asked.

  “I tried to kill Edith Wilson, but I didn’t have a stake to run through her heart.” Betsy giggled.

  “Four senior women got into a fight, and Betsy wound up on the floor. She’s got a concussion,” Ginger told him.

  “Are you a doctor? If not, then keep your medical opinions to yourself,” he said sternly.

  Betsy let go of Ginger’s hand and shook her good fist at the doctor. “Don’t you ever use that tone with my child again. I’m payin’ you to treat me, and I don’t even like you, so you can have some manners.”

  The doctor chuckled. “Yes, ma’am!”

  “And we won’t talk about my age or my weight, or you’ll feel that right hook again,” Betsy told him.

  “Yes, ma’am.” The doctor nodded. “Now, let’s get a film of that head and the arm. Does anything else hurt, Miz Carson?”

  “Just my pride,” Betsy answered. “I’m bigger’n Edith, so it’s not right that she’s not in this place with me.”

  “I understand that Edith kicked her pretty hard on the shinbone, and that’s what made her fall,” Ginger offered.

  “Then we’ll get an X-ray of that, too. Do you want to see the police to file an assault charge?” the doctor asked.

  “Hell no! I hit her first,” Betsy said. “I meant to knock her dentures down her throat, but I got her on the chin instead of the mouth. Now, fix me up and send me home or else send someone to get my weed stash. I always have a little joint before I go to bed at night.”

  “Jesus!” the doctor muttered.

  “Hell no again. Don’t be sending Him after my weed.” Betsy groaned. “He’ll throw it all away, and this is the best I’ve ever grown. Did you already treat my sisters? Are they all right?”

  “I took a look at them on the way here. They’ve got some scratches, so I prescribed an ointment,” the doctor said, departing with visible relief.

  It was almost time for supper when they finally made a diagnosis and got Betsy into a room. Just a day or two for observation and to be sure that the concussion wasn’t any worse than the doctor thought—that’s what the nurse said when she told Ginger they were admitting Betsy and taking her to a private room.

  When they rolled her out of the cubicle, Ginger made her way to the waiting room. Kate, Sloan, and Connie all stood up. “She’s going to be all right. Are y’all okay? The doctor said he’d looked at your scratches. Good Lord, what were all y’all thinkin’ fightin’ like that?”

  “That bitch Edith was bad-mouthin’ our mama. She’s worse off than me and Connie. If Betsy hadn’t slipped and fallen, we’d be buryin’ a body right now instead of sittin’ in this hospital. Tell us more about Betsy,” Kate said.

  “She’s bein’ real sassy.” Ginger couldn’t keep the grin off her face. “She’s a scrapper, and she really hopes that Edith is dead by mornin’. Y’all need some help making that happen, just let me in on the deal.”

  “Does she get to go home today?” Connie asked.

  Ginger shook her head. “They’re going to admit her a couple of days so they can keep a check on her. Her arm is sprained, but it’s not broken. Her shin will be bruised, but it’s not broken, either. They had to shave a patch of hair from the back of her head about the size of my palm and put ten stitches in it.”

  “We’ll have to watch her,” Kate sighed, “or she’ll go after Edith for sure. Betsy’s hair is her pride and joy. When can we see her?”

  “I came out here to get you. They told me what room they’re putting her in,” Ginger said. “And I promised to stay the night with her.”

  Sloan slipped an arm around Ginger’s shoulders. “Let me take you somewhere and get you a burger for supper, and then I’ll take you home to get whatever you need to spend the night here.”

  “That’s a good idea.” Kate nodded. “We can all stay if she wants us to. Sloan can taxi us one at a time back to the Banty House for what we need.”

  Ginger was afraid to let both of them go at one time. They might stop by Edith’s and finish off the job they’d started. Was the woman batshit crazy? Ginger knew from day one that Belle was the queen of the Banty House and no one had better say a word against her. Just thinking about someone hurting her new family in any way—with words or punches—filled Ginger with anger.

  “Maybe you could just pick out a pair of shorts and a top for me and bring my toothbrush when one of you go.” Ginger frowned. “I gave her my word that I wouldn’t leave the hospital until she does.”

  Sloan kept his arm around her as they all went up the hall toward Betsy’s room. When they walked in, she was arguing with the nurse, saying, “I don’t give a damn what your policy is. My granddaughter is going to sleep on that bed over there tonight, or else I’m g
oing home. Just charge it to my account and I’ll pay the damned bill, or else my sister Kate will bring you a case of her moonshine and we’ll call it even.”

  “We have to keep that bed ready in case someone else needs it.” The nurse tried to reason with her. “But I can bring your granddaughter a pillow and a blanket and she can sleep in the recliner right here. It goes all the way back and makes a nice little bed.”

  Ginger went right to Betsy and laid a hand on her good arm. “I really like the chair better. That one is way too high.” She leaned down and whispered, “You know I have to get up all through the night to go to the bathroom.”

  “If you’re sure,” Betsy said.

  “Absolutely,” Ginger reassured her. “And look who’s here to see you.”

  Betsy looked right at Kate. “Did that bitch hurt you and Connie?”

  “Just some scratches,” Kate answered. “We’re all right. You just need to get well. You know neither of us can cook worth a dang.”

  Betsy realized that she was wearing a hospital gown and narrowed her eyes. “My head hurts. Someone stole my clothes just like they did at Woodstock. I’m not young anymore. A lady needs her bra.”

  Jesus, Mary, and all the angels. Betsy must’ve been a rounder in her day. Ginger wished that she had been her daughter, or even her granddaughter.

  “You need to rest,” Ginger told her. “Just lay back and be very still. Close your eyes and . . .”

  Betsy shook her finger at Ginger and then waved it around to include all of them. “Don’t you let them put Edith in that other bed. I never did like that woman. She was too goody-two-shoes for me, wantin’ us to dress up like whores so she could look down on us, and then we find out she ain’t no better.” Her eyes snapped shut and she started to snore.

  Ginger giggled under her breath. “I’ve heard about ladies from the South wearin’ sassy britches, but I don’t think Betsy ever takes them off.”

  “You got that right. She’s always been the one with more spunk than me and Connie put together. She might sleep for a little while,” Kate whispered, glancing over toward Sloan. “If you’ll take me and Connie home, we’ll get what we need and come on back.”

  “Why don’t y’all just sleep in your own beds tonight,” Ginger told them. “I promised I’d stay, and they might let her go home after twenty-four hours if her mind clears up. I promise I’ll call if she asks for you.”

  “Okay,” Kate agreed. “I’m sure not lookin’ forward to sleepin’ on one of those straight-backed chairs. Just give us a call, and we’ll be here as fast as I can drive us.”

  They filed out of the room, but Sloan stayed behind. “I’m going to drive them home, get my truck, and come back. What do you want me to bring you to eat?”

  “Apples, peanut butter, and dill pickles,” she said.

  He didn’t even blink or hesitate. “You got it. I’ll sit here with you until bedtime so you won’t be alone.”

  “Thanks, Sloan.” She smiled up at him. “That is so sweet of you.”

  Sloan took the ladies home and waited while they gathered up what they thought Ginger might need. Then he drove his truck down to his house, made sure Tinker had water and food, and packed a small bag for himself. No way was he letting Ginger stay by herself all night. What if Betsy got a brain bleed and died? Ginger could stress out and wind up losing the baby. He brushed away a tear. The ladies had always been a force, and he couldn’t imagine one of them gone.

  “See you later,” he told Tinker as he headed outside. “Hold down the fort while I’m gone.”

  Tinker hopped up on his favorite end of the sofa, curled up, and shut his eyes.

  Sloan stopped by the grocery store and picked up four different kinds of apples, a jar of peanut butter and one of dill pickles. Then he went by a drive-through and got two burger baskets and a couple of milkshakes. When he reached the hospital room, Ginger had stretched out on the chair and was sound asleep. Betsy was still snoring and the other bed wasn’t being used yet. It still surprised him that Betsy hadn’t bullied the nurse into letting Ginger sleep on it.

  “Are you staying for a while?” a nurse whispered from behind him.

  “Yes, ma’am,” he answered.

  “Then”—she pulled the recliner that belonged to the other bed around for him—“use this. I can’t let anyone sleep on the bed, but you can use this chair.”

  “Thank you very much,” he said, repositioning the chair so he could sit right beside Ginger.

  She opened her eyes. “I smell food.”

  “Burgers and fries and milkshakes if you’re hungry,” he whispered.

  “Starving.” She popped the chair back into a sitting position.

  “Has she been awake any at all?” Sloan asked.

  “Only when the nurse comes in and wakes her up. Then she cusses about Edith and goes right back to sleep,” Ginger answered. “I guess that’s normal. I’ve been too afraid to even ask.”

  “I’ve seen my fair share of concussions.” Sloan opened the brown paper bag of food and set a burger, an order of fries, and one of the milkshakes on the bedside table that Betsy wasn’t using. “I got chocolate. Hope that’s all right.”

  “It’s great.” Ginger bit into the burger. “Going out to eat twice in one day is a big thing. Thank you.”

  Someday, if she stuck around long enough, Sloan was going to really take her out for dinner and maybe a movie. He’d show her what a real date was supposed to be. He squeezed out ketchup into the paper boat the burger and fries came in and dipped a french fry in it. She reached across from her chair and dipped one of her fries in his ketchup. If one of his buddies had done that, the fight would have been on, because Sloan had a thing about sharing any portion of his food. Strangely enough, it seemed perfectly all right to share with Ginger.

  “I wonder why Betsy thinks I’m her granddaughter and why the other sisters won’t talk about it. As far as I can understand, none of them ever had a child,” Ginger said between bites. Poor old darlings only had each other. Connie and Kate would be devastated if something happened to Betsy. “I wish I was her daughter,” Ginger muttered. “Growing up in that house with them would have been like growing up in heaven.”

  “I guess it kind of was. Granny was their friend, so I could go up there and visit them anytime I wanted. I’ve always taken it for granted until today when I saw Betsy on the floor. I guess it never dawned on me that someday they’d be gone,” Sloan said. “In some ways, I guess I was their child as well as Granny’s. I always wished I’d had a brother or a sister, but who can complain with neighbors like I’ve got.”

  “I wanted a sibling, too. I’ll probably only ever just get to have one child because I’ll be trying to raise her all alone, but if things were different, I’d want at least four.” She spoke in low tones so she wouldn’t wake Betsy. “I never knew anything but foster homes, so that was life, but I always wanted a brother or a sister that was all mine. If I had a choice, I’d want my child to have brothers and sisters. If”—she paused—“I had a sister, I could support her, and she could do the same for me. We’d have each other, kind of like the ladies have had all this time.”

  “There were other kids in the homes, right?” Sloan asked.

  “Oh, yeah, and most of the time I was the oldest and had to take care of them, but I never had a real sibling. Someday, maybe I can give my daughter one,” she said. “But if things don’t work out that way, I’ll just give her all the love I can and make sure she knows she’s special.”

  “What was your mama and daddy’s names?” Sloan asked.

  She whipped around to look him in the eye. “That question came out of the clear blue.”

  “I was just wonderin’ if it would help if you could go visit their graves. Family seems pretty special to you, so maybe if you could see where they’re buried, it might bring you some closure,” he said.

  “Do you think it would bring you closure to go see where your buddies’ graves are?” she asked.


  Her question hit him square in the chest, and he felt as if an elephant had plopped down on him. Thinking of that again made it hard for him to breathe. He couldn’t even imagine what he might feel if he stood beside where they’d buried what was left of Creed or Bobby Joe, or his other three friends.

  “According to my birth certificate, my biological parents were Brenda and Larry Andrews,” she finally answered.

  “Ever look them up?”

  She shook her head. “Why would I? My mother killed my father in a bad drug deal, and then she died in prison. I would assume both of them are buried somewhere in Kentucky, or maybe they were cremated. I have no idea.”

  “What about grandparents?”

  “When I got old enough to ask the social worker about them, she told me that my mother and father were both raised up in the system. There was no family to take me when I was born, so that’s exactly where I went, too.” She finished off her burger and fries and then went to work on the milkshake.

  Sloan didn’t feel pity for her. Instead he felt even more pride than ever in the fact that she was so strong and independent, coming from that kind of background. He also felt just a little ashamed that he hadn’t gotten closure for what had happened in Kuwait. Maybe in the near future, he’d do just what she suggested—go and visit all the graves of his fallen buddies. All of them were buried in Oklahoma or in Texas. They had always said that’s why they made such an amazing team—they’d been raised in adjoining states, liked and had respect for the same things. Well, other than the weekend of the OU–Texas game. Then all claims to friendship were off.

  “Hey, you two, what’s . . . ?” Betsy sat up in bed and grabbed her forehead with both hands. “Where am I? What kind of weed did I get into that would give me this kind of a headache?”

  “Do you remember Edith coming to the Banty House?” Sloan asked.

  Betsy shook her head. “Did Kate tell her that I got my dress fixed just fine and we refuse to hire girls to act like hookers?”