These are for you.” I turned to see Mr. Hicks standing in the doorway of my cubby. He laid a thick legal-size envelope on my desk and then looked casually around my partition-style walls.“Well, you’ve made this rather homey, Savannah.”
“Remember that probation period we talked about when I first started last week?”
“Yes, I do.” He placed his arms atop the set of twins he was packing above his belt.
“Are these”—I pointed toward the folder he had laid down in front of me—“Are these going to cause me to hasten my departure from these homey quarters, or could I dare bring in a few more items of hominess?”
“Well, ignoring the fact that hominess isn’t a word, you should know not all the correspondence in that folder there is negative. And today’s story partially redeemed you. And controversy sells newspapers, Savannah.” He headed back up the hall toward the elevator that would lead him to his real door and his beautiful view of Bay Street.
He didn’t answer my question. But I had a lot of questions that needed answers. And obviously to him and the little bundle of sheer delight that answered his phones, being hated one day and liked the next was no big deal as long as people bought newspapers.
Perusing the stack of letters, I was shocked by how much people actually cared about what happened on the cover of a newspaper. The opinions were straightforward and strong. People cared one way or the other about what was happening on Wright Square. People had opinions that I had ignored for one reason alone: evasion. I was a chicken.
Gloria Richardson had never been a chicken. She talked about things that were uncomfortable. Told stories that ignited passion and compassion. And I wanted to be well liked at other people’s expense.
You have to know why you believe what you believe. Joy’s words wouldn’t leave me. So I would confront them. I would make a business trip this afternoon. I might come out with stink all over me, but it was a trip that must be traveled.
“Savannah Phillips, you haven’t been to my house since the day you picked up that last pot of butter beans I made you.”
Granny Daniels never changed. She had always looked old. But not old in a bad way. Just old in an old way. Some people just always look old . You didn’t age with them . You didn’t enjoy their early years. You just know them old . Well, that is how Granny Daniels has always been to me.
I also never quite remembered what she wore, except that there was always a hat, a black hat. But I couldn’t recall the style of hat, or what was under the black. At that age, most of the people she knew were dying left and right. I imagine she decided to simply stay dressed for the occasion.
But today I noticed. Today I wanted to notice. I wanted to notice detail. Not my own, but someone else’s. She didn’t have a hat on today, and her gray curls were neatly pressed, tight up around her head like a knit cap. She wore a simple coat-style dress in a pretty bright shade of pink. No belt, no buttons, just a zipper up the front, and short sleeves cuffed at the bottom.
The shoes were similar to Joy’s. In the sandal family, black, and with pantyhose sticking out from the toes. She was thicker than I had ever realized. But she was wearing fewer clothes than I had ever seen her wear before, either. Her toy poodle yapped at me as soon as I entered and sniffed my legs for the first thirty minutes of our conversation.
“Do you mind if I come in for a few minutes?” I asked, standing at the red front door of her modest white-siding home.
“No, honey . You come in here and sit your little self down and let Granny Daniels fix you some good eatin’.”
I couldn’t do it. I could sit here and smell mothballs, but I couldn’t put them in my mouth.“Oh, that’s okay. I’m not hungry.”
I sat down at her small kitchen table while she fixed her a plate and I tried to disguise the noises coming from my stomach area.
“Well, what brings you here, sweet girl?” she asked, sitting down next to me at the table. Her plate looked so good. Fresh biscuits, fried pork chops, cabbage, and some kind of potato casserole. This meal and her age were proof: Lard doesn’t necessarily kill you young. It could have been one fine meal. But I was certain it looked far better than it would taste. Of course, with the smell so thick inside the house, I might not even be able to smell it in the food. But it just wasn’t worth the risk.
“I don’t know. Just had some questions.”
“What kind of questions, honey?” Butter dripped down her fingers as she lifted that steaming biscuit toward her mouth.
I tried not to lick my lips. My eyes glazed over, and for a moment I lost my train of thought.“Uh,well . . . I was . . . I was just curious what you thought about everything that’s been happening around here?”
“Well, it has been rather eventful lately, hasn’t it?”
“Yes, ma’am, it sure has.”
She leaned back in her chair and took a long sip of her sweet tea. “I’ve got a lot of thoughts, Savannah . You don’t live this long and not have a lot of thoughts on a lot of things. I mean, let’s face it: I’m old. Pretty much have always felt old.” She chuckled, and I kept my thoughts to myself.“But we’re facing times, Savannah, that will probably determine the future for you and your children.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean your mother and hundreds others like her are out there trying to preserve a defining line for you and your children.”
“Chaining herself to a monument is defining me all right.”
“Is that all you see, Savannah?”
“Is what all I see?”
“Is all you see that your mother is chained to something? Do you not see the bigger picture?”
“There’s always a bigger picture for my mother. But the manner in which she chooses to state her cases is usually all I can focus on.”
“Then you’ve probably been robbed of a lot of powerful revelations.”
She noticed my pause and she continued.“You are so focused on your fear that your mother will damage your life or reputation that you forget she’s her own person. Do you know what’s really happening around that square?”
I was certain this was a trick question.“Let’s hear your thoughts.”
“Life, Savannah. People are declaring life as they have chosen to live it. Some are saying they have chosen to follow the principles carved in that piece of stone. Others are saying anything of a ‘Christian viewpoint’ has no place on public property. But do you know where the Ten Commandments reside as we speak?”
“No, ma’am, I can’t say that I do.”
“They rest on the floor of the National Archives Building. And a picture of Moses holding the Ten Commandments—or ‘the tablets of the law,’ some say—is on the outside of the building that houses the U.S. Supreme Court. Do you think when ‘In the Year of Our Lord’ was written into the Constitution that some hidden meaning, some hidden god, was being referred to?”
I wasn’t sure if this needed an answer.
“No, it was the one true God.” See, it didn’t.“People can argue all they want that God isn’t mentioned in the Constitution. But He is the basis for the Constitution, Savannah. It was written because of who He is.”
“But what about the separation of church and state? Isn’t that also part of the core of who we are?”
“Well, that’s nowhere in the Constitution.”
“Yes it is!”
“Where?”
She had me there. “I have no idea.”
“Because it’s not . That phrase was originally taken from a statement in a letter by Thomas Jefferson that said there should be a ‘wall of separation between church and state.’ So in a move totally separate of Congress, the courts took what had originally been a prohibition against the Congress establishing a national church and changed it into a prohibition against any acts of religion by the state government—or anyone affiliated with it.”
This woman was good.“But in spite of all of that, how is anyone really listening, when everyone is screaming their positions?”
“Some people will never listen, Savannah. Some people will set their course and die for what they believe in.”
“My mother would.”
“Yes, she would. But she listens too. She may not always act like she’s listening,” she said with a slight laugh. “The question is, what are you listening to? Truth, or your own set of ideals?”
“It depends who you ask.”
“But the answer doesn’t change what is true. A person’s opinion, even perception, doesn’t change truth.”
“I know, you’re right . Truth is the one constant, isn’t it?”
“It is.”
“And you might just find it on a slab of concrete strapped to my mama.”
That made her chuckle, causing her thickness to shake. “Yes, Savannah, you just might.”
On my walk back to the office, I noticed Vicky’s countless touches in the streets of Savannah. The landscaping in the squares reflected her taste. The tongues of the passersby often held her name. The Pumpkin House that faced me as I turned the corner held her animosity.
Four years ago, a man from Atlanta purchased the stately home, which required substantial renovation. He began by painting it a lovely shade of Halloween pumpkin orange. Once the update began, Mr. Atlanta ran into some financial troubles . Thus the renovations were completely halted for two years and have run at a virtual snail’s pace since then.
Had he known my mother, he would have known that getting approval for the color on the streets of her city would prove rather difficult. About as difficult as his money woes. As a member of the Historic Review Board, Vicky was certain pumpkin orange was not a period color. So, in a rather precise letter, the board informed him that he must repaint his house in a color that was truly representative of the historic period.
They didn’t know who they were dealing with either. Mr. Atlanta had done research of his own and proved that his “Pumpkin House” was indeed a period color . Well,Vicky is still confident he fabricated the whole thing, even forged history books, but don’t be fooled by her frustration. His house is still orange.
So, seeing her touch everywhere reiterated to me her passion. The same passion that was denying her of down feathers and hot showers was the same passion that propelled her to aid underprivileged families to tidy up their neighborhoods and preserve their dignity . The same woman that was out there praying, singing, and having evening dinner parties was the same woman who had taken this city to new heights in, dare I say, the eyes of the world.
Though ordinary on any scale cannot be found within sight of her, extraordinary shows up quite often. The world may laugh. People may ridicule. But in the end, for those who know her, all eventually conclude she’s an all right kind of lady.
“Okay, Mr. Attorney, I have a few questions.”
I could hear Gregory’s heavy sigh on the other end. “What now, Queen of Denial?”
“I’ve never been the queen of anything, except the okra-seed-spitting contest, and Vicky refuses to allow me to mention it.”
We both laughed.
“Seriously, I have a few questions. Sergeant Millings has issued my mother something called an Order to Disperse. He said if she doesn’t hightail it home by Friday afternoon at five, he will put her in jail. Can he really do that?”
“Is he a federal officer?”
“No, he’s a Savannah officer who should have retired years ago. But after all this attention, he will probably stay around for the next ten years.”
“I would think this would be a federal issue, with her being in front of a Federal Courthouse.”
“They’re still wrangling over that one. Sergeant Millings is fighting them tooth and nail to be the one who gets to handcuff Victoria Phillips right back up. Of course, if she got too close to him, poor soul would have a coronary. But could my mother really go to jail? I mean, the woman’s good, but Martha Stewart she ain’t. My mother would crumble at a strip search.”
“Well, if he gave her an Order to Disperse, our Criminal Code Section 39-17-305 says she could get arrested for disorderly conduct if she doesn’t comply. I’m not sure if it’s the same for Georgia.”
“So you’re saying she very well could.”
“Yes,my friend, she very well could. I’m surprised they haven’t gotten her for Section 39-17-307, obstructing a highway or other passageway.”
“She’s on a sidewalk, Gregory.”
“Yes, a passageway to the courthouse.”
“I couldn’t stand to see her get thrown in jail. That just wouldn’t be right. Plus, the local police shouldn’t be forced to endure her for thirty days. Maybe we should break into Sergeant Millings’s office and find that order and throw it away.”
“That—”
“That would not be stealing; that would be misplacing.”
“You need help.”
“I know. I need yours . Will you come defend my mother?”
“She’ll have to pay me more than you.”
“She has more money than me, genius.”
“Sure. If it gets that far, call me .Now, have you dealt with your other issue?”
“I don’t have any other issues. Ooh, I think my phone’s beeping. Check your calendar . We’ll need you by Friday.”
“Savann—”
“Ooh, gotta run! Beep, beep, beep! Bye.”
“Yeah, Mr. Hicks received almost a hundred letters about her picture in the paper.” That little snide secretary made sure I could hear her.
“Hello, Savannah.” Ms. Austin was apparently leaving and looked rather startled as I rounded the corner.
“Hello,” I responded to her and the tormented one . The little tick turned up her already upturned nose and asked.“Ooh, what’s that smell?”
“It smells like mothballs,” Ms. Austin said.
“Yeah, I smell that in the foyer every now and then too,” I assured them.
“Well, I’ve never smelled it before,” Jessica said.
Joshua came around the corner right behind me and about knocked us all down. I was actually glad to see him. He bumped into Faith and gave a quick “Excuse me” but offered nothing else to any of us.
Ms. Austin scanned him up and down, and her eyes followed him down the hall. I found it rather uncomfortable. “Who is that good-looking man?”
“Oh, that’s Joshua North,” Jessica responded.“He is one of the cutest things around here. Doesn’t pay much attention to anyone though . Trust me, I’ve tried for years . . .” she recalled the two of us were present.“Oh,” she said, semiembarrassed.
Ms. Austin’s cell phone rang. “Ms. Austin . . . Yes . . . I know. Would you lay off? I told you I’d call you when I got through.” She slammed the phone shut.
Jessica jumped.“Well then, if you’ll excuse me, I need to get back to Mr. Hicks . The paper never slows down for anyone.”
“Sure. Thank you, Jessica, for your hospitality today.” As soon as Jessica was out of earshot, Ms. Austin unleashed.“My God, that woman is simply insufferable. She’s been breathing down my neck all day long . Well, Savannah. Always good to see you. Let me know if we can get together soon.”
Her outburst startled me. I watched her as she walked away. Granted, Jessica was condescending, downright annoying and, well, a pain to be certain,but hearing someone else say it felt a little awkward. The woman in the thousand-dollar outfit and bust-the-bank cosmetic line left. I watched her leave. After all, that’s what people did.