Under the Sassafras

by Hattie Mae

  “Good night, Joelette.”

  “Good night. Mansir.”

  ###

  Joelette sat on the edge of her bed and played with the curl Mansir had touched. She allowed herself to replay the evening and even smiled.

  “No,” she whispered. “Not again.” She would not allow herself to think about a man in that way again. Especially not this one.

  She needed to get a hold of her senses. Must she always be destined to take care of helpless men? Had she not learned her lesson?

  No more sweet-talking men.

  CHAPTER TEN

  “Where is everyone, MaeMae?” Mansir pulled a chair to the table.

  She stood at the sink washing dishes. “Joelette took the boys to church this morning, and then I think they are going over to Mrs. Broussard's for lunch. She lives by herself, you know and loves company. She can't cook, but they’ll have little sandwiches with different kind of chips and plenty of bought cookies. The boys love it.” She turned to face him, wiped her hands on a rag. “Speaking of food, what do you want for breakfast?”

  “Oh no you don't. Today I'll fix my own. Have you eaten?”

  “My gracious yes, hours ago. But I'll keep you company. And Mansir, if you can't cook, the boys have plenty of cereal in that cabinet.”

  “Just watch and see. I can make the best omelet you've ever seen.” Pausing with a bowl in one hand a fork in the other, he focused on MaeMae. “How about that? I make omelets.”

  “Cher, maybe you're a chef. Wouldn't that be a hoot? All this time we've been trying to impress you with our cooking and you a chef.” MaeMae poured herself another cup of coffee. “I'll just sit right here, watch and learn.”

  “Now don't make fun. Maybe I think I can make an omelet and I can't? You will help, right?”

  “No, my friend. You’re on your own.” She put her feet up on one of the other chairs to confirm her position.

  Mansir concentrated on the task before him; three eggs, chopped bell pepper, grated cheese, salt, pepper, and a little milk, an omelet. He plopped a pad of butter in the skillet, added the egg mixture and watched it bubble.

  As he flipped the cooked eggs onto a plate he hummed a song strange to his ears but not to his lips. Quite proud of himself he cut a bite with his fork and offered it to MaeMae. “First bite?”

  “I must say I'm impressed,” she said after chewing and swallowing. “This tastes great.”

  “It's alright. I do think it would be better with mushrooms but I didn't see any in your fridge.”

  “No, you won’t find mushrooms in my fridge. They taste like dirt, and did you ever see what they grow in?”

  Laughing, he took another bite and pointed his fork at MaeMae. “Don’t get your hopes up about me being a chef. I can't remember anything else I know how to cook.” The omelet was good, but the homemade fig preserves and toast completed the meal for him.

  “I heard it rain last night. I started to get up, but was too tired and drifted back asleep.”

  “We did have a pretty good rain,” she said. “The old tin roof makes it sound even worse than it is, but I love to hear rain on a tin roof. It's comforting somehow. What are your plans today?”

  “I thought I would work in the field, but if it's too wet this morning, I might finish the projects I've been working on. If you don't need me for anything else.”

  She stood. “I need to mix up some teas. Sunday afternoons always bring out a patient or two. You go on ahead.” Placing her hands on her hips, she looked up at him. “What are you making out there? You've spent every bit of your free time in the wood shed.”

  “Can't tell you. It wouldn't be a surprise? I enjoy having my hands busy and free to think. By the way the tools seem new, what did your husband make?”

  “The tools are almost new. Bennie inherited some from an uncle. Bennie always loved tools and would buy them when they went on sale. When he retired he thought he would build cabinets, and sell them. But best laid plans go astray. Bennie had a heart attack at fifty-two.” She wiped her sudden tears. “His retirement came early. Otis, never liked woodworking, so I'm tickled someone can use them.”

  “You can count on one of your family members liking woodwork, your oldest grandson has quite the promising talent. T-Boy’s tongue darts over his lips as fast as his hands when he is sanding or cutting. He's a natural.”

  “Mais, you've done wonders with that boy in such a short time it is like a miracle.” The old grandfather clock in the hall chimed the hour. “Now look at the time. I haven't visited like this in years. Mansir, you're a delight, but sometimes you steal my time.”

  Mansir decided to show MaeMae one of the things he'd finished. He took the chessboard out of the vise and gave it one more good sanding, and surveyed his craftsmanship.

  Different types of wood he'd scavenged from the swamp were inlayed into squares and glued together to form the smooth square chessboard. The board showcased the different grains of cypress, pecan and oak, a beautiful blend of colors.

  A beam of pride surged through him when he gathered the chess pieces. The kings and queens were stately, the bishops mystical, the rooks he’d carved as castles, and the pawns he made into crests. Last were the knights with their tiny swords and shields as they stood commanding an unseen army.

  He carried the prized package out of the shed, then spotted a shiny Buick, he hadn’t heard drive up, parked in the drive. MaeMae had company.

  He decided to wait on the porch until the guest left. Women’s voices drifted out to him.

  “Where did that man come from? And what does he do for a living?”

  Mansir didn't recognize the voice and decided to distance himself from eavesdropping. He stood to leave.

  “He's lived all over,” MaeMae snapped. “Mansir is a jack of all trades, a chef, a carpenter, a teacher, and our friend. Anyone who says otherwise should answer to me.”

  Mansir sat. MaeMae was angry and he wanted to stay close by should she need him.

  “I must say, the other night at the dance, we saw that he didn't hold Joelette like a friend,” the other woman added snidely.

  “If you are through interrogating me, I have your tea ready. One more thing, Essie. Know this, he belongs to our family and any other information is none of your business.”

  “Now Alma, don't get your temper up. We're just thinking about Joelette's reputation.”

  “I don’t think there is a we, just a bitter old woman with evil thoughts. My Joelette is as nice and pure a lady as you'll ever meet. Be sure when your tongue is wagging in town you relay this message from me. If people are thinking bad things about Joelette, they need to look deep inside themselves and see if they are without flaw.” There was a shuffle of wood against the floor. “Now I have more important things to tend to, so get your guttered mind out of my kitchen.”

  “Well, I never!”

  “Oh, I beg to differ Essie, I do believe you have several times and with several different men.”

  Mansir heard MaeMae stomp to the door, and he hurried to the back of the house.

  He came into his room and sat on the bed. How stupid can one person be? Never did he think about what others might be saying. He'd put Joelette's reputation in jeopardy by living here? It wasn’t a notion he’d considered, either because he was a creep or because people didn’t worry about such things where he was from. He walked into the kitchen, and found MaeMae at the counter mixing teas.

  “I'm sorry MaeMae. I heard what that lady said. I never meant to cause your family any grief.”

  MaeMae turned, her eyes softened from anger to love. “Cher, that was no lady. That was Essie Doucette who is the town gossip and has been for many years. In Bon Amie, we have Edna and Mavis Mouton, they are also gossips but they are more like walking newspapers. I think the kind of gossip Essie spreads is just hurtful. Her mother was just like her always stirring the pot. Never satisfied when people were happy.”

  Mansir sat at the kitchen table. “I'll leave. I hadn’t rea
lized my presence would call Joelette's reputation into question. I hadn’t meant to make your family the talk of the town.”

  She cupped his face between her small, soft hands. MaeMae looked deep into his eyes. “I meant what I said. You are a part of our family now, and you have done nothing wrong. You are not going anywhere until you know where you belong. Understand?” MaeMae bent and kissed him on his forehead.

  “I'll stay. But only until that field is finished. I'll not be the cause of any problems for your family.” He stood, but then turned around. “I’ve decided to look for a part time job on the weekends. Have any ideas who might need someone?”

  “Maybe Possum will need someone soon; he sure gets busy when the shrimp are running. And don't give Mrs. Doucette another thought. I gave her a special bag of tea. She won't be back for awhile.” Chuckling, she patted Mansir’s hand.

  Mansir felt a grin pull at the corner of his mouth. “What kind of special tea?”

  “Oh a traiteur never gives out her recipe. Don't worry. I didn't put anything in it to hurt her. Let’s just say she will have to keep close to her house for a day or two.”

  The front door flew open. “What are you two laughing about?” Joelette eyed them with a curious stare.

  “Just an inside joke. Nothing happened, yet, did it Mansir?” MaeMae bent over holding her side.

  “Nothing that a traiteur can give away. I have to get back to work.” Mansir picked up his package placed it under his arm and left the house.”

  ###

  With the sun well in the sky, Joelette got out of bed and headed for the kitchen. The first sip of the morning's coffee always tasted the best. She savored that first cup, then poured herself another and sat across from MaeMae.

  She peered at MaeMae over the lip of her mug and spoke softly. “You and Mansir sure hit it off. You need to be careful.” Joelette took a bite of her toast. “I don't want anyone in this family to be hurt when he leaves.”

  MaeMae shook her head.

  “I know how trusting you are,” Joelette argued.

  “Cher, we have nothing to fear from this man. Watch him with your boys. A kinder man you’ll never meet. He teaches T-Boy with patience, and answers all of Ozamae's questions. And he gives this old lady time.” MaeMae clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth.

  “Joelette, don't you see it is not the man you fear, but your own heart? What kind of life is that? It is like you are dead inside.” MaeMae's voice quivered with emotion.

  MaeMae’s words hit their mark. She was right, of course, inside much of Joelette was dead. But it was how it had to be. She kept enough love around for her boys and MaeMae and the rest would stay locked up. She couldn’t trust herself with men. She had a rotten track record, always picking out the ones who promised the moon and then ran off with your heart and your money. It wasn’t worth it.

  “I've been worried about you, Cher. You have much love to give.” MaeMae covered her heart, and shook her head. “I witnessed this with my Otis the first few years of your marriage, I know he’s the cause of the shield you put around your heart. It was my boy who broke your trust more than once, even stole the money you worked hard and saved for the boys’ Christmas that year.”

  Joelette knew tears ran down her cheeks, hot and angry, but she did nothing to swipe them away. It wouldn’t do any good to hide from MaeMae, she saw everything regardless.

  “Mansir though, he’s not Otis, or your father, or your brothers. Maybe he’s not for you, but you will never know if you don't give him a chance to be your friend, if nothing more.”

  MaeMae took a napkin out of the chicken-shaped napkin holder and wiped her tearstain cheeks, then she handed one to Joelette. “I could never love a daughter I gave birth to anymore than I love you, Joelette, and it breaks my heart to see you hurt so. For this I have no treatment in my teas, only in my prayers.”

  Joelette reached across the table and held both of MaeMae's hands. “I don't know what brought this on, but you know how much I love you.”

  Joelette let go of MaeMae's hands, picked up a piece of bacon off the plate and realized it was cold. “You sure fixed a lot of breakfast this morning, and it must have been early.” She popped a piece of bacon in her mouth.”

  “I got up early, had nothing else to do, so I made a big breakfast.”

  “Thank you. You know you don’t need to worry about my heart, MaeMae, it's fine. I know how to take care of it.” She stood. “Now where is that man you are so fond of? Still sleeping?”

  “No, he's been in your field, since after sun up. We had breakfast together and I've just packed him a lunch.” MaeMae pointed to the brown sack on the kitchen counter. “He wanted to see how much he could get done before it rains. I can smell it in the air. The clouds are sure making up in the north. It will rain before the sun sets.

  Joelette gulped down her last swallow of coffee and headed for her bedroom.

  “Where are you going in such a hurry?”

  “To help Mansir. I think you're right about the rain, and two sets of hands are better than one. As soon as I'm dressed, I'll take him his lunch. Do you mind packing an extra sandwich and another paper cup?”

  “Will do,” MaeMae said.

  Joelette dressed quickly and finished tying her shoes when she heard her boys already bickering. She peeked around the corner of the door at MaeMae. “I hear the boys are up. Why don't you send them out to wash out the feeders for the animals and put them fresh water and feed? If you need me, just send one of the boys.”

  She walked out on the porch. Today would be a scorcher, with the air still waiting for the soft breeze that led a cooling rain.

  Joelette felt good. Not about MaeMae's concerns for her, but for MaeMae's lack of fear about Mansir.

  ###

  Joelette heard Mansir whistling before she could see him. She recognized the tune as Paper In My Shoe. They had played it at the dance. She stopped under her sassafras tree at the edge of the field. A wave of empathy crashed over her. She’d been so damn worried about getting hurt herself, she hadn’t stopped to truly think about how horrible it must feel to have such a good short-term memory and not be able to remember his own name.

  She watched him swing the pickaxe at the stubborn cypress root. He wore the sleeveless shirt she'd made him and a red bandana tied around his head to prevent the sweat running in his eyes. Eyes the color of the sky. So blue you could see your reflection in them. Tiny lines crinkled at the edges when he smiled, and he smiled often. His lips curled up into a slight crooked smile that made the cleft in his chin more pronounced.

  What was she doing? With her eyes closed, she recalled his features from memory like some swooning teenager. Empathy was one thing, infatuation another. He was not the one for her. He was a friend.

  “Hello.” Mansir turned to face her. “You surprised me. I hope that's something cold to drink.” He nodded to the jug she carried. “It's hot as blazes out here. The air's so thick I think you could walk on it.”

  He took the thermos and poured a cup of iced tea and drained every drop, then filled the cup again. This time he drank slower.

  “That hit the spot.” Appraising his morning work, he shook his head. “It's slow coming, but I can see progress, can't you?”

  She surveyed the field. “Definitely. As soon as you cool off I’m ready to help. I think we can get that portion you were working on finished before lunch, you agree?”

  He grinned with tea dripping off his chin. “Agreed.”

  They got to work and it didn’t take long for sweat to saturate her clothes. The sun burned her exposed neck. Her gloves intensified the blisters forming on both palms. But Joelette had never been happier. With every tug progress was being made. The field would be cleared. Her future was here.

  Mansir stopped. “What do you say we eat? I'm starved.”

  Her back felt like it would break in half if she bent over and tugged on another root. So she eagerly nodded.

  “We’ve finished with thi
s whole area. And we still have half of the day left,” he said.

  As they sat under the tree Mansir reached in his pocket and pulled out a second bandana. “Possum dropped these off the other day. He said I could use them.” Mansir wet it with the water, then reached over and wiped Joelette's face.

  The cool wet rag and the gentle way he wiped her face felt good. He lingered around her mouth, letting the coolness ease her scorched lips. She reached up and pushed his hand away.

  “Thank you, but I’m fine.”

  He smiled. Mansir re-wet the bandana and washed his face, leaving droplets of water to glisten on the stubble of his five o'clock shadow. Then he wrung it almost dry. “Put this around your neck. It'll keep the sun off.”

  “We've completed quite a bit this morning. I'm pleased with the progress.” Joelette forced herself to concentrate on something besides Mansir.

  “I am glad m'lady is pleased.” Mansir finished his sandwich in a couple of bites and drank two glasses of water before agreeing to a glass of tea. He started whistling that song again. “What is it about that song? Ever since the dance, I have that melody in my mind. The words made no sense what so ever. What does that even mean, Paper In my Shoe?”

  Joelette laughed at Mansir. “It's a favorite around here. Paper in my shoe refers to when a person's shoe gets a hole in the sole. If they can’t afford a new pair or have it repaired, they will place a folded piece of paper in the inside to cover the hole. It keeps the socks from getting soiled and prevents them from getting holes as well. From the outside the shoes still look good. I take it you've never had to put a paper in your shoe?”

  Mansir glanced at Joelette. “No, I don't believe I have. Have you?”

  She squared her shoulders and returned his look. “Yes I have, more than once. Let's get back to work.” She didn't want to wait around for his pity. She jumped up and walked quickly back into the field.