arkansastraveler (3 page)

“They always did get on good,” I said.

“Two peas of a pod,” he agreed. “Amen’s dyin’ to see you. You’d best call her as soon as you get to Garnet’s.”

“I know it’s probably obvious to you here,” Elvia said, “but how does a person get a name like Amen?”

Duck and I both laughed.

“She’s the last of ten children,” I said. “So when she was born her mother said . . .”

“Amen,” Elvia filled in, laughing, too. “I get it. My mother can relate.” Elvia was the oldest of seven children and the only girl.

Duck glanced at his watch. “Well, I was supposed to just be running into the Pig real quick to get some milk, eggs, and cereal. Tiffany Anne’s stayin’ with me tonight, and we’ve already eaten Egg McMuffins two days in a row, so I thought I’d feed her at least one decent breakfast before I drop her off at school tomorrow.” He glanced over at Elvia. “Tiffany Anne’s my twelve-year-old daughter. She stays with me every other weekend.”

“Dove told me about you and Gwenette breaking up,” I said. “I’m real sorry.”

He shrugged. “Happens. She left me for a podiatrist.” A self-mocking grin appeared. “Lordy mama, talk about your humbling experience. A
podiatrist
.”

“You medical snob,” I said. “Feet need doctors, too.”

“Well, I should’ve seen it coming when she was down
to Dillard’s in Little Rock every week buyin’ new shoes.”

“At least he’ll be having to pay for them now.”

He leaned down and kissed my cheek. “That is my greatest revenge. Gwenette could spend a thousand dollars a month on shoes. See you tomorrow evening. Boone and Emory’s havin’ a fund-raising dinner for Amen.”

“That’s right. Aunt Garnet said she was running for mayor. But I haven’t seen any signs.”

His rugged face turned dark. “That’s been a problem. Every time we put ’em out, someone messes with them. I’m afraid it’s going to get uglier before the election next month.”

“Didn’t she pretty much expect that?” I turned and explained to Elvia. “She’s the first black and the first woman to challenge Sugartree’s highest political office.”

“She sure did bite off a big chunk to chew,” Duck said.

“Who’s she running against?”

“Grady Hunter.”

“Oh, geeze, that is a big bite. He’s white, rich, and from an old Sugartree family,” I said for Elvia’s benefit. “Think she has a chance?” I asked Duck.

He gave a big sigh and shook his head. “Between you ’n’ me and the Piggly Wiggly sign, I doubt it. But you know Amen, she’s bound and determined to give it a shot.”

“Good for her,” Elvia said. “Wish I had a vote.”

“Well, we can go to the dinner, contribute money and our moral support,” I said. “That’s something.”

“It surely is,” Duck said. “Better run. Nice meetin’ you, Ms. Aragon.”

“Elvia,” she said, smiling. “And it was a pleasure meeting you, too, Dr. Wakefield.”

“Just call me Duck,” he said.

“Or Quack, as he has also been known to be called,” I said.

“Kiss my grits, Curly Top,” he said and waved good-bye as he hurried toward the store.

“He seems nice and intelligent,” Elvia said when we climbed back into the Explorer.

“A few of us po’ white folk around here actually is ed-ju-cated and right open-minded at times,” I said in my best imitation of a bad Southern accent.

“Point taken,
amiga
. I’ll try to keep an open mind. Just no more Waffle House breakfasts.”

“At least not today,” I said.

I
CIRCLED THE
town square once, giving Elvia a taste of downtown Sugartree, not in a great hurry to get to Aunt Garnet’s house. It was past six o’clock, and I knew most likely everyone would still be at evening church service.

The redbrick Blevins County courthouse squatted in the middle of the town as it had since 1839, surrounded by thick leafy blackjack oaks, hickory trees, and bright yellow sugar maples. Its white trim and gothic columns gave it a look of old-fashioned gentility and sturdy righteousness. A place where Atticus Finch could have comfortably practiced law. Out front a small sign in the shape of an open book said:
IN
1849,
TWO YEARS AFTER THE CREATION OF BLEVINS COUNTY
,
THE SITE OF THE TOWN OF SUGARTREE WAS LAID OFF AS THE PERMANENT SEAT OF JUSTICE OF THE COUNTY
. Next to it, a sober gray granite war memorial listed the Blevins County men and women who’d made the “supreme sacrifice” in the service of their country. I knew one of the men listed under the Vietnam War dead—Clive Phillips. He taught Emory and me to scissor-kick and float like a dead man in the “guppy” swimming class at the
community pool when we were six and seven years old.

Most of the businesses were closed now, but I pointed out some of the places Emory and I had hung out as kids—such as Hawley’s Drug Store where we bought green rivers and cherry Cokes at the soda fountain and fetched Goody’s headache powders for Aunt Garnet. Mr. Hawley let us read the comic books for free as long as our hands were clean. I wondered if he still owned it.

“Headache powders?” Elvia said.

“We don’t have them out West. At least I’ve never seen them. It’s a running argument between Dove and Garnet about which is better, Goody’s or BC.”

“They’re actually powder?”

“In little packs of folded paper. You put them in water or on your tongue. It’s amazing. Gets rid of your headache like that.” I snapped my fingers.

She shook her head as we passed the Razorback Feed ’n’ Seed store and Dandy’s Five & Dime. A display of Hula-Hoops and trick-or-treat costumes dominated the dime store’s hazy front window. “It’s as if we’ve gone back in time thirty years.”

“A good part of my allowance supported that five and dime store,” I said. “There’s Beulah’s Beauty Barn and Elvis Emporium!” I pointed to a small brown natural stone building catty-corner to Billings’ Beans-N-Biscuit Cafe, known to locals as the 3B Cafe. A banner in Beulah’s window said in bright pink letters:
WELCOME HOME
,
SUGAR
-
TREE BAPTIST FAMILY MEMBERS
(20%
DISCOUNT ON WASH AND SET WITH OUT
-
OF
-
STATE LICENSE
).

“B seems to be a popular letter here,” she commented.

“We’ll be spending an afternoon at Beulah’s one day this week.”

She jerked her head around to stare at me, her mouth gaping slightly. “I don’t think so.” She touched her shoulder-length black hair in a subconscious protective gesture.

“Not to have our hair done,” I said, laughing at her horrified expression. “To catch up on what’s really going on in town. Garnet and her friends have standing appointments. Some of them for forty years. Beulah’s a hoot. She knows more of this town’s secrets than all the Baptist, Methodist, Pentecostal, and Catholic ministers put together. And if you get her on the right day, she’ll give you a tidbit that you can dine out on for a month. Besides, you can’t miss her Elvis boutique. She’s in the Elvis Century Club.”

“The what?”

“The Elvis Century Club. To belong you have to have visited Graceland at least one hundred times. She has proof, too. Receipts and pictures from every visit. Her scrapbook is on display in the boutique.”

“Sounds . . . lovely,” Elvia said, still holding her hair.

After promising her a walking tour tomorrow, we drove the three blocks from the town square to Aunt Garnet’s two-story farm-style house. Tall, bushy sweet gum trees clasped leafy hands over our heads as we drove slowly over the bumpy streets. When I pulled into the long driveway, I saw someone rise up from the porch swing and move out from the shadows of the house’s deep veranda. I smiled and waved at Isaac, my gramma’s—as she liked to put it—gentleman friend. Behind him stood my uncle William Wiley, better known as Uncle WW. He was Garnet’s quiet but quick-witted husband, who’d recently retired from his fifty-year plumbing business and was now, according to Dove, driving Aunt Garnet crazy “fixin’ ” things around the house.

“I married him for better or worse,” she complained to Dove a few months back, “but not for lunch.”

“Hey, Isaac, how’s the South been treating you?” I called, stepping out of the car.

He came down the steps and caught me up in a massive hug. With his six-foot-four-inch body it was like being squeezed by a big ole bear, if the bear had hair the color
of White Lily flour pulled back in a long braid down his back. I was sure that Isaac Lyons, world-renowned photographer, five-time married man of the world and founder and president of the Dove Ramsey fan club, had sent a great many of Dove’s old friends in Sugartree into a gossiping tizzy. I would have given two inches of fresh-grown hair to have been a fly on the wall of Beulah’s
last
Saturday morning.

“I love the South,” he said, letting my feet touch ground again and going over and hugging Elvia in a more restrained way. “Almost as much as I love your gramma.”

“Why aren’t you two in church?” I asked. “I can’t believe the girls let you or your wicked souls out of it.”

“I reckon Isaac had one of them migraine headaches all you city folk seem to favor so much,” Uncle WW said, coming down the steps. I went over and hugged him, his grizzled face giving a pipe smoker’s half-smile. His scent of vanilla pipe tobacco and Ivory soap made me feel like a little girl again.

“You don’t get migraines,” I accused a grinning Isaac. Then I looked back at Uncle WW. “And what’s your excuse?”

“I reckon he needed a sympathetic friend to fetch him water for his medication,” he said, his face sober as a state trooper’s, his pale blue eyes twinkling.

“You are bad boys,” I said, wagging a finger at them. “God’s gonna smite you good for lying.”

“I didn’t lie to Dove,” Isaac said. “Only Garnet. Do I get partial credit?”

“That’s between you and the Lord,” I said, laughing.

After helping us unload our suitcases, we all settled down on the front porch with the requisite Southern drink, iced tea.

“Garnet’s got a big spread fixed for y’all,” Uncle WW said. “But you know how she likes to do things herself, so
we’d best be waitin’ till church is over and she can dish it up.”

“That’s okay,” I said. “We ate as soon as we got off the plane.”

Elvia glanced at me and rolled her eyes.

“Had yourself a Waffle House feast, did you?” Uncle WW said, winking at Elvia. “This girl’s plumb crazy for Waffle House.” He circled his temple with a forefinger.

“So I gathered,” Elvia said, smiling in spite of herself.

“Just so you know, not all of us here are that nuts over the place. I prefer McDonald’s or Shoney’s myself.”

She laughed, and I finally relaxed, leaning my head back against the padded back of the porch swing I shared with Isaac. Elvia took a place next to Uncle WW on one of the four cane-seat pine rockers. My family would make her feel at home, I was sure of it.

By the time Dove and Garnet drove up an hour later in Garnet’s huge green Buick sedan, we’d already heard about every squabble they’d been in during the last week and about Uncle WW’s fountain garden in the backyard.

“It’s best to see it in the daytime,” he said. “I’ve been talking with a buddy of mine about hooking up some lights so’s we can enjoy it at night, but Garnet’s done closed the purse strings.” The amount of money he’d been spending on decorative fountains since he’d retired a year ago had been a source of much-discussed conflict between him and my great-aunt.

“Honeybun, Elvia!” Dove cried, coming up the stairs and pulling me to her in a hug. “How was the airplane ride, girls? Are you hungry?”

“Just fine,” I said. “We got here about an hour or so ago. I ate at a Waffle House the minute we landed, but I could eat again.”

“A Waffle House? Lord, then Elvia must be starved,” she said, letting go of me and hugging her.

“Just a little,” Elvia said.

I crossed the porch to greet my aunt. “Hey, Aunt Garnet, how are you?” When I hugged her, her scent brought back memories, too. Jean Naté cologne and a slight whiff of lavender talcum powder always made me think of my austere and proper great-aunt. Taller than her older sister Dove’s five-foot, one inch by three much-touted inches, she was the opposite of Dove in every way you could imagine except one. Her family was her life, and she was truly glad to have us here.

“Benni, dear, you’re finally looking well,” she said, touching my cheek with her thin, cool hand. “You’ve been at the top of my prayer list for the last couple of years.”

“Thanks,” I said, wondering if I should take that as a loving gesture or an admonishment. Trouble had seemed to dog me since I’d lost my first husband, Jack, in a car accident almost three years ago. But joy had found me, too, and he was due to arrive day after tomorrow. “Uncle WW says you’ve fixed us some supper.”

“Yes, yes, come in out of the evening air,” she said, pulling her short lacy jacket close around her. “It feels like we’re to have an early fall.”

After a “light supper” of baked chicken and dressing, three-bean salad, corn bread, homemade pickles, fresh tomatoes, lime Jell-O with pineapple chunks, and tangy-sweet coleslaw, we retired to the living room with pieces of her sour-cream coconut cake. I was contemplating a second piece and being teased by Isaac and Uncle WW that I was going to explode, when Emory arrived.

“Hey, y’all,” he said, bursting through the door. Amen and a young, good-looking black man trailed behind him. Emory immediately crossed the room and pulled Elvia out of her chair. “Excuse me while I kiss my girl.” And he did, right there on the lips, in front of everyone. Being home gave my cousin a boldness that disconcerted even the unflappable Elvia.

“Emory,” she murmured, pulling away, though, I noted,
not too quickly. Her brown cheeks flushed pink.

Everyone couldn’t help laughing at the goofy grin on Emory’s face.

“I do believe that boy’s besotted,” Uncle WW drawled.

“Hey, Amen,” I said, going over to my old friend. “It’s been way too long.” We hugged, then held hands and unabashedly inspected each other. She was thinner than the last time I’d seen her ten years ago and more grown-up-looking than I ever thought possible. Her hair was short and clipped close to her head in an elegant style, and her black eyes were highlighted with a professional-looking makeup job. Her neatly arched eyebrows gave her face an optimistic, slightly questioning look. She wore khaki slacks, a tan silk shirt, and a tailored houndstooth jacket.

“You look like a million bucks!” I said.

“Girlfriend, these days that better be before taxes, or it ain’t a compliment,” she said, her smile a sparkling ivory against dark coffee skin. “You don’t look a bit different than when you were twenty-six. I’d kill for your secret, Benni Harper.”

“Good living and a pure heart.”

“Lord have mercy, now I
know
that’s a lie.” She looked me up and down in the same way Duck had. “Emory, when are we going to get this girl out of those nasty ole jeans permanently and into some nice wool gabardine?”

No one laughed louder at that unlikely thought than Elvia.

Amen turned and grabbed the young man’s hand. “You remember my nephew, Quinton, don’t you?”

“Is this little Quinton?” I exclaimed, looking up at the smooth-skinned young man wearing a shy smile. He’d grown into a long-limbed, handsome man with crisp black hair and skin the color of dark, cooked caramel. He wore a conservative sports jacket and a pale blue dress shirt. A small diamond stud sparkled in one ear.

“Not so little anymore,” Amen said. “Quinton’s
attending the University of Arkansas at Little Rock. He’s majoring in law and he’s also my campaign manager.”

I couldn’t believe this was her nephew who ten years ago spent an afternoon with me, Emory, and Jack shooting baskets for quarters down at the high school. By the end of the match, he’d collected five bucks from each of us. “Shoot, you were twelve the last time I saw you,” I said, standing on tiptoe to hug him. “I was taller than you.”