by Rhett DeVane
“First light, take a right. It’s two blocks down,” she said.
Jerry navigated the broken asphalt then parked beside a small cemetery and gave her a questioning look.
“You can come, if you’d like.” She got out. Jerry joined her. They walked past several uneven rows, then Mary-Esther took the lead. Halfway down the weedy path, she stopped. “I couldn’t leave without saying goodbye.”
The headstone wasn’t embellished, barely large enough for the name and dates. All she and Loretta could afford. Maybe one day, she could replace it with something fitting for the one person she could always count on. Mary-Esther knelt down, set a rock in front of the marker. At least Nana would have a solid remembrance of the place she had once called home. Besides, Nana didn’t believe in leaving cut flowers by a grave. And for sure, plastic plants would’ve sent her into a tizzy.
A few minutes later, the van was eastbound on I-10. Mary-Esther pointed to an exit sign. “Turn off here.”
Jerry followed her directions to a small public landing on Lake Pontchartrain, where he pulled over and parked.
She opened the door. “I won’t be long.”
“Want me to come with you?”
“No.” Mary-Esther took a steadying breath. “I’d rather do this alone.”
She walked to the water’s edge. For a few minutes, she stood on the bank, staring out across the dark lake. The wind kicked up frothy whitecaps. Mary-Esther unscrewed the lid from the brass urn and emptied the grainy contents into the lake.
“Hope you have a safe journey to wherever it is you’re going, Loretta. Maybe you’ll meet your real daughter. I wasn’t always the best substitute.”
Mary-Esther watched the powdery ashes and bits of ground bone swirl into the dark water until no evidence of Loretta Day remained.
That’s all it amounted to, a handful of what was left of a person, then nothing.
Chapter Thirty-four
Hattie removed the slumping shells of carved pumpkins from the porch. Atop the bales of hay, she placed pots of mums and bound dried cornstalks. The colors of the surrounding woods were particularly vibrant this year, and she added culled branches from sweetgum and hickory trees. Might as well take advantage of the time since the baby was with Holston in the workshop.
Hattie didn’t recall the original 1940s farmhouse, but stories wove through the family lore. The walls and floors had holes big enough for vermin to pass through, the porch listed to one side, and the roof had leaked in so many places, her mother would run out of catch pots if a summer thunderstorm lasted more than a few minutes. As money allowed, the old structure had been torn down in sections then rebuilt by her father and any hammer-handy friends who happened by. First, the country kitchen. Next, the expansive living room, master bedroom and bath. The last section of the original house fell to allow for two bedrooms, a second bath, and a sewing porch.
Hattie stepped inside and tried to look at the house through impartial eyes. The furniture, though clean and functional, wouldn’t win for fashion. Books, baby toys, and magazines occupied most horizontal surfaces.
A few pieces had changed since Hattie inherited the home, but the essence of the farmhouse remained: a place welcoming family, friends, and wayward strangers. Homeless animals periodically appeared, dropped off beside the road by uncaring owners. Somehow, they found their way to The Hill to be taken in, fed, bathed, and routed to the local veterinarian.
No pedigrees necessary on The Hill.
Of the holidays, Hattie preferred Thanksgiving’s slower pace. The focus fell to family gatherings and time-honored recipes. The kitchen brimmed with the blended aromas of cinnamon and spices. Dan and Tillie Davis had been known for taking in stray people, especially during the holidays. Since moving back into the farmhouse, Hattie and Holston slipped easily into the role. Hattie couldn’t recall a Thanksgiving with fewer than ten guests.
The phone rang. Intent on arranging foliage in a galvanized pail by the front door, Hattie jumped then snatched up the headset and spoke before the caller had a chance. “Really, Jake? Three times in less than two minutes? A record, even for you. I told you to ask Elvina. I don’t know if she’s bringing her sweet potato casserole.”
A deep male voice said, “Hattie? It’s Jerry Blount.”
“Oops. Sorry. Jake’s been driving me nuts about the dinner menu.” She stopped. “Did you find my sister?”
“I have to make this quick. I’m on my way back . . . with Mary-Esther. She’s in the ladies room right now. She doesn’t know I’m calling.”
“Did you tell her?”
“I haven’t said anything. We’re east of Pensacola and should be stopping by The Hill in a couple of hours. I’d rather she hear it from you.”
Hattie bounced. “This is fan-freakin’-tastic! I’ll call Bobby.”
“Mary-Esther’s been through a lot in the past few days. She’s pretty wrung out. Perhaps it would be best for her to talk to you alone. The last time she tangled with your brother wasn’t so easy on her.”
“Well, okay. If you think—”
“Got to go.”
Hattie heard the line disconnect and stared at the phone headset as if she expected it to either glow or burst into flames. She did a little dance and whooped so loud, Spackle howled in reply. Shammie opened one eye before settling back into a nap.
*
Elvina Houston stepped from the rear door of the Triple C Day Spa and Salon and bobbled down the slate walkway to the Piddie Longman Memorial Garden. A full sack of peanuts hung over her crooked arm.
The squirrels appeared as soon as she settled down on the bench with her cast-covered leg propped in front. She scattered a handful of the peanuts around her. The squirrels fanned out and chipped away at the papery hulls.
“A little gratitude would be nice,” she said. “Fat chance.”
She turned her attention to the dormant flower garden. A layer of fresh pine straw covered the turned dirt. After the final freeze of the late spring, Jake would plan the arrangement of bulbs. In the meantime, the spot mirrored nature’s winter sleep. Elvina looked forward to spotting the first tentative spears of green peeking through the mulch.
“Morning, Piddie. I don’t have a long time to talk today as I am needed in my legal capacity out at Hattie’s. It must be good to see life from your perspective.” She looked up. “You must know how things will turn out, so you don’t have to fret like we do down here. I’ve worried myself into an absolute froth over this thing with Mary-Esther. How I longed to jump in my car and hunt for her myself. Would have too, if not for my bum leg.”
She turned her attention to the squirrels, talking as much to them as to Piddie’s spirit. “Hattie asked to have a little time with Mary-Esther before I came out. She wants to be the bearer of the good news. Then, I will swoop in and slap the frosting on the cake. I can’t wait to see the look on that Louisiana gal’s face!”
Elvina threw another handful of peanuts onto the ground and dusted her hands on her dress. “I miss you something fierce this time of year, Piddie, with Thanksgiving and then Christmas. ’Member how we used to hole up and bake until we were purely sick of it? Now, Jake is the one cooking up a storm in that little kitchen of yours. Shug’s no slacker, either. I hear they might throw a party between Thanksgiving and Christmas.”
Elvina laughed. “You ought to see all the stuff Shug has gathered for that yard. He’s a fool for the holidays. I don’t honestly know how he’s going to wire it all without blowing up a power substation. All manner of light-up deer and trees. Big bubbles that look like snow globes. I heard he even bought a life-sized Grinch to sit on one of the porch rockers. Hattie’ll get a kick out of that. She natural-born loves the Grinch.
“It’s sad, how the other holidays get pushed around in favor of Christmas, though. Don’t get me wrong. I love the hoopla, but I think most folks completely miss the reason behind it all. Seems it’s a time to buy the most expensive gift you can get, even if you can’t afford to pay the
bills you have already. I plan to steer clear of Tallahassee until after the first of the year. Those people over there drive like sprayed cockroaches on a good day, much less with Christmas shopping on their minds.
“But here I am talking about Christmas and we’ve not even made it past Thanksgiving. Seems to melt together in my mind, like it’s the same holiday. Time flies, Piddie. Like you said, life is like a roll of toilet paper. It spins faster and faster, the closer it gets to the end.”
Crying shame squirrels couldn’t laugh. That line of Piddie’s was a good one. Elvina pitched the remainder of the peanuts onto the ground, then used the cane to steady herself as she stood.
“I’ll have Jake bring some pots of those big pretty Poinsettias to sit here after we get past Thanksgiving. You loved the color red. Surely did. Can’t plant them in the ground, on account of they don’t cotton to freezing weather. We can move them inside when the temperatures drop. I’ll be back later to share what all went on, out on The Hill.”
She took one long look toward the heavens. “Don’t you worry, Piddie. I pledged to watch over your kin, and I plan to do just that.”
*
Mary-Esther opened her eyes and yawned. Boudreau, curled in her lap, stretched and watched her with droopy yellow eyes. “Why are we turning off here? I thought you wanted to swing by the airport in Tallahassee first and pick up your car.”
Jerry turned left at the end of the interstate ramp and headed north toward Chattahoochee. “I need to make one stop.”
Mary-Esther studied his profile. “Why do you have that stupid grin on your face?”
Jerry winked. “A fellow can’t smile for no reason?”
That wink again. Every time he did that, her heart flip-flopped. “Liar.” Mary-Esther play-punched his arm. “You don’t fib well, by the way.”
“I didn’t fib. I promised to make a stop.”
In a couple of miles, Jerry turned left onto Bonnie Lane.
“Oh, you’re going by The Hill. What, to see if Bobby wants to take up where he left off? Maybe, hog-tie me and drag me behind his truck? Really, Jerry. Let’s ride on into town. I’ll rent a room for a couple of days then beg Mr. Bill for my job back.”
Jerry didn’t reply. When they pulled into the driveway in front of the farmhouse, Spackle bounded from the porch, sounding the doggie doorbell. The front door swung open and Hattie stepped outside.
He killed the engine. “Let’s get out and stretch our legs. I have a couple of things to discuss with Holston. Maybe you and Hattie can find something to talk about for a few minutes.”
“Don’t know why this couldn’t wait. But okay.” She urged Boudreau into his cage with kitty treats and promises of upcoming freedom. Mary-Esther paused for a beat before opening the van door.
Jerry waved to Hattie then disappeared around the side of the house. Mary-Esther sniffed a set-up. For sure.
“Hey!” Hattie walked forward, her arms held up to hug Mary-Esther. She hesitated, lowered her arms, and stuck her hands in her jeans pockets. “How was your trip?”
“Long. Better with two people sharing the driving. Umm . . . may I use your bathroom?”
“Sure. Come on in. I have fresh coffee. We can catch up while the men talk.”
Did every woman in this town have a constant pot brewing?
When Mary-Esther returned to the kitchen, Hattie had mugs, creamer and sugar, and two plates with thick slices of pound cake arranged on the table in front of the couch.
“So you don’t think he tried to pull one over on you, I asked Jerry to bring you by here.”
“Oh?” Duh. Mary-Esther helped herself to coffee. No cake.
“Don’t be mad. I begged him to let me know if and when you were coming back.”
“At least you don’t want to string me up. Your brother certainly made his feelings clear.”
“Bobby has some . . . issues. He wants to talk to you later.”
Mary-Esther chewed on her bottom lip. “I’ll look forward to that.”
“I’ll get to the point, Mary-Esther.” Hattie handed her an envelope. “The DNA test results arrived, right after you left town.”
Mary-Esther held the letter in her hand.
“You can look at the printout for yourself, if you’d like.” Hattie perched on the edge of the couch. She twirled her wedding band around and around until her finger blushed pink. “You are our middle sister. There’s no doubt. Though, I felt all along that you were.”
Mary-Esther opened the envelope and stared at the official document. A flush of warmth rose up from her middle. “Is it hot in here?”
Hattie smiled. “Not really. However, I’m not a good one to ask. I’ve started having midlife power surges.”
“What do we do now?” Mary-Esther asked.
“Find a way to go from here, I suppose.” Hattie reached over and touched Mary-Esther’s hand. “I’m not expecting anything of you. Really.”
Mary-Esther combed her fingers through her hair. “It’s a lot . . .”
“Take all the time you want. I’m not sure how we can make this whole thing work, but I’m willing to try. So is Bobby, believe it or not.” Hattie’s lips drew into a thin line. “He told me about how he treated you. And I know he’s truly sorry. He’s not such a bad guy. A little misdirected at times. Well, a lot misdirected.”
Outside, Spackle sounded the doggie doorbell again.
“Busy out here,” Mary-Esther commented. She sipped the strong coffee. A little caffeine might help the light-headed, out-of-body sensation.
Elvina Houston navigated through the front door.
“Look who’s decided to come back home!” Elvina bent over and hugged Mary-Esther.
The day grew stranger by the second.
Elvina looked to Hattie. “Did you tell her anything?”
“Just about the DNA results. The rest, legally, is your department.” Hattie swept her hand through the air as if introducing the next act.
“Legally?” Mary-Esther’s gaze darted between the two women. “Don’t tell me you hired a lawyer.”
Elvina frowned. “Jumping to conclusions is unattractive. Calm yourself down.”
“I have green tea, Elvina. May I fix you a cup?” Hattie offered.
“Yes. I can use all the antioxidants I can get, at my age.” Elvina settled onto the couch and propped her cast foot on an ottoman. She turned her attention to Mary-Esther. “I’ll not beat around the bush. Before Rose died, she had me drive her to visit an attorney. She was most upset by those horrid Watson people. She made a new will designating me as executor of her estate. And she put the house and her accounts under a trust, naming you as the trustee.”
Mary-Esther’s mouth dropped open.
“You are the sole heir of the Herring’s house and land,” Elvina stated, “as well as a small amount of money in the form of CDs. Rose was no investor, but Eustis was, apparently.”
The walls closed in around her. Mary-Esther jumped up and tore from the house.
Chapter Thirty-five
Mary-Esther pulled into a space in front of Sewanee Springs Assisted Living. “The Fall Festival fairy has sure slammed this place.”
Bales of hay leaned against the white entrance columns, topped with sprays of yellow, red, and orange silk leaves, gourds and pumpkins in assorted sizes, and a scarecrow wearing a plaid flannel shirt and ripped denim overalls.
When Mary-Esther stepped into the lobby, she noted that the same theme-oriented sprite had flitted inside. Like walking into a fall craft booth.
The now-familiar Southern belle at the front desk pushed a massive dried flower arrangement to one side with a slight frown. “May I help you?”
Two syllables in help: a true talent. “I’m meeting LaJune Stephens for lunch.”
The receptionist pointed to a clipboard. “Sign in, please. The residents’ dining room is to your left and down the hall to the end.”
The woman watched Mary-Esther scribble her signature. “Aren’t you the one from New O
rleans?”
Would she ever hear the city’s name without feeling her spirit droop? “Yes. Formerly.”
“You poor dear. I spoke with my husband’s cousin and his wife a few days back. They’ve given up on returning to Mississippi too. Nothing left of their house, bless their hearts, and no jobs to go back to. They’ve decided to settle near relatives. Griffin, Georgia. You know of it?”
“Don’t believe so.” Why did people believe she automatically knew every little pig-trail town because she lived below the Mason/Dixon line?
“Griffin is a lovely town not too far from Atlanta. Wouldn’t give you a million dollars and my firstborn to live in Atlanta, but Griffin’s a nice little place to make a home.”
For some reason, the woman had become Mary-Esther’s new best friend. Go figure. “I’m sure it is.”
“How about you? Have you been back to New Orleans?” The city’s name flowed from the receptionist’s mouth with the mandated extra syllables.
“Got back a few days ago.”
Miz Belle’s painted eyebrows lifted. “Oh? And how did you find it? A few of us have been thinking of riding over to see the destruction. I’ve never been, myself. Not the kind of place I ever wanted to visit.” One hand fluttered to her chest. “Slam full of wanton wickedness.”
Just what the city needed: rubbernecking disaster-tourists. Mary-Esther glanced at the woman’s gold nametag: Patsy Pickles.
“Well, Patsy . . .” Mary-Esther leaned over the front desk and lowered her voice. “It was a pure hotbed of iniquity. Behavior the likes I have never seen before. The newspapers don’t tell the real story. No, they don’t.”
Patsy Pickle’s horrified expression urged Mary-Esther on. She practiced her best deep-fried, Southern accent. “Even in your wildest imaginings, you could never fathom what all goes on! It will take years before it’s anywhere near where an innocent person such as yourself might make it out alive.” Mary-Esther flashed a grin. Nailed it; alive had at least three syllables. “You have a nice day, now.”