arkansastraveler (4 page)

“And I could still beat you at basketball,” he said, smiling down at me. “Nice seeing you again.”

“Now,” Amen said, strolling across the wide living room. “I got to take me a gander at the woman who put that silly grin on Emory’s face.” She stood in front of Elvia. “It’s Elvia, right? I’m Amen Harriet Tolliver, in case no one thought to mention me before. Girl, you are as beautiful as he claimed, which doesn’t surprise me one little bit, and I bet you’re as smart as he says, too, but I know you can’t have a lick of sense or you wouldn’t be havin’ anything to do with the likes of him.” She jerked a thumb at a still-grinning Emory.

Elvia stood there for a moment, not certain how to react. My friend was actually an incredibly shy person, and I knew all this attention was killing her inside. Elvia stuck out her small hand. “Nice to meet . . .”

“Oh, go on,” Amen said, brushing her hand away and pulling her into a hug. “I was just teasin’ you. You’re family as far as I’m concerned. You’ve done turned this boy’s head into mush, and believe me, that’s not as easy to do as it looks. He doesn’t treat you right, you just give me a call. I’ll set him straight and if I’m not there, you just call my grandma, Miss DeLora True. She’ll take a hickory switch to him.”

“And not for the first time,” Emory said, laughing.

After more hugging and exclamations and more coconut cake, the older folks decided to call it a night while Emory,
Elvia, Amen, Quinton, and I chose to sit out on the front porch.

“I’ve missed the smells here,” I said, leaning back in one of the pine rocking chairs. Out in the yard, crickets and frogs competed in a dueling chorus of sound. “And the sounds. I miss katydids.”

“You should come visit more,” Amen said. “I can’t believe it’s been ten years.”

“Me either,” I replied. “But you know how time can get away from you. When Jack and I had the ranch, it seemed like we never were caught up on work, then there was the accident, and well, my life really got complicated for a while.”

“Jack,” she said with a sigh. “Lordy, what a sweetheart he was. I bet all this brings back some memories.”

I nodded. “It does, but I’m okay. I still miss him, but . . .” I let my voice trail off.

“But, as you said, your life got complicated. And when
is
Mr. Complicated due to arrive?” Amen said, matching her rocking to mine.

“I pick him up in Little Rock day after tomorrow.”

“Rumor has it he’s one
very
fine-looking man.”

“He suits me.”

She leaned forward and slapped her thigh, giving a hearty laugh. “Spoken like a true Western woman. Few words, fewer details. We need to get you back here more often so all the Southern don’t leak out. Girl, you’ve done forgotten how to gossip. I want to know
more
. Do his kisses make you frowzy-headed?”

“He does all right,” I said, tossing an ice cube at her, which she expertly dodged. “I want to hear about your new career. You aren’t giving up nursing for politics, are you?” In her last Christmas card, she’d told me she was head surgical nurse at a hospital in the neighboring town of Bozwell where Emory had once worked on the newspaper and where for a short time, before Amen was married, I knew
she and Emory had dated, though I wasn’t going to tell Elvia. In fact, there were very few women our age in this town Emory
hadn’t
dated, another fact I was going to keep to myself.

“As much as I’d love to throw myself into this campaign full-time, I’ve still got to bring home the bacon. I’ve got an always hungry seventeen-year-old son to support.” Her husband had died of a heart attack a couple of years before Jack died.

“So what grade is Lawrence now?”

“A senior, if you can believe it. I can’t myself, to tell you the truth.”

“Pictures,” I demanded.

She pulled out her wallet and passed me a couple of prom pictures of her son. He was big and strong-looking with her late husband’s round, gentle face.

“What a cutie,” I said, passing them to Elvia.

Amen grinned with pleased embarrassment. “I think so. But then, I might be prejudiced. He’s a lot like his daddy—a big ole baby, really.”

“A big ole two-hundred-thirty-pound baby who’s bein’ sought after by no less than six major universities for football scholarships,” Emory said.

“He gets straight As, too,” she said. “He wants to be a doctor. A pediatrician. He just loves little kids.”

“Good for him,” I said. “So are you still at Bozwell General?”

She shook her head no. “I’m working as a visiting hospice nurse now. It gives me a more flexible schedule.”

“That must be difficult,” Elvia said. “Working with patients who are dying.”

Amen tilted her head and looked thoughtful, her dark eyes lost in the evening shadows. “Sometimes it is, but it can also be uplifting, believe it or not. Some folks’ faith in God at such a frightening time inspires me and helps me keep my own life in perspective.”

“So, what made you decide to run for mayor?” I asked.

“She was sick of the old white boy network running this town like they own it,” Quinton said, sitting forward on one of the wicker porch chairs, almost tipping over in his eagerness. “This town needs to step into the twenty-first century, and Amen’s going to help it do that.”

Her gentle laughter echoed across the porch. She laid an affectionate hand on her nephew’s forearm. “As you can see, my supporters have great faith in me. I just wanted to get more involved. When we started a quilt guild here in Sugartree, we began making quilts for the police officers to carry in their cars to give to kids who were being removed from abusive situations. That led into donating money from opportunity quilts to a women’s shelter, then we helped raise money for a new addition to the shelter, and before I knew it, we started a food bank and ride service for the elderly to get them to the medical care they needed and . . .”

“And this town would be a heap better off if she won,” Emory said. “Quinton’s right about the old white boy network. They’re only concerned with letting developers turn Sugartree into a fancy retirement community and tourist town. All the while there’s kids livin’ here who still only eat one meal a day because that’s all their parents can afford.”

“Emory, why don’t you give my speech for me tomorrow night?” Amen said, winking at me.

He leaned back in the wicker loveseat he shared with Elvia and put his arm around her. “Nah, you’ll say it better than I ever could. Just got off on a tangent.”

“Sweet boy, tangents like that we need more of,” she said, glancing at her watch, then standing up. “Shoot, I hate to break this up, but I have an early call tomorrow.”

“We’re walking over to my house,” Emory said, taking Elvia’s hand. “Daddy should be home by now. He’s dying to meet Elvia.”

Elvia tried not to look panicked. I leaned close and
whispered in her ear. “Don’t worry, Uncle Boone’s a good guy. We’ll talk up in the room later.”

She nodded silently.

Amen, Quinton, and I walked out to the road and watched them stroll hand-in-hand down the dark street around the corner to Emory’s house.

“What a classy lady,” Amen said. “I’m real proud for Emory. It’s about time he settled down and started himself a family.”

“Well, it hasn’t quite got that far yet, but we’re hoping,” I said, leaning against the fender of her restored 1965 red Mustang. “Neat car.”

“My one indulgence,” she said. “Lawrence thinks he’s getting it for a graduation present.” She chuckled. “He thinks wrong.”

“How’s things on the campaign trail, really?”

She crossed her arms over her chest and shrugged one shoulder. “Up and down. I don’t have to tell you it’s not easy. There’s lots of folks who’d be happier seein’ me in their kitchen scrubbing their floors or serving drinks at their cocktail parties instead of tryin’ to sit behind that walnut mayor’s desk.”

I nodded. Though the South had come a long way in race relations in the last thirty years, like the rest of the country it still had a ways to go. “Any especially bad incidents?”

“Nothing we can’t handle,” Quinton said, his rich baritone voice tinged with anger. “Just a bunch of stupid redneck honkies trying to scare us off.”

“Quinton,” Amen said, her voice kind but reprimanding. “Please remember that Benni is . . .”

“A whiteneck honky who is much more diligent at using sunscreen these days considering the rapidly rising rates of skin cancer,” I finished, laughing, trying to ease the tension.

They joined in the laughter, though Quinton’s still sounded bitter.

“Seriously,” I said. “I heard from Duck that people have been messing with your signs. What have they been doing?”

“You’ve seen Duck already?” she said.

“In the parking lot of the Pig. He was going in to get some decent breakfast foods for his daughter so she wouldn’t have to lie to Gwenette about eating every breakfast at McDonald’s.”

She raised her eyebrows at Gwenette’s name. “She’s comin’ to the homecoming festivities, I heard.”

“Too bad,” I said, not even trying to hide my feelings from Amen. She knew me too well for that. Then I immediately felt guilty. “Oh, geeze, that’s not very nice. Dove and Miss DeLora would whup me upside the head if they heard me. Church homecomings should be about forgiveness and coming together in mutual agreement and support.”

“We’ll come together in mutual agreement and support. You agree to support me when I push her in front of a speeding freight train.”

We giggled like we were ten years old again. Gwenette Ann Wakefield was one of those Southern belles you couldn’t help but hate. The kind who always made the homecoming court, never sweated but “glowed,” who the girls always made fun of but secretly envied, and the boys lusted after from the first flip of her big pouffy blond hair. The year she became first runner-up for Miss Arkansas, her head became almost as big as her hair.

Quinton shook his head, his face a little annoyed. “It’s not funny, Aunt Amen. She’s a huge part of Grady Hunter’s support, and lots of people read her magazine.”

“She’s got a magazine?” I asked.

Amen rolled her eyes. “It’s called
Sugartree Today
. A kind of look-at-me-don’t-you-wish-you-had-my-life thing. She and her friends and their numerous vacations, pastimes, and pseudocharities are her favorite topics. Believe it or
not, she does carry some influence in town. You know how the South loves and worships beauty queens, even runner-ups.”

“Anyone who has half a brain knows you’d be a great mayor,” I said.

“Then let’s hope that particular constituency is registered to vote.”

“We can hope and pray. See you tomorrow?” I asked. “We haven’t really been able to catch up, and I want you to get to know Elvia better. You’ll really like her.”

“I’m sure you’re right. How about a chocolate fried pie break at Boone’s at two o’clock? My treat.”

“Then I wouldn’t miss it. Take care now.”

“The same to you, girl.” She hugged me one last time, her strong fingers pressing into my back. “It’s so good to see you. Welcome home, Benni Harper.”

It was only as I was waving good-bye that it occurred to me that she hadn’t ever told me what those redneck honkies were doing to scare her. I shivered involuntarily, a goose running over my grave, as her parting words echoed in my mind.

Welcome home, Benni Harper.

A
N HOUR LATER
, from the guest bedroom downstairs where I was staying, I heard the front door creak open. I gave Elvia fifteen minutes then went upstairs, trying to avoid the squeaky warped spots on the hardwood floors, the places my cousin Rita said made it hard to sneak in after curfew. I tapped softly on her door.

“Come in,” she said in a low voice.

She was given the room I always stayed in as a child. It was decorated with the odds and ends of treasured family antiques too memory-filled to sell, but not quite matching any of Aunt Garnet’s Early American Ethan Allen decor. A gold-framed picture of their only grandchild, my cousin Rita, sat on the five-drawer bird’s-eye maple bureau. An old Sugartree Hornets football banner hung above one twin bed; over the other was a picture of Jesus surrounded by laughing children of all nationalities and colors.

Elvia sat cross-legged in red satiny pajamas under the Jesus picture, her black hair tied back with a matching ribbon. Her face was bare of makeup, giving it a wan but delicately vulnerable look. I joined her on the bed, mimicking her position, our knees touching.

She pointed to the framed picture of my cousin Rita on the maple bureau. “Will I have to share this room with her?” She tried not to look alarmed. My wild-child, rodeo-cowboy-loving cousin and Elvia had not taken to each other, to put it mildly.

“Don’t worry, she’s not coming. She’s back with Skeeter, believe it or not, and there’s some big rodeo in Montana he’s riding in.”

Relief softened her features.

“How was the meeting with Boone?” I asked.

She plucked at the sleeve of my flannel pajamas. “Where in the world did you find these?” she asked. My light blue pajamas were covered with bucking broncos and wild-eyed cowboys.

“Gabe bought them for me. He saw them in a boutique down in Santa Barbara when he was at a police chief’s seminar a few months ago.”

“That man can read you like a book.”

“Yeah, well he also bought me something from Victoria’s Secret, too, and the deal was I didn’t get the pajamas unless I agreed to wear the . . . Well, let’s just say I didn’t bring it with me to Arkansas.”

She gave a soft laugh. “Marriage blackmail. Is that what I have to look forward to?”

I raised my eyebrows at her, my heart hopeful. “You tell me.”

She shook her head. “Emory’s father was very sweet to me. I see where Emory learned his manners.”

“Uncle Boone, Aunt Garnet, and Miss DeLora. He didn’t have a chance.”

“I didn’t realize his house was right behind this one.”

I nodded. “It was real fun when we were kids. You can see his bedroom window from our window here. We used to send Morse code messages with flashlights. Meet me in the tree house was our favorite. We spent a lot of time up in that old oak tree.”

“He showed me the tree house. Quite impressive.”

“Did you go up in it?”

“No, he tried to convince me to climb the rope ladder, but I told him I’d wait until the elevator was put in.”

“Spoken like a true diva,” I said, bumping her knee with mine. “What’d you think of his house? Aren’t the pillars a hoot? I think Emory’s mama had a thing for
Gone With the Wind.
”

The Littleton house had always been one of the town’s showplaces. One of the largest houses in town, it was made of fawn-colored brick and had a deep hardwood front porch supported by four white pillars. The double front doors, carved with dogwood blossoms and doves, were designed by an artist in Charleston, and the first glimpse of the huge entryway never failed to take my breath away. Two intricately carved cherry wood staircases, which carried through the dogwood and dove theme, wound their way from Italian marble floors to the second floor where there were six bedroom suites, five bathrooms, and a huge master bedroom suite with a separate sitting room.

Her face was troubled. “It’s . . . bigger than I expected.”

“My exact words to Gabe on our wedding night,” I said, grinning.

“Oh, you,” she said, grabbing a pillow from behind her and smacking me with it. I wrestled it from her before she could strike again. “I’m serious. Just how much . . .” She stopped. “No, never mind. I don’t want to know.”

I hugged the captured pillow to my chest. “All you need to know is Emory loves you. And that you’re going to live happily ever after.”

The troubled light in her eyes didn’t ease. “Do you really believe that, Benni? Happily ever after? Do you think that’s possible for anyone?”

I thought about her question for a moment. “No, I guess not. I mean, ever after, that part I do believe. The happily comes and goes. So I think we can live ever after with
someone we love, sometimes happily, sometimes not so happily, but certainly ever after.” But even as I said the words, I knew even they didn’t ring true. I didn’t live ever after with Jack. Sometimes people left you. Sometimes they just left.

“Those were some of the most convoluted sentences I’ve ever heard put together,” she said, but smiled, her tension easing a little.

“Relax,” I said, patting her knee. “As Aunt Garnet would say, just take a deep breath and think of Arkansas.”

She shook her head at my silly remark and leaned back against the maple headboard. “So, this Amen. She and Emory dated, didn’t they?”

I bit my lip, trying to keep a poker face. “Why would you think that?”

Her confident laugh eased my worry. These people wouldn’t intimidate her for long. “Benni, you look like one of my brothers when Mama catches them sneaking a smoke out in the garage. I’m not blind and I’m not naive. I know Emory dated a lot of women before me.”

“It wasn’t serious between him and Amen. Just a summer fling. Kind of like me and Duck.”

“You and Duck!”

“Well, they were a bit older when they dated. . . . Nineteen or twenty, I think. Actually, me and Duck never really dated. He just gave me my first kiss when I was twelve. Behind the Sugartree Dairy Queen, if you must know the gory details.”

She poked my flannel-covered knee with a red nail. “Why, you little sneak. Was he a good kisser?”

I giggled and pushed her hand away. “I thought he was, but what did I know? He was an older man. All of fourteen years old. And for the record, Emory paid him five bucks to perform the deed. Duck was really popular even then. In reality, he’d never have looked twice at a tomboy like me.”

“Did you know Emory paid for it?”

“Not until long after I was married to Jack. Emory’s always haranguing me about paying him back.”

“I feel so out of place,” she said, suddenly serious again.

I reached over and took her hand. “Emory loves you. When someone loves you, you’re never out of place.”

Her dark eyes studied me. “Truth time. Could you ever, in your wildest imagination, see me living here?”

That stopped me. Elvia living in Sugartree was beyond my comprehension. “No, but visiting once a year wouldn’t be so bad, would it?”

“If that’s all it was. What if after we’re married he decides he can’t live away from the South? He grew up here. This is his home. The business he will inherit is here. You see how relaxed he is, how happy. He just came to California for me, but can you see him living in San Celina permanently? Raising children there? It’s not like you and Gabe. Gabe had lived away from his hometown for twenty years before he met you.”

I realized she was right and that I’d never thought of it that way. I loved having Emory live in San Celina and selfishly and self-centeredly assumed that if he married Elvia, he’d just stay there the rest of his life. But Elvia was right. He’d spent his whole life in the South. I’d never even considered the fact that he might want to live and raise his children there.

“Have you two talked about it?” I asked.

“No,” she said, sighing. “We haven’t gotten into details like that.” She waved her hand irritably. “Who knows, this might be a moot point. It probably won’t even work out with us. Why should he be any different than any of the others?”

I didn’t answer. Her love life had always been a touchy subject between us, especially since that disastrous affair she’d had with a sabbatical replacement professor when we were seniors in college. I’d hated him, thought he was just
out to use her and told her so. It was the only time in our relationship when we went for three months without speaking. I turned out to be right, a fact that didn’t give me any satisfaction because of the pain it put her through. No man had captured her heart since. Until now.

“Where are you sleeping?” she asked.

“Downstairs in the magnolia room.”

“The magnolia room?”

I unfolded my legs and stood up, shaking the right one, which had gone to sleep. “You’ll have to come see it tomorrow. It’s called the magnolia room because of Great-Great Gramma Neeta’s bed. It’s got magnolias carved all over the foot and headboard. Me and Gabe are staying there ’cause we’re the most newlywed in the family. It’s tradition.”

She pulled the bed pillow close to her chest and ran her fingers over the pillowcase’s colorful embroidered flowers. “He doesn’t arrive until Tuesday?”

“Right.” I looked at her, waiting for something else. Then her unspoken request dawned on me. “You know, it’s kinda lonely down there. Do you mind if I sleep up here with you until he comes?”

Gratitude flashed across her face. “If you promise not to snore.”

“Hit me with a pillow if I do,” I said, crawling in the other twin bed.

“Count on it,
amiga
,” she replied and turned out the light.

I
T TOOK ME
a few minutes at breakfast to realize an incident of earthshaking proportions had happened before I got up.

Dove and Aunt Garnet bustled around the oval walnut dining table, setting down more food than we could eat in a month of Sundays.

“Where’s Elvia?” Dove asked.

“She’ll be down directly but she doesn’t eat much breakfast.”

“She can have a biscuit or two,” Dove said, setting down a plate of fluffy white cathead biscuits. Steam curled off their golden tops.

I inhaled deeply and sighed. “Don’t worry, I’ll eat her share.”

“Hope you’re hungry,” Aunt Garnet said, moving around Dove and setting down an orange Fiestaware plate of identical biscuits.

“Wow, you two must have been up since five o’clock baking,” I said, sitting down next to Isaac.

“I was,” Aunt Garnet said, her voice sweet as the pitcher of sorghum she sat next to my plate. “
Someone
needs to feed this hungry household a decent breakfast.”

Dove made a growly sound deep in her throat.

“Could you pass the grits?” I asked Isaac. The panicked look on his face surprised me. He glanced at Dove, then Garnet. Both of them smiled at him with the innocent, deadly grins of water moccasins ready to bite.

Something wasn’t right.

“Which ones?” Uncle WW said cheerfully.

“The plain ones,” I said, reaching for the butter dish.

“I mean, which plain ones?”

That’s when I really looked at the table. It was full of food all right. Double everything. Double platters of fried ham. Double plates of biscuits. Double bowls of grits. Double pitchers of juice. Double dishes of scrambled eggs. Even double plates of butter.

“What’s going on here?” I asked.

“Blackberry jam, Benni, dear?” Aunt Garnet said, her thin rice-powdered face smiling at me. She set a blue cut-glass dish of dark preserves in front of me. I started to scoop some out when it was whisked out from under my spoon and replaced with a pink dish of red preserves.

“You don’t like blackberry, you like raspberry,” Dove said. “I brought these from home.”

I sat there with my spoon in midair. “Will someone please tell me what’s going on?”

Aunt Garnet’s head lifted, and she sniffed the air like a hunting dog scenting squirrel. “Oh, dear, my cinnamon rolls are burning.” She dashed into the kitchen.

Dove smiled and continued to rearrange the food on the table, pushing some dishes aside and others toward me, Isaac, and Uncle WW.

Aunt Garnet came back out a few seconds later holding a pan of rolls that were black and crispy on top. “Who fiddled with the temperature on the oven?” she demanded.