by Rhett DeVane
“Certainly sparse. Hope there’s a bed.” Karen walked into the room. “Look at the beams in this room! Can you imagine living in a house like this?” She sat the picnic basket down and wandered into the gourmet kitchen. “My mother would absolutely die to see this kitchen.” She opened the cabinets. “Nothing’s in here. Donald, is this some kind of wilderness-camping-weekend joke?” She stood like a petulant five-year-old with her lips pushed out in a pout and hands propped on her hips.
“Won’t be much here until we move in,” he said.
Karen’s mouth dropped open.
“Close your mouth. You’ll catch flies.” D. J. laughed. “Got that one from your mom.”
Karen walked over and threw her arms around his neck. “What are you saying, exactly, Donald Peterson?”
“House belongs to a lovely engaged couple from Atlanta. Nice folks, really. She’s had a pretty tough go of things here lately. They’ll be moving in, shortly.”
Karen kissed D. J. hard. “I can’t believe you bought this!”
“Hope you’re not mad. I had to move fast. It wouldn’t have lasted long on the market. I closed on it last Friday. I know I should have consulted you, Karen. Hell, you haven’t even said you’d still marry me.” He shrugged. “I may be rambling around in this place all alone.”
“Not on your life, Donald.”
“I’d have to say my Mama’s greens were my favorite. Sometimes, turnips with plump purple and white bottoms cooked in. Other times, mustard greens—slightly bitter until she added just a pinch of sugar. Always cooked up with a ham hock to add flavor. She would spoon up a mug of the juice, the pot-liquor, for me to sip on before dinner. That dark green juice held the very essence of the greens. I’d close my eyes as it warmed all the way down to my stomach.”
Lucille Jackson
Chapter Forty
“Brought you a hot cinnamon roll. One of your daddy’s, but made with Splenda, no sugar.” Evelyn leaned over and peeked at the sketch on Karen’s canvas. “What are you painting this morning?” She sipped coffee from a delicate porcelain cup.
“Our new cabin on Lake Sidney Lanier. Well, I guess I shouldn’t call it a cabin. It has four bedrooms. Log home.”
Evelyn settled into a rocker. “That was a big surprise, Donald buying that place. Bit of a piece for you and him to drive to work and back.”
Karen studied the canvas, her head tilted sideways. She picked up a fine-tipped brush. “I’m not so sure I’ll be going back to the station, at least not full time. Donald’s keeping his townhouse in the city for the times when he has to work late.”
Evelyn frowned. “I hate to hear you’re dropping out of TV. You’re so good at it.”
“Mary Elizabeth was good at it.” She glanced at her mother. “I don’t know what I’m good at . . . yet.”
Evelyn rocked back and forth gently. “Tell you what I did. I latched onto what gave me the greatest joy. Found something that lit me up inside. Oh, I was happy enough being a homemaker till you kids left out. Then it just seemed so . . . pointless.”
Karen lay the palette and brush down and grabbed the warm cinnamon roll. “I can’t imagine just staying home all the time. You must have been bored silly.”
“Wasn’t bad when I had you children underfoot. Lord knows, those years passed in the blink of an eye. And you can only redecorate a house so many times. I was beginning to get a reputation, or so Jake Witherspoon tells it.”
“And the sewing? It makes you feel good?”
“Better than good. I’m creating something with these.” She held her hands up and wiggled her fingers. “Folks look proud when they wear my fashions. I just can’t get enough of it! Just about the time I think—well, I’ve reached the end of my limits—a fresh idea pops to mind, and boom! I’m tearing off in a new direction.”
Taizer jumped onto the chair with Karen and trilled.
“I fed the kitties, by the way,” Evelyn said.
Karen shook her head and smiled. “So did I, close to an hour ago before I came out here to start painting.”
“Well, well. That little devil there came twirling around my feet acting like he hadn’t eaten in a month of Sundays. And Tequila didn’t object to being fed again, either.” She wiggled her finger in the kitten’s direction. “Fooled me again, you little dickens.”
“Maybe we should start leaving each other notes on the fridge.”
“I’ll make some kind of check-off list. I’m certain Joe’s been feeding them, too.” She dismissed the subject. “What do you have on your agenda for today, missy?”
“I’m heading out to Pinky and Wanda’s around lunchtime. She has the afternoon off, and Pinky wants to show me some tinctures to help rebuild my immune system.”
“Be careful driving, and do try to get home before good dark. Lots of critters lurk beside those country roads come dusk.”
Karen paused a moment before speaking. “Would you consider designing my wedding gown, Mama?”
Evelyn abruptly stopped rocking. Her eyes opened wide. “Would I? That would only be the dream of a lifetime, me designing your dress.”
“I don’t want anything too elaborate. No lace or seed pearls. Simple. Tea length.”
Her mother clasped her hands. “I can do anything you have your heart set on.” Her brows knit together. “How soon are we talking about, exactly?”
“Late spring. May, early June. By that time, I should have some hair again.”
“That gives us—” she counted on her fingers, “ten months. Do-able. We should sit down and let me do some sketches so I can figure a design.” Evelyn smiled as she resumed rocking. “I just love weddings. You gonna have it here at the First Baptist?”
Karen shook her head. “Nope. I made a decision while I was in Atlanta last week. Donald agreed. We want an outside ceremony. Very small, at our place on Lake Lanier.”
“That ought to be pretty. I’ve always wanted to visit there. Maybe your daddy and I can plan a little vacation afterwards. Go up into the mountains.” Her eyes sparkled.
“There are rental houses nearby. We can put everyone up for the weekend.”
Evelyn glanced at her watch and hopped up. “Look at the time! I have to get on up to the workshop. I have five baby ensembles and blankets to finish before Sue Ellen Sales’s shower on Saturday. They’re certainly not going to sew themselves. Although your daddy seems to think the new-fangled machine he bought me could.” She smiled. “You sure you’re going to be okay here alone?”
“I’m fine, Mama. Now that I don’t have to dash off to Tallahassee every morning, it’s a break for me. Until the next round of chemo.”
Evelyn’s expression darkened. “I know you’ll be glad to have all this behind you, honey. Two more of those dreadful treatments.” She leaned over and kissed Karen on the cheek. “You call me if you need anything, or Elvina. She can drop and run on a moment’s notice.”
“I. Will. Be. Fine. Go to work!”
“I left the Democrat on the kitchen counter if you want to read it later on,” Evelyn called over her shoulder.
Wanda handed a tall glass of iced tea to Karen. “You and the witch doctor get your potions mixed?” She reached over and tousled Pinky’s red curly hair.
“You don’t quit calling me that, I’m going to run a bone through my nose and wear a grass skirt.”
Wanda’s eyebrows shot up. “That, I have to see.” She wiggled her hips. “I’d like to know, do witch doctors go natural under those little skirts like the Scots do underneath their kilts?”
“Wanda Jean.” Pinky blushed brilliant red and picked up the battered guitar beside his chair. “You beat all, sometimes.”
Karen listened to his finger-picking. “That sounds familiar.”
“James Taylor. Who else?” Wanda plopped down on the porch swing. “Good thing I love all the man’s songs, or I’d lose what’s left of my mind.”
Pinky shrugged. “Guess I’m a creature of habit.”
“It’s ‘You’ve Got a Friend,’ righ
t?” Karen asked.
“You got it!” Wanda threw her hand in the air like a game show hostess. “You win a goat!”
Karen laughed. “That would send poor Evelyn over the edge, for sure. I’m still amazed at her and my cats. She bought a two-hundred dollar kitty condo for them to play in.”
“I would have never thought it, with Evelyn being such a clean freak and all. The hair must send her up the wall.”
Karen shook her head. “She brushes both of them twice a day. You should see it. They line up like tourists at a cruise ship buffet. I’ll be lucky to tear them away from her when I move back to Atlanta.”
“You anxious to get home?” Pinky asked. His long nimble fingers darted across the fret board.
“Yes and no.” Karen reached down and petted Annie, the hound/shepherd mix, curled up beneath her feet. “Sing for us, Pinky. Please?”
Midway through Pinky’s soulful rendition of the folk song, Karen burst into tears, sending Wanda scampering into the house for tissues.
“Maybe I should’ve picked something a bit more upbeat.” Pinky returned the guitar to its stand.
Karen wiped her nose and eyes. “No, it’s not you. I’m so sorry for crying like this.”
Wanda rested a hand on Karen’s shoulder. “You need to unload, hon? Me and Pinky are good listeners. He’s had tons of practice since I moved in.”
“It’s just—this lady I met once at the doctor’s office—I read her obituary in the paper this morning.”
Pinky and Wanda exchanged puzzled glances.
“I didn’t even know her well, just one brief conversation while we were waiting to go back.” Karen’s voice quivered.“I wanted to get together with her for coffee, or lunch after the surgery. Then, I had to go through radiation and chemo. I thought about her often and almost called a couple of times.”
“Must’ve been a nice person, to have made such an impression on you,” Pinky said.
“She was.”
“You know any of her folks?” Wanda asked.
Karen shook her head. “There is some sort of memorial service in a couple of days. I wouldn’t feel right about showing up there. It would feel like I was intruding on their grief. Not like we were close friends.”
“Maybe you could make a donation in her name,” Wanda said.
Karen nodded. “I probably will.”
Pinky tilted his head. “It’s a bitter pill to swallow. I know. After I lost Alice Jo, I found the most comfort in doing things that, in my mind, honored her spirit.” He motioned toward the garden. “Keeping up with the herbs is one of them.”
Karen offered a weak smile and dabbed the remaining moisture from her cheeks. “You two have been such good friends. I don’t know how I would’ve gotten through all this without you.” She reached over and squeezed first Wanda’s, then Pinky’s hands.
They sat for a moment, wrapped in the comforting cloak of closeness.
Wanda said, “Pinky made some carrot-tofu cupcakes. That ought to make you feel a little better. Want one with a cup of coffee?”
Karen smiled. “Ah, food. The balm to ease all sorrows. Sure, why the heck not?”
Karen wasn’t certain, exactly, how she ended up in the Morningside AME sanctuary, three pews from the pulpit with the late afternoon sun streaming through the tall windows. Some kind of spiritual distress homing device? She studied the wooden carving of Jesus on the cross. What was it about this simple, no-frills room that exuded tranquility? Even filled to the brim on Sunday morning, with children darting up and down the aisles and neighbors exchanging small talk, the diminutive church was surrounded by an aura of protection and peace.
She bowed her head and murmured a brief prayer for Margaret Bronson and her family. Just shy of amen, she began to cry.
“Miz Karen?” A gentle voice asked.
She glanced up to see Lucille Jackson, arms filled with a stack of booklets.
“I’m sorry.” Karen rose to leave. “The door was unlocked, so I—”
Lucille rested a hand on Karen’s shoulder. “Church’s doors are always open during daylight hours. No telling when a person might need to feel God’s presence. Used to be, we didn’t lock them at night either, but times are what they are.” She motioned for Karen to be seated, then eased onto the pew beside her. “I just stopped in to leave the new music for the choir practice tonight—for the new Christmas cantata. Never too soon to start practicing.”
Karen wiped her eyes with a tissue. “I should go.”
“You sit here long as you like. I’ve come in here right by myself many a time. Lord doesn’t mind you visiting his house on days other than Sundays.” The skin around her soft brown eyes crinkled when she smiled. “Used to find your Grandmama Piddie here on occasion. She loved to come and sit in the peace and pray.”
Karen’s gaze fell downward. “I wish Piddie was here.”
“Oh, but she is, child. Not so you can touch her. But her love goes right on and on. Every time I think of her, I get a warm feeling in my heart, and I know she’s hovering close-by, watching out over all of us she loved while she was here on this earth.” She cocked her head. “Something weighing heavy on you today?”
“Nothing, and everything, Miz Lucille.” Karen offered a weak smile. “Sometimes, fear overwhelms me and—this woman I met a few months back—she died.” Karen paused. “She was a breast cancer patient, too.” Karen wrung her hands. “If she couldn’t make it, how will I? She was just so alive.”
Lucille chuckled. “Brings to mind something Piddie said to me one time. I made that same comment about someone: that he was so alive, and it was hard to believe he could just up and die.” She waved a hand through the air. “I’ll never forget what your grandmama said to me: ‘Lucille, that’s the silliest thing I’ve ever heard. Why is it folks say such a thing, you reckon? We’re all alive till we’re not. Just some people don’t remember to act like it.’”
“That’s it! Margaret seemed like she was the kind of person who lived every single minute.” She shrugged. “I didn’t really know her all that well. She just kind of radiated.”
“Some folks do that. No matter how life beats them into the ground, they pop right up. Believe they’re put here on this good earth to remind all of the rest of us what a gift every day is.”
Karen smiled.
“Well,” Lucille slapped her thighs with her palms. “I’ve got to scoot along. The Reverend and I visit the shut-ins on Wednesday afternoons. You sit here just as long as you want. If you’re still here by the time choir practice commences, why, just join in. Lord won’t object to one more voice lifted up.”
“Mama told me I loved her fried chicken so much, I would beg her to make it. Once, I fell asleep underneath the kitchen table with a fried chicken leg in my mouth. I come from a line of good Southern cooks. Suppose that’s why it feels so natural for me to putter around in the kitchen. There’s an art to frying chicken so the skin’s all brown and crispy. Your grease has to be fresh, and just the right temperature. Too hot, and you’ll get a scalded flavor to the meat. Not hot enough, and the flour will soak up the grease too much and make the skin gummy.”
Leigh Andrews Davis
Chapter Forty-one
“Patsy Hornsby and her daughter Ruth are over for the weekend,” Hattie said to Karen. “Little Ruth is the artist who painted the abstracts at the Triple C and the one in Sarah’s bedroom. Remember? She overheard Patsy and me talking about your paintings and really wants to meet you.”
“Oh?”
“We’re going to hang out around the pool this afternoon. Probably throw some burgers on the grill. Will you join us?”
Karen hesitated. “I don’t know, Hattie. I don’t look very good in a swimsuit right now. And I shouldn’t get too wet; I have the port to consider. I just don’t—”
“Oh, c’mon cuz! It’s not like it’ll be a big crowd. Just the family out here on the Hill. Jake may join us, but Jon has to work. Usually the neighbors come up, but they’re in the mou
ntains for a couple of weeks. We’ll set you up in a lounger in the shade and ply you with tall glasses of iced tea. What d’ya say?”
The prospect of another long day wandering around the empty house loomed. “Okay, okay. You talked me into it.”
“Great! Come on out whenever you like. We’ll eat around noon. And Karen?”
“Hmm?”
“Bring one of your paintings, will you? Ruth has been bugging us to death about seeing some of your work. I don’t think she’ll calm down till she does.”
Children. Karen shook her head. For the most part, they were loud, unruly, and brutally honest, the latter being the main reason she had avoided them in the past. Until the teenaged years when anyone over eighteen was ignored like last year’s fashion fad, the children she had contact with seemed to possess the eerie ability to look directly through to her innermost secrets. Since her soul now lay open and ragged, would a child be more or less of a threat?
Karen flipped thorough the stack of canvases for a few moments, unable to choose. Finally, she settled on the dragonfly meadow painting for its mystical quality. Also, it was less dark and revealing than much of her later work.
When she pulled her sports car under the shade of an aging pecan tree, the pool yard was bustling with activity. Hattie glanced up from the food-laden picnic table and waved. Karen leaned down to pet Spackle and Elvis, the canine greeting committee.
Clad in vivid hibiscus-print swim shorts with a matching tropical-hued cane, Jake shuffled toward her car. “Need any help?”
“Nope. I can handle it.” She shouldered a small canvas beach bag and grabbed the cake carrier.
“Ew! Did you bake?” Jake’s blue eyes twinkled.
“Hardly. My idea of baking is Sara Lee. This is a hummingbird cake Daddy sent along.”
Jake patted his flat stomach. “My, my. I’ll have to live on Slim-Fast shakes after today. Leigh and Hattie already have enough carbs on the table to put a full-blown Michelin tire around my waist.”