The Pecan Man (16 page)

Eighteen

School was out the week before Christmas and Blanche’s girls
were giddy with excitement. Even Blanche managed to suppress her sadness enough
to get into the spirit of the season. I think it was hard not to anticipate the
opening of all the presents under our tree. The three younger children spent
most of their time with us, but Patrice had taken part-time job as a cashier at
Winn Dixie and worked most evenings.

It’s funny how, just when you
think you’ve settled into a routine and you know what to expect, something
seemingly insignificant becomes a revelation.

We decided to bake cookies, a
task I previously thought to be a necessary, but not particularly heartwarming,
part of the holiday routine. I helped Blanche by planning, shopping and
organizing before the cookies were baked, and by packing and sorting for the
various charities afterwards. That was before we had children in the house.

Knowing I had resigned from
most of my civic duties, Blanche assumed we would omit the baking part of our
routine when she asked about the cookies one night at the dinner table.

“I don’t reckon we go’n be
bakin’ them Christmas cookies this year, 'less you got something I don’t know
about.

Three little heads snapped to
attention and the younger girls all spoke at once.

“Cookies?”

“Aw, I done said it now,”
moaned Blanche.

“I’ll help, Mama,” Patrice
said, more eager than resigned.

“Pleeeease…” came the chorus.

“I don’t see why not,” I said
and Blanche smiled in spite of herself.

“Of course, we won’t bake quite
as many as last year,” I added, as Blanche’s smile turned to a chuckle.

We decided to make Christmas
Butter Cookies, so the girls could use the cookie cutters and sprinkles, and
Lemon Squares, Blanche’s favorite. Then I said I’d add Bourbon Balls to the
menu. They were easy to make and required no baking at all, so I thought I
could handle those myself while the girls decorated their cookies.

“Bourbon Balls?” Blanche asked.
“We entertainin’ this year?”

“Not on a grand scale,” I
replied. “I just remembered that I invited Clara Jean and her date to stop by
for eggnog after their Christmas Eve dinner plans and, to my surprise, she
accepted.”

“Bourbon Balls
and
eggnog?” Blanche cocked her eyebrow at me disapprovingly.

“I’ll get the non-alcoholic
eggnog, if that’ll make you feel better,” I said.

The thought flashed through my
mind that Blanche must have some newfound system of ethics because we had
always had alcohol in the house, despite our Baptist affiliation. Walter was by
no means a drunkard, but he did like to have his one glass of Scotch and water
when he got home. I had personally never cared much for liquor, but we kept
several bottles in our cabinet for the rare entertaining we did.

Blanche glared at me and I must
have looked puzzled because she cut her eyes pointedly in Eddie’s direction. He
was picking slowly at his food and did not look up. I got the distinct feeling
that he was well aware of the current exchange and wished he were anywhere else
but there at the moment.

I may be a little slow, but I’m
no idiot.

“You’s all outta whiskey, Miz
Ora. ‘Member you had me pour all that out when Mr. Walter passed. Said it
reminded you too much o’ him to keep it around.”

Well, I said no such thing, but
I went along with the charade.

“That’s right, I’d forgotten
all about that. Well, there’s no sense buying a whole new bottle of Jack
Daniels for just a few little bourbon balls. I’ll come up with something else
to impress Clara Jean and her new beau.”

I tried to sound nonchalant,
but my response was stilted at best. 

Later that night, after Blanche
and the girls went home and Eddie turned in, I checked the liquor cabinet. It
was empty, as I suspected. I didn't have time to ask Blanche about it at
supper, but I assumed she had indeed poured out what little had been there. I'm
not sure why I didn't know Eddie was an alcoholic. I suppose I should have
wondered why a hardworking man was homeless, but instead I’d taken it for
granted that he wanted it that way. It was years before I understood what Eddie
would do for a roof over his head and three meals a day, and how much he would
sacrifice for the daughter he loved.

I couldn’t for the life of me
figure out how Blanche knew to pour out the liquor, so I asked her the next day
before Eddie got up.

“Some things you just know,”
was all she would allow.

We sat down later to make a
list for our cookie baking adventure. I got out the recipes and Blanche
calculated what we would need.

“Baking powder?" I read
from the book.

“Pro'bly want to add that. What
we got is pretty old," Blanche said.

“Vanilla extract - should have
plenty of that," I said and tried to skip over it.

“We out of vanilla, Miz
Ora."

“We can't be out, Blanche. I
just bought a huge bottle."

“We still out of it," she
grumbled.

“Humor me and check, would
you?" I was annoyed.

“I can check all day long, Miz
Ora, and we'll still be outta vanilla."

She went to the pantry and
brought back the eight ounce bottle I had recently purchased. She held it up to
the light to prove that the bottle was indeed almost empty.

“What in the world happened?"

Blanche gave me the look that
I'd become accustomed to getting from her. I don't think she meant to, but she
had a way of making me feel like a pitiful old fool.

“Some things you just
know,
"
she repeated.

I added vanilla extract to the
list.

Eddie tried his best to stay
out of the way as preparation for the holidays proceeded, but Grace would have
none of that. She was determined to have all the members of our improbable
family together as much as possible. We grew accustomed to seeing Grace clutch
Eddie’s hand in both of hers and drag him down the hall toward whatever event
or task we had going on at the time.

I thought that Eddie would
eventually relax and allow himself to enjoy the attention, but he seemed to
grow sadder by the minute. I made up my mind to ask him about it after the
holidays passed and the excitement died down but, as usual, Gracie beat me to
the punch.

We were up to our elbows in
flour and sugar, our cookie baking expedition in full swing. I was rolling out
cookie dough, ReNetta was cutting the shapes, Danita and Gracie were decorating
and Blanche was baking the cookies and washing up dishes between batches.
Eddie’s job was to hold the old shoebox full of cookie cutters and dole them
out at the appropriate time. We had stars of all sizes, bells and wreaths,
snowmen, snowflakes, Christmas trees, reindeer and sleighs.

The girls were having great fun
deciding how to decorate the cookies for maximum effect. When Eddie pulled out
the Santa face cookie cutter and the girls cut the shape, Gracie was quick to
point out a serious design flaw in our cookie project. Once the white sugar
crystals went on for the beard and the red crystals adorned his hat, Santa was
left with a decidedly pale complexion.

“Mama, how come we makin’ Santy
Claus's face so white?”

I’m not sure who was more
horrified, me or Blanche. I thought back to the painting of the Last Supper
above Blanche’s red couch. It’s funny what you take for granted when your view
of the world reflects your own skin color.

Before Blanche could say a
word, I roared, “Blanche! Get the cocoa!”

Well, that sent us all into
fits of laughter that had Blanche and me crossing our legs and clutching our
chests. I had never heard Eddie laugh before and I have to tell you, it was a
magical sound. We laughed until our sides hurt, quieted down briefly and then
started right back up again as soon as one of us replayed the scene in our
heads. The little girls were only mildly amused and rolled their eyes in
disgust when it took too long to collect ourselves.

We did pull out the cocoa,
though. I blended it into one batch of buttery dough and let the girls cut it
all into Santa faces. I have to admit, I liked the end result and I found
myself wishing I’d thought to do it years earlier, when my cookies were being
delivered to the families in Blanche’s neighborhood.

We were putting the last batch
into the oven when Grace noticed that Eddie had gone quiet again.

“Aw, Mr. Pecan,” Grace crooned
softly. She climbed gently into his lap and, resting her head back onto his
shoulder, said, “Why you always so sad?”

He hugged her then. Tucked her
head up under his chin and wrapped his arms around her little body.

“I’m sad ‘cause I’m go’n miss
you when I’m gone,” he said.

“Where you going?” Gracie
asked.

“I don’t rightly know for sure,
but I can’t stay here forever.”

“Why not?” Gracie wondered.

“’Cause this here ain’t my
home.”

“Where is your home, then?”

Blanche interrupted then.
“Gracie!”

“S’awright. She ain’t botherin’
me,” Eddie said to Blanche. “I ain’t got a home right now, child. I done left
my home a long time ago.”

“Can’t you go back?” she asked.

“Too late to go back now,” he
said.

Nineteen

Christmas Eve dawned cold and crisp and the girls could
barely contain themselves. Blanche and her family had been staying over every
night since the weather turned too cold to walk home. Blanche and I opened the
fourth bedroom upstairs, which had previously been used only for storage and
was inclined to be a little cold in the winter and hot in the summer. I worried
about putting the little girls in there until I remembered that Blanche’s
little house had no air-conditioning at all and only the one gas stove in the
living room for heat. With one double bed and a pullout couch that had been
bound for the Goodwill store just before Walter’s death, there was plenty of
room for the three younger girls to sleep and they were thrilled with the extra
space. Blanche and Patrice took the pink room.

Out of all the events I had
coordinated over the years, arranging a visit from Santa was nearly my undoing.
I couldn’t imagine how parents around the world handled the delivery schedules
with a houseful of children underfoot. I had to make an excuse to send Eddie
out to the garage when the bikes were delivered, while I entertained the girls
inside. It took a bit of convincing to keep Grace from tagging along with him.
She had become his shadow and was not inclined to let him out of her sight. I
had a few last minute gifts to wrap and I enticed Grace to stay with me by
sacrificing my usual gift-wrapping standards and allowing her to wrap them “all
by herself.”

The twins were excited to use
the good china and silverware again and busied themselves with the now familiar
process of setting the table. Blanche, thank goodness, had the dinner and
dessert preparations under control or I’d have had a heap of trouble getting
everything done.

It was decided that the girls
would be allowed to open one gift that night, just after dinner. We had
finished dessert and were just about to retire to the living room when Clara
Jean and her date arrived. I was stunned to see Chip Smallwood without his
uniform on. He looked as handsome as ever and I wondered why I had never
thought of the two of them as a match.

Eddie looked a bit nervous when
Chip entered, but he soon relaxed as we all sat by the fire sipping
non-alcoholic eggnog and enjoying the excited chatter of the children opening
their presents.

We sent the girls, even
Patrice, to bed soon afterward. I pulled Chip aside and asked if he would help
us get the bicycles from the garage once the girls were asleep.

It was no easy task getting
those bicycles into the living room without waking everyone in the house. Even
though I had them delivered fully assembled, it was after eleven o'clock when
we finally got everything arranged just right.

I barely remember walking Chip
and Clara Jean to the car.

“I’m so glad you could join us
tonight,” I said as Clara Jean leaned over and hugged me. “I hope it didn’t
take too much time away from your families.”

“We enjoyed it, Miz Beckworth,”
Chip said. “I don’t ever remember such a peaceful Christmas Eve.”

Chip opened the passenger door,
holding it long enough for Clara to slide gracefully into the low bucket seat.
She winked at me as Chip went around the back of the car and opened the
driver-side door.

“You approve?” she whispered.

“Very much so,” I said.

“Merry Christmas to you both,”
I added as Chip slid behind the wheel and leaned over to smile at me.