Sweetgrass

by Monroe, Mary Alice

  “You still aren’t listening. There is no more time,” she replied.

  Morgan turned on his heel and marched from the restaurant, eager to get as much space between him and his aunt as possible. He slammed into a wall of heat and humidity when he stepped into the harsh, unforgiving sunlight. He stopped and stood squinting in the glare, dazed and wondering what the hell he would do next.

  Five hundred thousand dollars. He’d been so stunned by the news that he didn’t even ask how much was left to pay on the loan. But even if it was half as much, he knew they couldn’t afford to repay it. They were limping by as it was. Even if he sold his ranch, he couldn’t raise that much capital. And besides, there wasn’t time. If he knew his darling aunt, she’d sic the lawyers on them immediately.

  He went in search of a phone. He needed to call his lawyer, too.

  Later that afternoon, Hank walked into Adele’s office just as she was finishing a call to her lawyer. She lifted a finger in the air for him to wait. Her dark eyes watched him as he glanced around the room, his fingers fidgeting with impatience.

  Hank was a handsome man, stocky yet fit in a crisp white cotton shirt and tie, even vain about his appearance. Good looks and amiability were an asset in the real estate business and Hank used these attributes as weapons. He was what she liked to call a back-slapper, a convivial fellow always ready with a clever quip or a joke. He was a fun guest at a party, but never too rowdy or too off-color, and never controversial. Most people were not aware of Hank’s driving ambition. Beneath his easygoing facade he was hungry for power and wealth. Adele understood this hunger, even sympathized with it. She mentored Hank because he was both promising and loyal. And because he was the closest thing to a son she’d ever have.

  She hung up the phone and indicated a chair with a turn of her hand. Hank sat down and crossed his legs.

  “What’s up?” he asked, eyes alert.

  “I’ve just had lunch with my nephew.”

  “Morgan?” he asked, surprised.

  She nodded. “He has a plan to save Sweetgrass,” she said with exaggeration.

  Hank frowned at the news. She reached into her purse and pulled out a package of cigarettes. Lighting one, she inhaled deeply, taking a moment to settle the pique that rose at the memory of the meeting.

  “It was enough that I had to spend days with him going through every shred of paper in Preston’s possession.” She shook her head with disgust. “What a mess. I don’t know how anyone can be so disorganized. I deserve an award for putting up with my nephew’s attitude for so long without whittling him down to size. But this takes the cake. He has this idea of putting the land under a conservation easement.”

  Hank shifted in his seat. “That’s not a bad idea.”

  She scoffed. “It’s not going to happen. We both know that. I’m at my wit’s end, I tell you. When he called to schedule this meeting, I thought for sure he was going to tell me that they needed to sell. I was prepared to give him the good news about the buyers for the property and it would have been a happy ending.” She took a long drag from her cigarette, then snuffed it out. “It’s a shame it has to be this way,” she said, exhaling.

  “Are you sure?” Hank asked. “You don’t want to be wrong about this.”

  Adele nodded. “I can say with assurance that they do not have a copy of my partnership agreement with Preston. I’ve just talked to my lawyers. They’re starting the legal papers.”

  That evening, Nan drove home from Sweetgrass along the winding, tree-lined road. It was a dark night with no stars and heavy cloud cover. She took the curves slowly, wary of slow-moving possum or the sudden leap of a deer. When she pulled off Rifle Range Road into her development, she took a ragged breath and sighed, dog tired. She craved a hot bath, a chilled glass of wine and bed—in that order.

  She’d volunteered to sit with Daddy so Mama June could go to bed early tonight. Morgan had taken Kristina into Charleston for dinner. He was fit to be tied when he came back from his lunch with Aunt Adele, but he wouldn’t go into it. They were oil and water, those two, she thought, wishing it were different. It would make her home life easier.

  As for Kristina, she and Morgan had been hanging out a lot lately. “We’re just friends,” Morgan had told her. She smiled. This friendship was a hot topic of conservation between Mama June and Nona on the back porch

  The lights were burning in the living room as she pulled up to her own house. With a groan, she saw Aunt Adele’s car parked in the driveway, carelessly blocking the entrance to the garage. Nan parked the car on the grass. She felt the humidity slam into her as she stepped from the air-conditioning of her SUV into the thick air of a Southern summer night. The crickets pierced the silence with swells of song, and frogs bellowed in the wetlands.

  Nan slipped through the back door and made her way to the kitchen, careful not to make any noise so she could escape the heated discussion going on in the living room. She was about to tiptoe past when she heard Hank mention Sweetgrass. Nan paused, instantly alert, and leaned against the hall wall to listen.

  “I don’t know how much longer we can avoid giving them an answer,” Hank said. “This group wants to move now. If we can’t deliver Sweetgrass, they’ll move on to another project.”

  “They’re grandstanding,” Adele replied. “There’s very little out there with the same attractiveness or history of Sweetgrass.”

  “All true. But what good is that if the family won’t sell?”

  “They’ll sell,” she declared. Adele exhaled her frustration in a curse. “That boy’s been a bother since he was in short pants. Morgan is family and he’s had a hard time of it. But why doesn’t he just go on back to Montana? Ever since he got here he’s been interfering with business that’s no concern of his.”

  “He can get pretty high-handed,” Hank agreed. “When I offered to help, he just thanked me and smiled in that polite way of his that tells you to shove off.”

  “What did you expect? He knows you work for me.”

  “We should all be working on the same team.”

  “Agreed. But he doesn’t see it that way. How can I get him to understand that selling right now is the best for all concerned? He stands to make a substantial sum of money. A deal like this one is hard to put together.”

  “You’re preaching to the choir. Do you know how many man-hours I’ve put into this deal?” Hank asked disagreeably. “The dinners? The trips?”

  “If all goes as planned, you’ll be more than recompensed.”

  “I’m counting on it. So what do you want to do next? Time’s a wastin’.”

  There was a long pause. Nan leaned closer to the door, straining to hear.

  “Everything is in order. It’s time to lay my cards on the table.”

  “When do you plan to do that?”

  “I haven’t been very good about making an appearance at Sunday dinner. I seem to make everyone uncomfortable lately. But I’ll make the effort so Mama June will know my heart is in the right place. We want to minimize the stress and antagonism. They won’t like what they hear.”

  “But they won’t have a choice,” he said in conclusion. “The buyout offer is ready and waiting for signatures.”

  “Good. Well,” she said, “that should wrap things up. I’ll head on home. I haven’t fed my dogs yet and they’ll be frantic.”

  Nan heard a chair scraping the floor. She didn’t linger to hear the parting comments. She hurried up the stairs. In her room she changed into her nightclothes, then sat in the bed against the piled pillows with the blankets tucked around her waist. She waited for Hank to come up, her mind spinning with questions. At last he joined her in the bedroom, unbuttoning his shirt and yawning.

  “What a day,” he said, tugging the shirt off. “I’m beat.”

  “Why did Adele stop by so late?” she asked.

  “Business, as usual.” He sat on the cushioned bench at the foot of the bed and bent to untie his shoelaces. She heard the thud as each shoe hit the
hardwood floor. When he straightened again, he turned toward her, mild surprise on his face. “When did you get home? I didn’t hear you come in.”

  “Not too long ago,” she replied.

  “How’s Preston?”

  “A little better.”

  “Can he form words yet?”

  She shook her head. “He’s struggling, but he’ll get there.”

  That seemed to end Hank’s interest in her father’s progress. He began removing his wristwatch.

  “What’s this about buyers for Sweetgrass?” she asked him point blank.

  He swung his head around to glare at her, then with a frown, stood and set his watch on the dresser. She wondered if he viewed her as one of “the other side” now that she’d been volunteering with Daddy’s care and spending so much time at Sweetgrass. If so, it was just one more chasm between them. She waited, hands folded on her legs.

  “Remember that group from Maryland?” he asked. “The ones who came for dinner?”

  “I made she-crab soup for them.”

  “Right. Well, they’ve decided to pursue the purchase of Sweetgrass.”

  “But Mama June doesn’t want to sell it.”

  His shoulders slumped. “Honey, I don’t mean no disrespect, but your mother doesn’t know what’s best for her.”

  Nan’s back stiffened. “And you do?”

  “Yes,” he replied, seemingly offended by her sarcasm. “I believe I do.” He sighed with resignation and sat down on the mattress beside her. “Sweetheart, how many times must we have this conversation? You have to trust that I know the real estate business better than you do. And a helluva lot more than your brother.” This apparently hit a sore point, for his temper flared. “He owns a few measly acres he calls a ranch. What does he know about tax law and maintaining a property like Sweetgrass?”

  She thought of the many times she’d walked by Daddy’s office to find Morgan nose deep in papers and books, or meeting with Bobby and their banker, huddled in conversation. Or the times she’d leave late at night and wave at him as he burned the midnight oil bent over papers on the desk with a glass of bourbon.

  She’d always known Morgan was real smart. He knew so much about a lot of different subjects. But he’d never done well in school, mostly because he often ditched classes. The teachers would call and talk to Mama June about how it was such a shame, him being so smart and all. The phrase they always used was “not working up to his potential.”

  But no matter who said what, Morgan plain hated going to school. He said he was bored, but even as a kid, Nan figured out that he wasn’t the same after Hamlin died. He stopped sports—even fishing, which he’d loved—and he never went back out to Blakely’s Bluff. Instead, he’d always sneak off alone to the kitchen house or somewhere else with a book in his hand. He’d be mad when he caught her spying and angrily tell her to mind her own business. That was the main thing that was different after Hamlin died—Morgan got angry.

  “I think he might know a lot,” she replied.

  Hank drew himself up, appearing wounded. “By that I assume you mean he knows more than me?”

  “No,” she replied, weary of the argument. “I mean there’s a difference of opinion.”

  “Including your own, apparently.” He looked at her with reproach. “It would have been polite to make your presence known instead of eavesdropping.”

  “Oh, cut it out, Hank.” She was tired and had had enough of his false injury and superior tone. “This is my house and I can walk anywhere I want to in it. Not to mention, I’m not the one sneaking around,” she added ominously. “If you and Adele are having secret meetings about my family, then you can have them outside our home.”

  “My home.”

  She skipped a beat. “I beg your pardon?”

  He smiled urbanely, but it was cruel. “A brief lesson in business, my dear. Get your name on the deed.”

  Her mind stumbled over the implications. “What are you saying?”

  “I’m simply stating a fact. This house is in my name.”

  “That was just a formality,” she blurted out. “We talked about that. I was home with a newborn baby.” She paused, registering what was being said. “The house was bought with my money,” she reminded him.

  “Nonetheless…”

  She felt suddenly cold and wrapped her arms around her, blinking with agitation.

  “Are you threatening me?”

  “No, no, of course not!” He leaned closer, resting his weight against his hands on the mattress. “Honey, I love you. I shouldn’t have said that. I’m sorry. I must be more tired than I thought after going a few rounds with Adele. You know I don’t mean it. I’m just trying to point out to you that sometimes women don’t make the best business decisions.”

  She pushed back from his arms, physically repelled by his argument, unsure of what to say next. She’d heard this kind of statement all of her life, from her father and husband both. She wondered how many women had.

  She drew a long breath, the weariness of the day weighing her down.

  Hank frowned, and with an air of resignation, he straightened back from the mattress and placed his hands on his hips, studying her.

  “So, that’s how it is,” he said with a tone of finality.

  “Yes,” she replied. “That’s how it is.”

  She saw disappointment, then hurt, flicker in his eyes.

  “Hank, let’s not argue any more about this. It doesn’t concern us.”

  “It doesn’t concern us?” he exploded. “You know how hard I’ve worked on this. Nan, we need this deal to go through. I need it. Come on, honey, it’s a good offer! And I’d be in line to manage the new development. We stand to make a big difference in our lifestyle. You’re always talking about the past. About your heritage. Think about the future! Think what this will mean to our sons.”

  “I am thinking about my sons!” she exclaimed, her voice rising to match his. “And my family. The Blakely family. You’ve made it abundantly clear you want no part of them. But you’re more than willing to make a profit off them.” She regretted the words the moment she spat them out, but could not take them back.

  He appeared blindsided. “Not for me. For us.”

  She looked at her hands, torn by the emotion in his voice.

  He reached out to touch her arm. “Nan…”

  She shrank back from his hand. After an awkward silence, she said, “Even so.”

  He took a breath and straightened, increasing the distance.

  Nan could think clearly now and found her voice. “For years you’ve belittled my family in front of our sons. In front of me. I didn’t say anything, knowing how things were between you and Daddy. I was embarrassed for the treatment we both received. But, Hank, we have to see both sides. We did sell the land my father entrusted to me and it crushed him. My sons are the last in the Blakely line, yet we didn’t give them a Blakely name. That hurt my father, you know it did. It’s been tit for tat over the years and I want it to stop.

  “Don’t you see? Sweetgrass isn’t just real estate. You can’t measure its worth in dollars and cents. It’s our home. It’s who we are. It’s where we’re from. I’m afraid of what will happen to us if we lose it. That’s what’s at stake here, don’t you see? That’s what I want for my sons.”

  He looked at her long and hard, and she felt he’d really listened to her for the first time. She felt the stirrings of hope.

  “I feel you’ve turned against me in this,” he said.

  Defeat washed over her. He’d offered opposition when she’d hoped for support. A profound sadness seeped into her bones, softening them, slumping her shoulders.

  “Oh, Hank,” she said wearily, “I’m not turning against anyone.”

  “Then support me.”

  There it was. The gauntlet was thrown on the ground between them. She knew they were talking about much more than the Sweetgrass deal. This was about him making all the decisions and her following them. This was about her continu
ing to give up her identity to absorb more of his. Rather than him supporting her during this stressful time, she was being asked to support him, regardless of her needs, or her desires, or even her happiness.

  She looked up at him and held his gaze, loving him, yet at the same time feeling her backbone stiffen.

  “I can’t,” she replied softly. Then, with more conviction, “I won’t.”

  15

  Basket makers are forced to travel outside the region in search of an increasingly scarce supply of sweetgrass, usually as far as Georgia and Florida. Many basket stands have been forced to move farther north or are displaced.

  THE GRAVEL CRUNCHED as Nan circled the pond, then came to a stop in front of Mama June’s house. Cutting the engine, she sat in the deep country silence. She wiped her eyes and leaned over to check her reflection in the rearview mirror. At least no one could tell she’d been crying. She glanced at her suitcase in the back seat.

  Nan entered the house smiling. “Hi y’all, I’m home,” she called out.

  Blackjack immediately came trotting out from Preston’s room, his hips wagging as hard as his tail, whining with excitement. She might only be gone for a day, but each time she returned, Blackjack cried as if she’d been gone for months.

  “Take it easy, ol’ boy,” she crooned, stroking his black-and-gray head, which was pressed against her thigh. His muzzle was almost entirely gray now, she noted with a twinge of regret.

  The dog was at her heels as she went first to her father. She thought his color looked better, and she was glad to see him sitting up in his wheelchair by the window. He’d lost so much weight that she still couldn’t reconcile this frail man with the robust and ruddy father she’d grown up with. But his blue eyes shone when he saw her coming, and he reached his left arm out in a clumsy move toward her.

  “Hey, handsome!” she exclaimed, leaning over to place a noisy kiss on his cheek. “Don’t you look fit today? An ironed shirt, too! Mama June’s got you all decked out for Sunday dinner.”