3 firm pears
½ cup port
2 tablespoons water
3 tablespoons honey
½ teaspoon grated lemon peel
1½ tablespoons lemon juice
Halve, peel, and remove cores of pears. Allow them to sit in port and water with honey and lemon until they are tender. Chill and serve with whipped cream.
—LUCY SEAL
As the president of the Women’s Guild, I would like to call this special meeting of the Cookbook Committee to order.” Beatrice was rambling through her notes.
“Bea, it’s just the five of us; I don’t think Robert’s Rules of Order are necessary. Jessie, do you want cream with your coffee?” Louise was hosting the meeting because it was easier to have folks come over to her house than to leave Roxie for any length of time. There were only a few people she trusted when she had to run errands, and after two months Roxie’s condition had declined quite a bit. “Margaret, can you get some more napkins; they’re in there next to the medicine bowl on the cabinet.” She pointed to the kitchen with her chin.
Margaret got up from her seat and walked into the kitchen. She was one of the few that Louise let stay with Roxie, and she could tell the situation had worsened. She also knew that Louise wasn’t acknowledging the seriousness of things, but there didn’t seem to be any way to approach it with her. She looked for the napkins, and there, sitting on the countertop, was a bowl filled with medicine bottles along with a schedule of what pill got taken at what time and a notebook filled with daily entries about Roxie. Margaret had only seen Louise make notes; she had never read what had been written, so she picked up the diary and began to flip through it.
Louise had notes about each meal, every bowel movement, Roxie’s vitals, what she said, her facial expressions, what made her laugh, and what she remembered. There were copious explanations about every tick and blink Roxie made, and the sight of such obsessiveness concerned Margaret.
She had noticed a ferociousness in how Louise spoke about Roxie and the possibilities for curing Alzheimer’s. She knew that Louise was determined to give Roxie a carefully planned diet that was filled with “brain food,” like fish and garlic. She bought groceries like each meal was a sacred opportunity for healing, and she measured ingredients for Roxie’s afternoon snacks like she was conducting a medical experiment. Margaret didn’t realize until now how absorbed Louise was in making Roxie recover. She put down the book, found the napkins, and walked back into the den, where the committee was meeting.
“I still think if Lucy submitted a recipe for pears floating in wine, that’s her business, and we don’t have any right to censor it.” Jessie had not seen the recipe, but everybody in church knew that Lucy Seal cooked with wine, usually a lot of wine.
Beatrice had opened the discussion of whether or not to ask Lucy to submit something other than her pears in port. “Well, I don’t have a problem with an alcoholic beverage being mentioned in the cookbook, but I don’t want the church to get a name for this.”
“What name do you think we’d get, Bea?” Margaret was handing out the napkins.
“A church with no morals, a place that teaches their children that drinking is okay, a women’s group that serves spiked punch at their meetings. I think there are all sorts of possibilities here, and why not just err on the side of caution and ask Lucy to give us another recipe?” Beatrice looked over at the preacher to see if she had any input, any suggestions, and secretly hoping that she would offer to deal with Lucy and this situation for the committee.
Charlotte suddenly felt Beatrice’s eyes on her. She hadn’t really been paying attention to what was being discussed, since she was observing Louise sitting beside Roxie on the bed. She watched as Louise took her pulse, wrote a note on a scrap of paper, and then brushed Roxie’s hair back into a ponytail. She was whispering something into Roxie’s ear, and it almost looked as if Roxie smiled. Louise made another note and helped Roxie up from the bed to walk back into the bathroom.
“Um, what’s the recipe you’re talking about?” Charlotte put down her coffee cup and smoothed her dress, trying to look interested.
“Lucy Seal gave us a recipe card for soaking pears in wine.” Bea handed the preacher the copy of the recipe. “Do you think we should ask her to submit something different?” she asked, but the others looked for the preacher’s answer as well.
“Did somebody else submit the same idea?” Charlotte took the paper, but she seemed confused.
Margaret smiled. “Bea’s concerned about having alcohol mentioned in the church cookbook. Are you uncomfortable with that as the minister?”
Charlotte thought for a minute. She never drank. Once in college at a fraternity party, she had mistakenly picked up somebody else’s glass loaded with vodka; she drank it before she knew what she had done. She didn’t get drunk, but it had made her a little too uninhibited and she didn’t like the way it left her feeling, loose and unprotected.
She was scared that her mother’s genes had predisposed her to become an alcoholic. And since Serena had died from a drug overdose, it just seemed too likely that she would have the same disposition towards overindulgence. And yet, despite the problems with her mother, she never had a moral issue with drinking. After all, she had accepted the literal interpretation about Jesus’ lifestyle, which apparently had included the drinking of wine.
“Does the church have a written statement about alcohol use by its members?” she asked.
“No,” Jessie said, crossing her arms over her chest. “We’ve never made a written statement about anything, but I’d have to guess that more than half the congregation would say that drinking is wrong.”
“You think? Really, Jessie.” Margaret looked surprised. “I guess I’m naive about some things. I would figure most of the folks have a bottle of wine sitting around the house and that nobody would really have a problem with fruit marinated in hooch.”
Louise was coming up the hall with Roxie, who overheard the last bit of the conversation and began to yell, “Hooch, hooch, who’s got the hooch?”
Everybody laughed.
“Not this bunch, Rox. This ain’t the hooch type, if you know what I mean.” Louise sat her on the bed and starting taking off her shoes.
“You drink hooch, Louie?” Roxie seemed clear.
Louise stopped and looked her in the face and smiled. Roxie hadn’t called her Louie since she had been in her house. “Oh yeah, I’m the queen of hooch.”
Roxie tipped back her head and squealed. “You are the queen of hooch, Louie. Louie’s the queen of hooch!” And she clapped her hands together while the women laughed with her.
“Louie, queen of hooch, huh? So that stuff we hear about Mrs. Bonner’s boardinghouse in town is all true then?” Jessie was intrigued.
Roxie began to talk. “Oh, Louie could drink a fish out of its bowl. You remember the night we drove down to Fayetteville, Louie? You remember that drinking game you played with the soldiers?”
She looked away from Louise and at the other women. “Louie drank every parachute jumper under the table. She was the last one to vomit. Way to go, Louie!” Roxie stood up and pretended to give a toast.
“You must be so proud, Louise.” Beatrice was enjoying the story and nodded back at Roxie with her coffee cup balanced on her palm.
“That was the night George gave me the ring, wasn’t it, Louie? We had a fight, and then he showed up at the bar and gave me a diamond. So while I was getting hooked up you were getting hooched up.”
All the women laughed.
“Good ole Louie, queen of the hooch.” Roxie sat back on the bed, winded from the excitement.
“Yep, that’s me! Good ole Louie.”
Roxie reached over and gave Louise a hug. “Good ole Louie.”
Louise took a tissue and wiped Roxie’s nose. It was a bittersweet story that they were remembering.
Beatrice cleared her throat. Somebody had to break the spell. “Well, Louie,” she said with a disapproving voice, “we still haven’t made a decision about Lucy’s recipe. I think Rev. Stewart should have the final word.”
Charlotte pushed back a hair that had fallen into her face. “Then I say, keep it in. It’s not worth hurting Mrs. Seal’s feelings over it. If somebody gets upset about a fruit recipe, then we’ll deal with it when it happens. But, really, I can’t see much controversy about a cookbook.” She picked up her cup and took a drink of coffee.
“Well, you should know by now that churches can have a controversy about anything. That Baptist church on King Road split over the picture behind the baptismal pool. Some thought Jesus should be coming out of the water, and some thought he should be going in. They had to go to court because the family paying for the painting got a lawyer. Split them right in two, and the lawyer is now the proprietor of the church.”
Bea interrupted. “Well, I heard the preacher stirred everybody up by changing Sunday School from nine forty-five A.M. until after preaching. They say it was after that change that the whole baptismal pool incidence occurred.” Bea raised her eyebrows and nodded at Jessie.
“So what are you saying, Bea, that altering the time of Sunday School made everybody stupid? This is the preacher’s fault?” Margaret always cut to the chase.
Charlotte cut her eyes to Beatrice and listened closely.
“No, well, no, I’m just telling the whole situation of what happened, or at least the way I heard it.” Bea was defensive but not rattled.
“That’s the problem, Bea. The way you hear things is sometimes distorted.” Margaret seemed to take this issue personally.
“Well, I’ve led us off on a tangent. Back to Lucy’s recipe, I agree with you, Reverend. Besides, we aren’t always intended to anticipate and prevent every conflict. Sometimes a good fight shakes a place up and reminds folks what’s really important.” Jessie nodded at Charlotte.
“Or nobody learns a thing and the lawyer ends up with the building.” Margaret looked over at Beatrice. “Now what else is there, Bea?”
Bea looked down at her notes. “Well, somebody needs to decide about headings. Do we put the fruits with the vegetables or with the salads?”
“Vegetables.” Roxie and Louise said it together. Louise looked at Roxie, unsure of how it could be that she was so clear. “Why vegetables, Rox?”
“Because it just sounds nicer. Now, I think I would like to give Ruby a call. Could you bring me the phone, dear?” Surprised at this sudden burst of clarity, Louise hurried out of the room and brought the cordless phone to Roxie. She dialed the number of Roxie’s daughter and put the phone next to her ear, but Roxie had already fallen asleep. She pulled the phone away, listened for a minute as Ruby’s machine picked up, then turned off the phone.
Louise stood up and spoke quietly but with excitement to the group. “Maybe the social activity of this committee helped her. Do you think that could be it? Do you think us being together and discussing instead of just me speaking to her helped her remember better?” She was talking very fast while she ran into the kitchen to get her notebook.
There was a pause. Margaret walked over to Roxie’s bed while Louise came back into the room. “Louise, I really don’t think there’s any pattern to this. With Daddy, some days he just knew and some days he didn’t. I don’t think you can write down notes and figure this out.” Margaret was taking off Roxie’s glasses and putting her feet under the covers.
“Yeah, but did you hear her? She hasn’t been this clear, well, not since she’s come to stay with me. Maybe it was the talk about food. She loved to cook. She had tons of cookbooks. Maybe this conversation just brought her back to me.”
Jessie began to clean up around where she was sitting. “I once had an aunt who in her later years couldn’t even tell you her name, but ask her a question about how to plant beans or when was the best time to harvest melons and she could be just as clear as a bell. She would know when the moon would be full and whether or not the tomatoes had enough lime in the soil.” She shook her head. “It was that way right until she passed.” Then she looked over at Louise as if she shouldn’t have mentioned death, but Louise hadn’t seemed to notice.
“Okay, well, it’s getting late.” Beatrice seemed uncomfortable. “I just have one more question.” She was writing something down. “Is grits a vegetable or an old favorite?”
“Somebody gave a recipe for grits?” Margaret shook her head and looked over at the preacher, who shrugged her shoulders.
“Dorothy West said that her sister had a recipe for fried grits that would make your mouth water.” Beatrice took her last sip of coffee.
“Who needs a recipe for fried grits?” Jessie asked. “You just take the leftover grits, put them in a loaf pan, and then put it in the icebox. When you take it out, you cut it into slices and dip them in flour and eggs, then you just stick them in the frying pan until they’re done. Don’t you do that with your leftover grits?”
The women looked at each other stunned. “No, I stick mine in the microwave with a little water,” Margaret said.
“I don’t eat grits,” replied Louise.
“Well, don’t look at me,” Charlotte said. “I haven’t ever cooked grits in my life.”
The women smiled.
“We’ve been doing that with grits for as long as I can remember. I thought everybody around here knew about fried grits. I guess I was wrong. This cookbook is going to be a community culture lesson for us all.”
“Jessie, speaking of Dorothy West, is Wallace doing some work over there?” Beatrice had sat back down with her books by her side. She had heard something. Everybody could tell. Margaret rolled her eyes.
“No,” Jessie said with a knowingness of Beatrice’s ways. “I think he’s become friends with her granddaughter, Lana. They’re in the same classes at school. He says she’s better in science and he’s better in English, so they help each other out. He’s third in his senior class at the high school, you know. Janice is real proud of that boy, and so am I. He’s gotten invitations to several of the colleges to come and visit, but I don’t think he’s made up his mind about what he wants to do or where he wants to go yet. Beatrice, since you’ve asked, do you have some concern about my grandson and who he spends time with?”
Beatrice fidgeted in her seat, pulled at her chin, and picked up her papers. “No, Jessie, I just wondered is all.”
“Your wondering, Bea, is sure an awful lot like nosiness to me.” Margaret was tired of the nonsense.
Beatrice rolled her eyes. “Well, you’ve got to know that people will talk.”
“What will people talk about, Mrs. Newgarden, I mean, Beatrice?” Charlotte was curious to hear an explanation.
Beatrice looked around for someone else to answer, but Louise was busy filling in the pages of her notebook about Roxie, and Margaret and Jessie were staring at Beatrice, looking for an answer to the question.
“Oh, come on, there’s no need to act naive, any of you. You all know what I’m talking about. Lana’s white and Wallace is, well, Wallace is…,” she stammered.
“An A student,” Margaret answered. “And a fine young man and Jessie’s grandson. So I suggest that you tell any of your gossiping friends who feel the need to ‘talk,’ that two young people have the right to be friends and it’s none of their concern to comment or even notice. And, furthermore, a young black man can be at a white person’s house without doing manual labor in the backyard.”
Jessie smiled and looked over at Beatrice, who was so stunned at Margaret’s challenge that she kicked over her coffee cup. Charlotte stood to help her clean up her mess, and even Louise stopped writing to see what would happen next.
Roxie rolled over and began to talk. “No black people are allowed in the boardinghouse. It’s Mrs. Bonner’s only rule, but we can sneak her in the back when the old lady’s gone to sleep.” She yawned.
“Yeah, Rox, we can do that.” Louise was at her side.
“We can do that,” Roxie repeated.
“I’m sorry, Jessie. I had no right.” Beatrice was flushed.
“It’s okay, Bea. I knew the stuff that was being said. Years may roll by, but some things just never change.” Jessie glanced towards the window.
There was an awkward pause.
Margaret walked over to Louise. “Lou, I need to talk to you about staying with Roxie tomorrow morning. Cleo’s coming over to the house to check the chimney for bats. It’s the only time he could come this week, and I have to be there to let him in. What time is your doctor’s appointment?”
Louise closed her notebook. “It’s at ten. But it’s no big deal; I can reschedule.”
“No, don’t do that, Louise. Let me stay.” It was Beatrice, and the offer surprised everyone.
Margaret and Louise looked at her, then at each other.
“You never let me stay. I can take care of Roxie for a couple of hours. What time do you need me?”
Louise stammered, trying to find the words to answer Beatrice. “Um, nine. I really don’t have to go, though. I can get another time. It’s just for my physical; I had scheduled it a long time ago, before, um, before Roxie came.”
“Then you should keep it. It took me four months to get in to see Dr. Johnson. I waited for an hour, spent ten minutes with him, and paid a hundred and fifty dollars. Something’s dreadfully wrong with our medical system. But, anyway, you need to keep that appointment, and I’ll be back in the morning at eight thirty so you can go over any instructions. It will be fine.”
Louise tried to respond, but before she could think of anything to say, Beatrice had put her cup on the table, cleaned up around her seat, picked her belongings, said good-bye to everyone, and headed out the door.
“What just happened?” Louise asked.
“Beatrice is paying for her sins,” Jessie replied as she gathered her things. “She’s actually trying to be your friend. It will be good for both of you to let her stay. Don’t you think, Margaret?”
Margaret raised her eyebrows and nodded.
“Well, I better go. Thank you for the goodies, Lou.” Jessie walked into the kitchen and back into the den.
“Margaret, Reverend, have a good evening. We’ll see you Sunday.” She went over and spoke a few words to Roxie, then left.
“Well, Cookbook Committee meetings certainly aren’t boring,” Charlotte said. “Ms. Fisher—”
Louise interrupted her. “It’s Louise, dear.”
“Louise, you’re doing a great job caring for your friend. If you need anything from the church, just let me know. Good night, you two.”
“Here, I’ll walk out with you.” Margaret kissed Louise on the cheek. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
Louise shut and locked the door behind them, picked up the other cups and plates, and placed them in the sink. She turned out the kitchen light and hurried back into the den. She opened up the diary and began to write: “The Cookbook Committee met tonight. Roxie knew who I was, talked about the night in Fayetteville, remembered her daughter. I think there may be some improvement in her condition.” She dated the entry, changed into her pajamas, and came back to sit next to Roxie as she slept.
Louise rocked in the chair next to the bed with a blanket pulled up around her shoulders, fighting sleep. Despite her attempts to convince herself that she was staying for Roxie’s sake, she was really hoping for just one more word.
You must do some of this recipe ahead of time.
1 cup grits
4 cups water
Flour
2 eggs, beaten in a bowl
Cook grits in water. Pour them into a loaf pan and place in the refrigerator. After a couple of hours, cut the grits into slices. Dip them in flour, then eggs, then back into flour again. Fry in grease until brown.
—DOROTHY WEST
Margaret was surprised when she got home and found Lana Sawyer, Dorothy West’s granddaughter, on the porch, sitting on the steps. She parked the car in the garage and walked around front.
“It’s getting late, Lana. Don’t you have school tomorrow?”
“Yes, ma’am, but I can go later because my first class is study hour. I need to talk to someone. I need to talk to you.”
“Does your mom know where you are? Do you need to call home?” Margaret was unlocking the front door.
“No. I don’t have to be home until eleven. They’re used to me being out late.” Lana walked in the house.
Margaret closed the door and led the girl into the kitchen. “Want a soda or something? I have juice and cola and cocoa, if you’d like something hot.”
“Yeah, cocoa sounds good.” She sat down at the table. She was holding her stomach.
Margaret noticed and knew. Lana had to be more than four or five months along. How could no one have noticed? she wondered to herself. She heated up the milk while they talked about school and the teachers. Then Margaret mixed the cocoa with sugar and put it in two mugs.
“I’m pregnant.” Lana said this as she stirred her hot drink.
“Yes.” This was Margaret’s only reply. She pulled out a chair and sat down next to the young girl.
“It’s Wallace Jenkins’s. We’ve been seeing each other for almost a year.” She took a deep breath, blew across the hot chocolate, and put the mug to her lips.
“Who knows?” Margaret took a sip herself.
“Wallace, of course. He’s trying to figure out what to do. My best friend, Tina, and I’m pretty sure her mom knows. And I told the guidance counselor, Ms. Oakley. I haven’t had the nerve to tell my family yet. My mom and grandmother are going to have a cardiac.”
“How far along are you? Have you been to the clinic?” Margaret knew that a lot of girls went across town when this sort of thing happened.
“No. I guess I didn’t really believe it for a while. But I haven’t had a period in almost four months. I’ve been real sick too. Mama just thinks it’s a virus.”
“Yep, it’s a virus all right.” Margaret smiled.
“What do you think, Mrs. Peele? What should I do?”
Margaret didn’t say anything for a few minutes. She was studying the girl. It seemed that already the pregnancy had aged her, not just physically but emotionally, maybe even spiritually. Lana was changed from the young girl she had been in Margaret’s Bible classes. Already the weight of motherhood was filling up her heart, changing her vision of the world.
Margaret could see it. Lana had been empty in one moment and filled up in the next. She faced a future unlike one she had ever anticipated, and Margaret was sizing her up to see if she had what it took.
Lana caught Margaret’s eye. “What you looking for, Ms. Peele?”
“Courage, I guess.” She peered more deeply.
“And? Do you see any?” Lana seemed nervous about the answer.
Without a pause Margaret replied loud and strong, as if the very response made a difference. “Oh yes, child, I see lots of courage.” She reached up and brushed her hand across Lana’s cheek. “Your being here, that took courage. Your letting Wallace be a part, that’s brave too.” She cupped her hands around Lana’s. “You’re going to be a great mother; I can tell these things, you know.”
Lana’s eyes filled with tears, and for a brief moment she was a child again. Margaret leaned over and held her.
“Now, the first thing we need to do is get you to a doctor. Do you want me to take you, or do you want me to go with you to tell your mother tonight?”
Lana wiped her face on the napkin under her mug. “I think I need to tell her before I go to the doctor, but I want Wallace with me.” She stopped and smiled. “He loves me, you know. But his mother”—she blew a puff of air—“and his grandmother, God, they have such plans for him. They’re always talking about him being the first Jenkins to go to an Ivy League school, the first Jenkins to be a doctor or lawyer. Believe me, father is not the role they had planned for him.” She teared up and looked away.
“Young Wallace can still be anything he wants to be, as can you, my dear. And Janice and Jessie, they’re good women. They’ll come around.” She patted Lana on the hand. “What are your feelings for Wallace? Do you love him, Lana?”
Lana turned back to look at Margaret. “I think so. I mean, I haven’t really dated a lot of guys.” She took a sip. The cocoa had cooled down. “I’m not sure. We’ve been friends for as long as I can remember. He knows everything about me. He’s funny and smart, and he’s the best person I’ve ever known. You know what I mean, he just always does the right thing. I love that about him.”
She stopped and pulled the mug of cocoa closer to her.
“I think I love him, but Mama, she just can’t accept that he’s black. So I don’t know. I feel like I have to choose between my family and him. I’ve always felt like that, even when we were just friends.”
Margaret nodded. “Well, that baby didn’t get to choose, so we’re just going to have to find a way that you don’t either. And if your family forces you to make a decision like that, then you’ll choose love, however that looks, whoever that’s with. You’ll choose love because that’s more important than anything, especially for a baby.”
Lana put down the mug and rubbed her stomach as if to make the words sink in. Her eyes were filled with tears.
“Now,” Margaret said, looking at the wall clock. “We better go over and pick up Wallace and get to your mother’s house before she goes to bed.”
Lana wiped her eyes again, brushed back her hair, pulled her chair away from the table, and stood up. “I think I’ll call Wallace first, you know, let him know I’m going to do this.”
“Sounds like a good idea to me. The phone’s by the fridge, there on the wall.” Margaret got up from her chair and took the mugs to the sink. She tried not to listen to the girl’s conversation, but it was hard to avoid eavesdropping.
“I’m at Ms. Peele’s. No”—she looked towards Margaret at the sink—“she’s cool. We’re going to tell Mom. I want you to go with me.” There was a pause. “About fifteen minutes. Okay, we’ll meet you there.” She turned away from Margaret and faced the wall. “Me too.” And she hung up the phone.
“He’ll meet us at my house. I think he’s going to tell his grandmother before he goes. I’m sure relieved that I don’t have to be there for that one.” Lana walked over to the sink and stuck her hands under the faucet. She dried them on the towel Margaret handed her. “I’m really glad you’re going with me. My mom respects you. She won’t lose it too bad if you’re there.”
“Yes, I guess she’ll remember that I was her Sunday School teacher too. I have a few stories about your mother when she was your age.” Margaret folded the towel and set it on the kitchen counter. “If things start to get a little out of hand, I’ll pull one or two out of my memory bank and shake things up a little.”
Lana nodded her head and smiled.
“So, you ready to go?” Margaret picked up her keys and opened the back door.
The young woman looked around the kitchen as if she would be different the next time she came into the room. Then she nodded. “Okay, here goes nothing!” She walked out the door as Margaret turned out the light and followed her.
The ride from Margaret’s to Dorothy’s daughter’s house was quiet as the two women tried to put their thoughts into the words they were going to say. Margaret wondered about how it must sound to a mother that her little girl is pregnant, if such news can really break a heart. She thought about her place in this mess and why it was she had been given such an honorable role among the young people in the community. She thought about her own barrenness and what it meant to her not to have children.
She and Luther had had only one conversation about the fact that there were no children. And one question, with an answer of “I don’t know” hardly qualifies for a conversation.
They had been married thirteen years when Margaret finally mustered the courage to ask. “Why do you think I haven’t gotten pregnant?” Luther paused for a moment, then picked up the newspaper and sat down at the table. “I don’t know” was all he said. And because she was busy enough with the farm and looking after her dad and because she wasn’t even sure she really wanted her own children, she had not pursued it any further.
When Luther died and his sister, Carolyn, commented that it was a crying shame there were no children to share this tragedy, Margaret thought it odd that she did not even consider not having children as another reason to mourn. Perhaps because her mother died when she was such a young girl, Margaret had not ever had the space to entertain notions of what being a mother was like.
She was not regretful and had never grieved that she did not have children. And somehow she imagined that the girls came to her in their darkest moments of discontent because she would never automatically take their mothers’ side or present the fear or protectiveness that a mother always harbors. She was a safe and reliable ally. She was a wise and trusted friend. And to Margaret this was better than being someone’s mother.
When they pulled into the driveway, Wallace was already there; he was sitting in his car. Margaret watched as the young man opened the door and stood as his grandmother got out from the passenger’s side.
“Well, I guess this is it then. You ready?” Margaret turned and faced Lana.
“I’m a mother now. Courage will be the most important thing I can give my child.” Lana gazed towards Wallace. “After love, of course.” She faced Margaret, who replied, “Of course.”
They got out of the car, and Lana walked over to Wallace. Immediately they embraced, spoke to each other privately, and walked to the front porch.
“Beats all, doesn’t it?” Jessie shut the car door, watching the two young people as they walked past her. Lana looked her in the eye and then dropped her face.
“Are you very disappointed, Jessie?” Margaret put her hand on Jessie’s arm.
“Oh, I guess a little. This isn’t anything to throw a party about.” She sighed deeply. “But I still believe in that boy. And he’s handling this like a real man. I am proud of him for that. He intends to be a father to that child, even though he doesn’t have a clue what that means.”
Margaret nodded. “I know. I don’t think anyone really realizes what all that encompasses, do they? But, you know, these two kids have a lot already on their side. They’ve got you. And Lana’s mom, she’ll be upset at first, but she’ll get over the initial shock and be there for them. Janice will support the two of them. She’s your daughter, after all.”
Jessie interrupted. “And they’ve got you. And I know what I’m talking about now, you’re the best friend a young couple or even a grandmother can have. Yeah, we’ll do okay,” she said as they joined Wallace and Lana at the door, “we’ll all do just fine.”
She reached up and held Lana’s chin in her hand. “My grandson loves you, Lana Sawyer. That counts for a whole lot in his grandmother’s record book. You’re family now. The Jenkins and Sawyer blood is mingled in that baby’s heart. I’m going to stand by you, you and your child. I will never turn my back on family.”
Lana threw her arms around Jessie, almost knocking her off the porch. “Thank you, Mrs. Jenkins. I was so afraid.”
“Well, I reckon you still got one more bridge to cross with your family. And since we’re here, and your grandmother’s looking out the bedroom window, we better not stop.” They all glanced towards the back bedroom, where the curtains quickly fell back together.
Lana and Wallace both took in deep breaths. Margaret rang the bell. The door opened, and they all walked in.
4 cups okra (cut crosswise)
Flour
4 slices fried bacon, coarsely chopped
Bacon drippings
2 cups peeled and chopped tomatoes
Salt and pepper
Cut okra crosswise and flour. Cook bacon. Fry okra in bacon drippings until brown. Add tomatoes to okra, stir in bacon. Season to taste. Simmer until tomatoes are tender. Stir often.
—PEGGY DUVAUGHN
The doorbell was ringing and Louise was trying to get Roxie’s clothes on her. Breakfast had been a catastrophe because Roxie kept saying that she was being poisoned and wouldn’t eat anything put in front of her. Louise had tried oatmeal, eggs, even a cinnamon coffee cake. It was just going to be a bad day, and, as bad days went, nothing was going to change that. Louise left Roxie with her pants hanging around her knees and went to the door.
“Come in, Bea. We’re having a difficult morning.” Louise started walking back towards the hospital bed. “Roxie thinks the milk is rat bait and her blouse is a straitjacket. She’s fighting against everything.” She turned to Bea, who was following behind. “Maybe I should call and cancel the appointment. She can be a real handful when she’s like this.” Louise sat down in the chair next to the bed. Roxie was trying to take off her underwear.
“Nonsense. I mothered three children. I think I can handle things just fine.” Bea walked in the room and put her things on the coffee table. She took a look around, at the room, at the window, at the hospital bed, and finally at Roxie. “Good morning, Roxie. I’m Beatrice. Are you having a bad morning with Louise?” Bea went and knelt down in front of Roxie.
“They’re trying to kill me. Where’s the supervisor? He won’t put up with this nonsense.” She stood up and almost knocked Beatrice down.
Beatrice thought for a moment. “Well, the supervisor sent me here to check on things. I’m sort of like the assistant to the supervisor. You can tell me all about the problems, but first I think you need to put your clothes on.” Beatrice picked up the blouse and pants. Roxie folded her arms about her waist and showed a determination for staying naked. Beatrice waited a minute, still standing with Roxie’s clothes in her arms, smiled at her, and then, much to Louise’s surprise, Roxie let Beatrice put them on her. There was no struggle at all.
Finally Beatrice asked, “Now, why is someone trying to kill you? Do you know something you’re not supposed to know?” she whispered. “Have you done something that’s made them mad?”
Roxie looked serious. She was giving great thought to the questions. “I think it’s about the red thread. I took some of the red thread.” She spoke very softly. “I think they know.”
Beatrice whispered in reply. “Then we’ll put some red thread back so they won’t miss it.” She turned to Louise. “Do you have any red thread?”
Louise was baffled by this entire exchange. She sat watching until Beatrice spoke her name; then she jumped. “Um, yeah, sure.” And she went into another room, brought back a spool of red thread, and handed it to Beatrice, who gave it to Roxie. Roxie started to cry.
Beatrice sat beside her on the bed and rocked her. “There, there, Roxie. See, we have plenty of red thread. It’s okay. Nobody’s ever going to try to hurt you again.” Then she reached over for a tissue and gave it to Roxie, who wiped her own eyes and nose.
“Well, Louise, you better tell me if there are any particular instructions I need to know, and then you need to hurry and get dressed.”
Louise looked down at her khaki pants bought from the men’s department at Sears and the University of North Carolina sweatshirt. She thought she was dressed. “Actually, Bea, this is what I’m wearing to the doctor’s, but, you’re right, I do need to get going.”
Louise began looking for her shoes. “She usually naps after breakfast and then has a snack around ten thirty. She takes the orange pill then. I don’t put a diaper on her during the day because generally she can tell me when she needs to go. But it’s always a gamble. Snack is a piece of fruit or peanut butter crackers.” Louise walked into the kitchen with Beatrice close behind her.
“Here’s the ten-thirty pill. It’s a vitamin really. But I think they help her memory a little. There’s juice in the fridge. The fruit is in the small Tupperware dishes, and the crackers are there on the counter. She didn’t eat breakfast, so she may want both this morning. She really doesn’t eat much, though.” Louise was trying to remember everything important.
“Here’s the doctor’s number.” She wrote the number on a pad of paper.
“I may stop by the bank on my way home. But don’t worry about lunch. I’ll be home by twelve thirty at the latest.” She tore off the paper and put down the pad near Beatrice’s arm. “And if you don’t mind, just jot down her intake and the things that she says. I like to keep a record.”
“Well, it all seems easy enough. Now you run along, and we’ll be fine.” Beatrice opened the door for Louise, who stood as if she was waiting for something.
“Are you sure you’re going to be okay?”
Beatrice rolled her eyes and said in a motherly tone, “We’ll be fine.”
“Let me just go and say good-bye.” Louise went back into the den.
Beatrice stayed by the door while Louise explained to Roxie that she was only going to the doctor’s and would be right back. Roxie seemed uninterested in Louise’s plans and began counting the birds in the backyard. Louise came back into the kitchen, grabbed her wallet. “Thank you, Bea. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
“It’s fine. Take your time. We’ll be here all day.” Beatrice almost pushed Louise through the screen door. “Bye, bye now!” She waved briefly, then shut the door.
Louise stood on the porch, suddenly feeling like a stranger. She considered not going to the doctor’s at all but going back inside and telling Beatrice that her “services” were not needed. But she knew that that was being silly, and that she really needed a break from being in the house with Roxie alone. Sometimes the constant fighting made her weary. She walked to the car, got in, and headed off to her appointment as planned.
When she got to the office, she checked in with the receptionist. Peggy DuVaughn was in the waiting room, and when she saw Louise she called her over to sit beside her.
“Are you okay, Louise?” Peggy was curious but, for the most part, harmless.
“Oh sure. Just my annual physical. You?”
“I’m here with Vastine. I expect the fluid’s built up around his heart again. The doctor will probably have to drain it. I hope they don’t have to put him in the hospital. It’s so hard on him when he goes.” She looked down at her watch. “Which doctor do you see?”
Louise found the conversation annoying and considered the possibility that she should call home and check on Beatrice and Roxie, even though she had been gone only fifteen minutes. “Um, Dr. Phillips. She’s new, I guess.”
“Yes, I believe she is. Do you like her?”
“She’s fine. What time do you have, Peggy?” Louise was fidgety.
“Nine fifty. Is your appointment at ten?”
“Yeah. I hope they’re on time.” She picked up a magazine.
“Oh, I think so at this hour in the morning. It’s those afternoon appointments that are so far behind. People calling in sick, you know, needing to come in today. Forget about the fact that others have been waiting for hours. And those regular visits that they thought would only take fifteen minutes suddenly taking an hour. And then there’s the emergencies!” She paused. “Louise, are you sure you’re okay? You look a little flushed.”
Louise sighed. “I’m fine.” She stopped, then continued. “It’s just Beatrice is watching Roxie for me, and it’s their first time alone together.” She put down the magazine.
Peggy patted her on the arm. “Oh, they’ll be fine. Beatrice is a good nurse. She stayed with Vastine once when I got the shingles and he was in the hospital. You don’t need to worry; besides, she knows where you are, right? If something goes wrong, she’ll call.”
Louise began to think about what could go wrong. A fire or a break-in. There were possibilities she hadn’t thought of.
“Oh look, there’s Lilly Andrews.” Peggy waved in the direction of a woman at the reception desk. “Hi, Lilly.”
Peggy whispered, “She’s got cancer, you know. It’s so sad.”
Louise looked at the woman who was waving back to them. She had a pink-and-white turban on her head.
“By the way,” Peggy said, “I have my cookbook recipe in my purse. I was planning to mail it to Margaret, but since you’re here and on that committee, I’ll just give it to you.”
“Maybe you should just mail it to Margaret. I’m a little scattered and might misplace it.” Louise could feel her blood pressure rising. How long can this doctor’s appointment take? she wondered.
“Nonsense. Just stick it in your purse. Besides, it will save me a stamp.” She pulled the envelope from her purse.
“Look, I’d rather give you money for the stamp than be responsible for keeping up with the thing. Send it to Margaret, please.” Louise got up from her seat and went to ask the receptionist how long it would be before she saw the doctor. She brushed past the woman with cancer. When she got back, Peggy looked upset and didn’t speak. Louise knew she had hurt her feelings.
“Peggy, I’m sorry. Give me the recipe; I’ll give it to Margaret.” Louise stuck her hand out.
“No, it’s obviously an inconvenience for you, so I’ll mail it this afternoon like I planned.” She pushed Louise’s hand away. “Besides, there’s Vastine, so I’ll be going now.” She got up and walked towards the desk to check out. “Vastine,” she called out. “I’m over here.” Her husband looked over towards her voice.
“Peggy, wait. Look, I’m sorry.” Louise followed her, trying to make amends. “Is it for your fried okra? I love that. With the tomatoes and the bacon drippings? I’d like my own copy of that recipe.” Louise tried but failed to regain Peggy’s attention. She had gone over to Lilly and was speaking to her.
Great, Louise thought, now I’ve pissed her off. But before she could get to her or decide what to do, the nurse came out and called Louise’s name.
After an X ray and blood test, Dr. Phillips came in the examining room where Louise was waiting and looked over her file. She poked and prodded a few body parts, then sat down on the stool in front of the examining table. The doctor, who had taken Roxie as a patient, knew about Louise’s living situation. She asked how they were both doing together. Having noticed Louise’s high blood pressure and her agitated state, she began to try to tell Louise that she would have to get some help. She waited a minute, then suggested a home health nurse. Louise made no response.
Dr. Phillips then brought up the possibility of nursing home placement, which sent Louise into a rage, so she backed away from that idea but still encouraged her to look into home health agencies, and Louise finally agreed.
“You do understand, don’t you, Ms. Fisher, that things are only going to get worse? Roxie’s condition will decline, and I don’t believe that you are going to be able to care for her on your own.”
Louise waved aside the advice and asked if they were finished. The doctor shook her head in frustration, wrote a prescription for blood pressure pills, told Louise to have her pressure checked regularly, and to come back in one month. She also wrote an order for a home health nursing assessment and handed the papers to Louise. As she was going out the door, Louise stopped her. “How long does she have, Doctor?”
Dr. Phillips turned around. She went back to the stool and sat down. She studied Louise, then she began. “Alzheimer’s doesn’t allow for a complete prognosis. All we know is the condition of the patient continues to worsen. Bodily functions just break down. There’s no way of knowing how long somebody can live with the disease.” She paused for a moment. “But I do know that in the end stages one person can’t do all of the caregiving. You’ll have to have some help.” She looked at Louise. “Do you understand, Ms. Fisher? You can’t care for Roxie by yourself.”
Louise dropped her head. She wiped her eyes, took a deep breath. “Thank you.” And with that the doctor nodded and left the room.
It was the news that Louise held somewhere inside her. The familiar ring from what Roxie’s family had told her months ago. She knew it, tried to keep it in the front of her mind as she was carrying out the day-to-day tasks, but taking it deep inside, digesting it, letting it be a part of her soul, was something she couldn’t do. It seemed to her that it was like a foreign body, this bad news, and that her system was doing what it was made to do, fight it, hold it back, keep it from coming in, infecting everything, and taking over. It felt more natural to struggle against it, ignore and deny it, than to deal with it.
Louise had never known such turmoil. With the others she knew who had gone through a time of dying, it had been different. It hurt, but it never split her heart. Not like this. This time it felt like a disease. Until now she didn’t know emotional pain could alter the pressure of the circulation of her blood, change the number of times her heart beat in a minute, cause her shoulders to feel tied together and the back of her head to burn. She thought she had known suffering before, but nothing, nothing had ever been like this.
Louise got dressed, paid her bill, and left the doctor’s office. Before going by the bank, she went to the pharmacy and was back home at just a little after twelve. It seemed unusually quiet as she opened the door and went inside. She thought that Roxie’s nap had gone a little late. She put her things on the counter, called out for Beatrice, and walked into the den. In only a matter of minutes, the room had become a war zone.
In the lull of the late morning, Beatrice had fixed Roxie’s hair and put makeup on her so that, while sleeping, she looked like a made-up corpse lying in a casket. She lay there with her hands folded across her chest and the sheet pulled just under her chin. Louise went into a fit.
“Oh, dear God! Rox, Roxie, wake up! Jesus! I was only gone a couple of hours! How did this happen? Roxie, Rox!” She knocked everything off the coffee table jumping on the bed. “You can’t be dead! Oh, God, please don’t let it be so!” Louise was straddled over Roxie, shaking her by the shoulders, hugging her, crying and yelling.
Beatrice ran from the bathroom up the hall, her dress still hiked up from having been on the toilet. “My God, what’s happened?” She was screaming as well.
“She’s dead! Lord help me, Roxie’s dead!”
It was flying elbows and knees. Heads and necks jerking. Bodies stretched into bodies. Louise was pulling on Roxie while Beatrice was pulling on Louise.
“Lou, Louise.” Beatrice was trying to gain control. She had Louise by the back of her sweatshirt, trying to get her off the bed, but Louise was stronger than Beatrice.
“She’s dead. O Lord, my Roxie.” And then the words melted into cries and sobs. Louise had Roxie’s body up and in her arms so tightly that when Roxie finally was able to move it was only with her feet. She kicked as hard as she could, but all she did was force Beatrice off the bed and onto the floor, her dress now up around her waist.
Finally, Louise eased her grip on Roxie and was kicked out of the bed herself, falling squarely on top of Beatrice. Roxie began to yell, “You’re killing me! She’s killing me. I told you, Ms. Bea, they’re trying to kill me.” But when she looked down and saw Louise sprawled out on Beatrice, who was fighting with her dress and with Louise to get up, she began to laugh. She laughed so hard that she started to hiccup. And when Beatrice and Louise were finally able to grasp the situation, they began to laugh too.
It seemed like a long time before Louise was able to pull herself off the floor, but when she did she bent down and gave Beatrice a hand.
“What the devil is wrong with you?” Beatrice was tugging at the hand and at her dress at the same time. “What on earth made you go all crazy all of a sudden?”
Louise began to straighten herself up a little while Roxie was still laughing. “Why did you put that mess on her face and fix her hair like that?”
Roxie answered, “We played beauty parlor, didn’t we, Ms. Bea? She even did my toenails.” And she pulled her feet from under the sheets and wiggled her toes.
“I just put a little makeup on her and did her hair up. She seemed to like it.” Beatrice was still shaky from the whole experience. “I never thought, not for a moment, that you would think, well, that you could imagine…” She could not even finish her sentence.
“It was beauty parlor stuff, Louie. Ms. Bea just let me go to the beauty parlor. Don’t you think I look nice?” She had reached over and put her arm around Louise, who was sitting beside her on the bed.
“You look great, Rox. Real pretty.” Louise moved a loose hair from Roxie’s forehead back to where it had come from. She looked over at Beatrice. “I’m sorry,” she said as sincerely as she could. “I overreacted. Way overreacted. I don’t know, I just went a little crazy or something.”
Beatrice touched up her own hair, tapped herself lightly on the neck. “It’s okay. Everything’s fine.” She blew out a breath. “But really, Louise, what on earth were you thinking?”
“Yeah, no, I don’t know. I’m sorry. Really, I’m sorry.” She began to put things back on the coffee table.
Roxie continued to laugh at the situation as Louise tried to straighten things up.
“Bea, you’ll stay for lunch, won’t you? I’ll fix us something.” Louise was picking up papers and coasters.
“Ms. Bea stays for lunch. It would be a pleasure.” Roxie smiled at Beatrice.
Beatrice waited for a minute while both Louise and Roxie stared at her. “Well, all right. But I can’t think that I’ll have much of an appetite after this ordeal.” She fanned herself with a magazine that had been at her feet. “Do you need me to do anything?”
“No,” said Louise. “I’ll handle it. You two can just stay in here.” She went into the kitchen while Beatrice and Roxie began to play through the scene over and over. They were making fun of Louise screaming, “She’s dead…Dear God, she’s dead!”
Louise yelled from the kitchen, “Yeah, that’s really funny, you two.” And they laughed some more.
After lunch Roxie took a nap and Louise and Beatrice began to clean up the dishes. They were mostly quiet until Beatrice asked, “So, was everything all right at the doctor’s?”
Louise washed and rinsed a dish and handed it to Beatrice. “She says I need to get some help with Roxie pretty soon.”
There was an awkward pause. “I can’t stand the thought of a stranger caring for her.” She handed Beatrice a cup. “But I also know I can’t keep doing this by myself.”
Beatrice said nothing. There was only the sound of splashing water.
“What, Ms. I Can Fix Everything doesn’t have an answer?” Louise looked over at Beatrice. It was really only a joke.
Beatrice waited. “No. I have no answer for this.” She put down the towel. “But I do know that when you love someone, a part of loving them is sharing them.”
It was a strange and awkward moment. Beatrice put her hands on Louise’s shoulders, turning her so they could look eye to eye. “There are folks who want to help you, Lou. Let us. We really won’t kill her.” She dropped her hands and picked up the towel. She dried a dish and put it in the cabinet. “Even if it looks like it.”
Beatrice elbowed Louise in the ribs.
“Yeah?” Louise looked at Beatrice like it was the first time she’d seen her.
“Yeah.”
