Sweetgrass

by Monroe, Mary Alice

  “Give me a kiss, sweetheart. This old boy is heading north!”

  When he bent to kiss her, he was enveloped in her familiar scent of vanilla. Nona clucked her tongue with surprise as he gave her a sound kiss on the cheek. “Just where’re you going?”

  “I’m off to Columbia to try to convince a bunch of bureaucrats to start an official investigation of that cemetery right away.”

  Maize, who had come by to visit her mother, looked at him skeptically. “Why would you do that?” she asked suspiciously.

  He looked her way, grinning. “Hey, Maize. Well, first off, it’s the right thing to do. Second, we’re about to lose the right to have any say in the matter. An offer to buy this place is on its way even as we speak.”

  “You think it’s just some graveyard,” Maize replied. “Well, think again. There are organizations we can call that preserve old cemeteries. I’m going to form a committee to take legal action to return this cemetery to the community. Nobody is going to bulldoze our ancestors’ graves!”

  Mama June walked in carrying Preston’s tray. Her eyes were round as she glanced uncomprehendingly from face to face.

  “Hold on there,” Nona said to Maize. “Nobody here is talking about bulldozing graves!”

  “Actually, she’s right. It is a threat,” Morgan said honestly. “There are cases where houses have been built right over grave-sites. I’m hoping they’ll send some archeologists out here.”

  “So you figure that the cemetery will act as a stall?” asked Maize.

  “At the very least,” he replied unapologetically. “When I was in Montana, we managed to hold off a major development project because an old Indian burial ground was discovered on the land. If it turns out that there are as many graves here as your father thinks there are, the state will likely designate that part of the land as historical property. That will mean you and others who have family buried there will be able to pay your respects without worry about someone building over them.”

  “You don’t care about the cemetery,” Maize countered. “All you care about is saving your land.”

  “That cemetery is important to us, too,” Mama June interjected.

  “Maize, your family and mine have been entwined together for hundreds of years,” Morgan said to her. “I’m not proud of all that’s transpired in that history, but I’ll tell you this. Fate is having the last laugh, because all these years later, both of our families are about to lose this land for the same reasons—taxes and family members wanting to sell. We’re all about to get screwed.”

  “He’s right,” Nona said. “Our family bought our piece way back for fifty cents an acre. We’re worried about hanging on, too, and wonder what’s going to happen if family members want to sell.”

  “This property is a linchpin,” said Morgan. “If it goes to development, so will other big pieces like it. Then the threat will turn to all the smaller communities like Hamlin, Six Mile and Seven Mile till there’s nothing of the old Lowcountry left. It’ll disappear from the landscape, just as the sweetgrass did.”

  “I’m talking about saving a graveyard,” Maize said. “You’re talking about saving a community. How can we fight that kind of change? Developers are powerful people.”

  “That’s the beauty of the American system. We’ve got to get folks fired up. Sitting back feeling helpless is what they’re counting on us to do. They won’t expect us to fight back.”

  Maize’s expression changed from one of doubt and suspicion to reflect a spark of interest.

  “Come with me to Columbia,” he told her. “You’re a banker. You know the system. We need your voice to represent your cause. Speak for your family, Maize.”

  “All right, I’ll come. For my children’s sake,” she declared. “But so help me, Morgan Blakely, if you don’t keep your word on this, I’ll come after you so hard you’ll wish you were buried in that cemetery.”

  He barked out a laugh and put out his hand to shake hers. “Damn, that doesn’t sound too good for me. I’d better work hard.”

  “Give me half an hour to pack up and I’ll be ready,” Maize said.

  “Great. I’ll pick you up.”

  Mama June and Nona exchanged glances over raised brows while their children walked out the back door together, making plans.

  “Did you ever…” said Mama June with amazement.

  Nona shook her head. “I’ve been trying for years to get my Maize involved with her history and her ancestors, but she’s always turned a deaf ear.”

  “She surely didn’t turn a deaf ear today.”

  “No, she did not!” Nona laughed loudly. “Heaven help Morgan. The Lord works in mysterious ways.”

  “Those two have been ornery and cantankerous with each other since they were in diapers.”

  “I don’t know about you,” Nona said, “but I need a cup of coffee.”

  “There’s some made,” Mama June said. “I’ll heat it up.”

  “You know I’m not going to be drinking that burnt coffee!” Nona replied, wrinkling her nose. “This calls for a fresh pot.”

  Morgan was a man on fire.

  After he returned from Columbia he gathered together the family and his closest advisers in his father’s office. Then he wheeled his father into the room with ceremony. As he progressed toward the imposing desk where he intended his father to sit, Preston jerked out his hand, stopping the wheel. Preston moved his hand to indicate to his son that it was Morgan’s place to sit behind the desk now. Morgan locked eyes with his father. He raised his brows in question. Preston nodded, his eyes gleaming with pride.

  Leaning against the desk, Morgan brought everyone up to speed on the events of the past several days. His mind was working fast so he began to pace as he talked.

  “Well, we’ve got a little time, thanks to Maize’s amazing efforts upstate. I swear, Maize, you were born to politics. We’ve just been informed that the State of South Carolina has put a moratorium on all real estate transaction concerning Sweetgrass until the fate of the old slave cemetery is determined.”

  It was a solemn moment. Nona looked up to praise God.

  “This gives us a reprieve. Here’s where we are. Adele officially placed this offer to buy on the table,” he said, lifting the papers in his hand. “By doing so, she formally initiated the terms of the Chinese Partnership.” His eyes gleamed and his smile grew crafty. “Adele doesn’t know, however, that we understand the terms of this unique agreement. Or that we have our copy. Thanks to Daddy.”

  He smiled at his father as everyone in the room applauded Preston’s heroic effort.

  “Adele has underestimated us all. Sold us short in more ways than one. She led us to believe that her contract with Preston was a standard buy-sell agreement,” Morgan continued. “And that due to the default loan and Daddy’s stroke, she could use that as leverage to force the sale. She felt so confident in our blind ignorance that she boldly put forth this paltry offer for the land and then had the nerve to call it fair. She expected us to gobble it up and be grateful for the crumbs.

  “But the paltry offer works in our favor. We came up with a plan that has met with Daddy’s approval. It just might work, providing we can act fast.” He walked briskly to the desk to retrieve sheets of paper outlining the plan. Nan took them and passed them around.

  “Bobby has spearheaded a proposal that calls for mixed-use commercial development of Sweetgrass. We have to raise capital to meet Adele’s purchase offer and we have to raise it fast. To accomplish that, we’re immediately putting on the market a fifty-acre portion of the land that borders a stretch of the highway for retail development. It’s a compromise we can live with. Thanks to Bobby’s connections, we have a lead on a buyer. How’s that for fast?

  “Whatever land that is deemed part of the burial ground by the archeologists will be offered by the family to the town of Mount Pleasant for a cemetery, along with an additional three surrounding acres with the idea that the town would build a historical park in honor of t
hose laid to rest. Finally, all the remaining acres of Sweetgrass will be placed into a conservation easement so that it will remain as green space in perpetuity.”

  While the people in the room nodded their approval of the plan, Morgan saw Preston’s eyes fill with tears. Mama June placed her hands on his shoulder and he reached up to take her hand.

  “We’ll need to push this proposal through zoning, of course,” he said. Everyone laughed, knowing this was likely their toughest battle.

  “It’s a great offer for the city,” Dan said. “How can they not love it?”

  “I’m glad you think so, pal,” Morgan said in a jocular mood. “This is where you come in. You too, Lizzy.”

  He’d called his old friends in for this emergency meeting and privately let them know in no uncertain terms the urgency of the situation.

  “We’re here,” Lizzy replied, her voice clear. She couldn’t wait to secure this choice piece of Lowcountry as green space.

  Morgan acknowledged her support with a grateful nod.

  “As soon as we have our ducks in a row—” he paused to wink at Mama June at using Adele’s favorite expression “—we will step forward and present our buyout offer to Adele. That amount will equal to the penny what she offered to us.” He paused, savoring the moment. “The beauty of the deal is that by the terms of the Chinese Partnership, which she invoked the moment she put her offer on the table, Adele has no choice but to accept.” He smiled wryly. “We’re literally making her an offer she can’t refuse.”

  “It’s positively Confucian,” Bobby said, his lips turning into a satisfied grin.

  “We all need one another now, perhaps more than we ever have. It’s times like these when it’s good to have good friends,” Morgan said, his eyes traveling from one face to another: Preston, Mama June, Nan, Nona, Elmore, Maize, Bobby, Lizzy, Dan and, standing quietly in the corner, her eyes shining, Kristina.

  His voice shook and his heart expanded. “We few, we happy few, we band of brothers.”

  Maize shook her head. “You couldn’t leave it alone, college boy. You had to end with Shakespeare.”

  A few weeks later, Morgan hurried to his office to answer the phone, which rang insistently. Whoever it was would not leave a message but kept calling over and over. He lurched for the phone just before the answering machine clicked on for the third time.

  “Hello?” he barked into the receiver.

  “Do you really think you’ll get away with this?”

  Morgan released his breath and leaned against the desk. “Aunt Adele.”

  “You have a nerve, turning the tables on me. By what right do you think you can do this? My partnership is with Preston, not you, and any court will find him incapacitated.”

  He almost laughed at her audacity. “The partnership agreement that you presented to us was a fraud.”

  “You have to prove that.”

  It was an empty threat. “We both know my copy is original. If you’d prefer, we can go through forensic analysis, the costs of a court case and let the newspapers have a field day with the family’s reputation.”

  “That could drag on for years. Do you think you can last that long?”

  “I know we can. But that won’t happen, Aunt Adele.”

  “And why not?”

  “Because if this goes to court, you will go to jail.”

  There was no response. Morgan pressed on.

  “Let’s not belabor this. You will accept the offer, which is a very handsome return on your investment. I didn’t want to do this, considering how you lied and cheated with your bogus contract. I thought keeping you out of jail was repayment enough, but my father insisted we abide by the terms of the contract. He’s honest and noble and wouldn’t cheat you of a dime. That’s the difference between you two. You will accept the offer and the matter will be sealed. The partnership is dissolved. It’s over, Adele.”

  There was a long silence and he wondered if she’d hung up. Then she spoke.

  “I want to talk to my brother.”

  “No,” he replied. “You just don’t get it. We don’t want to see you. None of us.”

  This time he did hear the soft click as the phone was disconnected.

  Mama June sat on the porch of Blakely’s Bluff. She often came to the bluff lately, to tidy the house, to have family dinners or sometimes just to sit alone, as she did now. So much had happened in the past months. She sensed she was standing on a precipice about to step over into a new era.

  She’d telephoned Adele the night before and asked to meet with her. The business of the contract had ended badly. The two of them went far back, and there were issues Mama June felt they needed to air. She’d been prepared to argue the point, but to her surprise and relief, Adele readily agreed. She should be arriving any minute, she thought.

  She’d chosen Blakely’s Bluff to meet because it was away from the main house and would afford them privacy. It was also the site of what Mama June believed was at the root of the family’s problems with Adele. The history between them started here.

  It was early fall and uncomfortably hot. All eyes were on the Caribbean where a tropical depression was forming. Mama June fanned herself with a folded piece of paper that did little more than stir the air. The old porch chair was hard, and not a single breeze came in from the sea to cut the thick miasma of humidity that seemed to hang over the coast like fog. From far off she heard a faint rumbling of thunder. A good storm would be just the thing to break this heat, she thought to herself.

  She didn’t have to wait long. She heard the whine of a car engine, and a minute later, saw the pale blue Jaguar emerge from the trees into the clearing. Mama June’s hand darted to her hair to smooth it.

  Adele emerged from the car and stood for a moment, one foot on the car’s ledge. Through heavy, dark sunglasses, she looked out over the dock and the water beyond for a moment.

  “I still expect to see The Project out there,” Adele said.

  Mama June didn’t reply but stood to greet her.

  Adele turned and the two women faced each other. Mama June could feel the vitriolic mixture of stale affection and fresh animosity flow between them. Adele closed the car door and walked to the porch, her eyes taking in the house as she approached.

  “This place never changes,” Adele said.

  “I wish I could say the same for us.”

  Adele’s brows rose at that as she came up the porch stairs.

  “Won’t you sit down?” asked Mama June, indicating a chair with her hand.

  This was not a social meeting; they both knew that.

  Adele took her seat and set her stylish black purse beside the chair. “What’s all this about?” she asked.

  It was typical of Adele to take the offensive. Mama June looked at her hands, saw the wedding band there, then, reassured, looked into Adele’s face. Her eyes were hidden by the dark sunglasses, but they had never given many clues to what Adele was thinking, anyway.

  “Was it worth it?” Mama June asked plainly.

  A short laugh escaped Adele’s lips. She pressed her palms together, thinking, then set them down on the arms of the chair. Her fingers tightened and she replied through thin lips, “Sweetgrass should have been mine. You know that.”

  “Yours?”

  Adele’s face paled and her voice shook, betraying her straight-backed composure. “Don’t act so surprised. It was all set, long before you ever came to Sweetgrass,” she said, her tone meant to diminish Mary June’s position.

  Adele looked out at the sea and spoke in recitation. “My father told me what he’d planned to do. Tripp was to get Blakely’s Bluff and the land around it. Preston was to receive another chunk of land with the outbuildings and orchard. And I, their only daughter, was to receive the house and the furniture.” Her tone changed. “I remember polishing the stair railing as my mother told me, ‘Take good care of it, darling. Someday this house will be yours.’”

  There was an uncomfortable pause during which Mama Jun
e wondered how long Adele could hold in her simmering rage.

  Adele turned back to Mama June. “But then Tripp died. And when our parents passed on, they left all of Sweetgrass to Preston. Not even a small plot was left to me so that I could feel a part of the family—my family! The great Blakely heritage, as I’ve heard so often in my life.

  “It was hard to believe that even in these modern times, the boys got it all. I found that cruel and belittling. And infuriating! What about me?” she cried, her voice rising as she leaned forward and pounded her chest. “I was made to feel a guest in my own home! I was an outsider in my own family.”

  The wind gusted and thunder rolled, closer now.

  Adele visibly pulled herself together, straightening her sunglasses. “I can’t ever forgive my parents for that. Or Preston. Or you. And you have the nerve to ask me, was it worth it?”

  Despite all, Mama June couldn’t help but feel pity for Adele. It was wrong for her to be excluded from the family property.

  “Why didn’t you tell us? If you had come to me and told me how you felt, things might have turned out differently. Why didn’t you ask for the house as repayment of the loan? If you had, I would have given it to you!”

  Adele drew herself up and whipped off her sunglasses, revealing dark eyes that were flames of fury. “Ask you?” she said with her voice trembling. “You would have given it to me? It was my house! Who are you to give me what is rightfully mine!”

  Mama June sat unmoving in her chair and slowly understood all. There was no possible way she could make this right with Adele. In Adele’s mind she’d been dreadfully, unforgivably wronged. In some ways, Mama June agreed that she had. Yet if she’d learned one thing this summer it was that the past was over and one had to live in the present. Adele would never understand that Preston wasn’t hoarding the land as much as struggling to keep what little was left of the property intact for future generations. He’d never meant to hurt her.