Waking Up in Dixie

by Haywood Smith

  “Half brother,” his mother corrected. “But I wouldn’t advise making anything of it. The man clearly takes after his mother. Worthless, the both of them.”

  Howe stared unseeing into the middle distance. “I have a brother.”

  “Lower your voice,” Augusta cautioned. “I didn’t tell you to have you blabbing it all over town. For your sake, and the family’s, I expect you to keep that in confidence.” She suddenly looked frail and weak. “Your father is dead and gone, Howell. Do not besmirch his memory.”

  Howe turned to Elizabeth. “P.J. Atkinson is my brother.”

  “Apparently so.” Elizabeth didn’t know what else to say.

  “Now you’ve worn me out,” Augusta fussed. “Go back to your guests, and send in that nurse. I want some morphine.”

  Howe leaned over and kissed his mother’s forehead. “Thank you, Mama. For everything.”

  She waved him off. “You’re my son. I love you. Now go on and leave me in peace.”

  They did as she asked, then sent in the nurse. On the way back down the stairs, Howe took Elizabeth’s hand and gave it a squeeze. “C’mon, Lizzie. Let’s party.”

  “Don’t call me Lizzie,” she said. “I told you, I hate that name.”

  Howe waggled his eyebrows at her. “Nobody’s perfect, Lillibet, and that includes me. You’re gonna get Lizzied from time to time. Might as well get used to it.”

  He looked so young and winsome when he said it, she couldn’t suppress a chuckle. Suddenly the world looked welcoming and new with possibilities.

  Charles made straight for Elizabeth when they entered the parlor, and Patti went for Howe. “Mama,” Charles said, “I don’t know how that happened, and I don’t care. I’m just glad it did.”

  “Me, too.” Patti gave her father a peck. “I’m going back up to check on Gamma.”

  “I’m afraid we wore her out,” Elizabeth said.

  “Don’t worry, I’ll stay with her.” Patti regarded her parents with affection. “It’s so good to see you together.” Then she headed for the stairs.

  “Charles, put on some dancin’ music,” Howe told him. “Something slow. I want to dance with your mother.”

  “Comin’ right up,” their son said.

  “In the Still of the Night” came through the speakers over the rumble of conversation, and Howe led Elizabeth into an easy box-step. “We are going to have a good time at our own party, my darling.” He twirled her, then bent close to whisper in her ear, “Then I am going to run these people out, and the real celebration is going to start.”

  Elizabeth couldn’t wait. And celebrate they did, first with everybody who was anybody in Whittington watching two people in love, then behind closed doors, just the two of them. Twice.

  But the next morning when they woke to the rest of their lives together, Augusta didn’t.

  Chapter 25

  Patti came in at dawn and told them. To Elizabeth’s surprise, she wasn’t crying.

  “I was with her, Mama,” she said, almost in wonder. “I woke up at three, and just felt like I needed to check on her, and when I got there, she was hardly breathing. I called the nurse, but Gamma grabbed my hand and said no.” She lost focus, reliving it. “Her eyes were almost black. She held my hand and said she was ready for it to be over. Then she closed her eyes.” Patti sank to the bed beside Elizabeth. “At first, I thought she was asleep. Then I realized her chest wasn’t moving. So I called the nurse, and she got her stethoscope and said Gamma’s heart had stopped. Just like that. Gamma said she was ready, and she died.”

  Elizabeth gathered her daughter close. “Oh, sweetie. I’m so sorry. I know how much you loved her.”

  His face grim, Howe got up quietly and put on his robe.

  “I know it was selfish of me,” Patti said, “but I asked the nurse not to say anything to anybody, and sent her away. Then I sat there, holding Gamma’s hand, remembering all the fun we’d had together.” She drew back to peer at Elizabeth. “I don’t know why, but it felt . . . holy, being there when her soul left her body. Holding her hand till it was cold, and the sun came up.” A single tear escaped. “She never did let go.”

  “Oh, honey.”

  Howe kissed the top of Patti’s head on his way out. “I’ll call Flanigan’s.”

  Patti reached after her father. “Gamma has everything written out, just the way she wants it. She talked about it a lot. The file is on her desk.”

  Howe nodded, hesitating with his hand on the doorknob, as if to delay the inevitable. “I know,” he said, his voice gruff.

  He’d come a long way in controlling his emotions to remain so composed. “Have you told Charles?” he asked.

  “Not yet,” Patti answered. “I wanted to tell y’all, first.”

  “I’ll do that,” Howe said. “I need something to do.” He left, carefully closing the door behind him.

  Suddenly deflated, Patti yawned, then curled up in the bed beside Elizabeth. “Can I take a nap in here with you?”

  Elizabeth stroked her shoulder. “Of course you can. C’mere.”

  Patti nuzzled in close the way she used to after she’d had a bad dream as a little girl, then fell asleep.

  Lying there with her, Elizabeth digested the fact that Augusta was dead, at last.

  Elizabeth had expected to feel some relief when it happened, but she didn’t. All she felt was sympathy for Patti and Howe. Augusta’s death had left a big hole in their lives, and a surprising one in Elizabeth’s. She couldn’t imagine what life was going to feel like without Augusta second-guessing her every move. The shocking thing was, she might even miss the woman.

  And the wonderful thing was, now that it was finally over, she could let go and forgive the lifetime of criticism Augusta had levied on her.

  Howe insisted on coordinating all the funeral arrangements himself from his study, the door closed. Meanwhile, Patti helped Elizabeth take down the decorations and get ready for the reception after the funeral. There was something cathartic about putting the house in order themselves, wiping away the past with the dust on the surfaces and furniture. At Augusta’s instructions, they stopped the clocks in the front rooms at the hour of her death and covered the mirrors in black silk.

  At the reading of the will on Monday, they found out that Augusta had topped off the Organ Fund at St. Andrew’s, stipulating that the funds could only be used for that purpose, and left fifty thousand each to Pearl and Thomas. The rest—half a million in cash, her house, and her fifty-one percent interest in the bank—she’d divided between Howe, Patti, and Charles, which came as no surprise to Elizabeth.

  What did surprise her was Howe’s response.

  He calmly asked the lawyer to put half the value of the shares his mother had left him into Elizabeth’s account, with the hearty approval of the children.

  Touched, she told him, “Howe, I don’t need your money.”

  “You earned it, Lillibet,” he said, “and then some. More than that, I want you to be independent and secure, so you’ll always be free to choose what you need.”

  Elizabeth’s heart glowed. “I made my choice. You know that.”

  Howe smiled with pride, his eyes welling. “Then make this one. Take the money.”

  Elizabeth shrugged. If that was what he wanted . . . “Okay. Just don’t ask me to have anything to do with the bank.”

  “Speaking of the bank,” Howe said, glancing down. “There’s something I need to tell you all.” He looked squarely at each of them, then said, “I’ve had a really good offer for my shares of the bank, and I’ve decided to take it. It’s something I’ve been working on for some time, but I didn’t want to upset Mama.”

  Elizabeth was happy to hear it, but worried that he hadn’t told her. He’d promised to tell her the truth.

  “Dad,” Charles said, “if it’s too much for you because of the stroke, I can come take over for you.”

  “Lord, no, son,” Howe said. “That’s the last thing I want. Y’all are free to do what yo
u wish with your shares. I’ve got a very good reason for selling mine.” He shot Elizabeth a shy expression. “I just found out last week that I have another job.”

  Something else major he’d neglected to mention? “Howe!”

  Howe smiled. “I passed the bar. I’m going to be a lawyer, at last.”

  Charles jumped up and started pounding his father’s shoulder. “Dad, that’s great! Better than great! That’s fabulous! What kind of law?”

  “Don’t know yet,” Howe confessed.

  Patti leapt into Howe’s lap and kissed his cheek. “Whatever you do, you’ll be great at it. I just know you will.”

  So that’s what Howe had been doing in the study all those months! Studying. “Why didn’t you tell me?” Elizabeth asked, ecstatic and angry at the same time.

  He shrugged. “I was afraid I’d fail.” His chin rose. “I didn’t want you to know if I couldn’t hack it.”

  It was the life they’d both dreamed of in college. “Honey, I’m so proud for you. But you should have told me.”

  He grinned. “I just did.”

  The lawyer cleared his throat. “Well, this has certainly been an eventful reading.” He straightened the paperwork. “Allow me to be the first to welcome you into the profession, Howe, though I can’t say I’m looking forward to the competition.”

  Howe nodded. “Don’t worry. There’s plenty of pro bono work to keep me busy in this town.”

  The lawyer nodded in approval, his chin dimpling, then rose. “There was a time when I wouldn’t have done this, but I’d like to shake your hand.” He extended his hand.

  Howe got up to take Ben’s hand into both of his own and pump it. “Thank you, Ben. I’ll do my best to justify your respect.”

  Elizabeth stood, dazed. So much had happened so quickly since Saturday night. She felt as if some cosmic force had ordered the misaligned dominoes of her life and tipped them into place.

  “God has blessed me far more than I deserve,” Howe said, putting a name to that force.

  She took her place at her husband’s side. “Thank you, Ben.”

  The lawyer smiled. “I’ll transfer those funds as soon as they become available,” he told her.

  Funny. Being independently wealthy didn’t feel any different.

  “I want to sell my shares, too,” Patti said on impulse. “I’m going to art school,” she announced to the lawyer.

  “Congratulations,” he told her. “This is a big day, all round.”

  “Come on, everybody,” Charles said. “Now that I’m a man of means, lunch is on me. We’ll drink a toast to Gamma.”

  “That we will,” Elizabeth said, knowing that Gamma was rolling in her grave.

  Wednesday evening, Patti and Elizabeth dressed in black, with only pearls for adornment (Augusta’s instructions), and joined Howe and Charles in their best dark suits to sit visitation with Pearl and Thomas beside the cloying blanket of roses and orchids Augusta had ordered for her closed mahogany casket with silver fittings.

  And it was there, at last, that Augusta’s chickens came home to roost.

  Everybody she had slighted, insulted, or terrorized stayed away, leaving just her three closest friends, plus the people who came for Elizabeth’s and the children’s sake, or Rotary, to trickle in and sign the guest book. Only a few arrangements and sprays had been delivered, from Garden Club or Altar Guild or the Women’s Club. The largest and most impressive was a spray from Pearl and Thomas, but the parlor Augusta had reserved seemed big and empty by evening’s end. Just before they left, the judge arrived to pay his respects to Howe, but Elizabeth counted only twenty signatures in the book, including his.

  The next night was even more sparsely attended, but Augusta’s three best friends stayed for longer, complaining bitterly the whole time about who wasn’t there.

  By the third and final session on Friday night before the funeral, the family sat alone beside the casket.

  The children took it in stride, but Howe didn’t. They’d only been there for ten minutes, without a single visitor, when he told Elizabeth he had some phone calls to make, and asked Thomas to take him home.

  “What’s up with Daddy?” Patti asked, concerned, after he’d gone.

  “I guess he’s upset that people aren’t respecting Gamma the way he thinks they should,” Elizabeth answered.

  “Gamma was good to Dad and Patti and me,” Charles said frankly, “but she stepped on a lot of toes in this town. There’s no getting around that.”

  “Hyere, now, Mister Charles,” Pearl chided. “Yore grammaw was good to me and Thomas, too. Don’t you go speakin’ ill of the dead. It tempts the Lord’s vengeance. Miz Augusta, she had her own hurts aplenty in this life, and she done the best she could. Ain’t no cause fer people to stay away from her funeral.”

  “Pearl, she made a lot of people mad,” Charles insisted.

  Patti sighed. “You’re right. Still, it’s sad.”

  Elizabeth knew she was talking about more than visitation. “Yes, honey, it is.”

  Only Augusta’s best friends and Father Jim showed up. The minister thanked the family for the new pipe organ, which had been ordered according to Augusta’s instructions. Then he prayed a sweet prayer of thanksgiving for Augusta’s devotion to the church and generosity, and made his farewell.

  When they got home, Howe was holed up in his study and didn’t come to bed till late.

  Elizabeth rolled over in the darkened room when he got into bed. “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah. I just . . .” He let out a forced sigh.

  “What?” she prodded gently. He’d come a long way since he’d woken up blurting out everything that came to mind, but she almost preferred that to brooding. “Howe, please don’t keep things from me. We’ve had too much of that, already.”

  He leaned over and gave her a peck. “Just this one more thing,” he said. “I need for everyone to come to the funeral. Not for Mama—she’s gone—but for me.”

  “Why is it so important to you?” she asked. Augusta was the one who’d alienated everybody. Howe had been making amends for his own bad behavior ever since he’d woken up.

  He turned his back and pulled the covers up over his shoulder. “You’ll see tomorrow.”

  And with that, he went to sleep.

  The next morning, he was no more forthcoming. Antsy, he bolted his breakfast, then retreated into his study till it was time to dress.

  He’d hardly said ten words before the four of them got into the long black limo Augusta had ordered for the trip to the church.

  It wasn’t easy, but Elizabeth didn’t prod Howe. Whatever was on his mind, she’d find out soon enough. But nothing prepared her for what they confronted when they walked into the sanctuary at St. Andrew’s.

  Chapter 26

  Two identical mahogany coffins flanked Augusta’s flower-laden one.

  “Daddy,” Patti accused in a tight whisper, “what is this? Who’s in those other coffins?” She pointed to them in anger. “Gamma didn’t say anything about this. She wanted her own funeral, just for herself.”

  “Patti, honey,” Howe said gently but firmly, “funerals are for the living, not the dead. Gamma’s not here, but we are. I want you to trust me about this. If you’re still mad at me after it’s over, then I guess you’ll be mad at me. But Gamma was my mother. I’m the one who has to make the decisions about her service.”

  “It’s not right,” Patti protested, drawing attention from the people who had begun to file into the church.

  “Patti, keep your voice down,” Elizabeth cautioned. “You know the last thing your grandmother would have wanted is for you to make a scene.” She shot a reassuring glance to Howe. “We need to trust your father’s judgment.”

  Howe responded with a look of gratitude.

  “Come on,” Charles whispered, taking his sister by the arm and steering her into the front pew where Pearl and Thomas were waiting. “Just settle down. Dad knows what he’s doing.”

  “Since
when?” Patti hissed, then clamped her mouth shut in consternation as her brother pressed her into the pew.

  “Since he woke up,” Charles whispered back, then knelt on the prayer rest.

  Patti flounced to her knees beside him, but kept silent.

  Elizabeth sure hoped Howe knew what he was doing. And she was dying to know who was in those extra coffins.

  Elizabeth’s Sewing Circle arrived en masse and sat in the pew behind her, offering gentle touches and words of consolation, with no questions asked, but they didn’t have to say anything about the three coffins. Elizabeth could sense their unspoken shock and curiosity.

  Slowly, the church began to fill, and with every arrival, a new set of whispers emerged. The organ began to play, but the organist clearly wasn’t the virtuoso Augusta had contracted for. The hymns came out in odd phrases, with more than a few missed notes.

  Appalled, Patti slipped out the side aisle and headed for the hidden organ to see what had gone wrong. After a whispered conference that resulted in a slew of missed notes, she returned to tell Elizabeth that the other organist had called in sick at the last minute. Unable to get anyone else to fill in, the funeral director had been forced to press his teenaged cousin into service.

  Elizabeth winced with every wrong note along with the rest of the congregation. It would have been funny, if it wasn’t so awful.

  But fate wasn’t through getting even with Augusta yet. Only three altos and one bass from the choir processed down the aisle at the start of the communion service, providing a very lopsided version of “How Great Thou Art.”

  Elizabeth dared not look back for fear she’d see someone laugh and join them. So she bit her lips and did her best to remain dignified.

  Unfazed, Father Tim began the rite of communion first, instead of the funeral service, a departure from the usual order of service, but the familiar litany—and the absence of music—settled things down. Till the soloist from the Atlanta Chorale was supposed to sing the Lord’s Prayer, and instead of her trained voice, Miss Emily Mason’s thready, geriatric soprano struggled through the PA system with as pitiful a rendition as ever was attempted.