Dear Violet,
How’s everything over in Georgia? I bet you thought you’d never hear from your big sister again! What with getting the lake ready to open and looking after all my boarders, I’m about half crazy. I told Si that if I don’t soon get a minute to prop my feet up and catch my breath, he might as well run on down to Trimble’s and pick me out a casket.
Did I tell you they’ve gone to selling caskets upstairs at the mercantile? They’ve got big yellow name tags you can tie on the handle once you make your selection. Then you just pay at the register, and that sweet little Gilbert boy that stocks the shelves will haul your purchase to the funeral parlor on a flatbed truck. It’s so much more convenient than driving all the way to Childersburg when a loved one passes, but it’s a little spooky to shop for your dry goods, knowing what’s overhead. And anytime you cross the river bridge, you’re likely to meet a casket bound for the funeral home. How about that? Before we can cross Jordan, we’ve got to cross the Coosa.
I have to tell you, sister, I’ve been sorely missing somebody to talk to since you and Wiley moved away to Georgia. I’ve got people all around me from morning till night, but now and again you just want to have a conversation with somebody that doesn’t need you to fry something, iron something, or mop something up. You got anybody to talk to over in Georgia?
Back to my boarders. Granddaddy Talmadge must be rolling over in his grave. I can hear him now: “Yankee carpetbaggers!” I’m a little ashamed of myself for renting to them, what with his Confederate uniform still hanging in the attic, but we sorely need the money. They say this Depression’s near about over, but I reckon somebody forgot to tell Alabama.
My boarders seem to come and go in cycles. The ones that rented from me at the beginning of the war have all left, and I just filled up with new people. We rented the last of the upstairs rooms a couple of weeks ago, one to a perfectly horrible couple—the Clanahans from Reno, Nevada—and one to a young husband and wife from Illinois, name of Williams. I did NOT show those Reno people our old room—just put them in that drafty back bedroom and saved ours for Mr. and Mrs. Williams when they get here, which ought to be any day now. Something tells me they need it. (Little Mama’s house is talking to me again!)
I’m babbling on and on about nothing, but I sat down here with a purpose, Violet. What with all the comings and goings at home, I’ve decided a thing or two. I think God gives us soul mates—not many but enough to get us through. And I’m not just talking about husbands and wives. I’m talking about those one or two people we meet on life’s journey who see straight through all our nonsense and love us one hundred percent, no matter what. You’re my soul mate, sweet sister. And I never fully appreciated that till now.
Well, I’d best go before I have to reach for that pretty handkerchief you embroidered for me. Some days I hold to it like a lifeline. Hope y’all are still coming for the Fourth. It wouldn’t be a fish fry without my Violet.
Kiss the young’uns for me and give Wiley a hug.
Your loving sister,
Dolly