CHAPTER 33

“Right on Ebenezer,” JoLynn said. “My great aunt, Joetta Deer. Maybe you heard of her?”

“Joetta?” Flannery said, surprised.

“Yeah, I was sorta named for her. Mama—she’s deceased—just added Lynn to Jo in memory of the aunt she was so fond of.”

“Everyone’s heard of Joetta. Such a tragedy.”

“When I was little, Mama used to bring me here to Glass Ferry, out to visit Ebenezer. I’d help put flowers on the graves. We’d clean up the weeds as much as we could, but it was hard to keep up, hard to come all this way. My parents both worked,” JoLynn said. “But we would try to visit a couple times a year and make the trip at least once. Mama said there should always be flowers there for her baby cousins, Uncle Ebenezer, and her sweet Aunt Joetta. God rest.”

Flannery said, “I didn’t know any Deer kin were still around.” “Most of us settled in Tennessee in the ’40s and ’50s, and a few stayed put like Joetta,” JoLynn said. “But my old heart’s always been in Kentucky. Mama would drive by your place here, and I remembered how beautiful it was. Declared I’d have it one day so I could make sure my relatives’ graves would always have flowers. Stopped by once when I grew up, and left my contact information with the owners to call if they ever had a notion to sell. One day they did, and I knew I had to have it.”

“I hadn’t heard the Murphys put it up for sale,” Flannery said.

“It was too much for them, getting on in years like that. A lot of upkeep. The very first thing I did was plant a big flower garden out back. I’ll make sure and share some with your kin on Butler Hill, too,” JoLynn said with a sweet, sad smile, her eyes suddenly watering.

“Thank you. Joetta’s grand-niece,” Flannery marveled.

“In the flesh.” JoLynn pulled a tissue from her pocket and dabbed at her eyes. “Oh. I almost forgot. Speaking of flesh. I believe I have something that belongs to your family. Let’s go down to the dining room.”

Flannery followed her downstairs.

JoLynn ran a loving hand along the massive cherry sideboard, bent over, pulled open the bottom drawer of the chest, and lifted out a little photograph and a wooden box about the size of a small book. Nervous, she handed the box to Flannery. “When Ben was painting and laying carpet upstairs, he moved some of the furniture and found these. I tried to get them to you.”

“It’s lovely.” Flannery rubbed the smooth wood, touched the tiny pearl inlay on the lid.

“We called the Murphys, but it didn’t belong to them. The initials carved on the box are J B. I guess it’s Butler.”

“I’ve never seen this.” Flannery inspected the box. “It could have been Mama’s.” The hand-carved box had a delicate scroll border and a tiny lockset drilled into it.

“We didn’t open it,” JoLynn offered a little more nervously.

“I didn’t want to . . . to intrude, or risk busting the lovely wood. We wanted to mail it to you, but I couldn’t find your address.”

“It’s locked,” Flannery said, and shook it. Something solid was inside.

“Sorry, we didn’t find a key.” She handed Flannery the photograph.

Flannery narrowed her eyes, pushed her spectacles higher on her nose. “This is my mama. But how—”

“I wondered if that was Mrs. Butler sitting on the bed there with Aunt Joetta, holding her newborns. Or another relative of yours.”

“Yes, it must be.”

“Are those the same babies up in your cemetery? The headstones up there are so old we couldn’t read the names very well.” JoLynn tapped the back of the photo.

Flannery flipped the photograph over and saw in faded ink, 1931, April 22, Paxton and Preston Butler with Mother and midwife Joetta Deer.

“Oh my, yes. My mama’s handwriting. But I’ve never seen this photo. My brothers only lived about a week. The summer diarrhea or such claimed them and a lot of infants back then, I believe she told us.”

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Hamilton,” JoLynn said sadly, and cast her eyes down.

Flannery peered closer. “I never knew Joetta delivered them. My sister and I were born in the hospital, you know.”

“Aunt Joetta died in 1931,” JoLynn said quietly.

“That explains it. We didn’t come along till ’36.”

“Mama said Aunt Joetta delivered lots of babies around these parts. Guess the apple didn’t fall far and all. I’m a delivery nurse too.”

Flannery peered closer at the photo, seeing the resemblance between Joetta and JoLynn.

“Your brothers were beautiful boys, ma’am,” JoLynn said.

“May I keep it?” Flannery asked.

“Sure. I made a copy, and I have plenty of other pictures of my aunt that my family has passed around.”

Flannery studied the old black-and-white picture again, looking at Mama sitting on the bed, tired but smiling with her babies in her arms. “From the date here, Mama was twenty, and it looks like Joetta wasn’t much older. Both handsome women.”

JoLynn said, “I believe my mama said Joetta was close to thirty in this picture. But she didn’t know for sure. Joetta started midwifing when she was barely twenty. My family said she brought over a hundred babies into the world and never lost a’one in delivery.”

“Remarkable lady,” Flannery said quietly, studying the photo some more.

Flannery never dreamed Mama knew the midwife like that. Though she now remembered that anytime someone said anything about old ghost Joetta, mused about or poked fun of her legend, Mama would shush them, demand they never utter Joetta’s name in her house. Usually it was Patsy doing the poking—Patsy who hated Joetta’s tale. Though Patsy could never really say why, just tried to make Flannery feel the same.

“Well, you must be starved,” JoLynn said. “Let’s get you that lunch I promised.”

JoLynn and her husband shared a fine meal with Flannery.

Flannery enjoyed the young couple, and they welcomed her warmly and asked her to spend the night, but Flannery declined.

JoLynn was easy to talk to, and Ben reminded Flannery of Honey Bee, the goodness in her daddy, and he’d told her to visit anytime. By the time lunch was over, Flannery insisted they call her by her first name.

JoLynn took down Flannery’s address, promising to write, and told her she and Ben would visit her in Louisville one day. They hugged on the porch, and still something more tugged at Flannery’s heart, was tucked in JoLynn’s solemn eyes, she felt.

Flannery held up the wooden box, gave it another shake.

JoLynn frowned, her gaze set on the box before she caught Flannery studying her. JoLynn looked away.

For a second Flannery doubted the key had indeed been lost. Wondered why the keepsake had been hidden, why Mama would hide the key unless she’d lost it.

Ben came out onto the porch, said good-bye to Flannery, and told his wife he’d be in the barn finishing chores.

JoLynn gently took Flannery’s arm and helped her down the porch, giving her guest one more hug.

Flannery thanked her again and put the box onto the backseat of her car. She pondered on what Mama had thought was so important inside that it had to be locked away from her girls.

 

2012

 

Nearly a decade had passed since she had buried Mama.

Flannery had placed the wooden box JoLynn had given her on the mantel in her home, admiring the rich, reddish tones on the locked keepsake, never bothering with it much, just enjoying the beautiful wood and its carvings, resolving that Mama probably kept old compacts, makeup inside she didn’t want her young twins getting into, and had placed the pretty box out of reach of clumsy hands that might break it.

Years passed, and Flannery mostly forgot about it, but JoLynn hadn’t forgotten about her.

Flannery returned to Glass Ferry once a year to visit Ebenezer and the Butler cemetery. JoLynn always flagged her down as she was leaving, inviting Flannery in for a chat, tea, or a meal.

The two became close. JoLynn surprised Flannery with monthly letters, unheard of in this day and age when advertisements and scam flyers littered mailboxes.

JoLynn called her once a week too, making sure to keep telephoning if Flannery was out and until she reached her. And twice a month when the young mother and her family came to Louisville to shop, JoLynn made sure to stop in and visit Flannery.

Ben Junior even dubbed her Aunt Flannery, and when the Pucketts’ sitter canceled on them for the parents’ second honeymoon trip, the boy spent a week in Louisville with Flannery. Ben Junior had trouble with his fractions and Flannery enjoyed helping him learn. She told him to think of fractions as slices of pizza pie. “Ben,” she’d say, “five tenths is like five of the ten slices of a pizza, and we all know that when I’ve eaten five of ten slices, I’ve eaten half the whole thing.” He got that real fast. They’d celebrated at a pizzeria.

And when Ben Junior was married under the weeping willow last spring, Flannery was invited. She couldn’t have been prouder if it had been her own son, and felt Honey Bee was looking down, pleased to see one of his dreams come to life.

Flannery had stayed at the Puckett home last Christmas for the first time, enjoying Ben Senior’s fine Christmas Eve service he’d preached over at the United Methodist Church, seeing Ben Junior’s pretty new bride, and helping JoLynn prepare a grand Christmas feast.

Flannery had brought a box of Christmas oranges she’d purchased from the farmers’ market in Louisville, and the family stuffed their Christmas stockings with them, the aroma of fresh, tart fruit permeating the house, a cheer against the winter storm brewing outside.

Flannery stood back to admire the stockings hanging from the mantel above a cozy fire. JoLynn came in from the kitchen and handed Flannery a small package.

“Open it,” JoLynn said.

Flannery hadn’t bought gifts, just the oranges, and she hesitated.

“Go ahead,” Ben Junior and his bride and Ben Senior cheered, smiling.

JoLynn pushed. “It’s not a purchase.”

Flannery unwrapped the gift and found a beautiful, hand-quilted Christmas stocking with Aunt Flannery embroidered on it that JoLynn had made.

Flannery’s old eyes filled as she looked around the home of her family, the ones gone and the ones who were now given to her. She breathed in the festive air and could almost smell the Christmas pine Honey Bee would chop down for the parlor, imagine his rugged face, a twinkle in his eye—hear Patsy’s excited giggles and Mama’s musical laughter echoing. Family. It was all intoxicating, and something she’d thought she would never have again, never feel again.

“My seams are a little crooked, but I hope you like it.” JoLynn grinned.

Speechless, Flannery could only bob her head and stare at the precious gift.

Taking the present from Flannery’s spindly fingers, JoLynn stuffed an orange gently inside and hung it in between the Pucketts’ stockings.

“We can’t have anyone waking up Christmas morning without a stocking. You’re family too,” JoLynn announced with a sniffle. “Our family.”

The Pucketts gathered around Flannery, pulling her into their arms.

JoLynn was a young mother who was wise and kind in old ways lost to this frenzied world, her family gentle and hardworking. Flannery loved JoLynn, the sweet family, and the new life and laughter they breathed into the Butler home—her.

* * *

In 2014, Flannery was delighted to find out she was going to be a great aunt, that Ben Junior and his wife were having a baby.

Excited, Flannery took her brothers’ wooden cradle to Glass Ferry to surprise them with it. The crib had been so dear to her mama, and she couldn’t think of anything finer to give her new family—this precious baby coming into her life.

But when she opened the rear car door to show JoLynn, her friend had paled. A second later, JoLynn teared up, and she told Flannery to take it back. It was their first and only disagreement.

“I thought the kids might like it,” Flannery said, hurt. “Look at the fine workmanship on the wood. There’s a perfect sweep on the carved rockers here.” She tapped the base. “It’s sturdy enough for my grandnephew or niece, twins even—”

“I’m sorry, Flannery,” JoLynn said. “I can’t have it for my grandbaby.”

“But it’s antique, and you like antiques.” Flannery raised a hand to the Puckett house packed with old furnishings.

Trembling, JoLynn shook her head and said, “No. Not that.”

“But—”

“Take it back!” JoLynn ran to the house.

Bewildered, Flannery stared after her, wondering what had gotten into JoLynn.

On the drive home, Flannery reasoned that JoLynn must want something more modern for the young couple, a piece without history. Maybe JoLynn thought it was bad luck for her son and daughter-in-law to have it.

Back home, Flannery had a neighbor lug her brothers’ crib back into the garage. That evening JoLynn called and apologized for her strange behavior, leaving it at just that, an apology and no other clue as to why the earlier outburst.

A few weeks passed, and JoLynn stopped in Louisville to visit Flannery. JoLynn seemed back to her old self, the crib business forgotten, her chatter happy, her hugs warm.