Sweetgrass

by Monroe, Mary Alice

  She sniffed the air. “Something smells good, too. They’re cooking up a storm. Lord, I’m so hungry I could eat a house. And you know what I brought?” Her eyes sparkled as she pulled out a package wrapped in brown waxed paper. “Some shrimp straight off the boat. I stopped at Shem Creek specially. And Vidalia onions! Your favorite. I’ve got a bunch of goodies to carry in from the car. I’ll bring it on into the kitchen, then come back and visit, okay?”

  Her spirits lifted. It felt so good to be able to walk into the house and hug her daddy again, freely and without reserve. The past weeks of helping her father with the simple tasks of daily living—eating, dressing, communicating—had reversed the role of parent and child. Disconcerting as it may have been at first, in time she’d come to feel his gratitude. And his love. A pat of his hand, the lighting up of his eyes when she entered the room—these gentle gestures, rather than grand ones, had served to stanch old wounds and help repair the bond between father and daughter.

  Her arms were loaded with a box chock-full of fresh strawberries she’d picked up from the strawberry patch down the road. As she passed Preston’s room into the kitchen, she hoped he’d be able to enjoy the meal. He’d been having difficulty lately with his swallowing.

  “Look what I’ve brought!” she called out as she entered the kitchen. She stopped short at the door.

  There were dozens of empty strawberry cartons stacked on the counters and the kitchen was redolent with their sweet scent. Nona and Mama June were both wearing aprons and stirring big pots at the stove. They looked up in unison when she walked in.

  “Oh, brother. Talk about coals to Newcastle,” Nan said, lifting her berries up with a laugh.

  “We can never have too many berries,” Mama June exclaimed with a light chuckle. “The more the merrier. Bring them on over to the sink and we’ll wash them.”

  “We’re gettin’ up a head of steam now. Been putting up berries for days,” Nona added. “These are the last of them. We can use your fresh berries for the ice cream.”

  “Just be sure to take some jam home with you tonight,” Mama June added.

  “I surely will.”

  “I hope you remembered to bring the shrimp.”

  “The shrimp?” Nan’s face froze.

  Mama June’s head snapped up, her eyes blazing. “Don’t even tell me…”

  Nan laughed and hoisted the brown bag as evidence.

  “You!” Mama June scolded, her cheeks coloring as she laughed. “You’re worse than your boys, the way you act up.”

  Nan was buoyed by the banter. She carried the shrimp and berries to the sink, looking around for a spare inch of space. The table was covered with jars of cooling jam. Every few minutes she’d hear the cheery pop of a lid. Hearing the sound and seeing Nona and Mama June in aprons at the stove together brought to mind when she was little and the kitchen was her favorite place. She used to sit at the table like a cat and watch for the sucking in of the lid, laughing each time she heard the popping noise.

  “The table is full up. Where are we eating tonight?” she asked.

  “It’s such a nice afternoon, I thought we’d eat out on the porch,” Mama June replied. “We’ve already started setting up, but you might could see what we forgot. Morgan’s out there churning the ice cream.”

  “Morgan? This I’ve got to see.”

  The porch was swept and a light breeze fluttered the corners of the pale pink tablecloth. Glass vases of gerbera daisies in brilliant shades of pink, small votive candles and stainless tableware anchored the fabric to the table. Soon enough, Mama June and Nona would carry out bowls of food, filling every available inch of space.

  “Hey, sister,” Morgan called out, a little breathless from the effort of hand-churning the ice cream. “What are you smiling about?”

  “Hi, Morgan,” she replied easily. “I was just thinking how, even when the table is casual, Mama June manages to make it festive.”

  “That’s our mother.”

  Mama June came out, wiping her hands on her apron. “What about your mother?”

  Nan’s eyes softened at the sight of her. In all these years, her mother had changed surprisingly little. Despite her nagging Mama June to update her hair, her clothes, her shoes, there was something classic, even comforting, about seeing the timeless quality of her beauty. Her clothes were understated yet of enduring quality. Her face was smooth, lines crossing only at the brow and at the corners of her remarkable eyes. Mama June’s white hair was neatly wound in the same style she’d worn for years. But tonight there was something else. Nan saw a new happiness glowing in her eyes.

  “I was just complimenting your table.”

  “Why, thank you, Nan. I try.”

  “Honestly, Mama, I’m just going to give up trying. For years I’ve tried to keep up the tradition of family dinner at home, but it’s just so hard. The boys groan when I try to make them.”

  “Can you blame them?” quipped Morgan.

  “I’m serious,” she replied to her brother with a mock scowl. “And these days, who has time to polish the silver or hand-wash the good china? How do you do it, Mama?”

  “You forget I stopped,” she replied wryly.

  Nan remembered those sad days in a rush. The Sunday dinners had ceased suddenly and Mama hadn’t come down from her room for the longest time. The whole household, which had been full of laughter, became as silent as a tomb. Her recollections must have shown on her face for her mother drew closer and wrapped an arm around her.

  “You just wait till your boys are older and move out. You’ll have lots more time on your hands then. And when the blessed day comes that you’re a grandmother—” she squeezed Nan’s shoulders “—then you’ll have both time and the desire to fuss over such details, enjoying each one of them. Pack up your crystal and save your china for later, darlin’. Use paper plates if you have to. What’s most important is bringing the family together. Family is everything.”

  Nan nodded, but the wobbly smile alerted Mama June that something was amiss. Her daughter’s emotions were running too strong tonight. The cheeriness was a little too sunny, her voice a tad too high-pitched.

  “Nan, is anything wrong?”

  “No.” Her lower lip trembled as she ventured a lopsided smile.

  “I can see that. Come sit for a spell,” she said, guiding Nan to a chair. She glanced questioningly at Morgan. He raised his shoulders in a confused shrug. They moved to the white wood rocking chairs in the corner and settled in. Nan looked at her hands.

  “What’s the matter?”

  “It’s nothing,” Nan said. “I’m just overtired.”

  Mama June recognized the lie. “That’s not true,” she said gently.

  Nan looked up. “This is my business, Mama.”

  Mama June looked at her daughter’s rigid expression, even as her lips quaked with emotion. Nan had never been good at hiding her emotions. Unlike her brothers who excelled at the poker face, Nan was more like her and could no more hide her joy than her sadness. Her spontaneity was one of Nan’s most endearing qualities. It made her a delightful hostess, a thoughtful friend and a zealous volunteer. But Lord, she could be stubborn, too. What standoffs they’d had while Nan was growing up, especially in the teen years! That quality Mama June thought she’d inherited from her father.

  Mama June leaned back against the rocker. “It is your business, true enough,” she replied. She tried another approach. “When will the boys be here?”

  “They’re not coming.”

  “No? I’m sorry to hear that. Hank, too?”

  “He can’t make it. It’s just me.”

  “Are they ill?”

  Her brow furrowed deeper. “I told the boys not to come.”

  Mama June stopped rocking and looked at Nan to explain.

  “Mama, I’m fed up with their bellyaching about Sunday dinner. All they do is complain and whine till I can’t stand it anymore. I’ve raised them to respect their elders, even if Daddy isn’t easy to be arou
nd for them right now. Everything in life isn’t fun, they might as well learn that right now.” She frowned with sadness. “I…I let them know I was disappointed in them. What I really said was that they shouldn’t come unless they wanted to. They’re too old to force and I’m too old to keep yammering at them. They are who they are. It’s their decision.” She sighed and shook her head with defeat. “I wouldn’t set places for them.”

  “Aw, hell, they’re teenage boys,” Morgan said in their defense. “They’re being led by a different organ than their brain. The last thing they want to do is hang around a bunch of old farts on a porch every Sunday night. Trust me, they’ve other plans.”

  “That doesn’t matter,” Nan fired back. “They don’t have respect for the family, for their grandparents, for tradition—and certainly not for me. You should hear them talk back! I never would have dared say those things to Mama June or Daddy. I don’t know what I’ve done wrong.”

  “Where’s their father?” Mama June asked with pique. “Seems to me he should have a strong hand in rearing those boys.”

  “Hank…” Nan said with a dismissive shake of the head. “He’s a workaholic, and when he is around, he spoils them, trying to make up for having been gone so much. He buys them anything they want—a car, a boat, Xbox. He’s the nice parent. The pal. I’m the mean parent. I do the day-to-day duty. I try to discipline them. But if they don’t want to do what I tell them, Hank tells me to let up on them. He gives them that ‘you know, she’s a girl’ roll-of-the-eye thing. The boys eat it up.”

  “But in the end, you back down,” Morgan said.

  Her eyes widened as she stared back at him.

  The statement was not said with a cruel spirit. Mama June thought it summed things up honestly.

  “It’s three against one,” Nan said in her defense.

  Morgan shrugged again and lifted his palms.

  There was an awkward silence as Nan stared down at her hands. A fat tear fell from her eyes and she nodded. “I back down,” she conceded.

  Mama June reached into her apron pocket, pulled out a tissue and handed it to Nan. She tapped at her eyes and sniffed.

  Morgan set aside the ice cream churner and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Look, Nan, you’re a good mother, and I have to hand it to you, you laid down the law this time. Harry and Chas are good kids. They stay out of trouble, they’re not on drugs, they’re doing okay in school.” His lips twitched. “And they know which fork to use. I know. I’ve watched.”

  Nan sniffled and laughed, grateful for the backhanded compliment.

  “It doesn’t give them permission to be rude,” Mama June countered.

  “That’s right,” Nan agreed. “Mama June never took back talk from you or Hamlin.”

  Mama June laughed lightly. “Oh, I wouldn’t say that.”

  Morgan shook his head. “No, Nan’s right. That’s what I was getting at. There are limits. You and Daddy drew clear lines not to cross, and if we did, we got knuckled. Especially Daddy.” His face darkened. “He drew his lines too strong, if you want to know the truth. He was a pain in the…” He caught himself and glanced at his mother. She was giving him a warning look. “He could really go off the deep end.”

  “Especially with Hamlin,” added Nan.

  Morgan swung his head up to glare at her. “Especially with Ham?” he exclaimed. “What, are you kidding? What house did you grow up in? He rode my tail like a hurricane. Nothing I did was ever right. Hamlin was the golden son.”

  Nan opened her mouth to argue, but Mama June raised her palm.

  “Stop it, both of you,” she said. She couldn’t bear to hear Hamlin’s name being brought up like this, as if he were still alive. With a lower voice she said, “We loved you all the same. Treated you all the same.”

  Morgan snorted, slumped back in his chair and crossed his arms, drawing Mama June’s attention.

  In contrast, Nan leaned forward to wrap her arms around her mother. As a woman, she knew instinctively that Mama June felt a sudden pang of longing for her dead son.

  “Let’s not make an issue of it. We know you did,” Nan said. Pulling back, she added quietly, “And I love my boys equally, too. I love them both too much, that’s my problem.”

  Mama June’s smile was bittersweet. “What is it about sons?”

  They heard a rumble of gravel in the driveway getting louder and closer. Then came Blackjack’s rousing alert bark. Morgan crossed the porch and leaned forward over the railing, peering out at the front driveway. When he turned back, he had a crooked grin on his face.

  “I’m glad you love them so much,” he said, “because the two rascals just showed up.”

  The local shrimp was peeled and boiled in Old Bay spice. Red potatoes and bright green beans were slathered together in vinegar and oil and set beside a wooden bowl of freshly picked green salad. A plate of ripe tomatoes and Vidalia onions, homemade pickles, crusty bread, a cream cake and a pitcher of sweet tea that had been cooling on the porch all afternoon and was ready to be poured over ice rounded out the meal. The pièce de résistance of the night, however, would be the homemade ice cream served with fresh berries.

  “Well, I guess that’s that,” Nona said, untying her apron. “All that’s left is the eating.” She moved slowly after a long day of canning and dinner preparations.

  “Thank you so much for coming in today,” said Mama June. “I’ve never seen so many strawberries.”

  “You say that every year. Wait till the peaches start.”

  “Lord help me, I can’t wait. It looks like it will be a banner year.” She sighed and put her hands on her hips. “Look at all this! Honestly, Nona, I couldn’t have managed it this year without you. Are you sure you took enough jam? Do you need another box?”

  “I’m all set,” Nona replied, her eyes surveying the box of glass jars filled with bright red strawberry jam. This was a good batch, she thought. The strawberries were some of the sweetest she’d ever put up. As she counted the jars, in her mind she worked out that she’d give some to Maize, of course. And she’d keep some herself. The rest she’d set aside for gifts.

  “Elmore should be along any minute to pick me up,” she said. “He’s out gathering more sweetgrass from the sacred spot. We’ve got a long line of folks that are waiting for grass. It’s getting scarcer than hen’s teeth. We can’t keep up with the demand.” She tilted her head as the front chimes rang out. “Speak of the devil.”

  “Don’t run off,” Mama June said as she untied her own apron. “Why don’t you and Elmore stay?”

  Nona paused, her apron in her hand. Slowly, she set it down on the kitchen counter. “Are you asking us for dinner?”

  “Of course,” Mama June replied readily. She gathered her apron, stained with jelly juice, into a ball and tossed it on a chair. When she looked up, her eyes were bright with welcome. “Do you think you can?”

  The women’s eyes connected. They both silently acknowledged that though they’d shared many meals in all the years, this was the first invitation extended for dinner as guests.

  A slow smile spread across Nona’s face. “That’d be real nice. I believe we can.”

  “Here he comes!”

  Kristina maneuvered Preston’s wheelchair out onto the back porch while the rest of the family stood to greet him, calling out hellos. The family was in high spirits. Mama June helped settle Preston into his place at the head of the table, the first time since his return home. His eyes were shining with pride and the bone-deep contentment she’d often seen on his face when he was looking out over his beloved plantation. This time, however, he was overlooking the smiling faces of his family and she felt her chest puff up so full, she thought she would burst.

  She joined him in the survey of the table. To his right, Nona was seated beside her husband. Next to Elmore sat Nan whose eyes were as large as dinner plates as she beamed at her sons across the table. Harry and Chas, with the ignorance of youth, had no idea how happy they’d made their
mother this evening, nor how proud their grandparents. It would be many more years before they’d come to realize that the gestures from the heart meant far more to parents than something purchased from a store. Kristina took a seat at the far end of the table, and Mama June didn’t think it escaped anyone’s notice that Morgan took the chair beside hers. Blackjack was content sitting a few feet away from the table with his bone.

  After Mama June took her seat beside Preston, the family gathered hands and she led them in the blessing. As she said the words, she felt a strong connection with the people in the circle. Everyone she loved most in the world was gathered around her. Over the many years of her long life, she had met more people than she could remember, wonderful, charming people that she’d grown very fond of, as well as horrid, selfish, egocentric adults she hoped never to meet again.

  Yet in the twilight of her life, she’d come to realize that the people who truly mattered were the precious few who had stood by her through the worst times and the best. They were at her table tonight. She felt Preston squeeze her hand, and looking up, she knew that his thoughts were running in the same vein. With a resounding “Amen!” hands were released and as one they reached for the serving bowls. Laughter sang out from the porch as the feast was passed from person to person as quickly as the stories.

  Later that night, Adele and Hank pulled up to the house. The sleek lines of the baby-blue Jaguar hugged the curves and came to a smooth stop. Adele cut the engine and looked out at the house she’d grown up in. The lights were shining on the back porch, and even with the car windows closed they could hear the quiet broken by high-pitched laughter. Curious, Adele drove the car farther around the circle for a better vantage point.

  “Sounds like a party,” Hank said.

  Adele didn’t reply. She pressed a button and the window rolled down with a smooth hum. It was a balmy night with a brisk breeze, perfect weather for sitting on a porch. Over the song of crickets and the bellowing call of frogs in the marsh, she heard the sweeter music of family talk amid the clinking glassware.