“Oh, really?” Kate glared at Betsy. “What have you done?”
“I didn’t do a damned thing,” Betsy protested, holding both hands out. “You and Connie always blame me for everything.”
“With good reason,” Kate said. “If you didn’t do anything, then what did you cause to get done?”
Ginger raised her hand. “I made the brownies. She’s not lyin’ about that. She didn’t even touch the spoon I stirred them with or put in the wacky weed. I did it all by myself.”
Flora’s hand shot up. “And I’m the one who asked for them. I told her that my mama was feelin’ poorly and a brownie might help her sleep. She’s like Edith—she doesn’t get funny or loud when she’s high. She just goes to sleep.”
Connie’s hand was the third one to raise. “I’m the one who asked Flora to take the leftover brownies, which was all but one that her mama ate, to Sunday school, but Betsy told me to do it.”
“Traitor.” Betsy shot a mean look across the table. “I was almost home clear. Why’d you have to go and tattle on me?”
Ginger wanted independence, but she knew she could never leave this eccentric bunch of women. She leaned over and whispered into Sloan’s ear, “Yes.”
His eyes lit up like sparklers on the Fourth of July. “Do you mean it?” he asked.
“I do,” she told him.
“What are you two whispering about?” Kate asked.
“Ginger is going to move in with me,” Sloan said. “She’d love to continue to work for y’all, though.”
“Praise the Lord!” Connie said. “Darlin’, it’s not that we don’t love you.”
“And we want to be grannies to the baby,” Betsy said. “And I’d just lay down and die if you left us. But we’re old and set in our ways. A baby would be more than we could handle, especially at night.”
“We were thinkin’ of building you a little house out back of ours,” Kate said. “You need to raise your baby, and we’re a controlling bunch of old gals. I’m afraid that we’d try to take over.”
“We know our weaknesses. Look how we fight over the kittens.” Betsy leaned forward. “Of course, they love me best, and the baby will, too.”
“Why are you moving in with Sloan?” Flora asked.
“Because I asked her, and we’re such good friends,” Sloan said. “If that’s all we ever are, then that’s all right, but we’ve been a help to each other these past weeks, and I think we’ll make good roommates.”
“How’s that going to work if you take that offer from the military?” Flora asked.
“We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.” Sloan patted Ginger on the knee.
That had sure been easier than she’d thought it would be, but now she had to decide when to make the move. “I’ll be there every morning to help you cook, Betsy. I promise.”
Suddenly sadness filled her heart and soul. Sure, she was glad to be moving in with Sloan, but—why did there always have to be a but?—she’d miss the fun that she and the ladies had after supper each evening.
“You can’t leave until Doc says I can use my arm,” Betsy said. “Promise?”
“You’ve got my word.” Ginger felt good about the decision and sent up a silent prayer that living in the house with Sloan, she would never feel the way she had felt in that apartment with Lucas.
“Oh, I forgot to tell you about Gladys,” Flora laughed.
A waitress came to their table with a pad in her hand. “I’m so sorry y’all have had to wait. Can I start you off with something to drink or some appetizers? We’ve got fried green tomatoes, potato skins, fried okra, and mozzarella sticks.”
“Sweet tea,” Sloan said. “And please bring us an assortment of your appetizers.”
The rest of the group all ordered either water or tea, and the waitress hurried off to wait on another table.
“Now, what’s this about Gladys?” Sloan asked.
“Well, she got in on the brownies, too. Y’all ever heard that old song by Ray Stevens about the squirrel that got loose in the church down in Mississippi?”
Sloan chuckled. “Oh, yeah. When a bunch of soldiers from Oklahoma and Texas are stuck together over there in the sandbox, it don’t take much to entertain them. That was one of our favorite songs.”
“Well, honey, Gladys did not snore on the front pew. When James asked Mr. Raymond to deliver the benediction, she popped from her seat and declared in a loud voice that women could pray as good as a man, and she forevermore prayed. She asked God to forgive Edith for being a bitch, and then she lifted both her arms in the air and told God about all kinds of things. I half expected Ray Stevens to come in through the side door and start singing that song.”
The waitress brought their drinks and appetizers and took their orders, and then Flora went on. “Mary Lou Bastrom started to cry and called nine-one-one on her cell phone because she thought Edith had died. And before Gladys could say, ‘Amen,’ the paramedics came in and loaded her up.” She took a long drink of her tea. “James left the pulpit and went with them. The lights were flashing and the sirens were screaming and Gladys started praying again. Finally, her daughter and a friend got her by the arm, and they disappeared with her out a side door. Mary Lou’s son put his arm around his mama and led her out the front door. Too bad those brownies don’t affect my mama like that. It might be kind of amusing, but they just make her snore.”
“Good Lord, when the folks at the hospital figure out that Edith was stoned, they’ll come gunnin’ for us.” Kate dried her tears on a napkin. “I shouldn’t be laughing, but she was hateful about my mama.”
“I took what brownies weren’t eaten back home with me, so the evidence is gone,” Flora said. “But I don’t have any doubt that Edith will trace it all back to Betsy, and she’ll be furious.”
“I hope she does,” Betsy said. “She needs to know that she don’t mess with the Banty House women. When we get mad, we get even.”
“Are we going to grow up to be like them?” Ginger whispered to Sloan.
“I sure hope so. You reckon you can get Betsy to show you how to crossbreed weed? I’ll see if Kate will teach me how to make good moonshine,” Sloan answered.
“What are you two whispering about now?” Connie asked.
“We’re wondering what your vice is,” Sloan replied. “Kate’s got her shine, and Betsy grows pot. What do you do?”
“Honey, I deal in stones for healing and candles for revenge.” Connie tilted her chin up. “I light black candles if someone is mean to my sisters, and they never fail me. If you ever doubt that, just visualize Edith in her cute little suit, red lipstick runnin’ into the lines around her prune mouth, all curled up on the front pew snoring like she was this morning.”
The waitress brought out five plates of the Sunday special and set them around. Then she put a nice big basket of hot yeast rolls in the middle of the table. “Y’all enjoy, and when you’re done, I’ll bring out your blackberry cobbler. One check or separate ones?”
“Just one, and I’ll take it,” Sloan said.
“That’s awful sweet. Thank you,” Flora said. “Who’s going to say grace over this food before we eat it?”
“It’s my turn.” Betsy bowed her head. “Thank you, Lord, for this food, and bless Sloan for paying for it. If you’ve a mind to keep Edith in the hospital a couple of days, then tell them to give her a colonoscopy. That way Doc can get that corncob out of her butt, so that she don’t think she’s so high-and-mighty. Amen.” She raised her head and said, “Now let’s eat before this good food gets cold.”
“Holy crap!” Ginger muttered.
“At least she didn’t say ‘ass,’” Sloan said.
“Well, it is Sunday,” Ginger said.
Chapter Nineteen
Ginger kept an eye out for the mail all day. Most of the time the postwoman was there by midmorning, but that day, noon rolled around and she still hadn’t showed up. With Betsy’s supervision, Ginger had made a hot chicken casserole for dinner, but
she was too nervous to eat much of it.
“What’s the matter with you, today?” Kate asked. “You’ve been like a worm in hot ashes all day, and now you’re not eating.”
“And last night you went up to bed early,” Betsy said. “Did we hurt your feelings at dinner yesterday when we said we were glad you were moving out?”
Before Ginger could answer, Connie said, “Sometimes we have Banty House meetings, but they are only for the shareholders, which is the three of us now that Mama is gone. We discuss things that pertain to finances and the upkeep on this place. Our CPA, Suzanne, is invited to the meetings four times a year. That’s when we have to pay our quarterly taxes.”
“Stop beatin’ around the bush, Connie. Next thing you know you’ll tell her that you checked those rocks in your room before we had our meeting,” Kate said.
“Well, for your information, I damn sure did,” Connie snapped at her older sister. “On Saturday evening, after you went to your room, we met in Kate’s room and decided that it would be better for you if we built a little guesthouse on the other side of the cornfield, so you could have some privacy. We all love you, but we want you to be the mother, and Betsy is controlling.”
“So that’s part of the reason why we were so excited to hear that you were moving in with Sloan,” Connie said. “I’ve burned candles and even rubbed an amethyst on the chair where he sits to eat with us so he would have healing in his body, mind, and spirit. He needs someone in his life. Even if y’all are just friends forever, it’ll be good for you to be with him.”
“I’m not controlling.” Betsy pouted. “It’s just that, well, I went to Woodstock when I was twenty-eight, and . . .” She told Ginger the whole story of how much she’d wanted to be a mother and had lost her baby. “I’m convinced that God sent you to me in my old age so I could have the family I always wanted.”
Tears ran down Ginger’s cheeks and dripped onto her T-shirt. She’d never thought of losing her baby, not one time, but she could feel the pain that Betsy suffered even fifty years after the miscarriage.
“Mama used to say that once a mother always a mother, no matter how old the children are.” Betsy hugged Ginger, mingling their tears together. “In my mind, a woman becomes a mother even before her child is born.”
Ginger picked up a napkin and dried Betsy’s cheeks first, then her own. “But you have had Sloan most of his life. He’s like a grandson.”
“Yes, he is and we love him.” Kate sniffled. “But he had a grandmother. You don’t. We just don’t want you to think we don’t want you in our lives because we were happy that you’re moving in with Sloan.”
No matter how many homes she’d lived in, or what had happened in them, she’d never known such unconditional love. “I’ve never done anything impulsive in my life,” she said. “From the time I was a little girl, I learned not to get close to my foster parents or to the children in the homes where I lived. I knew I wouldn’t be in one place long, so why make friends? The social workers tagged me as RAD—reactive attachment disorder. Most kids with that problem act out. I just withdrew into myself. When I was old enough, I got some books at the library so I could understand why I didn’t want to be close to people. I made an effort to fit in more in my last foster home, and with Lucas. Neither worked out so well, but since I’ve come here, I’ve”—she paused and took a deep breath—“well, I’ve felt myself coming out of living inside myself, and I’ve learned to trust y’all and Sloan. I wasn’t a bit offended when y’all said that yesterday. I was dreading telling you I was moving out, because for the first time in my life, it mattered to me what someone thought.”
“Oh, honey.” Betsy hugged her again. “We all love you so much, and you can always trust us, and you can always come to us with any problems, or just to talk.”
“Words can’t describe what’s in my heart right now.” Ginger saw a movement out the window in her peripheral vision and whipped around to see the mail lady bringing two boxes across the yard. “They’re here.”
“Well, darlin’, let’s go bring them inside.” Kate pushed back her chair. “If you want to think about putting them in Cottonwood Cemetery, it’s all right. You don’t have to make the decision right now.”
“I’d like to get them buried as soon as possible. They deserve to be either scattered or put into the ground, but I sure thank y’all for giving me plots.” Ginger followed her to the door.
“Well, then, we’ll do it at dusk tonight.” Kate opened the door and took the boxes from the lady.
“I ain’t never delivered anything with ‘Cremated Remains’ on the side,” the lady said.
“It’s my parents,” Ginger told her.
“Well, it’s my first.” She laid a few pieces of mail on the top box. “I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Laura Johnston. I saw you at church on Easter.”
“Pleased to meet you,” Ginger said.
“How’s Edith this mornin’?” Connie asked. “I heard she had a spell at church yesterday mornin’.”
“Aunt Edith is at home this morning. We aren’t sure what happened, but when she woke up last evening, she was starving. Dr. Emerson said the only time he’d ever seen such a thing was when someone had gotten high on drugs, but we all know that Aunt Edith is a teetotaler. She won’t even take a sip of champagne at a wedding. I’ll tell her you asked about her. Sorry about the argument. I don’t know what got into her.” Laura turned around and hurried back to the mail truck.
“Good Lord, is everyone in town kin to each other?” Ginger asked.
“Just about.” Kate set the two boxes on the credenza.
Ginger laid a hand on each box. “I expected them to be bigger.”
“So did I,” Kate said.
“Are you going to bury them in those boxes or take them out?” Betsy asked.
“I hadn’t thought that far.” Ginger tore the tape from one box and opened it to find a plastic bag full of gray ashes and an envelope with a death certificate inside. “This is my father. He died from a gunshot wound to the heart and was dead on arrival at the hospital. Should I put them in the ground inside the plastic bag or dump them out? What do y’all think?”
“I’d leave them in the bag,” Betsy said. “I bet we can find something in the attic to use as urns or little coffins to put them in. That’d probably bring you more closure than just dropping a plastic bag in the ground.”
“Can we go up there and look now?” Ginger asked.
“We sure can,” Kate told her. “I’m remembering a metal box that Mama said Grandmother kept her egg money in. It even has a latch on it.”
“I didn’t get around to cleaning the attic last fall, so it’s going to be dusty.” Connie was apologetic.
“Don’t know why you clean it anyway. No one ever goes up there but you,” Kate fussed as she led the way up the stairs.
Ginger followed behind them. She’d expected an emotional roller coaster when she finally got the remains, maybe tears or anger or something. She’d cried over Betsy’s story, so surely she should feel something looking at her parents’ ashes, but she hadn’t felt anything. Maybe when they buried them that evening, it would be different. As she climbed the second set of steps up into a pristinely organized attic, all she could think was that she was sure glad Sloan’s house didn’t have stairs.
The sun hung in the western sky like one of the big orange Nerf balls Sloan had played with as a kid when they gathered around the two shallow graves in the cemetery that evening. Ginger kneeled down and placed a cedar box in the first hole, then moved over to put a metal one in the second one.
Sloan extended both hands to help her up. She took them and stood to her feet, her belly throwing a wide shadow over both graves.
“My senior year in high school, we studied some poetry by Rod McKuen. A poem of his spoke to me so much. I can’t quote it, but one of the lines in the poem about his father said that he envied the other children for their fathers because he never knew his. That has stuck in my head a
nd made me wonder, if I’d known my parents, would I be a different person today, or was Fate or God or Destiny doing what was best for me even though the journey from birth to this moment hasn’t been easy?”
Sloan swallowed twice to get rid of the lump in his throat. Ginger was definitely, beyond a doubt, an old soul, as his granny used to say of people who were wise beyond their years.
“I should feel pain today, but I don’t. I feel happiness that I get to bury my parents and that I’ll know where they are finally laid to rest. I feel good that my child will have at least this much of her grandparents close by, but what I feel most is relief. It’s like, by doing this, I can finally put the past behind me and move on to the future. Thank all of you for being here with me today. Let me play a song on this new phone to finish off this service.” She touched her phone and Sarah McLachlan’s voice filled the cemetery with “Angel.”
The words seemed so fitting to the situation that Sloan wondered if it had been written for a couple of folks just like Ginger’s parents. A single tear traveled down Ginger’s face when the lyrics said that in the arms of an angel maybe they would find some comfort. Sloan draped an arm around her and pulled her close.
“That was beautiful,” he said.
“It was all I had, and the song seemed to be the right one.” She sniffled. “I wish I would have known them, but if I had, I wouldn’t be where I am today, and for the first time in my life, I really like my place in the universe,” she said.
“Me too,” Sloan said.
A soft breeze sent the scent of nearby honeysuckle floating across the whole cemetery. Sloan picked up the shovel that the gravediggers had left behind and filled in both graves. Then he stuck a marker that had the names and dates of birth and death in the place where the headstones would be set eventually.
Using the back of the shovel blade, Sloan patted the earth down as much as possible, then leaned the shovel against a big pecan tree that shaded all the graves in the plot. “I’ll plant some grass seed on here later this week and keep it watered until it takes root.”
The Banty House Page 23