Love, Alice

by Barbara Davis

  Before Dovie could protest, Jevet had melted back into the crowd. Dovie watched her disappear with a growing sense of dread. She’d been looking forward to seeing Mama Hettie again, but Theda was a different story. She was guaranteed to make too much of Austin’s presence, meaning Monday would be an excruciating marathon of twenty questions, mixed with a little truth or dare.

  “Does she mean Theda from the museum?”

  Dovie nodded gravely. “I’m afraid so.”

  “I thought you two were friends.”

  “We are, but she has very strong opinions about my social life—or rather my lack of a social life—which means she’s going to make a big deal out you being here with me. Damn, here she comes.”

  Theda was smiling as she made her way over, wiping her hands on a smudgy white apron, her face shiny with kitchen sweat. “Well, well, Miss Larkin, as I live and breathe. What brings you out into the real world?”

  Dovie was about to reply when she felt Austin’s arm snake around her waist. “We spent most of the afternoon on the couch, and thought it was time to get out of the house. Great place your grandmother has here, by the way. Dovie’s been raving about it for weeks. I’m glad we finally made it out.”

  Theda’s almond-shaped eyes narrowed. “For weeks, huh? Looks like someone’s been holding out on me.”

  “It’s not like that,” Dovie corrected hastily. “We’re just out for a meal.”

  “Together. Yes, I see that.”

  Dovie shot her a pleading look. “I’ll talk to you on Monday.”

  “Oh, sweetie, you can count on it. Right now, though, I’ve got to get back to the kitchen, or Mama Hettie’ll skin me. Lord, here she comes. Enjoy your, eh . . . meal, you two.”

  Dovie wriggled away from his arm and snapped her head around. “What did you do that for? Do you have any idea how long it’s going to take to convince her you were just kidding?”

  Austin’s lips curled mischievously. “I wasn’t kidding. We were on the couch most of the afternoon. Besides, I think people who make up their minds about other people should get exactly what they expect. It’s just easier that way.”

  “Easier for you, maybe,” Dovie grumbled as Mama Hettie approached. “Oh, I should warn you. Hettie can be hard to understand, at first. You’ll probably be all right, though. She usually reserves the Gullah for tourists. They come to the Porch for an authentic Gullah experience, and that’s what they get—Gullah rice and Geechee talk, washed down with lots and lots of sweet tea. It’s the damnedest thing. She can turn it off like a switch. So can Theda.”

  “Guess it’s a good thing I brought an interpreter, then.”

  “Dovie, girl!” Mama Hettie burst out, somehow managing to convey both cheerfulness and severity. “How long since I shum you, and huccome you stay gone so long? I been asking after you, and asking after you, telling Theda to ’suade you to come, but she jus’ shake her head and say you having a time.”

  Mama Hettie looked every inch of her eighty-four years, stooped and hollow-boned, with skin like old leather and an infant’s gummy smile. Her hair, or what there was of it, was the color of ash and was wrapped in an elaborately knotted turban of bright teal blue. But it was Hettie’s eyes that had always fascinated Dovie, jet-black irises surrounded by a thickening blue-white haze. It was a startling combination, and one that gave her a slightly witchy appearance, which Dovie suspected pleased the old woman to no end.

  “Mama Hettie, it’s good to see you again.”

  “That’s my pretty gal,” Mama Hettie said, taking both Dovie’s hands in hers. “You done brought a pretty boy, too, I see. And about time. Who you?”

  Austin eyes widened, but he quickly recovered. “I’m Austin Tate. And I’m guessing you’re Mama Hettie.”

  “Dat’s right,” she boomed back at him, before returning her attention to Dovie. “Good to see you got a fella.”

  Dovie swallowed a sigh. Having to explain Austin’s presence over and over was getting old. “Mama Hettie, Austin isn’t my fellow. He’s . . . a friend. Theda knows him, too, from the museum. William died last year, remember?”

  “Course I do. You think I’m tech’d? Jus ’cause you lost one man don’t mean you can’t go get yo’self another one.” She paused, giving Dovie a sharp leer. “Girl don’t need a man, if she strong. But she’ll want one if she smart.” She turned away then, sweeping Austin with her witchy eyes. “You come to eat like the Gullah?” she asked, at last, slipping into her broken patois.

  “Yes. Though I’m not sure what that means. I guess I’m in your hands.”

  Mama Hettie managed to beam and look grave all at the same time. “In my hands is the best place to be. No buckruhbittle here, though, so you know ahead.”

  Austin turned to Dovie, looking for a translation.

  “White man’s food,” Dovie supplied with a grin.

  Hettie nodded her turbaned head. “Dat’s right. Only good Gullah food. When I’m t’rough feedin’ you, I promise you goin’ be so sattify you be ruined. My girl Jevet will take you to your table while I go cook your bittle. Some osiituh, I think, all fried up nice in buttermilk. Thatta hold you for a little. Attahw’hile, I come with more. Sump’n tase’e’mout I gonna make speshly for you two.”

  And with that she was gone, leaving Dovie smiling and Austin dumbfounded. A moment later, Jevet was back, gesturing for them to follow her. She led them to a corner table at the back of the restaurant. Taped to the windowsill was a hand-printed sign with the word RESERVED hand-lettered in red Magic Marker.

  “Her Highness said no menus, but I brought ’em anyway so’s you could look ’em over while you wait. Can I bring y’all something to drink? Tea? Swamp water?”

  Austin glanced up from the laminated menu. “Swamp water?”

  Dovie couldn’t help giggling. “It’s not what it sounds like. It’s tea mixed with lemonade. It’s quite good, actually. But the peach sweet tea is to die for.”

  “Two peach teas it is, then.” He watched as Jevet retreated, waiting until she was out of earshot to speak. “Who is she again?”

  “Theda’s auntie Jevet. Her auntie Riah works here, too, but I haven’t seen her tonight. Maybe she’s in the kitchen with Theda.”

  “So it’s the whole family?”

  “Just the women. Except for Theda’s mom. She broke away when she was young, and got her PhD. She teaches languages at Avery Research now and lectures all over the country on Gullah culture. She even does some storytelling at festivals and things. I swear, I could listen to her talk for hours.”

  “I never realized it was a thing. I mean, you hear the words Gullah and Geechee thrown around, but I didn’t realize it was such a big deal.”

  “It’s a very big deal to them. And it’s not just about the baskets. The Gullahs helped build the rice plantations that made South Carolina what it is today, and now their culture is being eroded by developers, and even the government. Luckily, there’s been a move toward preservation in the past few years, of both their lands and their traditions. That’s what Theda’s mom is all about, making sure the culture isn’t lost for future generations. They’re an amazing people. Especially the women. Theda’s ancestors came from Senegal, but Gullah slaves came from Angola, Sierra Leone, Madagascar—all along the West African coast, really. They were highly prized for their ability to cultivate rice, so we basically went over there and took them.”

  “I’ve lived here all my life and didn’t know those things. How’d you learn all this?”

  Dovie smiled. “Theda. When it comes to the Gullahs, she’s like a walking encyclopedia. Plus, there’s an exhibit at the museum. You should check it out sometime.”

  “Do I get a guided tour?”

  Dovie felt herself squirm. He was flirting again, and he was good at it. But perhaps even more disturbing was the unexpected temptation to flirt back. Luckily, she was spared having
to respond when Jevet reappeared, a tray expertly perched on one shoulder.

  She was all business as she set down two glasses of tea, followed by a pair of flat sweetgrass baskets lined with waxed paper and nuggets of crispy brown goodness. “Hettie say this is just to tide you over. Fried oysters and crab puppies. Rest coming tuhreckly. She say she’ll bring it herself when it’s ready.”

  “Thank you, Jevet. It looks wonderful.”

  Dovie lifted her tea to her lips and took a deep sip, the taste of ripe peach exploding on her tongue, so icy-sweet it made her teeth ache. Relieved to have a distraction, she pushed the baskets toward Austin, then reached across with her fork and took an oyster for herself. “Make sure you try them with the sauce. It’s to die for.”

  Austin groaned as he bit into one of the crab puppies. “I don’t think I’ve ever tasted anything better in my life. What’s that sauce?”

  Dovie shrugged. “Not much chance of finding out, I’m afraid. You heard Jevet. Hettie’s bent on taking her recipes to the grave. I’m glad you like this. I wasn’t sure you would.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “Well, it’s not exactly what you’re used to, is it?”

  Austin gave her a sheepish smile. “I can’t argue with you there. I can’t think of a single woman I’ve ever dated who would have chosen a place like this.”

  “No?”

  “The type of women I date prefer champagne to sweet tea—as I’m sure you’ve noticed.”

  Dovie toyed with a crab puppy as she digested the remark. His type was hardly a secret—the social rags had seen to that—but the disdain in his voice was both glaring and unexpected.

  “Sounds to me like you need to find some new women to date,” she teased, then reached for her tea as she realized the remark had come dangerously close to sounding like an invitation—which it absolutely was not. “I’m sorry. I have no idea why I just said that. Who you date is none of my business.”

  “Actually, I’ve been thinking the same thing, lately. Thinking about it a lot, as a matter of fact.”

  There was something in his voice, a lazy smokiness, that made Dovie’s cheeks tingle and go warm. “I prefer to save the champagne for celebrations. I guess that makes me a cheap date.”

  It was a lame attempt to lighten the moment, one that left Austin studying her far more closely than she was comfortable with. “I don’t believe that,” he said, after a moment. “Quite the opposite, in fact. Something tells me you could be very costly indeed.”

  The moment stretched, weighty and awkward amid the collective din of Saturday night diners. Dovie had no idea how to respond to such a statement, or if a response was even expected. In the end, she settled for a clumsy segue. “You haven’t said how your meeting with Tyler’s father went.”

  Austin cleared his throat as he reached for his fork, appearing every bit as relieved to change the subject as Dovie. “It went about as well as you’d expect, I guess. He was pretty pissed off at first, that a stranger would have the nerve to lecture him about his own son. I expected that. And maybe he had a point. I don’t have kids. Where do I get off giving anyone parenting advice?”

  “Did he at least listen?”

  Austin speared an oyster and popped it in his mouth. “Eventually. But I think by the time I was done I’d given him a few things to think about. At least, he said I had. I honestly don’t think the man had a clue how Tyler was feeling.”

  “You did a good thing, Austin.”

  “We’ll see. I did what I could, at any rate. And how did your Gamecocks fare?”

  “We won—thirty to twenty-two, against a ranked opponent. We’ve still got a long way to go, but it’s a nice win for the program.”

  Mama Hettie appeared just then, carrying a tray loaded with enough food to feed the Gamecocks’ starting lineup. “Here yo bittles, all fixed with Mama Hettie magic. Got some okra soup, some shrimp and grits. Poke chop, sweet tettuh, and succotash. Hunnuh eat ’em up now.”

  Dovie surveyed the spread, overwhelmed. “Mama Hettie, this is too much food. We’ll never eat it all.”

  “Then tote it home. But don’t put it in no microwave. Microwave kill da magic.”

  Austin sat back as Hettie placed a steaming bowl of okra soup in front of him. “Well, now you’ve got me curious, Hettie. What’s the deal with the magic?”

  Hettie fixed him with her best tribal elder stare, and just the hint of a smile. “Yes, suh. I cook wid da magic. Say words over the food.”

  “What kind of words?”

  Hettie lowered her voice and leaned in close. “The blessing kind,” she said, with a wink of one witchy eye. “Work on all kinda ting, it do. Hunnuh got trouble in da finance—magic. Hunnuh got trouble in da body—magic. Even if hunnuh got trouble in da heart—not the sickness kind, mind, the other kind—the magic work. That’s why folk keep comin’ here, even if they ain’ know it.” She grinned then, screwing up her old brown face. “’Cause, who ain’ wan sum blessin’ pun hunnuh food?”

  Austin looked up at her with a smile of his own, and something like wonder. “Mama Hettie, I couldn’t have said it better myself. Who indeed ain’ want sum blessin’?”

  Hettie gave his shoulder a slap, flashing her dark gums. “Nyam, now,” she said firmly. And with that, she was gone.

  Dovie ate slowly, watching with a strange sense of pleasure as Austin spooned up his soup with gusto, then moved on to the shrimp and grits. The food was every bit as amazing as Dovie remembered: fresh local ingredients seasoned with garlic, ginger, celery seed, and mustard, then slow-cooked with care—and if Hettie could be believed, just a pinch of magic.

  Austin had just pushed away the plate of pork chops and sweet potatoes, declaring himself ready to burst, when Jevet appeared with a bowl and two spoons.

  Dovie groaned, holding up her hands in mock surrender. “Jevet, I think I speak for both of us when I say we couldn’t eat another bite.”

  “Hettie’s bread puddin’ and praline sauce,” she said flatly. “You got to eat it.”

  Dovie eyed the bowl Jevet had placed between them and sighed. “I’m afraid she’s right. Hettie’s famous for her bread pudding. And I did promise to stay for dessert. We’ll walk it off when we’re finished.”

  Austin frowned, spoon poised over the bowl. “Walk it off, where? We’re in the middle of nowhere out here.”

  “There’s a long deck out back. It’s beautiful when the moon’s up.”

  “Is the moon up?”

  “I don’t know. Let’s go see.”

  THIRTY-SEVEN

  Austin held his tongue as he followed Dovie around the side of the building, past the listing back porch and a pair of drunken lampposts, but considered balking as they neared their apparent destination—a narrow ribbon of weathered boards that might once have been called a dock.

  “This?” he said incredulously. “This is where you want to walk? A rickety boardwalk in the pitch-dark?”

  “Afraid?”

  He couldn’t see her face but could hear the smile in her voice, softly teasing. “No, I’m not afraid. But I’m not insane, either. Tell me you’re not planning a stroll out over the marsh when you can’t even see where you’re going.”

  “Just stand there a minute,” she told him. “And let your eyes adjust. It’s not as dark as you think.”

  He did as he was told, waiting for his eyes to adjust. Gradually, things began to take shape: narrow estuaries snaking through tall grass, moonlight glinting off sloping banks of tidal mud, a quicksilver flash as a redfish broke the water’s inky surface.

  Dovie stood with her head thrown back, gazing up at the night sky, her face bathed in watery light, hair swirling like a halo in the darkness. She wore a little half smile as she pulled in a breath, then let it out very slowly, as if the stars had shared some secret with her. And then, without a word, she stepped out onto the
boardwalk, leaving him to follow.

  He caught up to her in a few strides, falling in beside her. He kept his eyes on his feet at first, careful not to veer too close to the edge and pitch into the swampy darkness. But after a while he found himself relaxing, content to stroll and gaze out over the moonlit stretch of sea grass.

  They had almost reached the end of the dock when Dovie stopped, arms hugged to her body. “I love the marsh at night,” she said almost reverently. “Some people find it creepy, but I think it’s beautiful, alive with things you can hear but not see—like a pulse.”

  “I can’t say I ever thought of it that way. Remarkable . . .”

  “What is?”

  “You are. This afternoon, you said I keep surprising you. I don’t think I understood what you meant until now. But it’s you who keeps surprising me. You see things. Underneath things that most people don’t. Like the marsh.”

  “I used to come with my mother, back when she used to paint. We’d bring a picnic lunch and spend all day. I think that’s why I fell in love with it, because I spent so much time watching it and listening to it. There’s a special kind of peace here, everything moving slow and sure, carrying on whether we notice or not, the tides pushing in and out, the seasons turning right on schedule. Steady. Dependable.”

  “And those things are important to you.”

  She met his gaze, as if considering his words. “Yes, I guess they are. Maybe more than they should be.”

  “How do you mean?”

  Her eyes slid away from his. “I mean I settle, rather than take risks. I’ve been that way most of my life, I guess. Less chance of being disappointed that way. Or of having the rug jerked out from under me.”

  “And how’s that been working for you?”

  She ducked her head. “Touché.”