

**The Way Home**

**Meredith Morgan**

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2009 Meredith Morgan

**Smashwords Edition, License Notes**

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**Chapter 1**

"I know Mama is dead, but when is she coming home? It's gonna be dark soon and she never stays out at night!"

After Mama's funeral, Pete and I sat across from one another at the small metal table in the kitchen. I held both of my brother's hands firmly between mine. I noticed how large his hands were and how small and inadequate mine seemed to be for the task that lay before me. I leaned across the table, straining to make him listen and understand what I was trying to tell him. "Pete, you must listen to me. Mama's not coming back. She's dead. Do you understand?"

He nodded his head and said, "I'm really tryin'."

I wanted to scold him. Hell, I wanted to scream and cry and throw a fit, but I knew that any display of strong emotion on my part could trigger an over reaction from him. I was not prepared to deal with one of his outbursts at that point. I needed to stay calm, so I moderated my voice as best I could, and tried again, "Pete, you must try really hard to listen to me. Mama is dead and she is not ever going to come home. You are going to come and live with me now."

He looked at me with something like horror in his eyes and said, "No! I live here. I can't live with you. I have to stay here or Mama will be upset. I'm not allowed to go anyplace but in our town."

I was beginning to feel something bordering on panic. I had a home, a career and a life in Atlanta. I had no intention of ever coming back to live in Osborne, even if it meant uprooting my mentally disabled brother from the only home he had ever known. I could feel his frustration level rising. My panic level was rising too, for that matter. Fearing a tantrum that I would not be able to cope with, I decided that I needed to back off for the night. We could start the conversation over in the morning. I knew he would probably not remember this one anyway.

I rubbed the backs of his hands gently. When I felt his breathing slow a little, I patted his hands and then lay my palm flat against his cheek, "We'll talk about it tomorrow. What would you like for supper?"

He thought about that for a minute and then said, "How 'bout fried chicken and biscuits?"

I wanted to cry. There was no way I could make fried chicken to suit him. He had been eating Mama's fried chicken and biscuits at least once a week his whole life. Mama made the best chicken and biscuits on the planet. I, on the other hand, was not much of a cook.

"It's too late for that now. How about chipped beef on toast?"

He sighed. I held my breath, hoping he would not be difficult. Burying Mama had been hard for both of us, but I was the only one in the room who really understood what had happened. I needed time to grieve. I wanted to make a cup of coffee and then go sit on the porch and cry myself out.

Instead, I was facing the prospect of a lengthy negotiation with Pete over dinner. Everything with Pete was a negotiation. I didn't feel up to it. I knew from experience that I had to relax. If he felt my tension, it would upset him, and that would make things worse. I tried to force myself to relax, knowing that it wouldn't work. I could feel him reacting to my anxiety. I knew for certain I was not equipped to cope with a tantrum from him at that moment, so I did the only thing that I thought might work: I resorted to bribery.

"If you eat chipped beef and toast for supper, you can have some ice cream for dessert."

That did it. He would do just about anything for ice cream. I had no doubt that he would eat a lot of it over the next few days. Just to make sure I wasn't sticking my neck out too far, I peeked into the freezer to make sure there was plenty on hand.

He nodded. "Ok. How about chipped beef on biscuits? I don't like toast."

I sighed. I had no idea how to make biscuits from scratch the way Mama made it. I used frozen biscuits at home. I noticed to my amazement and amusement that there was a bag of frozen biscuits in the freezer. I wondered how long Mama had been feeding Pete frozen biscuits. I didn't care. I agreed readily and turned on the oven. I calculated that by the time the biscuits were ready, I could have the chipped beef ready. I pulled the bag from the oven.

Pete shook his head, "Oh, no, you don't. I don't like those biscuits. I want home-made biscuits."

I felt anger welling up and I fought it desperately – and not altogether successfully, "Pete, please don't be difficult. I don't know Mama's recipe for biscuits. Please eat these just for tonight."

He looked at me like I was the one with the mental handicap and said, "I know how to make biscuits. I may be a retard, but even I can make biscuits, for heaven's sake. You make the chipped beef. I can do the biscuits."

I was astonished. "When did you learn to cook?"

"Mama taught me a long time ago. I can fix a lot of things. Mama won't let me turn on the stove, but I can get the stuff ready. Then Mama cooks it."

"What do you know how to make?"

"I can do biscuits and pie crust. Mama let's me cook eggs if she is standing there to turn on the stove and watch me. I can get the chicken all ready for frying, but I'm not allowed to fry it. I can do lots of things. You would be surprised." He looked very proud. I felt proud for him.

"You have a deal. I'll turn on the oven and start the chipped beef. You get the biscuits ready."

I was amazed at how efficiently he worked, gathering the ingredients and measuring them carefully. Mama had taught him well. He couldn't read, but he knew the recipe by heart, as Mama had. I doubt she even had that one written down anywhere. I was sure that he didn't understood the concepts of math, but he knew how to measure. I watched carefully and noticed that he was using plastic measuring cups that were each a different color. I surmised that Mama had taught him to measure by color. In no time, he had the biscuits cut in perfect circles and ready for the oven.

Meanwhile I fiddled with the white sauce, which showed every sign of being too thick and lumpy. I popped the biscuits in the oven. I didn't care about the white sauce. I intended to make a meal on biscuits, honey and coffee. I didn't even particularly care if the biscuits were any good, although I had watched Pete make the dough and I could tell the biscuits would be light and flaky, just like Mama's.

As we worked it occurred to me that it was very strange that we should be cooking our own dinner on the night of Mama's funeral. Every funeral I had ever attended in that town, and even in Atlanta when the deceased family were Southerners, had been accompanied by wave upon wave of hams, roasts, fried chicken, bundt cakes, pound cakes and just about any other portable food imaginable. It struck me as odd that Mama, whose family had lived in Osborne for generations, had died and the town had not responded with its typical generosity.

I mentioned that to Pete. He shrugged and went on setting the table, saying, "Yeah, when Mama was sick, people kept coming over to bring food but I sent them away. They woke her up with ringing the doorbell all the time and she needed to rest. Besides, we had food in the house. I was afraid they was offering what Mama always called 'charity' and that was something that she said we would never take, no matter what."

"Oh."

Even as I grieved the loss of my mother and feared for the future I faced as Pete's caregiver, for a moment my heart went out to the good people of Osborne. I knew that virtually all of the long-time residents of the town, many of them families who had lived there since before the Civil War, had probably lovingly prepared dishes to share with Mama and Pete over the past months as Mama's health declined. I felt sad that their gifts had been rejected. I knew how important that feeding ritual was to Southerners. Pete didn't. All he knew was that the doorbell woke Mama when she was sick. I blinked back tears and gave up on the white sauce. Pete would just have to eat it with lumps!

We bustled around the kitchen and before I knew it, we had a stick-to-your-ribs, comfort-food dinner on the table. Pete ate with relish. I picked at my food. Pete looked at the clock and ate even faster.

"Whoa. Not so fast! What's the hurry!?"

"My bedtime is nine o'clock. It is way too late to be eating supper. If I don't hurry, I won't have time for my ice cream."

My head wanted to tell him to slow down. I wished that I could bring myself to tell him he could stay up later tonight. I kept my mouth shut, though. I didn't want him to get indigestion, but I longed for him to go to bed so I could be alone. I needed to cry. I needed to think. I needed him not to be sitting there, reminding me of what I was up against while at the same time grieving my mother.

Pete finished his meal. I gave him his ice cream, and then asked him if he wanted me to come up to tuck him into bed when he was finished getting ready. He looked hurt, "No. You don't have to tuck me in. I'm a retard. I'm not a little kid."

I shuddered. I hated to hear him put himself down like that, but at the same time, I appreciated the fact that he had a degree of pride and dignity. He knew that he was not a child. He was mentally handicapped, but Mama had always pushed him to do as much for himself as he possibly could. The problem was that I was not sure how much he could do for himself. I knew that he would get mad if I tried to do things for him that he could do for himself. I also knew he would get frustrated if I asked him to do things that were beyond his ability. He expressed frustration in furious temper tantrums. I feared I was in for a rough time.

He pushed back from the table and put his bowl in the sink. I noticed he made no effort to wash it. He said, "I'm goin' to bed. If Mama comes back, tell her I said good-night."

I started to correct him, but then changed my mind and said simply, "I will."

He lumbered up the stairs, a large, elderly man trapped in a child-like mind.

I rummaged through the sideboard in the dining room until I found the bottle of Jim Beam that Mama reserved for special company. I poured three fingers in a glass, added another generous splash because this was something of an emergency, and took the drink out onto the porch where I sank, exhausted, into the swing. The house stood dark and silent behind me. In front of me the long, sloping yard ran down towards the red road into town. Deep woods bordered the yard on either side.

Thousands of fireflies rose from the ground and put on a light show that to my mind was more impressive than the expensive laser-light shows at amusement parks. If Pete were still up, he would be running around in the yard, catching "lightnin' bugs" and putting them into a glass jar, grinning and encouraging me to join him. I recalled that as recently as last summer I had done just that.

I knew that Mama spent many summer evenings running around the front yard with Pete, catching fireflies, laughing and acting the fool. The neighbors knew that Pete was mentally handicapped so they didn't think anything of him running about like a child. Mama told me that she believed the neighbors thought that she was just plain nuts because she was so willing to join in. Maybe Mama was a little nuts from living all those years in a big old house with only a handicapped son for company, but Mama liked to have fun. She had precious few occasions for that in her life so she seized every opportunity for enjoyment that came her way. I imagined that the neighbors did think she was a little off her rocker...

I pushed those thoughts out of my mind.

That was not the time to dwell on the neighbors or the painful pleasures of the past. At that point, I needed to figure out what the hell to do next. Mama was dead, and I was solely responsible for Pete. He was 62 years old, a relatively high-functioning mentally handicapped person. He could manage his owe self-care, with certain reminders. He could bathe and dress himself. He could do some routine cleaning and housework: he kept his room immaculately (almost obsessively) clean. I had just witnessed how competent he was in the kitchen, but noticed that he never touched a knife or turned on the stove. He functioned on the level of an elementary school child. He did not need or deserve to be institutionalized, but he did need constant supervision.

As the whiskey started to take effect, I stretched out my legs and pushed myself slowly in the swing. In one way, I was perfectly suited for my predicament. I was the principal of a school for handicapped children. I had all kinds of resources and support which could help me care for Pete. The problem was that all that support and potential help was in Atlanta but Pete was in Osborne. I did not expect him to tolerate a move to Atlanta without a fight. Nobody had ever won a fight with Pete. I did not know what to do.

I looked down the road toward the town that lay at the bottom of the hill. Lights were on in nearly every home around the perimeter. The downtown area was dark. The surrounding residential streets were settling down for the night. I had spent my childhood sitting in this porch swing wishing myself to be anywhere else. I left Osborne immediately after I graduated from high school. In the quarter century since then, I came back a couple of times a year to visit Mama and Pete. Those visits never lasted more than a few days, and I spent them almost exclusively in the house. I rarely ventured into town. As much as I loved my mother and brother, I felt suffocated in Osborne. Even that evening, as lovely as it was to look on the town lying peacefully in the growing dark, I felt the same old sense of claustrophobia.

I decided that Pete would simply have to adjust to a move to Atlanta. I said that inside my mind, and whispered it into the tiny breeze that blew through the honeysuckles at the end of the porch. I was anything but sure that it would truly come to pass.

The next morning, I walked into the kitchen and found Pete sitting patiently at the table, waiting for me. Unbaked biscuits were arranged neatly on a baking sheet ready for the oven. Eggs were blended in a bowl by the stove, and a skillet lay ready for them. Bacon was was lined up, white, limp and rather disgusting, in another frying pan. Pete looked up at me and said, "It is about time you got up. I am starving. I have everything ready for breakfast. Please turn on the stove and finish it up."

I didn't argue. I was hungry, too. I had eaten very little for several days, and my hunger was overtaking my emotional turmoil. I finished cooking breakfast and we sat down to eat companionably without talking.

After breakfast, I raised the subject of Atlanta again. I decided not to refer to it as a move, but to couch it in terms of a visit. That might at least get him to agree to go. Once I got him out of Osborne, I would have to figure out how to keep him in Atlanta. I gently suggested that perhaps he might like to visit my home in Atlanta. He thought about that for a while as if truly considering it, and then shook his head, "I can't do it, Bess. I have to stay here. What if Mama comes back and I'm not home? She'll be worried."

I suddenly had an idea. I shook my head, too, "No, she won't. I talked to her before she died. She told me she thought it would be a great idea for you to visit me in Atlanta. Didn't she tell you?"

He shook his head and regarded me suspiciously. He was mentally handicapped but not stupid. He was intellectually challenged in many ways but he more than made up for his deficiencies with the best instincts imaginable when it came to detecting other peoples' emotions, including insincerity or uncertainty. He was like a human lie-detector. I willed myself to exude an aura of certainty and confidence in that lie. He continued to stare at me through narrowed eyes. Just when I began to fear that he would never buy it, he said slowly, "Well, I reckon that with Mama dead, it might be a good time to pay you a visit. I've never been to your house. But, you have to promise me that when Mama comes back or if I don't like it, you'll bring me home."

I nodded a totally insincere agreement, with fearful heart. I knew Mama wasn't coming back, but I had my doubts about his liking life in Atlanta. Something cold squeezed my heart and caused me to have difficulty breathing.

**Chapter 2**

Pete dropped his suitcase on the porch and ran into the house shouting, "Mama! Mama! We're home!"

The house was silent. He hurried from room to room, obviously overjoyed to be back on familiar turf but also bewildered, wondering where Mama was. He came into the kitchen as I dragged in the last of my luggage.

"Mamma's not back yet, but that's okay. The house is kinda dirty. We should clean it up before she comes back. What do you say?

I nodded and wordlessly picked up my suitcases. I headed up the stairs as though I were going to an execution, which was exactly how I felt. I was back in my childhood home because Pete needed me to be there. Pete could not tolerate life in Atlanta. He needed the security of his home and community where he could walk everywhere and feel safe. He was obviously overjoyed to be back on familiar turf.

I, on the other hand, felt as though my life were over.

I said over my shoulder, "Let's put our stuff away and then we can pitch in with the cleaning."

Pete carried his suitcase to his room and carefully unpacked its contents, putting each item of clothing away carefully in its proper place in the bureau and closet. Very shortly, he was back downstairs pulling out buckets, brooms and cleaning supplies. He started dusting the downstairs rooms while I finished unpacking my things.

I felt as though some kind of metal band encircled my chest and closed tight enough to make breathing difficult and painful but – somewhat unfortunately – not altogether impossible. As I unpacked my belongings, placing them back into the bureau and closet I had abandoned three decades before, I fully understood the feeling of alienation and fear that Pete felt at my house. I hoped that I would be able to cope with it better than he had. I had no acceptable alternative.

Pete had been utterly unable to cope with life in Atlanta. He was unhappy almost immediately upon our arrival. By the end of the first month, he was miserable. By the end of the second month, he was almost uncontrollable. His tantrums increased in frequency and severity until I was almost afraid of him. I consulted with doctors and counselors whom I knew professionally. I had him evaluated by several specialists They all agreed that I had only two choices: I either needed to take him home where he felt safe and could function to his own maximum capabilities, or I would have to institutionalize him. I knew, if I did the latter, they would drug him when he lost control. That was a "choice" that was really no choice at all.

I resorted to therapy for myself. I had three visits with the therapist, which I spent mostly sitting on the couch crying and wailing angrily about the unfairness of life in general. I soon decided that I could do that at home for free. I knew how this kind of adjustment worked. Lord knows, I had assisted many families as they worked through the difficult process of grappling with the issues around caring for handicapped family-members. I knew perfectly well what I had to do. Actually, I knew way too much about what was in store for me. That was part of the problem.

Anyway, I quit seeing the therapist and cried myself to sleep every night until I ran out of tears. The anger subsided and was followed by a gray wasteland of no-feeling. I went through my days on automatic pilot. I knew what I had to do, and I did it. I tried to reflect on it as little as possible.

I spent the the next month wrapping up my life in Atlanta. I quit my job. I sold my home, closed out my bank accounts, resigned from my positions on several community boards and bade farewell to my colleagues and friends.

That last month in Atlanta had been a bittersweet time. Pete understood that I was preparing to return to Osborne, so he calmed down a great deal. The tantrums lessened, and he even seemed to take some interest in his surroundings. We actually had a bit of fun. I took him to the zoo and to various parks around Atlanta. We went to a Braves game, which thrilled Pete. We went to the Atlanta airport and watched the planes take off and land. Pete professed that no one would ever get him on a plane, but he loved to watch them come and go. I was aware that Pete was only able to enjoy the sights because he knew he would be going home soon.

After I closed on my house and sent the last of my furniture off for auction, I piled Pete in my car and we returned to Osborne.

After more than thirty years away, I came back to my childhood home with two suitcases and a couple of boxes of books which was not much more than I had taken when I left at 18.

I put the last of my clothes away in my closet and looked around at my room. At some point in the past Mama had converted it to a guest room, removing the residue of my youthful occupation. I sort of wished she had left some of my stuff. The room was so impersonal, it reminded me of a hotel room. Something in me feared that I might never feel at home here.

After putting away my things, I carried my suitcases up to the attic. I hauled the suitcases up the narrow stairs to the very top of the house. I wanted them out of my sight as quickly as possible. I did not want to be tempted to run away.

Besides, I wanted to check out the attic which had been my refuge when I was a little girl. I wanted to visit it to see if it still held any of its former fascination. For a house that was nearly a hundred years old, there was very little in the attic. Papa's footlocker was in the same place it had always been. I knew its contents by heart. Granny's travel trunk lay next to it. I warmed at the thought of the treasures it held: the jewelry and bits of ribbon and the wonderful old clothes with which I used to play "dress-up" as a child. I recognized the boxes that held my school work and the mementos Mama kept from both Pete's and my childhood. There were several newer boxes that I did not recognize. I flipped up the lids on a couple of them. They contained the stuff I had left in my room. Mama had moved it out of my room, but she had saved it for me. I wondered if she knew that I would someday come back.

I made a mental note to go through those boxes at some point. Perhaps I could put some of my things back into my room to make it feel like mine again. Then again, maybe not. Wouldn't it be more depressing for me to turn my bedroom back into a teen-ager's room from the Seventies? I shuddered. How pathetic was that? I decided to defer that entire subject until I felt stronger.

By the time I returned to the first floor, Pete had finished cleaning the living room and the parlor which had been turned in to Mama's sick-room. He looked up from polishing the dining room table. "I'm almost done with my part. Mama always cleans the kitchen and the bathrooms, but I can do everything else. Do you want me to clean your room?"

"No, that's okay. I'll take care of my room. Please clean your room and the other bedrooms, I'll clean the kitchen and the bathrooms."

I tackled the kitchen first. Mama had always kept an immaculate house, but it had been obvious to me at Mama's funeral that she had apparently been failing for some time. The kitchen had not been up to her usual standards of cleanliness. Now, after three months of neglect, it was downright filthy. I had inherited Mama's cleanliness-is-next-to-godliness obsession, and I set myself to best the dirt-demons. I like to clean. It is a mindless task that offers immediate rewards. That day, I threw myself into it in an effort to lose myself in the work and forget how miserable I felt.

When I finished scrubbing down the counters and cabinets, I got out the mop and bucket. I quickly realized that the floor required more intensive therapy, so I went to the garage and retrieved a scrub brush: this was a hands-and-knees job. By the time I was half finished, I was soaked with a combination of dirty wash-water and sweat. My hair, which I had pulled back in a clip, had largely escaped and was an unruly mess. I had lost three nail tips. So much for well-manicured hands! Someone knocked on the front door.

I glanced at myself in the hall mirror on the way to the door, "Oh, shit! I am soooooo not ready to receive callers." Even at the time, it amused me to notice that I had been back in Osborne less than half a day and I already found myself falling into the thought patterns of that world... or at least that world as it had been before I left it. Did anybody, even in Osborne, use the word "callers" any more? Probably only a few of the marvelously eccentric old ladies the South is known for. I didn't know whether to be amused or terrified by that thought.

A man's silhouette filled the milky glass of the front-door window. I opened the door, and looked up into the face of Darryl Endicott. I had not seen him in 30 years, and he had changed much, except for his impossibly beautiful blue eyes. Unbelievably, I found a way to speak despite the constriction of every muscle in my throat and simply said, "Good morning, Darryl. Won't you come in?"

He touched the brim of his cap. "Mornin', Bess." He said it easily and naturally as though we had seen each other only yesterday. "I didn't really come to visit. I came over to cut the grass. I've been taking care of Miss Maggie Lou's yard for a while now. I figured to keep that up if you want me to. I stopped to let you know that I'm here so I wouldn't startle you when I fire up the lawnmower."

I looked around the yard, and noticed for the first time that it was immaculately cared for. He had obviously continued to maintain it all summer. It had not even occurred to me to make arrangements for the yard. "Thank you, Darryl. You've been doing a wonderful job. What do I owe you for the yard work over the summer?"

He shrugged, "I always took care of it as a favor to Miss Maggie Lou."

"Do you mean to tell me that my mother has taken advantage of you all these years?"

"I looked at as bein' neighborly."

"Mama always could do a pretty mean Blanche DuBois when it would save her some money!"

He chuckled but he didn't disagree with me, "I suspect most folks figured that she had her reasons for bein' like that. She couldn't have had much money since she could never hold a job and still take care of Pete, so everybody kind of tolerated her ways."

I sighed and put my hands on my hips in a gesture I knew was reminiscent of Mama's own typical stance, "Mama was okay in the money department. She was just cheap. Here's what we'll do. You quote me what you think is a fair price for taking care of the yard from now on. I'll probably want to putter with the flowerbeds and maybe plant a garden, but I don't think I want to cut the grass and do the heavy work. What do you say?"

He nodded. "OK. I think we could probably work something out. How about $75 a month."

"Are you sure that's enough? It's a big yard."

"It's $75 more than I've made up to now. I'd keep on doing it for nothing, but I don't want to insult you."

I nodded. There was something almost gallant about his offer, especially considering how I am sure he felt about me. "Okay. $75 a month, plus lunch after you're finished," I paused. What was I thinking? I added quickly, "...unless you need to get home."

He looked at me for a long, uncomfortable minute and said, "That would be fine. I get tired of my own cooking since Lucille died."

I said, "Oh, I'm sorry. I don't think Mama mentioned that."

He looked at me with a half-smile on his face but there was something hard and almost angry in his eyes, "I'm quite sure she mentioned it to you. You no doubt just forgot about it."

I knew he was right. I really began to regret that I had just entered into an agreement to have him do my yard work and then eat lunch with us. What was wrong with me? I sighed deeply, hoping that he would interpret it as compassion instead of the selfish irritation that it was, "You're probably right. I am sorry."

He nodded. His expression returned to neutral, although his eyes were still very guarded. We chatted for another moment and then he went off to cut the grass while I finished the scrubbing the kitchen floor and then turned to the bathrooms.

When I finished, I desperately wanted to take a shower, but knew I didn't have time for that if I was going to have lunch on the table by the time Darryl finished cutting the grass. I washed my face and arms, changed my shirt and ran a brush through my hair. That was as good as it was going to get, but I reckoned that it didn't matter. Darryl Endicott was the last man on earth who would care what the hell I looked like. I was a little amazed that he was willing to continue to take care of the yard now that I was back, but I knew that he had truly loved Mama. His own mother died when he was a kid and Mama took a very motherly interest in him. I assumed he would continue to take care of the grounds out of respect for Maggie Lou's memory, despite his feelings about her daughter who had jilted him.

I dug around in the freezer and came up with a piece of ham and a package of green beans. I thawed them in the microwave and put them on the stove to heat. There were a few tomatoes on the vines by the back door. I picked a couple of big ones and sliced them. There were some leftover biscuits from breakfast which I wrapped in foil and put in the toaster oven to warm. I made a fresh pot of tea and then divided it into two pitchers. One I sweetened to what I considered a "normal" degree of Southern sweetness. I doubled the sugar in the other one. Mama always said that Pete liked a little tea with his sugar.

I was just finishing lunch preparations when Pete came downstairs. I asked, "What have you been up to? You were awfully quiet."

"I was straightening up my room and messing with the presents I brought for people. Can we go to town today so I can give my presents away?"

"Yes, I think that is a good idea. We need to go to the grocery anyway. Right now, let's have lunch. Mr. Darryl is cutting the grass and he is going to have lunch with us."

He brightened, "Really! Oh, great. I brought him the best present of all. I can't wait to see him!"

In a few minutes Darryl joined us. The men sat at the table and Pete regaled Darryl with stories of his adventures in Atlanta. I was amused to notice that he didn't mention the first two months at all. He did not even imply that he had been miserable and unhappy in Atlanta. He spoke only of the things we did during the last month, when he knew he would soon be coming home. Darryl listened politely and responded with appropriate surprise, amazement and amusement. It was obvious that Darryl was very comfortable with Pete. I appreciated that on Pete's behalf. It was nice that he had another man to talk to.

When Pete finished his lunch, he went upstairs to his room to retrieve Darryl's present.

Darryl said, "I know that bringing him back here was hard for you, but I'm glad you did it. I don't think he could be happy anywhere else."

I nodded slowly, trying desperately not to cry, "I know."

We were quiet for a few minutes. There was so much to say and yet nothing to say.

I cleared my throat and said tentatively, "Could you do me a favor?"

"What?"

"Could you sort of spread a message to the town?"

"What kind of a message?" I could hear the hard edge of distrust in his voice. That was something I knew I would have to live with. What was worse, I knew I totally deserved it.

I pretended not to notice and continued, "Pete told me that when Mama was sick people came over with food and what-not, but he sent them away. He said that the doorbell disturbed Mama and so he ran people off. I suspect that he wasn't very nice about it. You know how he can be when he's upset. I was amazed that nobody brought food to the funeral. I think they may have been afraid to. I guess I would like you to get the message out that Mama would have been very appreciative of the gifts if she had been able to say so. I'm sorry if there were hurt feelings over that."

He nodded. "I'm sure that nobody was exactly 'hurt' by that. Upset and worried, yes. Very worried. But, we all know Pete and we understood that he was doing the best he could. I will, however, put out the word that you are aware of the fact that you think there would've been a lot more support from the town."

I thanked him and slipped into the ritual of polite Southern discourse, asking after his family. He showed me a photo of his four grandchildren. His daughter and her husband lived in Jacksonville. His son's family lived in Tampa.

"Are you still working at the store?"

He nodded. "Yeah, I reckon I'll do the same as my dad. I'll run that store until I'm too old to get around. I've got good people working there, so I don't have to put in the kind of long hours I used to. I don't make a lot of money, but I manage to eke out a living. When I get tired of it, I'll close up shop and the last of my dwindling customers can shop exclusively at the Wal-Mart."

I nodded. I picked up on and shared his sadness. The South was changing again. The Ante-Bellum South died in the Civil War. The Post-Reconstruction South had clung to its past for more than a hundred years. That South was dying now. Its demise was most apparent in places like Atlanta where business boomed and there seemed to be more Yankees than Southerners. The frightening thing to both of us was that the change could now be felt even in the small towns in the backwaters of South, like Osborne.

Pete returned with Darryl's gift, a baseball signed by the entire Atlanta Braves team. Darryl was delighted. He hugged Pete – or tried to. Pete wasn't a hugger. He thanked Pete and told him the gift was something he would treasure always. Pete glowed with pleasure.

We finished lunch and Darryl left. Just before he walked out of the door, he looked at me as though he wanted to say something, but changed his mind. Then he was gone. I watched him go with a curious mixture of relief and sadness.

After I finished doing the dishes, Pete prevailed on me to take him to town so he could distribute the rest of his presents.

**Chapter 3**

We drove into town and I parked in front of the Piggly Wiggly. Pete had purchased gifts for people who worked in nearly every business on Main Street. It was his intention to visit all his friends. I planned to go to the library and then the grocery store. Pete promised to meet me there after he had made his rounds.

Pete hurried down the street with his satchel filled with gifts. I smiled as I watched him. He was so like a child in may ways. Too often that caused anguish for him and for those who loved him, but when he was happy and excited about something he was able to give himself over to the experience with a complete self-abandonment that few adults could manage. Not for the first time, I found myself wondering if perhaps that was nature's way of providing some compensation for his other deficiencies. In any case, I thought he was the picture of complete and total happiness at that moment. I knew that I had done the right thing for him when I brought him home. The hard part was going to be finding a way for me to cope with being there myself.

I jaywalked across the intersection to the library. I approached the desk and asked the librarian for an application for a library card. It was somewhat surprising to me that I did not know the woman. I knew that Miss Simpson, who had been a veritable institution in the library for 40 years, had died several years ago. It stood to reason the library board would have hired a new librarian. I had assumed that they would have hired a "native".

This lady was not only not a native of Osborne. She was a Yankee, a Boston Yankee, by her accent. Her name-tag said "Mrs. O'Connell". A Boston Yankee Catholic. I tried not to laugh. There was a day not so very long ago, it seemed to me, that a person such as Mrs. O'Connell would not have been welcomed as a patron in the library, much less hired by the library board (which had always been dominated by the doyennes of the town's Old Families) as the town librarian. I knew that it was a good thing, but I could not avoid feeling a pang of ... what? I wasn't sure exactly what that feeling was.

I filled out the application and handed it back to Mrs. O'Connell. The woman looked at the card and brightened. "Oh, you're Mrs. Morgan's daughter. I'm so sorry for the loss of your mother. She was a very nice lady. I'm very pleased to meet you. Mrs. Evans told me you would probably stop by here very soon. Once you get yourself situated, we would be delighted if you would consider joining our book group. Several ladies meet on Wednesday evenings to discuss books."

I smiled and said, "Something like a Southern-fried version of The Ladies of the Club?"

Mrs. O'Connell smiled and said, "Nothing so elegant or tragic. Actually, it's much more of an excuse to eat cookies."

I told her I would think about it. I asked how long it would take to get the library card. Mrs. O'Connell waved her hand. "Look around and pick out some books. I'll have the card ready for you when you get back to the desk."

I wandered around the library where I had spent most of the happiest hours of my youth. Much had changed. There were computers where the old card catalog had been. There were racks of VHS tapes and even movies on DVD. There were a several racks of music CD's. I flipped through them. They were very heavy on country and gospel music but there was one tray of classical CD's. I picked out a few favorites.

The periodical room had not changed at all. I would have sworn that the furniture was even the same. Several old men hunched over newspapers-on-sticks. Actually, I recognized a couple of them and realized they were for the most part the sons of the old men who hung out there when I had worked in the library while I was in high school. I found it comforting somehow to see that at least some things had not changed in my home town.

I moved into the fiction area and pulled out a few titles by a couple of my favorite authors. Nothing too heavy, but enough to keep me busy. Keeping busy was my only goal in life at that point.

In fifteen minutes or so I returned to the circulation desk, where Mrs. O'Connell had my library card ready. She checked out my items efficiently, and refrained from commenting on my book selections. That amused me. Old Mrs. Simpson had read virtually every book in the library and always added a commentary for every book she ever checked out. She would sometimes refuse to let kids borrow certain books she did not deem appropriate. It was annoying as hell, but I'd learned to live with it. Mrs. O'Connell's tact was kind of a let down.

I left the library, promising to consider the Wednesday night book club once I got settled. That was another lie to add to the heap of lies I'd spoken in this town over the years.

I crossed back to the car and put my books in the back seat.

Fishing out the shopping list from my purse, I walked into the grocery store. I took my time because I knew Pete would take a while delivering all his presents and visiting with his friends. The store was nearly deserted. I thought that was odd for a Monday afternoon. Then it occurred to me that most of the women in town who in years past spent Monday afternoons in the grocery store swapping stories and gossiping were now dead. The younger women were probably at work. The only other patrons besides me were a couple of old ladies I recognized as the Windsor twins. I calculated they would have been in their 80's, and they still dressed completely alike down to the matching barrettes placed exactly one inch above their matching buns. I nodded to them but did not stop to chat. They had both been nearly deaf for decades. There was no stopping to "chat" with them. Frankly, I was relieved.

As I headed down the cereal aisle, I saw the profile of a woman I knew I should recognize, but could not quite place. I slowed my pace and tried not to stare. In a moment, the woman turned and looked directly at me. First she looked surprised, then her expression clouded and a look of obvious displeasure flashed across her face. It was gone almost as quickly as it appeared and was replaced by the bland "pleasant" look cultivated by generations of Southern women – that utterly nondescript expression that could mean about anything. I always thought that look was the non-verbal equivalent of the expression "bless your heart." I almost laughed.

Unfortunately, I still could not place the women. It was obvious she knew who I was and was not pleased to see me. That meant she could have been about anybody who had lived in Osborne more than thirty years. I was at a serious disadvantage.

The woman said very evenly in a completely bland tone of voice, "Well, well. If it isn't Bessie Morgan." I heard the unspoken ending, "I hate your guts, you miserable bitch."

I recognized the voice and was hard pressed not to run from the building. Caroline Endicott had disliked me when I was a teen-ager dating her brother. At the time, she believed that I was not good enough for Darryl. Caroline's feelings had escalated to borderline hatred when I abandoned him without so much as a fare-thee-well. It was obvious that Caroline's animosity had not moderated over the years. Given my egregious behavior towards her brother, she had good reason to dislike me, and we both knew it.

I was amazed at the change in Caroline. The young Caroline had been a raven-haired beauty with a fiery temper. It appeared she still had the temper, but this woman was a middle-aged lady who was not aging well. She was a bit thick around the middle and her hair had been treated with one too many henna rinses. She stood in the middle of the aisle looking coldly at me and said, "I heard you were back." She did not need to add, "and I was not happy about the news."

"Yes. Pete just could not be happy living in Atlanta, so I brought him back here."

Caroline looked at me for a long moment without saying anything. I thought perhaps her expression moderated ever so slightly, but that could have been just my imagination. Caroline said, rather as if it pained her, "That must have been very difficult for you." Then she added a tad more gently, "But, it was very kind of you to come back for Pete's benefit."

I wanted to respond in the same conciliatory manner, but at the same time I wanted to smack the condescending bitch. And so, I put on my own bland Southern-Lady expression and replied, "It was the only thing I could do." I tried not to let the, "and it pains the hell out of me" part show, but I know she could read me as easily as I could read her.

Caroline looked at me and for a second I thought she was going to let out the claws. I was ready. Instead, she smiled. I noted that the smile did not reach her eyes. She said, "Pete is very special."

I nodded. I resisted the urge to scratch her eyes out, and settled for a bland, "Yes, he certainly is."

I proceeded down the aisle as Caroline headed off in the other direction. I noticed when I reached for a pound of coffee, my hands were shaking.

As I was preparing to return to Osborne, I spent a lot of time worrying about the claustrophobia of small town life. I had never allowed myself to think about the prospect of up-close and personal encounters with the townspeople whose very way of life I had rejected in a very unkind and public manner. Small town folk have long memories. There were on-going feuds in that town that dated back generations. Thirty years was like yesterday when it came to hard feelings for Southerners. I suddenly realized that I was probably in for more of a rough time than I had imagined. Up until then, I had been feeling mostly depressed. At that point, I began to feel a little afraid.

I managed to get through the rest of my shopping without any further unpleasantness. I dallied long enough to make sure that Caroline had checked out and left the store before I brought my purchases to the cash-register.

The cashier was Becky Parsons. I had gone to school with her. We had never been close, but we knew each other. (Everybody knew each other.) She was sort of from the wrong side of the tracks as a kid. I recalled that Caroline had given her a very hard time when we were young. I wondered if she had heard or seen my encounter with Caroline.

Becky studied my face and said, "Welcome back, Bessie. Sorry about your Mama. How's Pete?"

"He's good. He should be by in a moment. He brought presents from Atlanta for all his friends in town. He's supposed to meet me here soon. I hope he gets here before the ice cream melts!"

Becky laughed. "We can always stick it back in the freezer till he comes. He's been away a while. It'll take him some time to tell all his stories."

I nodded. It seemed that everyone in town knew Pete and looked out for him. That sense of safety and security was what he needed, and it was the single best thing about small town life. I had to keep reminding myself of that.

Becky picked up a Styrofoam cooler from the ledge in the front window and filled it with my refrigerated items, topping it off with a bag of ice. "That ought to hold your stuff until he gets back and you can get it home."

I thanked her. We chatted a few minutes. When I saw Pete at the front window, I waved at him and proceeded out to the car with my purchases.

I noticed that his satchel was as full as it had been when he left me earlier, "What's all that stuff."

He grinned, "Everybody had presents for me, too."

I smiled at him and told him I couldn't wait to see his presents when we got home. For all the difficulties that I would no doubt encounter as I tried to find a place for myself in the life of this town, I knew by his naked joy that I had done the right thing. I hoped that others in the town would give me credit for that much decency. I hoped that perhaps that could be a place to start my bridge-building.

That, and eating a whole lot of crow, I feared.

**Chapter 4**

The next day was Sunday. I asked Pete if he wanted to go to church. He shrugged and said, "Okay."

We got dressed and left for church. I turned right out of the driveway. Pete looked at me oddly and asked, "Where are we going?"

"To church."

"Then why are we going this way?"

I was irritated, "Because All Saints Episcopal Church is this way. It has been this way since it was founded in 1839 by a bunch of local families, including Mama's. It was this way when you and I were baptized and confirmed there. Isn't that where you go to church?"

"No."

I almost ran off the road. There had been members of the Brennan family baptized, confirmed, married and buried from that church in every generation since its founding. Going to All Saints Church had been one of the few things I had looked forward to when I came back to Osborne.

I pulled over onto the berm, stopped the car and turned to face Pete. "When did you stop going to All Saints, and why?"

He shrugged and said, "It's been a long time. I don't exactly know why it was that Mama got mad at the 'piscopals. She had a big argument with the new preacher some time back. Then she had another argument with the wardens. After that she told me she wasn't going back to that church, ever."

I was exasperated. For one thing it explained why the Episcopal priest had seemed so surprised when I called him to arrange Mama's funeral. He had recovered quickly from his shock and kindly agreed to hold the funeral mass and preside at the burial, but I had thought his behavior was odd.

I asked Pete, "Did she give any kind of reason? She never told me."

"Well, she never told you because she knew that if you found out we was going to the Baptist church, you'd have a cow."

Now I was really confused. "You went to the Baptist church? The church Mama always referred to as 'Bible beaters'?"

He sighed and looked at me like I was an idiot. "We didn't go to the Baptist church here. We went to the Baptist church over in Plains. Mama said the 'Piscopals was turning into Bible Beaters and she wouldn't have it. We went to the Baptist church in Plains where she said they was good Christians. It was a far drive so we only went once a month or so. After she got sick we didn't go any more."

It took a moment for that information to sink in. I could not imagine my High Church Episcopalian mother in a Baptist church. Then a thought occurred to me...

"Did you say you went to the Baptist church in Plains?"

"Yup."

"Jimmy Carter's church?"

"Yeah. We used to go to Brother Jimmy's Sunday School Class. Mama told him once that she really liked his religion even if she couldn't abide his politics."

I burst out laughing. "She said that to President Carter? What did he do?"

Pete continued to look at me as though I had turned into some kind of imbecile, "What do you think he did? He gave her a hug and tol' her that he 'ppreciated her honesty. Brother Jimmy was like that. I liked him."

"Shouldn't you call him President Carter?"

"No. He told us that we could call him that when we wasn't in church, but in church he was Brother Jimmy."

I shook my head and wiped my eyes; I was laughing and crying at the same time. "I don't know what to say. I can just see Mama saying that to President Carter."

I thought a minute. It was too late to drive to Plains for church, even if I were inclined to go to a Baptist church, which I was not. Mama may have been able to make the switch from the Episcopal Church to the Baptists, but I was not prepared to do that. However, if All Saints had been taken over by the evangelicals I didn't want to go there either.

I asked, "When you didn't drive to Plains, where did you go to church?"

He looked embarrassed and didn't answer at first. Finally he said softly, "Well, Mama didn't go at all, but I'd sometimes walk over to the Assemblies Church."

"You didn't!"

"Oh, yes I did, and they was always very nice to me. It was fun going there. They dance around and sing and cry and wave their arms. You don't have to sit still and be quiet like you do in the 'Piscopals church. I would usually leave when the preaching started. They preach longer than the Baptists and since I never know what they're talking about anyway, I'd just go for the singin' and prayin' and then leave."

I laughed, "You know, I think that makes you smarter than all those other good Christian sheep who sit there Sunday after Sunday listening to a bunch of crap from the pulpit. The singing and praying are the really important parts anyway.

"But, now, we have a problem. It's too late to drive to Plains. I guess All Saints is out, and I'm not going to the Assemblies of God church even for just the singing and praying. So, what shall we do since we're all dressed up and have no church to go to."

"Let's do what Mama and I did most Sundays."

"What's that?"

"Let's go out to breakfast."

"That's a good idea. Do you want to go to Miss Millie's or to the diner out by the road."

"I want to go where Mama and I always go."

"Where would that be?"

"Miss Sarah Foster's place."

I hadn't fully recovered from the idea of my mother decamping from All Saints Episcopal Church to the Baptist Church in Plains. Now Pete was telling me my mother ate at a restaurant located in what we used to refer to as the "colored" part of town. I said, "You have got to be kidding me!"

Pete explained, "Mama always said that Miss Sarah Foster makes the best pancakes in the world and she didn't care if it was a colored restaurant – I'm not supposed to say that – she was going to eat there to enjoy the pancakes. Long time ago, we used to eat in the kitchen 'cause Miss Sarah's customers was not comfortable with us bein' there. Lately there's been new white folks that moved into town. They didn't know white folks wasn't supposed to eat there and so we started eating in the dining room. I don't think Miss Sarah's regular old customers like the change very much, but Miss Sarah says she likes the money just fine even if a lot of it does come from white Yankees."

I shook my head. I had to see this. I said, "Let's go."

We drove past Main Street and into the poor part of town. There were no cars in front of the diner. Pete explained, "Miss Sarah's customers mostly go to the churches down the road there. They all get out about 12:30. The place fills up real fast once church lets out."

"What about her white Yankee customers?"

"It seems to me that most of them don't go to church. They do sleep late. We should be 'bout the only people in the place. That's good. We can visit with Miss Sarah. I ain't seen her for a while."

We walked into the completely empty diner. It was immaculately clean, but all the fixtures were what might be called "vintage". Sarah Foster walked out of the kitchen wiping her hands on her apron. When she saw Pete, she broke into a huge grin and ran around the counter. She took him in her arms and gave him a huge hug. I was surprised to notice that he hugged her back. Pete generally resisted physical affection. Sarah was an old lady, but she was the kind of large, commanding black woman that reminded me of Maya Angelou or Barbara Jordan. She turned to me and paused for a second as though considering how to greet me. I opened my arms and she gave me a huge hug as well. God, I needed a hug so badly at that point, I wanted to hold onto her and never let go! She seemed to understand and she held me very tight for a long time. Finally I realized that I was about to burst into sobs, so I let go and tried to compose myself.

She waved us to a table and brought us coffee. She handed me a menu and said, "I don't have to ask what Pete wants. What will you have, honey?"

I didn't look at the menu. "I will have the pancakes. He says your pancakes are divine."

"You want sausage or no?"

I raised my eyebrows at Pete. He said, "Miss Sarah makes her own sausage. It's very good. I don't have it because I can eat more pancakes if I don't eat the meat. You should try it."

"Okay. I'll have sausage."

"Hot or mild?"

"Which is better?"

She grinned, "Since I make them both, I should say they are both excellent, which they are. I like the mild better with pancakes."

"That will be fine."

She disappeared into the kitchen. I could hear her giving the orders to someone. I sipped the excellent coffee and found myself relaxing in a way I hadn't done since Mama died. We were in a place where somebody other than me was in charge, a place where somebody was going to take care of both Pete and me. I knew immediately that Miss Sarah Foster's restaurant was likely to be my regular house of worship of a Sunday from now on. I could understand why Mama went there – probably for the same reason.

In no time, Miss Sarah was back with our breakfasts. She hesitated, and Pete motioned for her to sit down. She poured more coffee for us and poured a cup for herself. She sat down with us and patted my hand. "Miss Bessie, I'm so sorry about your Mama. I know these last months have been very hard for you. Please don't you hesitate to call on me or on Odom if you need anything at all."

Pete noticed my quizzical expression and said, "Mr. Odom takes care of Mama's car."

I nodded. There was a whole lot of history to this relationship that I didn't know. I was dying to hear it, but I didn't know how to open the subject. Besides, the pancakes were so good, I didn't want to take the time to talk.

While we ate, Pete and Sarah chatted. She filled him in on the town gossip that he had missed while he was away. He told her about some of his adventures in Atlanta. I stuffed my face and listened in amazement at what was evidently a very old friendship between this delightful old lady and my brother.

Pete polished off his pancakes and asked Sarah for more. She waved him at the kitchen and said, "Go tell Buster to load you up again."

Pete disappeared into the kitchen.

When he was gone, she looked at me with a twinkle in her eye and two dimples denting her cheeks. "You handled that very well."

I was embarrassed. "I'm sorry if I was awkward."

"No. I mean it. You really did. I doubt that your mother ever mentioned our friendship, and my guess is that Pete totally shocked you when he told you he wanted to eat here. If I recall correctly, at the time you left this town, there had never been a white person in this restaurant except the sheriff, who came in periodically to shake us down.

"The first time your mama and Pete walked in the door I thought I was going to pass out. For years I made them eat in the kitchen. In recent years, other white folks started coming in so Maggie Lou and Pete started eating in the dining room."

I shook my head. "There must be a story there."

She nodded. "There sure is, honey. There most certainly is." She looked at the clock and shook her head sadly. "We'll have to save that for another day. My breakfast rush is about to start. Will you excuse me?"

"Certainly. Maybe next Sunday we can come earlier so we will have a chance to talk."

She smiled and nodded. "That's a good idea. I'll look forward to it."

She stopped half-way to the counter and came back to the table. She looked around to make sure Pete was still in the kitchen and she said softly, "There are a couple of things you should know. First, there are a lot of new people in this town who don't remember you and who have no beef with you. Second, a lot of the old-timers are pretty impressed that you brought Pete back. There were some people who thought you would put him in a home. Some folks will probably still give you a hard time, I think, but mostly folks are about ready to welcome you back but they're also mostly so stiff-necked and stubborn, I doubt anybody is likely to say that to your face. I think you should know what is what."

I felt tears burning behind my eyes, but I stopped them before they started falling. I knew that if I let go of myself at that point, I would start sobbing uncontrollably just before Miss Sarah's place filled up with customers. Instead of sitting there and bawling, I simply took her hand and thanked her. I felt as though I had been holding my breath for weeks. Finally, I was able to let it out. I had a friend in Osborne, and she let me know that there might be some hope that I could find a place for myself there as well. It was the first time since Mama died that I felt somebody was looking out for me. I wanted to jump up and hold onto her for dear life. Unfortunately, about that time the after-church crowd arrived and the place filled up with her Sunday morning regulars.

I finished my breakfast and Pete returned from the kitchen where he had eaten his second and probably third helping of pancakes while visiting with Miss Sarah's grandson who was cooking that morning. I paid the bill and as we left Miss Sarah waved to us and called out, "Y'all, come back soon."

On the way home, we stopped at the cemetery to visit Mama's grave. After that we went to a movie.

I found myself quickly settling into a routine which was probably similar in many ways to the kind of routine that Southern ladies had practiced for generations. I got up early, made breakfast for Pete and me. Then I puttered around the house, cleaning and straightening up. Some days I puttered in the garden. Midmorning found me with time on my hands. It was early autumn. Some days were still warm enough to sit on the porch swing which has always been my favorite spot in the house. Other days I stayed inside and sat in Mama's rocker. I read for a few hours until time to fix Pete's lunch. I usually ate very little at lunch, but Pete was a three-squares-a-day kind of guy.

After lunch, I typically went for a run. Pete thought I was nuts. Mama was the genteel kind of Southern female who believed that the only time a lady should break a sweat was when she was cooking. Pete wasn't much for exercise either. I would have liked to fuss at him about his weight, but couldn't bring myself to do it.

I, on the other hand, enjoyed running and I found myself running more than I ever had, now that I had the luxury of time to do it. I had qualified for the Boston Marathon with my husband many years before. That had been one of the most wonderful experiences of my life. I thought I was too old to get back in shape for a marathon, but I decided to start pushing myself to run further and faster than I had in a long time, just for something to do. Running filled my afternoons while at the same time giving me both beneficial physical exercise, sunshine, fresh air and an emotional lift as well.

Pete and I fixed dinner together every night, and I was usually ready for a big meal after running all afternoon.

The days ran together one after another, alike and yet somehow nice. I generally avoided people, but I found that I was not lonely. Maybe I had been ready for a spell of solitude. My life for many years had been filled with people, appointments, committees and activity, both in Boston and after I moved to Atlanta. One good thing about coming back to Osborne was that I had the chance to step off that treadmill and spend some time by myself. On the one hand, it was actually a very healing time for me.

On the other hand, I guess I have to admit that I was hiding. I avoided people in Osborne as much as possible. I had no idea where to begin to build relationships with them. I was not certain that I really wanted any entangling relationships with the locals, at least not at that point in time.

The next Sunday Pete and I didn't even make any pretense about going to church. We got up, dressed, and headed directly for Miss Sarah's. We arrived at 9:30. Any early birds that might have drifted in were gone. The after-church crowd wouldn't arrive for hours. I hoped that Miss Sarah and I would have some time to talk.

Pete and I sat at what appeared to be his regular table, and we ordered the same thing we'd had the week before. Miss Sarah sat with us and chatted with Pete. Pete finished his first plate of pancakes and Miss Sarah suggested that he go back to the kitchen for some more while she talked to me. She took my plate after making sure that I did not want a refill. Then she brought more coffee for both of us and sat down across from me.

"I told Buster to keep Pete occupied for a good long time. He'll probably have a belly-ache, but that may be a small price to pay to give you a little break."

She reached across the table and took my small hand in her large, rough, chapped one and said, "You doin' okay, sugah?"

I put my other hand over hers and answered her as honestly as I could, "I think so. It's a little hard to say. Time will tell, I suppose."

"Take your time. There's no rush. You just do what feels right."

I nodded. She patted my hands and then let go while she took a swig of coffee. I wanted her to hold my hands again. There was something about her that reminded me of Mama .... or, maybe it was just that I wanted someone to mother me.

Miss Sarah looked at me for a long time and then started talking softly, "You know, Miss Bessie, one of the few things I ever argued with your Mama about was you. I always thought she should tell you about her life, but she never did. There's a lot she never told me, so I can't tell you the whole story. I do think you should know at least as much as I know.

"First off, do you know how I came to be friends with your Mama?"

I shook my head and said, "Honestly, Miss Sarah, she never mentioned you to me."

"That doesn't surprise me. I think she wanted you to be completely in the dark about everything in her life. Can I ask you a question first of all?"

"Sure."

"Did she put it in your head to leave town like that?"

I thought about that for a minute and realized that I needed to reflect on it a whole lot more. I was shocked by the question, "Of course not! Why would you ask?"

She looked at me as though she didn't believe me but she didn't say anything for a while, then she shrugged and said almost to herself, "Well, I guess with your home life it wouldn't have taken much prompting from Maggie Lou." She looked at me and said, "But if you don't know it, you should know that she wanted you to leave. She wanted it with all her heart."

"Why?"

She shook her head. "Maybe you should think about that and come up with your own answer. But I think I can at least get you started.

"I guess I'd better start at the beginning so you understand how far back we went. My mother was the cook and housekeeper for your grandparents. At the time, that big house was way out in the country. The town has grown so it's not as far out in the sticks as it was then. Mommy would go out on Monday and stay till Saturday morning. She was off from Saturday morning until Sunday evening. When I was little, I went with her to your house. We had a room right off the kitchen, behind the stove."

Bessie nodded, "That's the room where Mama set up her quilting frame. It's still there. We used it for her sick room."

She smiled at the long-ago memory. "Maggie Lou's mama was one of the last of the old-time Southerners around. Her family had owned slaves when she was little. She could remember the Civil War at least a little bit. She remembered a little about the bad years that followed the war. What was interesting was that instead of making her hard and hateful like it did a lot of old folks, it made her more kindly towards everyone, black folks included. She paid my mother well by the standards of the day. She gave Mommy a room in the house. She let Mommy bring me with her after I came along. She didn't send Maggie Lou to school until she was ready to go off to finishing school. Instead she had tutors come in. She let me sit in on the lessons, which meant I had a much better education than any other black person in the town at that time. Miss Mattie was very liberal by the standards of the day.

"Miss Mattie brought Maggie Lou up to have the same kind of attitude. Maggie Lou and I were friends for as long as I can remember. There were no other children close by for her to play with, or for me either for that matter, so we played with each other. We took our lessons together. In many ways, we sort of grew up more like sisters than anything else. Mommy and I went home to Daddy on the weekends, but the rest of the time, Maggie Lou and I were inseparable.

"Maggie Lou was something of a scandal in the town. I think most everybody expected her to go bad, if you know what I mean. Maybe it would have been better for her if she had. Trying to be respectable didn't turn out so good for her.

"Anyway, when she was young, Maggie Lou was the closest thing Osborne had to a free-spirit. I think she fancied herself sort of Osborne's version of Zelda Fitzgerald or something. She had inherited her mother's kindly disposition toward black folk, but carried it to an almost intolerable extreme, at least intolerable to the folks of Osborne.

"When I married Odom, Maggie Lou came to the wedding. She intended to come to the reception, too, but Mommy sent her home. Mommy was terrified that Maggie Lou would go and do something stupid like trying to dance with some of our relatives or something. I think she probably would have, too, and it would have got all of us in terrible trouble with the police and, even worse, with the Klan. Mommy got downright nasty with Maggie Lou and sent her packing. I was afraid she would hold it against us but she never did. I guess she understood.

"She went off to finishing school and I started having babies right away.

"I saw her when she came home on visits and was amazed to find that she still considered us friends. Most black folks who grew up with white kids eventually reached a point in their relationship when the white person pulled away. Maggie Lou never did that. It scared Mommy. It sometimes scared me, too.

"Maggie Lou fell totally and completely in love with a boy from over by Americus. I forget his name, but she was crazy for him. Unfortunately for everyone concerned, he went off to WWII and got himself shot to death first thing. Maggie Lou grieved for him for years. Most folks in Osborne figured that she would never get married. Looking back on it, maybe .... well, I won't say that.

"Anyway, she grieved herself sick over his death.

"After that war was over, the men came home and there was something of a building boom in Osborne. A man from someplace down in Mississippi came into town with the construction company. Name was Otis Morgan."

She paused. "Tell me what you recollect about your daddy."

I was quiet. I had not spoken to anyone about my father in decades. I frankly hadn't thought about him very much since I left Osborne. He was almost a complete mystery to me. I wracked my brain to try to think of something to say. I could barely remember what he looked like. I shook my head. "It's strange, Miss Sarah. I actually had hardly anything to do with Papa. I don't think we ever had a conversation. He never played with me or took me places. If he walked into the room and I was there, he would leave. I guess I always thought he didn't have much use for kids."

She gave me a long, penetrating look. "What did you think of him?"

I shrugged. "I didn't think much of him at all. I didn't know anything about him. He was like a complete stranger to me."

She gave me a hard, almost angry look. "Are you going to sit here and try to make me believe you don't know what kind of man your daddy was?"

I thought about that for a minute and then I shook my head. "I think that looking back I can piece together some things and make a guess about what kind of man he was, but when I was little all I knew was that it was very important that I stay away from him."

"Did you ever see him hit your Mama or Pete?"

I shook my head. "No. Honestly I didn't. He was too sneaky for that. I think that whatever he did to them, he did carefully and quietly."

She nodded. "Did he ever hit you or touch you in any other way?"

I shook my head emphatically. "No. In my entire life, he and I were never alone together. I don't know what Mama did or said to him, but he left me alone. He left me without a father, but he never laid a hand on me."

My head flew up and my eyes filled with tears, "My, God! Miss Sarah, what did he do to Pete?"

She covered my hands again and said quietly, "He shook him. Real hard."

I wanted to bury my head in my hands and sob, but there was a lot more to the story and I suddenly wanted to hear it.

"Why did Mama marry a monster like that?"

Miss Sarah stroked my hands and said, "At first I don't think she knew he was monster. He was good looking and smooth. She was from the oldest and richest family in the county. Every black person in the county knew what he was almost from the day he arrived, but he swept Maggie Lou off her feet with his charm and pretty blue eyes." She stroked the backs of my hands in tiny circles, in a gentle way while she pierced my heart with her words.

"I would have tried to warn her, but I didn't have a telephone and we didn't exactly move in the same circles, if you know what I mean, so I didn't have the chance to just 'run into her.' I don't really think she ever loved him. She was infatuated maybe. Maybe she just wanted to have children. And God knows Miss Mattie pressured her to get married for that purpose.

"And so she did. She married Mr. Otis Morgan in the most elaborate wedding this town had seen since before the Civil War. I attended, as a waitress."

She trembled slightly and it was my turn to stroke the backs of her gnarled and strong hands. She went on, "Pete was born less than a year after they married. Less than a year. More than nine months." We both chuckled.

"When Pete was born, he was perfectly fine. He is not retarded. He was fine until one night Maggie Lou went to her what-do-you-call-it meeting at the Episcopal church, the ladies who decorate the church?"

"Altar guild."

"That's it. Altar guild. She went to the altar guild meeting and left Pete with Mr. Otis. I guess Pete must have cried some and Mr. Otis shook him to make him stop. Maggie Lou said that she knew when she got home that something was wrong with Pete. I guess it took a while before Mr. Otis ever admitted what he did.

"Their marriage was never the same. Maggie Lou took to visiting an old lady in my neighborhood who knew how to make sure she didn't have more children. After that lady died there wasn't anybody else who knew what to do, so Maggie Lou ended up pregnant with you. I don't know a lot about that time because we didn't have the chance to talk to each other. You were born, and Maggie Lou was never quite the same. She devoted her whole life to taking care of you two young'uns.

"I never understood why she stayed with Mr. Otis unless it was just stubborn pride that she couldn't admit she'd made a bad marriage. Everybody in town knew she hated him. He knew she hated him. It was a horrible situation."

"When the Civil Rights Movement started, there was a lot of trouble. Mr. Otis and some other men in the town revived the Klan, which had sort of gone dormant during the world war. They couldn't make much trouble because we had the FBI and the press and all kind of outsiders watching. They did whatever they could to terrorize black folks or white folks who supported the civil rights movement, but they did it as secretly as possible.

"At first, I honestly don't think Maggie Lou knew that Mr. Otis was involved in all of that. She knew he was mean, but I don't think she knew how evil he really was.

"I don't know exactly when she found out. I think it was sometime in the late 1960's. Up until then, she continued to be friendly to me and my family whenever the opportunity arose. At some point she stopped even speaking to me. I later learned that she was afraid he would hurt me or my children if he found out we were friends. He probably would have, too.

"Things got really bad for a while in the late 1960's. The FBI was gone. The press had lost interest in the South because the Vietnam war was more interesting. The Klan had its opportunity to take back some ground. Mr. Otis and some of the other men in the town started holding open Klan meetings and they started terrorizing black folks. It was an awful time. I don't know how much you remember about it. It was as bad as any time I ever remember. It certainly didn't get much attention outside of our neighborhoods. Some of the old people said it was as bad as it had been in a hundred years or more."

She sighed and took another drink of coffee. "Your Mama hung in there with Mr. Otis. To this day, I cannot understand why.

"When was it that he died?"

"May 1976."

She nodded. "I seem to recall you did not come home for the funeral."

I shrugged. "I was in West Africa when he died. Mama sent me a telegram after the funeral to let me know." I sighed. "I feel sure there was plenty said around here about the fact that I didn't come to my own father's funeral, but I didn't know he died until after he was already buried. It seemed pointless to come back then."

Sarah patted my hands again. "Do you want to know who all attended his funeral?"

"Who?"

"Your mama, Pete and two of your daddy's Klan friends. Nobody else showed up either. And everybody here knew about it. You should also know that your mama made it generally known that she did not tell you until afterwards.

"By the way, what on earth were you doing in West Africa?"

"My husband was working for a UN commission on public health. We were taking a tour of some of the places in Africa where there were refugee camps, studying disease and sanitation problems."

"Someday you'll have to tell me about that... Meantime, I'm going to get back to this story.

"Within a few weeks of Mr. Otis's death, one day Maggie Lou showed up at my restaurant with Pete. She sat herself down in a booth and proceeded to tell Pete he was about to taste the most wonderful pancakes in the world.

"I thought I would have a heart attack. Mr. Otis may have been dead, but he wasn't the only Klansman around. There she was sitting in the front window of the diner for anyone to see. I was scared, for me and for her. I convinced her and Pete to move to the kitchen. For years they ate in the kitchen, like black folks had to do in some white-owned places. We laughed about that, sort of bitter laughter if you want to know the truth.

"Eventually, things changed. The old Klansmen died. There were some young ones who tried to carry on the tradition, but they weren't quite as mean as the older men. They like to talk nasty, but I have never been afraid they would really hurt anybody. New people moved into the area. Some of them were Yankees who didn't know any better and some of them were supporters of the civil rights movement who made it a point to patronize black-owned businesses. In any case, a few white folks started coming into the diner. Eventually Maggie Lou and Pete moved out from the kitchen and started sitting in the dining room with everybody else. We resumed our friendship in public. Not only did we talk when she came in to eat. We talked on the phone several times a week. She was my best friend. I think I was her only friend in her later years."

I leaned forward and asked her, "What happened? Pete says she quit going to church at All Saints. She was going to the Baptist church all the way over in Plains. She never said a word any of that to me."

She leaned back in the booth and studied me. "She didn't mention any of it to you because she didn't want you to know. She managed to somehow get you out of this town while you were young enough to learn a different way of living. She never let on that there was anything amiss because she did not want you to come back here. Ever."

"What did she think would happen to Pete after she died?"

"My family was going to take care of him." She paused for a long, long time to let that sink in. "We still will if you want us to."

Tears sprang to my eyes. I knew that Miss Sarah would have moved back into the room off our kitchen and taken care of Pete until she got too old. Then one of her daughters or grandchildren would do it until Pete died. I had not really needed to come back to Osborne after all. Mama had made provisions for Pete. I could have stayed in Atlanta. Sarah's family would have taken care of him. I didn't know whether to laugh or cry.

Before I could decide, Pete came out of the kitchen and said, "If we're going to go to the movie, we'd better go." As if on cue, the after-church crowd arrived.

Miss Sarah got up to wait on her customers. Pete and I went to the cemetery and then to the movies. I have no recollection of what we saw. I was too distracted.

**Chapter 5**

When we got home from the movie, Pete went to his room to take a nap. I hit the road. I ran farther and faster than I had run in years. So many thoughts, feelings, memories and impressions were swirling around in my head and heart I thought I would go crazy. Running gave me time and space to think, and it relieved tension.

Things I thought I knew were turning out not to be true. Things I suspected but could never bring myself to examine seemed to take on an ominous importance and demanded attention. I had never been a very introspective person, and in recent years I had avoided thinking of the past altogether. I tended to live my life facing forward, thinking about the past or myself as little as possible. The time had come for some serious self-reflection.

It was hard for me to get started. There were so many things vying for my mental attention, and most of them were things that I had actively practiced not thinking about for most of my life.

For one thing, Sarah was right to an extent: Mama had encouraged me to leave Osborne at the first opportunity. She had begun that campaign when I was very small and she never let up. She bought me books about exotic places. About the only shows we ever watched on TV were travelogues and National Geographic specials. She instilled in me a fascination with the wider world that few in Osborne shared.

I was a willing participant in Mama's campaign. From my earliest childhood I wanted to explore the world beyond Osborne, and even beyond Atlanta, which tended to be the outer limits of the imaginations of most of my friends. Like many kids, I had a natural spark of curiosity and wanderlust. Most parents in Osborne made it their business to discourage those tendencies. Mama, on the contrary, fed and nurtured them to an extreme degree, apparently as part of her plan to get me out of Osborne. Mama had always wanted to travel, to experience new things and meet new people. As it turned out, she never had the opportunity to travel. She went to finishing school in Atlanta for a year and I think she went to the seashore for her honeymoon. Beyond that, I don't think she ever ventured more than 40 miles or so from home. She encouraged me to follow a very different path.

The "encouragement" of a Southern mother can be a powerful thing, especially if the pressure is brought to bear on a vulnerable part of the child's psyche. I was predisposed to be curious about the world outside Osborne, but what I had in mind was living in Osborne and traveling occasionally. Cultural pressures would probably have held me back even from that. My mother made it her business to help me overcome that cultural resistance.

I had very little contact with my father. He made it obvious that he did not care much for children, including his own – maybe especially his own, since we so did not live up to his standards. He generally ignored me. I thought that was because I was a girl. He was something of a "man's man" and seemed to have very little use for the female gender except as cooks and housekeepers. He made me feel as though my very existence was something of an annoyance.

He ignored Pete, too, most of the time, but that always seemed for a different reason. He held Pete in something like contempt because Papa had no patience for anybody who was not perfect. He was really something of a Nazi: a white supremacist KKK-type Nazi. I had never allowed myself to think about that before, but it was true. Pete was damaged goods, and, therefore, unworthy of Papa's esteem. Papa never made any secret of the fact that he would have loved nothing better than to get rid of Pete.

Sarah had just let me know that Pete's problem resulted from physical abuse, not a birth defect as I had always believed. That put so many things into perspective! I recalled so many muffled arguments between Mama and Daddy! He wanted to put Pete in an institution. Mama would not even consider it. I remembered her telling him that if he took Pete away, she would leave and take me and he would never find us. To this day, I cannot really understand why she didn't take both Pete and me and leave!

Papa was mean but he did provide a good living for us. Maybe that was why Mama stayed with him. She couldn't work and provide the kind of constant care that Pete needed. Did she stay married to him for the financial security? I would never know.

My parents' marriage was something like a war. It would rage hot and fierce at times. Other times, it would quiet down, but the battle lines were always drawn and a fire fight could erupt at any moment. I felt as thought I tip-toed through my childhood, trying not to call attention to myself, trying not to do anything that could set off an argument. I would lie in bed at night listening to them fight, and wishing that they would stop. I didn't care how. Alternatively, I wanted to escape. At the first opportunity. I wanted to get as far away from their constant fighting as I could go.

As a kid, I sort of lived a double life. There was a part of me that wanted to leave town as soon as I graduated from high school. I wanted to go away to college, have a career and travel the world. Mama knew about those dreams and encouraged them, working behind the scenes to grease the skids as much as possible.

But, the Osborne-girl in me was very afraid of that dream. Outside of my own home, I lived the typical small-town-girl life. Everyone, including me, assumed that I would marry Darryl Endicott. Darryl was going to take over his family's general goods store in Osborne. I told everybody that I intended to work with him in the store until we had children. After that, I would be a housewife like virtually all the other women in Osborne. I was in love with Darryl as much as a teen-ager could be in love. The life that Mama and I had planned – moving far away from Osborne, going to college and working in a big city somewhere up North – was awfully scary for my small-town-girl's heart. For me that was all a sort of day-dream I engaged in for amusement and as an escape from my miserable home life. I never really expected to be able to follow through with it. I truly wanted to marry Darryl and live in Osborne, raising yet another generation of my family here.

Ultimately, however, the wanderlust won out, if only by a hair, and with a lot of pushing from Mama. Somehow I had been accepted to Boston College. Mama had got on the phone and called around various places in Boston and found me a room and even found me a job for the summer until school started. She was pretty amazing. She had never been north of Atlanta, but she had done a lot of research about New England. She wanted me to be educated there and to live there because she believed it was the cultural center of America. She wanted some of that Liberal New England air to blow out the small-town, Southern bigotry I had grown up with.

A few days after my high school graduation, I boarded a northbound bus, without even saying good-bye to Darryl or any of my friends. I was so terrified at the prospect of going so far away, I begged Mama to let me stay home. She would not even consider it. She told me that we had both worked too hard to make the arrangements to set me up in Boston, there was no way she was going to let me back out. She insisted that I not tell anybody I was leaving town. She did not intend to let anyone talk me out of it. Even at the time, I knew it was wrong. I kept my mouth shut because I knew that if I told anyone, particularly Darryl, what I was planning, they would try to talk me out of it. I could easily have been talked out of it because I was so afraid. Getting Mama to let me off the hook was another matter.

The fact was, at that point in my life, I was a very weak person. I was easily influenced by others. Small-town life socializes people to behave in a manner consistent with other peoples' expectations. I was very susceptible to that. My mother, on the other hand, was a forceful influence, too. I knew myself to be incapable of standing up to her. So I simply let Mama's plans roll out, and never mentioned them to the rest of my friends.

Since I knew I was incapable of stopping Mama's train by the direct route, I did make one desperate, underhanded and conniving attempt to derail it by using the only weapon I knew might work. I intentionally had unprotected sex with Darryl on prom night. Unlike several other girls I knew at the time who were in a similar predicament, I spent the next couple of weeks praying every day that I was pregnant. Unfortunately the infertility that I learned about only later in my life prevented a pregnancy which would have allowed me to stay in Osborne.

With no other weapons and inadequate moral courage, I got on the bus with only Mama to see me off. I never looked back – much.

I didn't stop crying until the bus was almost to Washington D. C. By then, I was out of tears and I started to notice my surroundings which became more and more interesting the father north I went. By the time I got to New York, my face was more or less plastered to the window, and Osborne receded farther and farther from my attention.

Mama had got me a job working in the medical records department at Mass General hospital. I was an excellent typist and a great speller. Mama had somehow talked them into giving me a shot as a medical transcriptionist without even interviewing me and despite my having no experience in the field at all. I always wondered how Mama pulled that one off!

It turned out to be a great job for me. I was a great typist, a quick study when it came to the medical terminology and I liked the work. I worked full-time over the summer and school holidays and part-time during school terms. Between the money I earned at the hospital and money that Mama sent me, I managed not to starve -- barely. For the first couple of years in college, I lived mostly on beanie wienies and oatmeal.

In my sophomore year, I met a resident doctor at the hospital. He came into the transcription office one day because he had a patient in the emergency room who required an immediate transfer to another hospital and he needed his dictated intake notes to be transcribed immediately. I was the fastest transcriptionist there, so the supervisor gave the job to me. The doctor sat down to wait for it. No pressure or anything!

I transcribed the tape and didn't even proofread it. When I handed it to the doctor he glanced through it quickly and whistled. He smiled at me and said, "That's a great job. Thanks."

The next day he stopped by again and offered to buy me lunch. I should have said 'no'. For one thing we were not supposed to fraternize with doctors. For another, my days were very full with school and work. I did not have time for a social life. But, the prospect of a hot lunch – even if it was in the hospital cafeteria – won out. I accepted his invitation.

We were inseparable from that day forward. By the end of my junior year, Michael was finished with his residency and had taken a position on the staff at the hospital. He was doing post-doctoral work at Harvard in the area of public health. We got married over spring break. He had a semi-decent apartment, and was making good money by my standards, even if most of it did go to tuition at Harvard. I was still working in the transcription department and going to school. Mama sent sent us money for a while even after we married until I got out of college and started working full-time.

After I graduated, I got a job as a teacher in one of the many prep schools in the Boston area. I loved my job. My students were smart and motivated. I taught English Lit and writing. Between my job and Michael's income, I was able to tell Mama she did not need to send money any more. It made me very proud to be actually on my own. I also think that I felt a little freer to make my own decisions since Mama was not providing financing from behind the scenes.

Immediately following my college graduation, Michael and I took the only actual vacation we ever had. We drove from Boston to Key West. The trip took us three weeks. We took a detour in Georgia and visited Mama and Pete for a couple of days. I would have spent the whole three weeks in Osborne, but Mama was always eager for me to be on my way, especially while Papa was still alive. That visit was strange. It was the last time I visited Osborne before Papa died. Mama said he was on a hunting trip, and we did not see him at all. I suspect now that Mama sent him away with orders not to show his face until we were gone.

Michael had learned quickly not to ask too many questions about my family, but even he remarked to Mama that it seemed odd that my father would not make it a point to come home to meet his new son-in-law. Whatever her answer was, it was emphatic enough to close the subject forever. Michael never asked another question about my father. After I read Mama's telegram informing me of his death, I handed it to Michael. He read it, pursed his lips and didn't say a word. I don't think we ever mentioned my father again.

For her part, Mama fell in love with Michael the moment she laid eyes on him. He was exactly the kind of husband she always wanted me to have. He was incredibly smart, he was idealistic, broadminded – and he was a Yankee. He had never even visited the South before. Sometimes I think Mama was the only Southern mother in history who actually wanted her kid to marry a Yankee. I know a few Southern mothers who, even today, would get the vapors at the very thought.

Pete liked Michael, too. Michael had the kind of personality that drew people in because he was genuinely interested in other people. He was very kind and gentle to Pete without being condescending.

We did not go into Osborne when we visited Mama. I made the excuse that I wanted to spend all my time with Mama. Michael thought that was curious. In actuality, I did not want to be seen in town after the way I had treated Darryl and my other friends. I did not want to introduce my damned-yankee husband to my former friends and neighbors after I jilted the most popular and sought after boy in town. I never introduced Michael to anyone but Mama and Pete.

Running through the woods that afternoon, I admitted to myself for the first time that I was truly ashamed of the way I had behaved when I essentially sneaked out of Osborne. I may never have admitted it in so many words prior to that afternoon, but I had spent three decades sneaking in and out of Osborne, avoiding contact with people.

By contrast, when Michael took me home to visit his family in Pittsburgh, there was a whirlwind of gatherings with friends, family, neighbors and acquaintances. I never could bring myself to explain my situation to him. He never asked. I tried to make him believe I was just a loner. Not being from a small-town, maybe he even believed that.

After finishing his post-doctoral work at Harvard, Michael got a job working for the UN High Commission for Refugees. I continued to live in Boston; Michael traveled all the time. When his trips coincided with school holidays, I went with him. We went to New York, Switzerland, and Paris on UN business. We also visited refugee camps in locations around the world suffering from famine, war, epidemic, or other crises. One particularly memorable trip started at a state dinner in Paris, sipping champagne and eating caviar with political big-shots and ended up in a refugee camp in Bangladesh after a typhoon where there was basically no food at all.

Having seen the hideous misery that afflicts millions, my crappy childhood seemed not to be such a big deal. I had always had a roof over my head. I had never once gone to bed hungry. I had always had decent shoes on my feet and clothes on my back. I had the opportunity to go to decent schools and took for granted that I would be able to go to college if I wanted to do so. Over the course of those few years with Michael, I learned to be grateful ... deeply, humbly and soulfully grateful for the manifold blessings in my life. Because of that, I was more or less able to put the bad things into what I thought of as "appropriate perspective." I convinced myself that my home life had been okay compared with the horrific poverty and danger faced by people in other parts of the world.

I showed slides of the desperately poor people and places I visited to my classes at the prep school. I loved teaching by drawing contrasts between the lives we lived in upper-crust America and the lives lived by the majority of the people in the world. The school administrators sometimes worried about what I was doing because they thought that I might be perceived as criticizing the life-styles of the wealthy families who sent their children to our school. Eventually I was able to convince them that I was trying to instill compassion into our students, who would probably grow up to be rich and/or influential enough to perhaps do something to alleviate suffering if they could have their consciousness raised to notice it. Many of the families who sent their children to that school were members of the New England liberal elite. They liked my style. I continued to use my travel photos as material for my lesson plans for as long as I taught there.

After only six years of marriage, Michael was killed in a car wreck in Rwanda while he was inspecting refugee camps during the genocidal tribal warfare that was taking place at that time. The official report listed his death as an accident. I have always suspected that it was an ambush. His body was never recovered. Years later, after things settled down in Rwanda, I considered going there to try to find out what happened. I spoke to some folks at the UN about my plans. They made it clear that they had no intention of pursuing the matter. They encouraged me to not try to conduct an investigation on my own. I reluctantly took their advice.

After Michael died, I moved onto the campus of the school and continued to teach. Eventually, they promoted me to headmistress. The school was the center of my life. On my vacations, I visited Mama and Pete for a few days every the summer and at Christmastime. I saved every possible penny and continued to travel to exotic locations around the world during my summer breaks. I continued to visit both the beautiful and the terrible places and to use the photos I took and the information I gathered at school.

Because I was no longer a regular classroom teacher, I had more options. I was able to provide enrichment materials to other teachers. I had built up an enormous reservoir of photos from nearly everywhere in the world, so whenever there was a particularly noteworthy event somewhere I had visited, especially a crisis of some sort, I would drag out my photos of that place and conduct assemblies for the entire student body, in an effort to provide them some context and background for the things they read in the news.

The students generally thought those assemblies were a pain in the ass. A few of the teachers seemed to enjoy them. I continued to do the programs on the theory that if I provided the information to the teachers, they could relay the information to the students. That was my hope anyway. I sort of operated on the theory that if I threw enough information out in the general direction of the students, at least some of it might stick. That was a very, very happy time in my life.

By the early-1990's, Mama was getting older, her health was deteriorating and caring for Pete was becoming more difficult for her. I was a bit tired of teaching pampered rich children and dealing with their increasingly arrogant and demanding parents, so I looked for a job closer to Osborne. I found a position in Atlanta, as principal of the Patricia A. Parker School for mentally disabled children. It was a perfect job for me. I was within a few hours' drive of Osborne if Mama needed me. I had the opportunity to learn more than I ever imagined about brain injuries and the care and nurturing of mentally handicapped people. I found myself serving a community of people of which I was a member: the families of people with mental handicaps. I loved Atlanta. I loved my job. I loved being home again in the South after all those years of what seemed to be something like "exile" in New England.

After Pete proved that there was no way he would be able to adapt to life in Atlanta, I shut the door on the life I had built there and moved back to Osborne.

I realized that beautiful fall afternoon, as I ran through the woods I knew so well, that I had not yet opened a door to my future. I had been living in a kind of limbo. I had cut off my avenues of retreat, but I had not begun to build any roads that headed into the future.

Sarah had just handed me an escape hatch: she would take care of Pete. I could go back to Atlanta if I wanted. I could avoid the claustrophobia of small-town life that I feared. I could avoid the difficulty of trying to make a space for myself in Osborne after all those years away. Maybe most of all, I could avoid having to look into the eyes of the old friends and neighbors whose trust and love I had betrayed.

Tempting as it might have been to avoid the hard stuff, I knew I could not turn Pete's care over to Sarah or anybody else. Pete was my brother. Caring for him was my responsibility. Somewhat to my amazement, I discovered that it was what I wanted to do.

I would have to find a way to re-enter the Osborne community and create some kind of future for myself. I would have to face the suspicions of my neighbors about my motives or my trustworthiness. Sarah had offered me an easy way out. That afternoon, I chose not to take it.

**Chapter 6**

As I ran along the worn path between the creek and the woods – the path that had been used by generations of fishermen, track-and-field athletes, kids playing hooky from school, and young lovers – I slowed down just a bit to avoid tripping over tree roots and to better enjoy the scenery. I came around a sharp curve in the path that followed a bend in the creek, and I almost tripped over Darryl Endicott who was sitting on a log, fishing. I don't know which of us was more startled. I managed not to fall on my face. He managed not to lose his fishing pole – barely.

For a long minute we just stared stupidly at each other.

Then we laughed – too long and too hard. There was thirty years of discomfort, surprise and hurt in that laughter, but buried deep inside it somewhere there was the sense of amusement at the ridiculous that Darryl and I had shared from childhood. It was the thing that set us apart from our peers in Osborne, and which first drew us to one another. I think we were both surprised to discover that we still had that bond, after all the intervening years and marriages to other people.

He invited me to sit down and I accepted. I was tired. He offered me a swig from his thermos. I took a sip of the strong, hot coffee. Water would have been better for me, but the coffee tasted great.

We sat in silence until I caught my breath. He observed, "You ran a lot farther than usual today."

"How do you know?"

"You've been away too long if you have to ask that question. You and a couple of those young Yankees that moved in over on the other side of town are the only people who run around here. Everybody knows where you go, when and how far. I'm impressed. You are not that much younger than me, and you're in a lot better shape."

"Thanks, I guess." I had forgotten how creepy it was to feel that everybody was watching me and I could not go anywhere or do anything without drawing comment from someone.

Darryl always could read my mind. He said, "I know you hate that. But, it's one thing about Osborne that hasn't changed. I'm not sure the new people know how it is, but you should understand."

I nodded but did not say anything.

He was quiet, too, for a while. We sat listening to the burble of the creek eddying around the rocks and watching the sun play on the surface of the water. After a while he said softly, "What's the matter, is the horrible reality of moving back here finally sinking in?"

I looked at him for a minute and couldn't decide if I wanted to hit him or burst into tears. I somehow knew this was the time for total honesty, though, "Maybe something like that, but even more. I guess I learned some things and remembered some things and imagined some things which, when combined, make sense of stuff that never made sense before, including why I left the way I did."

He did not look at me, but I could feel his body become tense. His voice was hard and very, very low, "If you've got an explanation for that, I would purely love to hear it."

He turned to look at me with unmistakable skepticism in his eyes. I was anything but sure I could make him understand. Hell, I wasn't sure I understood myself.

"Before I tell you that story, I want to ask you something. Do you know about Mama and Pete hanging out over at Miss Sarah Foster's?"

He looked at me like I was stupider than Pete, "Everybody in three counties knows about that."

"Do you know why Mama and Miss Sarah were close?"

"The general opinion is that your Mama and Sarah grew up together because Sarah's mother worked for your grandparents. Miss Mattie Brennan was known to have unusual attitudes about race relations and everybody in town was of the opinion that she coddled her ...., um, black employees. From what everybody understood Miss Maggie Lou and Sarah grew up sort of like sisters. Maggie Lou, being the free spirit she was, never would put that friendship aside after they grew up as was common. How am I doing?"

"So far, so good. Why don't you keep going and let me know how much of an ignoramus I really am."

He looked at me oddly, paused, and continued, "Well, let's see. Local lore has it that Miss Maggie Lou and Sarah were friends. Miss Maggie Lou ultimately married your father, which put a crimp in her friendship with Sarah, at least until after he died. At that point, Miss Maggie Lou began to patronize Sarah's restaurant and carry on a more or less public friendship with Sarah. Certain people always did disapprove. Others understood."

"How so?"

"Sarah's family is class folks. Sarah was educated along side of Miss Maggie Lou. She is quite smart and very well-read. Miss Maggie Lou obviously loved her. Anybody who is acquainted with her would understand. She's a real nice lady."

"What about my father?"

"What about him?" he asked through narrowed eyes.

"What is the town gossip on him?"

He regarded me thoughtfully for a while, thinking about how to answer. "Well, I guess the opinion on him depended on who you talk to."

"Meaning?"

He looked irritated. He knew I was not going to let him get away with a typically Southern non-answer, so he decided to be direct. "I didn't know much about him, but I do know that my parents thought he was a horrible person and they would not have anything to do with him. They were furious with me when you and I started seeing one another. My parents were anything but liberal on the subject of race relations. They were segregationists through and through. However, they had both grown up with the children of share-croppers and servants. They understood Miss Maggie Lou's isolation and frustration. They, along with most of the other Old Families in the area, understood her friendship with Sarah. They didn't hold it against her, but there were a lot of people in town who did. "

He stopped, obviously hoping I would not press him, but knowing I would.

I lowered my gaze and asked, "And how did that play out?"

"Are you sure you want to talk about this?"

"I most definitely do not want to talk about this. I think I've spent my entire life avoiding this conversation. But, Miss Sarah started it this morning and something in my heart tells me that I need to forge ahead. It's a curious coincidence that I've run into you today, since besides Miss Sarah you'd be about the only person I could talk to about it."

He shrugged, "I hope you're not suggesting that somehow Sarah put me up to being here. Fact is I fish here every Sunday when the weather permits. You just haven't run this far before."

"You're avoiding the subject. I really do need to talk about this, Darryl."

He looked at me for a long time and a realization seemed to dawn on him for the first time. He looked away and spoke as though to the creek. "The word on your daddy was mixed. Most folks disliked and distrusted him from the beginning, him being an outsider and all. The colored folks knew what he was from the get-go and as I understood it the word went out among them even before your mama met him that he was bad news."

"But, why would Mama have married him if she knew that?"

"She probably didn't know. She and Sarah had sort of lost touch for a while. Sarah was newly married and having babies. Even your mama, as brazen as she could sometimes be, had not ventured out into Sarah's neighborhood at that point. Mr. Otis Morgan was very good looking and could apparently be charming when he wanted to be. Your mama had lost her first love in WWII. She was vulnerable. Mr. Otis swooped in. I doubt Sarah had a chance to even try to warn Miss Maggie Lou, although I kind of doubt Sarah would have even tried to do it then. Most white folks who grew up with black playmates left those relationships behind when they grew up. I think Sarah would have expected Miss Maggie Lou to have done the same thing. Word is that Sarah was the most scandalized person of all when Miss Maggie Lou came around to revive the friendship in later years.

"Anyway, Mr. Otis was apparently the worst kind of Southern racist hate-monger. That made him something of a hero to a few of the people in town. More of them were leery of him."

We were both quiet for a while. I was trying very hard not to cry. We still did not look at each other. I said hoarsely, "Do people know what Papa did to Pete?"

He literally jumped and turned to look me directly in the eye for the first time, "What did he do to Pete?"

I held his gaze for a long moment to make absolutely sure he was not pretending not to know. It was clear he did not. He obviously loved Pete and was shocked by my question. "What did he do to Pete?" He asked again, more urgently.

I dropped my gaze and started to cry. "Miss Sarah told me that one night when Pete was a baby, Mama went to a meeting at church. Papa evidently shook Pete to make him quit crying. Pete isn't retarded. He has brain damage."

Darryl let out his breath with a whoosh and I could see tears in his eyes just before he turned his head away from me. He struggled for control. After a long while, he said, "Okay, now it's time for you to pick up the story."

I sniffed and wiped my face. I had to do this. "I didn't know about that until today when Miss Sarah told me. What I did know was that Papa wanted to put Pete in an institution and Mama wouldn't have it. They fought constantly about that, and about everything else, too.

"The other thing I know was that my father would have absolutely nothing to do with me. He would not stay in the same room with me if we were alone. If there were other people in the room, he would not speak to me or acknowledge my presence unless it was unavoidable. He never once touched me or held me on his lap or did any of the things daddies do with their kids. I always thought he hated me. I think now that Mama must have threatened him somehow and made him stay away from me.

"My entire childhood was very schizophrenic. When I was at school or at church or out with you or my other friends, I was just another Osborne girl, an Osborne girl with more than 100 years of family history in this town. I loved it here." I paused and then continued quickly before I chickened out, "I loved you. Osborne was the only world I knew. It was the only world that a huge part of me wanted to know.

"But at home it was different. Our house was a war zone. Mama and Papa barely spoke to each other, and when they did, it was mostly to fight and argue. Papa never spoke to me at all. The only time he addressed Pete was to yell at him about something. Mama, whom I know to have loved Osborne with every cell in her body, did nothing but bad-mouth it to me. She preached and preached and preached that I needed to get out of here at the very first opportunity. She insisted that I leave on the first bus out of town after high school graduation, and she told me over and over that she wouldn't blame me if I never came back.

"Growing up in a house where there was nothing but bitterness and coldness, that seemed like a good idea to me."

I put my head down on my knees and wept for a few minutes. I could hear Darryl sniff softly. He handed me a handkerchief.

"I wanted what I told you I wanted: a home and a family. I wanted to work in your store until we started to have babies and then I figured I'd stay home and take care of them and fill my spare time working for the Altar Guild and the PTA, maybe the Daughters of the Confederacy. But, I also needed to get away. Maybe marrying you and moving into your home would have accomplished the purpose of getting out of my own house, but somehow I had come to believe that I needed to go far away. Mama had always made it seem very important that I get out of Osborne and experience the Bigger World. I wanted to defy her, but I never could. She was too strong and too persuasive. And, I have to confess to you because I owe you complete honesty, a part of me wanted to do just that. So, I left."

I put my face in my hands and the hot tears of regret and shame I had held back for thirty years flooded my hands and ran down my arms. I could hear Darryl weeping as well. That was a mutual crying-fit that was three decades overdue. After a little while we both regained a bit of composure.

I looked into his eyes and put my hand on his arm, "I know that it's way too little and way too late, but I want you to know that I'm terribly sorry for the pain I caused you."

He looked at me with tears in his own eyes and I could see that hard suspicion melting. He whispered, "I can't believe I am actually able to say this, but I forgive you. You know, I didn't see it coming at the time, but while you were telling me that story, I remembered little things – things your mama said from time to time that I didn't understand then. I think she tried to warn me about what was coming, but I never took the hint."

He put his hand over mine and we sat there for a very long time in silence. There was nothing to say and yet so much to say. The fact was that I had left him almost at the altar without even saying good-bye. That would seem to be an almost unforgivable act. But, somehow, by some unbelievable grace, he had found it in his heart to forgive me. He was clearly as surprised by that as I was.

I looked up and realized that it was getting quite late. I would have to hustle to get home before dark... and I had to be home before dark because Pete was very afraid to be alone at night. I jumped up and said something about how I needed to hurry home. Darryl stood up slowly and took my arm.

"Oh, no, you don't, Cinderella, you're not running off this time. I have a truck parked right on the other side of that hill. I'll get you home before dark."

I wiped my face again and laughed, "Okay, Prince Charming. It may not be a pumpkin coach, but my charge awaits me and he is afraid to be alone after dark. I'm not in a position to be too proud .... especially not around you."

He put his arm around my shoulders and squeezed. I rested my head on his shoulder for the briefest of moments. I've witnessed altar calls at revival meetings which bore only a fraction of the redemption that we found in that moment. I had felt guilty and ashamed of myself for so long I wasn't sure how I could give it up. He had been holding onto his hurt and anger for the same amount of time. I had done him wrong, but somehow we both understood why, and we both understood that there could now somehow be peace between us. I might still face issues with others in town, but the one whose opinion mattered the most to me had found it in his enormous heart to forgive me. God knows how. God knows why. I didn't care. I could feel nothing but total gratitude for Darryl's forgiveness.

Whether or not I would be able to forgive myself remained to be seen.

**Chapter 7**

The next day, Pete and I drove into town to run errands. We needed more groceries. I needed to return the books and CD's to the library and check out some more materials.

We started at the library. Pete couldn't read, but he loved to go to the library because it had a huge fish tank. He loved to watch the fish. He would pull up a chair and sit in front of the aquarium for as long as it took me to pick out my selection of books. Occasionally I thought that we should get a fish tank for home, but I knew it would be a lot of work for me, and it might make going to the library less "special" for Pete.

I wandered around selecting books and music CD's. When I had collected about a week's worth of material, I went to the desk. Mrs. O'Connell greeted me and quickly checked out my books. Again, she made no comment on my selections. I found myself rather missing old Mrs. Simpson's commentaries on my choice in reading material.

I motioned to Pete to come along. He ignored me and continued to watch the fish. I was torn between being irritated and amused. I decided the latter would serve everybody better, so I shrugged and smiled at Mrs. O'Connell. I told Pete I was going to go to the grocery. He could meet me there when he was ready. He just nodded.

As I walked past the desk on my way out, Mrs. O'Connell said, "Don't forget our Wednesday evening book discussion. This week we plan to discuss the book Confederates in the Attic: Dispatches from the Unfinished Civil War."

I stopped short and whirled around, with my mouth hanging open, I suppose, "What?!"

She laughed out loud, " I take it you have read that book."

"Yes, I have. I find it a very odd choice for a ladies book club in Osborne."

She grinned. "Which is why we chose it. We purposely select books to discuss that would not be what you would expect. We usually pick best sellers or literary fiction. Occasionally we discuss topical non-fiction. This one is a departure even for us."

"How many weeks do you spend on a book?"

"As many weeks as it takes. Usually we read the entire book and then discuss it all at once. If we feel it merits closer examination, we'll take additional weeks to go back and look at particular things. My guess is that we'll discuss this one one-time-only, but it should be a lively discussion. Won't you join us?"

I thought about it. I truly did not want to involve myself with a group of women discussing books, but my curiosity was piqued. I absolutely could not resist the opportunity to hear what the good women of Osborne would say about Confederates in the Attic, a book by a Jewish writer from New York City who took a tour of the South looking for its eccentrics. He ended up with a series of vignettes about a bunch of crazies and psychos. It was very well written, but I had found it troubling.

I couldn't help wondering who the women were who participated in the group, and I blurted, "I just might join you. I would be very interested in hearing what the ladies have to say about that one!"

She grinned and nodded. "My guess is that it will either be a very lively discussion indeed or it will peter out after about five minutes and we'll spend the rest of the evening lamenting about Yankees who dare to write about the South."

"You, being a Yankee, would participate in a discussion like that?"

She smiled and shook her head, "Let's ignore the irony of the fact that I've lived in this town for more than 20 years and I'm still a 'Yankee' to you who, as I understand it, lived more than half your life in New England!

"However, in answer to your question, when the conversation goes down that road, I usually have the good sense to keep my mouth shut, as do the other Yankees in the group. You will be surprised to find that it's a good mixture of newcomers (meaning people who have lived here for only a generation or two) and Osborne natives."

"Okay, you've got my attention. I think I will definitely see you on Wednesday. And, I apologize for the Yankee remark."

She shrugged and lifted her hands, palms up, "I hear that a dozen times day. I have worked in this library for 18 years and some of the old ladies still refuse to bother to learn my name. They refer to me in the third person as 'that Yankee gal that works over to the library.' When they have to address me directly, they just call me 'Sugah'."

"I think I know some of those ladies."

"I'll bet you do."

"Actually, I do have one small obstacle to participation in your group. Pete does not like to be home alone after dark. I am sure he would not be welcome in the group. Do you meet here?"

"We meet in the conference room. I think Pete could probably occupy himself watching the fish."

"In that case, I think I'll see you on Wednesday. What time?"

"We gather at 7:00. Eat a light dinner beforehand because we usually have excellent snacks."

By Wednesday, I was having serious misgivings about attending the meeting but I was curious. I also knew that sooner or later I was going to have to get involved in something in the community, or I would sit here in this house and grow eccentric from living alone with Pete. Turning into one of those Southern oddballs that populate the book we were to discuss was a fate I wanted to avoid at all costs.

Pete and I ate dinner early on Wednesday and drove into town. There were several cars parked in front of the library when we arrived.

Pete looked confused, "The library's not open at night. Why are all those people there?"

"It's a group of ladies who get together once a week to discuss books they've read. They invited me to join them. We'll talk in the conference room. I thought you might enjoy watching the fish uninterrupted for a while."

He looked thrilled. "Okay!"

Molly O'Connell greeted us when we walked in the door. She offered to get Pete settled and waved me toward the conference room. I entered with some trepidation.

I walked into the room and for a minute I did not know if my worst fears were realized or I should sigh with relief. There were seven women in the room. I didn't know two of them; I took them for the other Yankees in the group besides Molly. The other five were women I had known as a child. Amazingly, I recognized all of them. They, of course, knew me as well. I hesitated for an instant and felt myself becoming nervous about the reception I might receive. My spasm of nerves was interrupted by a high-pitched squeal.

"Oh, mah Gawd! Will you look at who it is?" Skylar Parsons practically flew across the room and wrapped me in a bear hug, kissing my cheek and babbling excitedly. She introduced me to the two women in the group whom I did not know.

"Bessie has been gone from here for a long time but she recently moved back and we are just soooo glad to have her home, aren't we, girls?"

The others nodded and lined up for more hugs and kisses. Most of the women were my age or older. I guessed that younger women had better things to do that to sit around talking about books and eating cookies. For a minute I thought it was a bit sad, but that feeling didn't last long. I got caught up in the conversation. We had a lot of catching up to do. We went around the room identifying occupations, husbands and children. Molly joined us and suggested that we begin our meeting.

Everyone had brought their copy of the book except me. I had read the book from the library and did not own a copy.

It was Susan Stephenson's turn to lead the discussion. She looked around the group and said simply, "Well?"

There was silence for a moment and then an outburst of chatter. Susan held up her hand and said, "One at a time. Let's go around the room. Skylar?"

Skylar said, "I absolutely hated this book. The author made Southerners look foolish and racist and ridiculous. I personally never met anyone like the people depicted in the book." She shook her head and pursed her lips. I wanted to laugh. She looked for all the world like someone directly from the pages of the book.

Molly was next. "The first few chapters struck me as very funny. By the time I was finished, however, I felt mostly very sad. I think this story is so much about nostalgia for the past, because the 'past' that most of the people in this book cling to never really existed, as it is a wistful desire for a less complex and more understandable world."

Several heads nodded. Other comments ranged between those two extremes.

Amanda Bennett commented, "I'm sure that it is a probably prejudiced of me, but my problem with the book was that it was written by an Outsider. I love self-deprecating Southern humor when it comes from Southerners talking about ourselves. This is written by a Yankee. To me it felt a bit like he was making fun of us."

Sally Reinholt, one of the "Yankees" in the group, asked, "Don't you think that sometimes an outsider can offer a perspective that people who live in a situation might miss. I am not speaking specifically of this book. I'm sort of speaking generally."

The group agreed that very often an outsider could offer a distance and perspective that insiders could not achieve. However, they also believed that it would be important for the outsider to truly understand what he was looking at.

Susan commented, "Molly and Sally, you have both lived here for years, and I think you have a good idea about what makes native Southerners tick, perhaps more than some of our other neighbors because you have made the effort to get involved in the community and to get to know us. Comments from people like you have a credibility with me that observations from a visiting Yankee traveling through the South for a few months could never have."

Molly chuckled, "Thank you, I think."

Skylar looked at me. "Bessie, you haven't offered your comments."

I shook my head, "Well, for one thing, it's been a while since I read the book, and I don't recall all the details. I do remember that my reaction was similar to Molly's. The first few chapters struck me as very funny. By the time I finished the book, I was actually quite creeped out. Osborne always had its share of 'characters' and I know the South hallows its eccentrics almost as much as the British do, which is one of the things I love about both the South and England.

"Some of these folks, however, seem to go beyond eccentric and border on the downright pathological, or at least pathetic. I was left with a feeling of being violated in a way. It was as thought this author came along and lifted up the hooped-skirts of the South to show off its dirty underwear. I also felt annoyed that anyone would pay any attention to some of those pitiful people. I think he could have made the same points with less extreme examples. Maybe his book would have been more effective if he had used more 'normal' people for his illustrations.

"Having lived in Boston, I know what a skewed view Yankees and particularly New Englanders have of the South. I think this kind of book merely reinforces the notion that Southerners are basically a bunch of inbred, ignorant racists and borderline crazies."

There was general agreement.

Susan asked, "But what about Molly's point that people are looking for something to hold onto?"

Skylar said, "Oh, I don't think there is any question that she's right about that. The world today is scary and confusing. I think it's very understandable that people want to go back to a simpler time. I think that's a major reason why so many new people have moved to Osborne in the last few years. The cities are too big, mean, busy and dirty. People want to live in communities where folks know them. I guess my problem with this book is that so many of the characters aren't merely looking for some simpler, kinder time. They seem to have abandoned reality altogether."

Everybody laughed but nobody disagreed. The discussion continued in that vein for a few minutes and then sort of petered out.

Susan prompted, "That's it? I expected more."

Amanda said, "I think we all agree that this book was very entertaining. It is certainly extremely well written, but, frankly, it doesn't help me living here in Osborne today. I'm not one of those folks who can't stop fighting the Civil War. My great-great-grandfather fought in that war. But, in the intervening century and a half, plus, my grandfather fought in WWI and Daddy fought in WWII. My husband did two tours of duty in Viet Nam. I have a son and a daughter-in-law who are fighting in Iraq.

"I think most Southerners stopped fighting the Civil War a long time ago. I'd like something that would help me deal with the complexity of life here and now."

Heads nodded all around the table.

Sally asked, "What about the civil rights aspect of this. The book seems to indicate that the races in the South are perhaps more divided than ever." She looked around and said, "Perhaps that's a stupid question to bring up in an all-white group like this. I am curious because I grew up in a multi-racial, multi-ethnic neighborhood in Buffalo. I don't see that kind of thing happening here."

The group was quiet for a while.

Amanda said, "I think that it is true the races are at least as divided as ever, if not more so. In some ways, I think the race problems are worse now than they ever have been before.

"Maybe it's more about economics than race. It seems to me that if you are poor in this country, you are screwed, whether you are white or black. Unfortunately, our society pits the poor whites against the poor blacks, which ends up keeping them busy hating each other while the rich white folks are getting richer."

Again heads nodded, and Susan observed, "It seems to me that, while there has been a lot of social progress for minorities in certain areas, for the most part in places like Osborne, there has been almost no change in the situation of whites and blacks since the advent of the civil rights movement."

Heads nodded again.

Susan prompted, "Is there anything we can do about that?"

They were quiet for a while. Clearly no one wanted to go down that road. I cleared my throat a couple of times and began haltingly, "I may have very little standing to speak on that, but I lived in Osborne when I was a kid. I remember Segregation, when we had separate everything. I remember the FBI and the Freedom Riders coming into town to make sure the blacks were permitted to register to vote. I remember the backlash that happened in this town after they left. I learned only recently that the my own father was apparently one of the leaders of the backlash."

I noticed that Sally and Molly, the Yankees, looked shocked but the others didn't look surprised at all. A couple of heads nodded. Skylar, who was sitting next to me, reached out and put her hand on my arm in a gesture of kindness that nearly made me cry. I went on, "By the late 1960's and early 1970's things were uglier in this town than they had been in a hundred years. My mother managed to shield me from most of that. She sent me up north for college, where she hoped I would learn a different way to live in an environment less tainted by racial bigotry. I moved to Boston in 1973.

"Do you want to talk about a town with racial problems? I was amazed by the naked and open hatred. I had never seen that kind of open bigotry before."

Some of the others looked unconvinced. Molly nodded and chimed in, "Bessie is right. I grew up in South Boston. My school was one of the ones the courts tried to desegregate in the 1970's. I can remember going to school and having adults throwing rocks at the school buses and screaming at the black children. I remember walking from the bus into the school and having adults yelling obscenities at not only the black kids, but also those of us white kids who were not participating in the boycott. I remember being really angry at my whole world. I was particularly angry that my parents made me go to school and take all that abuse. All my friends were boycotting, and I felt it was wrong of my parents to put me through such a horrible ordeal because of their principles. I respect them for it, I suppose. But, I have to tell you I don't think I would put my kid through something like that.

"Anyway, Bessie is right. There was and still is, I think, much more open racial discrimination in the North, and especially in cities like Boston, than there is in the South."

Amanda observed, "That may be true, but we should not be deceived by that. Maybe it is better when the racial bigotry is more open."

Some of the others looked puzzled, Susan asked, "Why?"

Amanda pondered for a moment and went on, "This is probably blasphemy for a Southerner to say, but I have had the opinion for some time that our genteel way of life is a way to hide the bad things about us. As long as everybody, meaning mainly the blacks, 'keep their place' everything can go smoothly. But, how do we ensure that? We do it with intimidation and threats and, sometimes, violence in the night. Southern folks may smile sweetly and greet our black neighbors on the streets in the daytime, but any of them who get out of line can pretty much be guaranteed a midnight visit from some good-ol'-boys with sawed-off shotguns at some point in their lives. Ours is a very dishonest and, to use a term I hate, dysfunctional society."

We sat quietly for a while. I noticed that Molly and Sally clearly agreed with Amanda. I did, too. We all watched the others. Slowly I could see reluctant assent on the faces of the others. No one said anything for a long time.

Finally, I said, "This is a very tentative response to Susan's question. I think that what we can or should do about it is not to cooperate with it. I have recently learned a lot of things about my family that I didn't know before, perhaps mostly because I failed to look. I had no idea that my father was in the Klan. I had no idea when I lived here that there was that terrible backlash of whites-against-blacks following the departure of the FBI and the Freedom Riders. My mother had been raised in a family which had extremely unusual views regarding race. She beat it into me from babyhood that everybody was equal in God's eyes and that it was wrong and sinful to treat anyone disrespectfully. How she lived with a man like my father when she held those attitudes is a question I will never be able to answer. I do know that I managed to grow up in Osborne, and even in the house of a Klansman, without a lot of the racial prejudice that seems to be rampant everywhere in our society, both in the North and the South. Mama raised Pete without those prejudices, also. It can be done."

Several heads nodded. Molly spoke up, "That is true as far as it goes, but the family itself doesn't have as much control over racial attitudes as it used to. David and I tried to raise our kids without prejudices, too. There were certain words we did not allow to be used in our house. We preached the gospel of respect and equality. But, when our kids went to school they picked up the bigotry from their classmates. My oldest son, who is now in the Army, is a horrible bigot. He says he got that way from being around blacks. I personally think he got that way from being around too many racist whites. I know for a fact he didn't get it from us."

We were all quiet for a long time. We understood that this was not something we could fix. It was a sickness that infected our entire society. We felt helpless against it.

Skylar ventured to observe, "I guess the only thing we can do is to behave in the most respectful and decent way we can in our own dealings, not just with black folks but also with any 'others'. That is the only thing we can control." She smiled and looked at Molly and Sally, "And by 'Others', I mean Yankees, too."

Heads nodded. Sally added, "That isn't the whole answer, but it is a start."

Susan looked at her watch, "It is getting late. Do we want to continue discussing this book next week, or should we move on?"

The consensus was that we were finished with this particular book. Amanda said, "We may be done with this book, but I think that we should not leave this subject. It's really important and it certainly touched a nerve with me. A nerve that does NOT want to talk about it. I've learned that usually those things I do NOT want to talk about are the ones I need to get out on the table the most."

Everybody chuckled, but no one disagreed. Susan prompted, "How do you want to go about that?"

We all thought for a while, but no one had an answer. Susan looked at her watch again, "Okay. This is going nowhere. Let's do this. Let's spend the week thinking about books that we might want to discuss. Next week we'll round-table that and decide how to move forward. How does that sound?"

Heads nodded all around. Susan looked at Molly, "Whose turn is it to lead next week. I've lost track."

Molly looked at her Day-Runner and said, "Skylar."

Skylar nodded and made a note in her notebook.

We rose from our seats and attacked the cookies that Susan had brought. Apparently the discussion leader was responsible for the snacks. We chatted for a while about kids, husbands and jobs. I felt myself very welcome in their midst.

Skylar stayed at my side the entire evening. She frequently touched me as if to make sure that I was not going to disappear. Skylar and I had been best friends in school. I had abandoned her just as abruptly as I had Darryl and I had never made any effort to contact her during the three decades since I had run away from Osborne. Somehow, for some reason that was and remains beyond my comprehension, she accepted me back into her life as though I had never left, with no questions or recriminations. Her faithful friendship towards me had survived all those years of separation, and she seemed fully prepared to pick right up where we had left off. I have never quite gotten over my amazement at that. I spend some time being intentionally grateful for her love and friendship every day of my life.

As they were leaving, each of the ladies spoke to Pete. He more or less ignored us, being engrossed in watching the fish and eating his cookies. I had to practically drag him out to the car. Molly said good-night and added, "I hope we will see you again next week."

I nodded, "I think you probably will."

**Chapter 8**

The next Sunday, Pete and I made our pilgrimage to Sarah's diner, once again timing our arrival so she would have an opportunity to visit with us.

Our Sunday routine was quickly established. While Pete ate his first plate, Miss Sarah visited with him. Then she sent him to the kitchen for seconds where he could spend some time with Buster. That was my time with Sarah. That second Sunday she asked me a lot of questions about my life in New England and my marriage. She told me that Mama had been very proud when I married Michael. She had been devastated when he died, and she never got over hoping that I would remarry. Sarah said that Mama never understood why I would forgo children just because my husband had died.

I smiled at that, "I guess that explains some things. To Mama having children was the most important thing of all. I guess I kept an important secret from Mama. I couldn't have kids. So I poured my heart out on my students. I never really wanted another man in my life. I guess I never made time or space for one."

She told me about her family. All of her children were grown and most had children and even grandchildren of their own. Only two of her kids still lived in Osborne. Three others lived in Atlanta. Her oldest daughter lived in Nashville where her husband was a professor at Vanderbilt. Sarah was justifiably proud of her family.

Eventually the conversation petered out. She looked at me for a long time and finally asked, "Have you thought about what you are going to do?"

I nodded and answered, "I've thought about little else. You gave me a lot of stuff to chew on this week, and I have for once not avoided thinking about the hard stuff. I do appreciate your willingness to take care of Pete, but the fact is, I not only think of caring for him as my responsibility, but I think of it as a sort of privilege. I'm going to stay here mostly because I want to take care of Pete, but also because quite frankly I have come to understand that a part of me never really wanted to leave Osborne in the first place. There is something in me that would like to see if I could find a place for myself here. Does that make sense?"

She smiled and took my hand between her large, rough ones. "It makes perfect sense. This is your home. Your people have been here for how long? Nearly two hundred years? I think you may find that you fit in here better than you expected."

"Do you think so? I seem to recollect that folks hereabouts have long memories. I know there are certain families who still harbor grudges about things that happened generations ago. Thirty years is not very long in 'Southern-peoples' time'."

She laughed. "Ordinarily I would agree with that. In your case, I think that once folks understand what really happened, most of them will give you a second chance."

I asked, "And how will they come to understand what really happened?"

She gave me a big innocent look, "Well, there are a couple of ways for that to happen. One way would be for me to put a bug in the ears of a few of my friends who work as cooks and maids in certain households. Information on that network can spread faster than on the Internet."

I laughed, but she continued, looking at me with a strange expression, "The other way has already started. Word is that Mr. Endicott has forgiven you. Since 99-percent of the thing that folks held against you was that you broke the heart of the most popular boy in town, I think that fact alone will clear up a lot of your problem."

"I wonder how that word got out."

"Actually, what I hear is that Caroline Endicott Davidson is telling anybody who'll listen that her brother is kindly disposed towards you."

"Caroline Endicott said that? Last time I ran into her, she all but scratched my eyeballs out."

"'ppears that Miss Caroline has had a change of heart."

"I wonder why."

"My guess is that Mr. Endicott told her about your conversation."

"How did you know I talked to Darryl?"

She looked at me like I had said something terribly stupid. "I know the way everybody knows things around here. Somebody saw you riding home in his truck last Sunday. Somebody said you were talking right friendly-like. That combined with Miss Caroline's comments at the beauty parlor sort of changed the way folks think about your departure from Osborne. Nobody seems to know what it was, but the general opinion is that instead of doing it out of total selfishness and disregard for other peoples' feelings, you had some kind of legitimate reason, or at least you thought you did. Seems that after all these years a few folks finally put together a few things about your family situation that made it possible for people to realize that your sudden departure may have made some sense."

"Hmmm. Sounds to me like 'Somebody' has been busy this week."

"Several Somebodies is what I think. My guess is that you are not totally out of the woods with all the locals, but you have come a long way this week, without any effort on your part. You put your mind to fence-mending with a few of the old-timers and I think you may have a surprisingly easy time of it. The folks hereabouts who care about stuff like that are at least inclined to put their animosity aside and give you the benefit of the doubt, if for no other reason than that you're from the very oldest of the Old Families of Osborne, and those families feel the need to hang together more than ever because they are now outnumbered by the new people moving in to the area."

I thought about that. "You're probably right. More than anything, they may be willing to welcome me back simply because I'm one of them."

About that time, the after-church crowd began to arrive. Miss Sarah got up to greet them, and laid her hand on my head. "Don't you worry, Miss Bessie. I think things will work out just fine."

That felt like a benediction.

***

Pete and I went to the movie. It was the same movie we had seen the week before, but Pete didn't care, and I didn't watch it anyway.

When we got home from the movie, I went for a run. I ran up the path by the river where I'd encountered Darryl the previous week. When I approached his fishing spot, I slowed down. I rounded the bend in the path but Darryl was not there. I stopped for a minute. I guess I must have looked disappointed. Somebody behind me laughed. I jumped and whirled around. It was Darryl.

"I have to confess I took some considerable degree of pleasure in seeing that look on your face." He smiled and held out a blanket, "Here, wrap up. It's too chilly for fishing, but I saw you head across the fields and figured you might be damned fool enough to be out here running on such a cool day. I don't want you to catch cold."

He wrapped the blanket around me and held me in his arms for the briefest of moments, but long enough for me to know that it was intentional. I looked up into his eyes and said, "Thanks."

He smiled back at me and replied, "Don't mention it. I brought us some coffee and sandwiches if you're hungry."

I shook my head, "I had breakfast at Sarah's. I won't be hungry until Wednesday, but coffee sounds good."

"Come on. Let's get in the truck."

I followed him back to the truck and climbed in. Instead of sitting there as I expected, he backed out of the parking space and headed up the hill. I could not imagine that he would be headed to Painter's Point, but it appeared that was exactly where we were going.

Painter's Point was the most scenic spot for miles around. At the top of the highest hill in three counties, the State of Georgia had built several parking spaces overlooking the river and the town. The Point faced west, making it the perfect spot to watch the sunset. After dark, it was the local equivalent of Lover's Lane. Darryl and I had spent a number of evenings parked up there in high school. The last time we were there was the night of my senior prom, at which time things had got way out of hand.

He stopped the car and handed me a cup of coffee. Neither of us said anything. The late afternoon autumn sun, filtered through thin clouds, lit the landscape like a Renaissance painting. The trees were every possible shade from yellow to deep red. The hay fields were golden.

Neither of us spoke. Words seemed out of place in that out-of-time sort of moment. We sipped our coffee and watched the play of light and shadow, lost in our own thoughts.

As the sun dipped lower, I said softly, "Sorry, Prince Charming, but Cinderella has to be back home by dark. I don't think we can stay for the finale."

He looked disappointed, but he nodded. Still, he didn't start the car. He looked at me and said softly, "Do you remember....?"

I did not want to go there, so I interrupted him, "Yes, I do. I hope you are not expecting a repeat performance. This little truck is not nearly as roomy as that '63 Oldsmobile, and neither of us is as agile."

He laughed and shook his head, "No, I'm not going to try to seduce you in the cab of a pick-up truck. You're right. I don't think we've got it in us. I came up here just because it is so beautiful here, and the best spot to drink coffee and watch the sun go down. The fact that it has memories of the times we spent up here is merely a bonus."

I smiled at him and touched his arm, and said, with my heaviest Scarlett O'Hara drawl, "Why, Mistah Endicott, I do declare, I think you are a Romantic!"

He put his hand over mine and said, "Perhaps I am."

We did not talk a lot on the way home, but as we pulled in the driveway, I asked him, "What are you doing for Thanksgiving, Darryl?"

He shook his head. "Actually, this year I am not doing anything. I usually go to my daughter's house in Jacksonville for the holiday, but this year my clerk wants to go visit her son at Camp LeJeune. I have to stay here to open the store the day after Thanksgiving."

"Then I won't take no for an answer. You'll spend the day with Pete and me. I'm a lousy cook, but Pete's a very good one. I figure the two of us can put together a meal that will fill us up without poisoning anyone. It won't be dinner with Martha Stewart, but I'll get Sarah to make us a pumpkin pie so at least we'll know dessert will be good."

He smiled and nodded, "I would be delighted to come to Thanksgiving. I happen to make a wonderful ambrosia salad that I learned from your Mama. I will bring that and a bottle of wine. Do you like any particular kind?"

I shook my head, "Quite frankly, I'm not much of a wine drinker. I prefer bourbon."

He threw back his head an laughed, "Spoken like a true Southern Lady of the finest breeding! Bourbon it is. What kind do you like?"

I got caught up in the whimsey of the moment and laughed. "Truth be told, I like Maker's Mark."

"Whew-ee. An expensive Southern Lady!"

"Mama always kept a bottle of the best Jim Beam in the sideboard for company. She said you could get away with serving cheap beer and even cheap gin in a pinch, but you should never skimp on bourbon. Mama's daddy was from Tennessee and his family was in the whiskey business."

"I always heard that your grandaddy manufactured some of the best 'shine in Georgia."

"So Big Mama always said. I remember when she finished off the last of the last jar of the stuff she had saved after he died. I think she mourned the loss of the whiskey as much as she mourned the loss of grandpap."

He laughed. "You know for a dry county, I reckon there was more whiskey manufactured here in years past than anybody would ever imagine. Unbelievable for a bunch of Southern Baptists."

I shook my head, "I never knew any Southern Baptists to come around buying Grandpap's whiskey. His clients tended to be the heathens among us."

He laughed. "And the Episcopalians."

"Some of them. Mostly they made their own stuff. A few of them fancied themselves high class and they made wine. Vile stuff!"

"How do you know?"

"When we had pot lucks or Sunday suppers on the grounds, some of us Sunday school kids would bring pilfered booze from our parents pantries. We often ended up plastered."

He shook his head and said, "I am positively shocked!"

"Oh, don't you go all high and mighty on me. I heard enough tales about the goings on in the Methodist Sunday School to know that we were not the only ones experimenting with forbidden fruit."

He chuckled, "I don't ever remember getting drunk with the Sunday school kids, but I do remember a few games of spin the bottle that got out of hand. And there was one mission trip where somebody taught us to play strip poker."

I really was surprised by that. "No!"

He nodded, "Yes. Fortunately, it was a cold night and we all had on several layers of clothes. One of the chaperons caught us before anybody had to take off any really important articles of clothing."

I laughed. It was getting dark and Pete came out on the porch, looking baleful. "I am about to catch hell."

Darryl rolled down the window, "Evenin', Pete. Sorry to bring your Sis home so late. We got to talking and lost track of the time."

Pete waved at Darryl and said, "Okay. You comin' in now, Bess?"

"Yeah, I'm comin' in."

I got out of the truck and walked around to the driver's side. Darryl had his elbow resting on the window opening. I put my hand on his arm, "Thanks for the coffee and the ride home. I had a great time."

He patted my hand and said, "I'll see you soon."

I stood on the porch and watched him drive away, feeling like I was back in high school. I shook my head, trying to get that out of my mind. The problem was that the feeling wasn't in my mind, it was in my heart.

**Chapter 9**

For Thanksgiving week the Ladies Book Club meeting was changed to Tuesday evening. The conversation was not as lively or as 'deep' as the week before. Every one of us was making Thanksgiving dinner, and we were all distracted. We spent more time sharing recipes and discussing the merits of breast-up versus breast-down roasting methods and whether or not fried turkey was an acceptable alternative. As with cooks everywhere, there were strong opinions on all sides of every argument. I love to listen to cooks talk about food (and musicians talk about music... or for that matter anyone who is passionate about what they do). Not being anything even remotely resembling a good cook, I had nothing to add, but I learned a lot. I was in the right company to learn about how to make Thanksgiving Dinner. These women were all great cooks and they were willing to share what they knew.

We decided that, since there would probably be little time for reading for most of the group between now and Christmas, we would not be too ambitious. In fact, we decided to continue to meet, but not to have any particular agenda. We would simply get together for snacks and talk. We discussed the possibility of meeting in our homes, but ultimately decided that meeting on neutral turf in the library made it an "easy" night out. Nobody had to clean the house for the "girls". It felt beyond wonderful to be in the company of such interesting women.

Skylar looked around the table and pursed her lips. "Okay, we'll let ourselves off the hook through the holidays, but I've been thinking a lot about our conversation last week, and I don't think we should abandon it altogether. In fact, I think that we should revisit it. Between now and Christmas, we should all be on the lookout for books or articles to talk about when we get back to business after the first of the year."

We all nodded.

Molly said, "I actually have a suggestion that is a bit different from what we've done before, but I'd like to try it. What if, instead of reading a book, we watch a movie and discuss it. I have a couple in mind."

They all nodded. Every one of us loved to read, but the group had learned rather quickly that we had very different tastes in reading material and it was sometimes hard to agree on a book. Watching movies sounded like fun. We decided to consider the kinds of movies we would want to watch and that would be our focus for the following week.

The gathering broke up early. The others drifted out to their cars. Skylar stopped me on the sidewalk. "Bessie, could I have a moment?"

I looked at my car. Pete was waiting, patiently so far. "Sure. At least until the Boss over there gets antsy. What's up?"

"I guess now is not the time to talk in any detail but I was wondering if we could get together one day just the two of us."

"I am available any time. I have to be home by dark, but beyond that, I am available. Do you want to wait until after Thursday? Or, we could have breakfast tomorrow. I'm coming in to town to do the grocery shopping. I could meet you for breakfast. If we meet at Sarah's, we can send Pete to the kitchen. If we meet anyplace else, Pete will have to be there, but he's usually very polite about not butting into conversations."

Skylar nodded. "Why don' t you come to my house for breakfast? Pete can watch TV while we talk."

"Sure. What time?"

"What time do you plan to come to town?"

"Why don't I just stop for coffee. Pete likes a big breakfast early. We can eat at home, do our daily chores and stop by your place a little after 9:00 or so."

"Perfect. Don't eat too much for breakfast. I've made pumpkin bread for Thanksgiving. We can sample it."

Pete and I pulled into Skylar's driveway at 9:15 the next morning. I turned to him and he put up his hand, "You don't have to say it. I'll be on my best behavior, and I won't talk with my mouth full or interrupt." He looked irritated.

I patted his arm and said, "Sorry. Thank you. I appreciate that."

He smiled. We still stepped on each others' feelings occasionally, but we were getting better at communicating. I did often cross the line from helpful to condescending, and it never failed to hurt his feelings. He always forgave me immediately when I apologized.

Skylar greeted us like long-lost relatives. She sat us at the kitchen table and bustled around pouring coffee and slicing the pumpkin bread. I could tell from across the room how wonderful it was going to taste. Pete obviously could too. He watched her with rapt attention, with his fork already in his hand. We proceeded with the Southern food rituals that seemed to be encoded in our DNA. We tasted the food and then declared it the best thing we had ever had. Skylar, who knew perfectly well it was fabulous, objected and commented that she thought it might be a bit too crumbly. We protested and ate some more to prove her wrong. It was all so silly, but comfortable and comforting in a way. I found myself having a wonderful time.

When he had finished several pieces of bread, with way too much butter, Skylar asked Pete if he would like to watch television. He said he would, and she took him into the parlor to get him settled. I got up to pour more coffee, and stood looking out the back window. Skylar had a gazebo, a lovely fountain and several bird-feeders in the back yard. Her flowerbeds were immaculate. Her yard was quite obviously her pride and joy. I could see her working there. I could also see her sitting in the gazebo enjoying the fruits of her labors.

She walked up behind me and put her arm around my waist. I said, "Your yard is positively wonderful!"

She nodded, "It's not too cold. If we wear our sweaters, we should be okay. Do you want to take your coffee outside?"

"Yes!"

We wandered around the yard and she pointed out particular plants and flowers to me, telling me their names, where they came from and how long they had been growing in her garden. I was momentarily transported back to high school when she drove everyone crazy trying to start a junior garden club. Nobody was interested. She was hurt and mad for a long time.

"Your yard is exactly what I would have expected of you. It is totally lovely. I am sure you have won the garden club award many times."

She laughed. "Actually, I'm the more or less permanent president of the garden club, so I am ineligible for the award."

We both laughed and made our way to the gazebo where we chatted for a while, catching up. She was divorced. Her ex-husband lived in Savannah. She had moved back to Osborne when the last of their kids went to college. "I stayed with him until the kids were grown, and then I came home to try to resume some shred of personal dignity."

I cocked my head and raised my eyebrows. I would not presume to ask a personal question, but I wanted her to know she was welcome to continue if she chose. She explained, "He was a liar and a cheat. From the very beginning. Interestingly he was a very good father and a decent provider. He just could not leave other women alone. He was one of those men who wanted the good wife at home, barefoot and pregnant, while he went out catting around with trashy women. I raised our kids, and then came back home."

I nodded. It was perhaps the oldest story around. I admired Skylar for leaving him. I knew too many women who never did get up the gumption to do that.

I filled her in on the high points of my past as well. She was interested without prying. I managed to work in my sort-of explanation for why I left town. I figured it wouldn't hurt for me to plant that story in a few ears, too. Why should Sarah and Darryl do all heavy lifting to salvage my tarnished reputation?

After a respectable amount of conversation had taken place, Skylar obviously decided it was time to get down to the business of why she had arranged this conversation. I always thought of the entire process of Southern discourse as something like a dance. There were definite steps and rules. Even though I had recently lived in Atlanta, most of my colleagues and social circle were Yankees. It had been a very long time since I had engaged in Southern girl-talk. I was amused to discover how quickly and easily I was able to join the dance.

"I wanted to talk to you privately about this because I want you to be able to be honest without having other folks around. First of all, I want you to know that you are totally and completely welcome at All Saints, and we would love to have you come back to us. I hope you know that."

I nodded. I felt a tiny hard spot in my heart. I was not in the mood for a come-to-Jesus encounter. I must have looked irritated, and she noticed. She added quickly, "Please don't be offended. I will be honest and tell you that I am the Junior Warden and that was a more or less 'official' invitation. I will also tell you that my meeting with you like this is a compromise that I sort of railroaded through. The vestry wanted to send a deputation to your house to more or less badger you into coming back."

I laughed. "I am most truly and sincerely grateful that you headed that off!"

"I told them that no matter how long you had been away, I doubted that you would have changed so much that a frontal assault would do anything other than antagonize you. I asked them to let me take a more gentle approach."

"Why on earth would they make such a big deal out of getting me back in the fold?"

She looked uncomfortable. "I guess there are several reasons. One is that there are some people on the vestry who think you have money. The church has fallen on hard times, and there are some people who will do just about anything to recruit pledging members. Miss Maggie Lou was a tither. They figure you would be also. That was one reason.

Another reason is that there are two very distinct factions in the church and they are almost completely deadlocked. Both groups will stop at nothing to recruit people to their side. There are some people on each of those sides who think you would line up with them. That is a second reason.

The third reason is that there is one group which is sort of your basic evangelical bible-beaters who are out to save souls, starting with the souls of Episcopalians who don't come to church."

I laughed. "Well, now, all of that sounds like a perfectly wonderful constellation of reasons for me to never set foot in that place again as long as I live."

She nodded, "I was pretty sure you would say that, and, frankly, I don't blame you. There are only a few of us old-timers left. Part of me would love to have you come back and help us. But, I know in my heart that we are fighting a losing battle. It would not be worth the aggravation for you. I guess I knew that our little internal war was lost when Miss Maggie Lou left..."

I interrupted, "I would love to know more about that if you can fill me in. I was shocked to learn from Pete that Mama had not only stopped going to All Saints but had joined the Baptist church in Plains!"

Skylar looked very sad. "Oh, honey, that went over worse around here than her hanging out with Sarah Foster."

We both laughed, and she went on. "Well, the whole story will take a lot longer than we have today, but I can hit the high spots. First, did you go to church when you lived away?"

"Yes, in Massachusetts, I went to Trinity Church in Boston. Then in Atlanta I went to St. Theresa's at least some of the time."

"I would say that those two parishes would qualify as so-called progressive parishes."

"The one in Atlanta, yes. The one in Boston was downright radical. Even I sometimes had a problem with it. Basically it amounted to a high-church unitarian congregation."

She sighed, "You have no idea how wonderful that sounds to me these days.... Anyway, Miss Maggie Lou was an old-time Southern Episcopalian, which, as you know meant moderately high-church, apolitical, and not terribly, terribly over-the-top when it came to spirituality."

I giggled. "The rector at St. Theresa's once characterized that brand of Episcopalians as 'all-things-in-moderation-except-liquor Episcopalians'."

She laughed out loud, "That's good! I may use that sometime. Well, the new folks who were moving into the area brought a whole new brand of evangelicalism. They were not moderate in their speech or their manner of behavior. The Episcopal church I knew and loved always walked a fine line but erred on the side of allowing all points of view. We tended to be excessively polite and perhaps somewhat dysfunctional, but we tried to make a place for everybody at the Table. Everybody including the Southern bigots, the more broadminded and liberal folks as well as the eccentrics. It was a difficult balancing act, but we managed."

"Which of those was Mama?"

She thought for a minute. "Your mama was always the leader of the liberals in the church until she sort of went over the edge into the eccentric camp."

I appreciated her honesty, which more or less accorded with what I had suspected. "The new folks were different. They wanted to purge the church of the liberals and to launch an evangelical campaign."

"Makes me wonder why they want me if they don't want liberals."

"I guess they don't know you're a liberal or, if they do, they are looking for souls to save and a liberal probably gives them extra credit or something.

"Anyway, Maggie Lou fought them as best she could. Actually, she fought them pretty much by herself for a long time. Finally, they called this new rector who is, I don't know how to describe him. He reminds me of those smarmy televangelists. He cares about two things: faith-healing and money. Miss Maggie Lou more or less publicly said that was the last straw and pulled out. "

I rolled my eyes. "Is that man still the rector?"

"Yes."

"In that case, I guess I can respond to your initial invitation by respectfully declining. I think I shall continue to spend my Sunday mornings sharing a Eucharist of pancakes and coffee at Sarah's."

She tilted her head down and studied my face. It was obvious she was trying to determine if I was kidding. I went on, "I mean it. I find the same sense of comfort and blessing when I take coffee from her hands as I used to feel when I took Communion from old Father Neely."

For a minute she looked like she wanted to cry, "That's a blast from the past. What I wouldn't give to have him back here now. I wonder what ever happened to him."

"He lives in a nursing home in Atlanta. I used to go visit him every couple of months or so. His body has gone to pot, but his mind is still alert and his soul is, if anything, more pure and luminous than ever."

"That's an interesting way to put it. I never figured you for one of those really religious Episcopalians."

"You would be wrong about that, I think."

She looked at me with an odd expression. I just let that remark hang there.

"But you won't come back to church?"

"Nope."

"Would you care to explain?"

I thought about it for a minute. I really did not care to explain, but I also didn't want to be rude. Skylar had been remarkably honest, and I felt I owed her the same level of openness.

"I really don't want to, but I'll try. What I want you to tell the vestry is this: 'I appreciate the invitation and will take it under consideration, but I am not in a position right now to make any promises one way or the other.' That should be sufficiently nebulous and meaningless not to hurt any body's feelings, leave the door open to changing my mind later on and not take sides.

"For your benefit, I will simply say that I am not going to participate in what amounts to an internal squabble at All Saints. Somehow the folks on both sides of the present troubles have got the idea that the institutional church has some merit and value independent of its Christian principles. As far as I am concerned it does not. I love good high-church liturgy as much as the next candle-worshiping, cradle-Episcopalian. However, I am more interested in people acting out their faith in their day-to-day lives. What one does for an hour and fifteen minutes on Sunday means nothing if it doesn't affect the way they behave the rest of the week. I have no use for evangelical Christianity of any denomination. I also have no use for what passes for liberal Christianity when it seems to have as its sole purpose to prop up a crumbling institution and/or make people feel good about themselves. I don't buy the vengeful God and bigoted, angry Jesus of the evangelicals, but I also do not buy the warm-fuzzy God and namby-pamby, hippiefied Jesus of the liberals. Unity and Tradition and all of those other buzz-words mean nothing if they do not sit on a firm foundation of radical and even sacrificial love. Since love of any kind seems to be practically absent in our churches, I will pass.

"I apologize if that comes off too strong."

She looked at me in amazement. "Excuse me. I'm sorry. I guess I never figured you for being so passionate about it."

"I guess I sort of surprised myself. I thought I was over it. Fact is, I did go to St. Theresa's, although my participation had dwindled to almost nothing in recent years. I attended sporadically and worked with the peace and justice group (most of whom were not even Episcopalians and hardly any of whom actually attended St. Theresa's except for the associate rector).

"I stopped giving any money to the church years ago largely because I came to believe that the institution didn't deserve my money. You are right, however, about me being a tither. Mama beat that into me from babyhood. I give a tithe of my income to the American Red Cross. Feel free to use that information in order to let the vestry know that even if I were to agree to attend services, there wouldn't be any money in it for them. That should prevent any deputations from showing up at my door, I would think.

"I guess when I came back here, I assumed I would go to All Saints in the mistaken belief that All Saints was the same sort of place it was when I was a kid: a safe place to pray and sing and where nobody would ever ask me what I believed about anything. When I found out that Mama had stopped going because the church had gone over to the Dark Side, I guess that option was foreclosed forever as far as I am concerned."

Skylar looked as though she might cry, and said, "I'm truly sorry to hear you say that, but I totally understand. Quite honestly, my term on the vestry is up in February. I am considering not running again. I would love nothing better than to walk away from it, but it has been such a huge part of my life, I'm not sure I could do it."

I nodded. "You have to do what your heart tells you is right. As long as you feel the Spirit calling you to keep fighting, fight on. For my part, I'll be here when you need someone to vent to and a shoulder to cry on. When the Spirit finally tells you to 'lay down your sword and shield,' I'll be here to help with that as well."

Tears welled up in her eyes but did not fall. I leaned over and put my arms around her. She let her tears fall freely then.

Finally, she leaned back, took a tissue from her pocket and blew her nose. "Oh, my. I certainly did not plan to go all weepy on you. I'm disappointed to know that you won't join me, particularly since I have an inkling that you would be a powerful ally. I understand, though. My guess is that I'll take you up on your offer – both ways." She leaned her head against mine and whispered, "Lord, girl, it is good to have you home."

Then it was my turn to cry.

As Pete and I were leaving, Skylar asked, "What are you doing for Thanksgiving, hon? My kids are coming in, we'd love to have you join us."

"Thanks. Maybe another year. Pete and I are cooking Thanksgiving dinner at home. Darryl is coming over. Please pray that I don't poison him."

Skylar raised her eyebrows and tilted her head in an almost stereotypical big-haired-Southern-gal gesture. "Oh???? Do tell!"

"There's nothing to tell. He's my neighbor, and an old friend. He had no plans for Thanksgiving. I invited him over."

"After spending a few hours with him at Painter's Point?"

I laughed, "Oh, the joys of small-town life where there is just so much privacy!"

I drove to town with a lightness of heart I had not felt ... ever. Skylar was my dearest girlfriend when we were in high school. It seemed we were headed down the path of resuming that friendship. Darryl was my first love and my soul-mate in many ways. I was almost afraid to wonder how much of that relationship could be restored.

I had little time to dwell on those reflections, however. I had somehow foolishly volunteered to cook Thanksgiving dinner for the first time in my life. I had no idea what I was doing. I was too nervous to waste time on sentimental reminiscences or on wondering what the future might hold.

Pete and I did our shopping. When I got home I called Sarah and asked her for some pointers about the turkey. I also ordered a couple of pies: one pumpkin, one pecan. I figured if the meal was not edible we could at least fill up on dessert. If Sarah's pies were half as good as Mama's that might be just the way to go, anyway. Since they both learned to bake from Sarah's mother, my hopes were high.

I spent the rest of the day reading recipes and mapping out a strategy to have everything come our more or less at the same time on Thursday.

After I jotted out the time table, I sat down with Pete to figure out what he could help with. Once again, he amazed me. He had a pretty good feel for what we needed to do. He told me if I could keep him on schedule, he knew how to do most of the preparation work. I asked him if he thought he could make dressing like Mama. He thought about it for while and shook his head. "I dunno. I know what she put in it. But, that was her specialty and she never let me make it. She never measured anything, so I don't know the colors to use. If I tell you what goes in it, you could measure it out. Between us maybe we could come close."

"Or maybe not, but we can try. If the dressing is nasty, we'll just make extra mashed potatoes."

"I like potatoes better than dressing, anyway."

I didn't. Dressing was my very favorite part of Thanksgiving dinner. I hoped we could pull it off.

Pete said, "When are you going to start the turkey stock?"

"The what?"

"The stock for the dressing. You gotta make that today for it to be ready in the morning. That's why I put the extra drumsticks in the cart."

"Oh, I thought you just wanted extra turkey legs."

He made a face, "No. I hate dark meat. I put them in for the stock."

"I don't know how to make stock."

He made a face and rolled his eyes. I always got a kick out of it when he had the chance to realize there were things he knew that I didn't. He said, "I'll put it together." He took out the deep stock pot from the pantry and started tossing in whole onions and carrots, with the peels still on.

"What on earth are you doing?"

"This is how Mama does it. It's crazy, but you strain all this stuff out anyway. Mama says there's no point in peeling it if you're just going to throw it away anyway. Besides, she says that Emeril says it gives the stock more color."

"Who's Emeril?"

"Some guy on TV Mama watched every day. I never understand what he is talking about, but Mama loves his show."

"Oh, Emeril Lagasse, or something like that. Mama watched the Food Channel?"

"Mama only watched two things on TV. She watched her stories in the afternoon and she watched the Food Channel at night. Personally, I could never figure out what was so interesting about watching a bunch of strangers cook weird stuff that nobody in their right mind would want to eat, but Mama watched them every night...

"...Anyway, you throw all the stuff in here pretty much whole and with the skins on. Then you fill it up with water, turn on the stove and let it cook for a long time. Then when its cool, you dump it out, strain it, and the stock is what makes the dressin' taste good. We can make more stock outta the turkey bones after dinner. That will give us plenty to last for a while."

"Well, if you aren't just Mr. Home Economist."

"Is that some kind of insult?"

"Actually, no. I was sort of teasing, but I meant it as a compliment. I am very impressed. Mama taught you a lot of valuable stuff."

"How come she never taught you?"

"I have no idea, Pete. I really don't."

"You bein' a girl and all, you'd think she'd have taught you."

"You'd think. But, she didn't."

"How come you never learned after you moved away?"

"Well, I never needed to. The first few years I didn't have the money for a turkey dinner. The next few years Michael and I usually traveled over the Thanksgiving holiday so we were never home. After Michael died, I tended to be a guest in other people's homes. I never really needed to learn how to make the whole meal. I would usually bring some kind of dish and some wine or I would buy the pies."

He shook his head. I think the concept of eating Thanksgiving dinner anywhere but at his home was something he could not even imagine.

We did as much prep work on Wednesday evening as we could. We cleaned the bathroom and polished the silver. I went to bed when he did. I figured I was going to have a long day on Thursday.

**Chapter 10**

On Thursday, I let Pete eat breakfast in the living room so he could watch the Thanksgiving Parades. That had the added advantage of getting him out of my hair for a while. I prepped the vegetables, mixed up the cornbread (even I made good cornbread), and lined up my bowls and utensils for the crush later on.

During a break, Pete came in and said, "Okay, Bess. What do you say we take a stab at mixing up the dressin'."

"Okay. I have the onions and celery all cooked down like I know Mama did it. I know that much. What next?"

"Well, we need to take that bag of dressing mix and add some stuff to it. You got any stale cornbread from the other day?"

"Yeah, it's good and dry."

We crumbled up the dry cornbread. He rooted around in the freezer and came up with a bag of bread crusts. He told me that Mama always cut off the crusts of their sandwiches and saved them for the dressing on Thanksgiving. This would be the last bag. I thought I might cry, but I was too engrossed in watching him. He rummaged in the pantry and handed me a tin of rubbed sage, a jar of cayenne pepper, and the black pepper. He lined all those ingredients up on the sink and thought for a minute. "Oh, I forgot the eggs. They go in last." He put out two eggs, and said, "That's what goes in the dressing. You figure out how much." He went back into the living room. I measured out what I thought to be adequate amounts of each of the ingredients and mixed them together, adding stock to moisten. I decided I would go for a dryer mixture than was probably appropriate. We could add gravy if it was too dry, but we couldn't fix it if it was mushy.

Around noon, Darryl arrived bearing a huge bowl of ambrosia and a brown bag from the liquor store. I already felt like I could use a good belt but decided not to act too eager.

After a few minutes, I noticed him glancing at the clock and I laughed. "Ok, tell me when the football game starts and when you anticipate half time. I assume we need to work our schedule around that."

He looked a little embarrassed, but didn't deny that was what he had in mind. "You think we could eat around 3:00? I was sort of thinking I could do a little yard work and eat before the game I want to watch which starts at 4:30, unless you had different plans?"

"You mean you do not stay glued to the TV every minute there is a football game on like some other people I know around here?" I looked at Pete and grinned.

Pete said, "I like football."

Darryl answered, "I have my certain favorite teams. I don't watch every game that is on."

I teased Pete, "You should take a lesson from Darryl."

Pete ignored me. He was already watching the early game and would be lost in that world for hours. I turned to Darryl, "Please don't do any yard work. It's Thanksgiving. Watch football with Pete or read or take a nap."

"How's about I help you in the kitchen?"

"Or that. Lord knows, I can use all the help I can get. I am not much of a cook."

We walked into the kitchen and Darryl surveyed the wreckage with the eye of a practiced cook. He gave me a dark look and put his hands on his hips. "Well, the way I see it your mama is probably spinning in her grave right about now. What a mess! This place looks like somebody needs to take charge. You have any objections to that?"

"None whatsoever! I take orders very well."

"Okay then, for starters, while you run a sink of water so you can start washing up some of these dishes – what the hell were you trying to do, use every dish in the house? --, you can open that bottle of whiskey and pour us each a stiff one. I think you must have worked up a thirst making this much of a mess."

I laughed and said, "So far, I like your style, boss."

I poured us each a drink and reached for the ice. Darryl put up his hand and said, "You can adulterate your drink with ice if you want, but I got the good stuff. I intend to savor it straight up."

We clinked glasses and smiled into one another's eyes. For the briefest moment I wondered if we would still be this companionable if we had been married for the past thirty odd years, which is about what it would have been if we had wed as planned. I pushed that thought aside as soon as it broke the surface, and turned quickly to the sink-full of dirty dishes. Darryl peeled the potatoes efficiently and with minimal waste and then puttered around, basting the bird, and repairing vegetable casseroles that I had not prepped to his satisfaction. By the time I had the dishes put away, the turkey was finished and he put the casseroles into the oven. He put the turkey out to stand and looked around.

"Looks like we have a bit of time. How about we take what's left of our drinks out on the porch. It's getting warm in here."

The afternoon sun was shining directly on the porch swing so even though it was a cool day, it was warm enough to sit out here in shirt sleeves. We sat side-by-side, swinging slowly, and sipping the excellent bourbon.

He stared off into the woods but his attention was totally on me, and he asked, "What are you going to do next, Bess? You're too young to retire and spend the rest of your life here in this house taking care of Pete."

I leaned back in the swing and slouched in a manner that always made Mama yell at me. "I don't know. I would love to get a job, but I am not sure how to manage that with Pete around."

He was quiet for a while. He contemplated his empty glass and decided it needed refilling. He took mine without asking if I wanted another and disappeared into the house. He came back with two very short drinks and sat back down beside me. "I have a suggestion if you don't think I am being too forward."

"I'd be interested in what you have in mind." My heart was pounding. I was afraid to even imagine what he might be thinking. "Well, you're a teacher. Actually, I guess you have been a principal for a long time, but you are a licensed teacher in Georgia. We need a seventh grade English teacher at the local junior high. I am on the School Board by the way, which is how I know. I think you would be perfect for the job, but I know you can't leave Pete alone. Here's what I'm thinking. Pete has a lot of skills that he doesn't use enough and he has a lot of friends in town. I could use some help around the store: sweeping up, dusting, stocking shelves, and what not. If you got the teaching job – and I have no influence over that – you could drop Pete off at the store in the mornings on your way to work and pick him up in the afternoon. We could watch him at the store. He could either bring his lunch and eat in the back room or he could eat at the diner. Sarah's place is too far to walk but Millie's is around the corner. She's not the cook that Sarah is but she has a big lunch crowd. Pete might like that once in a while.

"Anyway, I guess I'm thinking that if you want to go to work, I think the town would help you out with Pete."

"You and the town."

"Something like that."

"We haven't even eaten yet and you're making me cry."

"I didn't mean to do that."

"I know. I'll have to think about it some more. It's been a long time since I was in the classroom but it sounds good to me. It certainly wouldn't hurt for me to put in an application and maybe talk to the principal. Who is the principal of that school, by the way?"

"My brother-in-law."

"Over whom you have no influence, I am sure."

"None whatsoever. I warned him not to marry Caroline, but he wouldn't listen to me."

We laughed. Darryl and Caroline adored each other but neither of them had ever been known to say a nice word about the other in public.

"I'll at least put in an application."

"Oh, and I intend to pay Pete for his work."

"I am not sure that is necessary."

"I won't pay him for full-time work, because I know how he can mess around, but I'll pay him for what he actually does."

"That would be wonderful for him. He has never had money of his own. I think it would mean a lot to him."

Presently, he stood up slowly and dragged me to my feet. "Time to tackle that bird, gal. You gonna help me?"

"Do I have a choice?"

"No."

As we headed into the house, he put his arm around my shoulder. For the second time that day, I almost cried.

Dinner turned out to be a spectacular success. The turkey was perfect. The casseroles were edible. The dressing was not Mama's but it was much closer than I expected it to be. I intentionally paced myself because I knew the pies were waiting and I intended to have a big piece of each.

We ate and laughed and had a great time. Darryl entertained us with stories about his grand children. I told some stories about my travels.

After dinner, I shooed the two of them into the living room to watch TV while I cleaned up. Pete never helped to clean up, but Darryl offered to help. "No way. I invited you over here for dinner and you ended up cooking the meal. The least I can do is wash up. You go enjoy your game. I'll clean up here, then we'll have dessert.

While I washed the dishes and cleaned the kitchen, I warmed the pies in the oven. When I was finished, I took the pies into the living room where Darryl and Pete were engrossed in the action on the TV. They barely looked up when I walked into the room. I cut them each a small piece of pumpkin and pecan pie. I don't think Pete even tasted the pie as he ate it. I know he didn't acknowledge me. Darryl, on the other hand, did look up and smile. He took the pie and winked at me. Neither of us wanted to disturb Pete.

Darryl raised his eyebrow and jerked his head toward the door. I understood and nodded. We took our plates and went outside to the swing. Since the sun was now low in the sky, it was too chilly to sit out there comfortably. Darryl looked uncertain. I said, "Wait here. I'll be right back."

I went into the mud room and came back with Papa's army blanket. We sat on the swing and I draped the blanket over us. The blanket was heavy and warm. The evening was quiet and lovely. We ate our pie and put the plates aside. Then we pulled the blanket up to our necks. Darryl's arm came around me and I snuggled against him before I had a chance to think about what a bad idea that was. By the time it occurred to me that I was making a huge mistake, I was already comfortably curled up with my head on his shoulder and my arm around his waist.

We sat there companionably watching the sunset. As the last rays of the sun faded to purple on the horizon, Darryl turned his head and kissed my forehead. "Thanks for inviting me, Bess. I haven't had such a wonderful day in a long time."

I tilted my head up to look at him, and he lowered his chin a couple of inches. He kissed me on the lips. My head wanted to pull away, but my lips responded and my heart was pounding like a base drum. We held one another for a long minute.

He said, "I have to go before I embarrass myself."

I rested my head on his shoulder, enjoying his feel and his smell. I kissed his cheek softly and answered, "I understand. Thank you. For everything."

We walked to his truck with our arms around each other. He got in the cab and I leaned against the door. Everything in me wanted him to stay, but I could not bring myself to say anything. Instead I reached up and put my hand against his cheek. "Goodnight. Will you call me or email me your brother-in-law's number."

"Sure. I'll send you an email when I get home."

"Good-night, Darryl."

"Good-night, Sugah."

I watched him drive away and wondered what in the hell was going on. I felt hot tears sliding down my cheeks. I was not sure if it was because I was happy to have had such a wonderful day or sad because he left me standing there in the middle of the driveway, alone. I certainly was amazed and grateful to the core of my being that by some miracle it seemed Darryl and I might have a second chance.... for exactly what I did not dare to imagine.

**Chapter 11**

On Monday I called Henry Davidson at the Junior High School. He asked me to email him my resume and scheduled an interview for the next day.

I called Darryl at the store. After the requisite small-talk, I asked, "Do you think you could give Pete a test run in the store tomorrow? I have an interview with Henry at 2:30."

"Of course. Why don't you drop Pete off on your way. Go on home when you're finished and go for a run or whatever. I'll bring Pete home when I close up shop."

"That would be lovely. Please plan to stay for supper."

"Sounds good. Keep it simple."

"Very simple. Turkey noodle soup."

"Let me know if you need me to bring anything to add."

"OK. I'll see you tomorrow."

I dropped Pete off in front of the store. He was beyond excited at the prospect of having a regular job and earning some of his own spending money. I explained that this was just a test and how he did today would determine whether or not Darryl would hire him. He said he understood.

I drove to the school which had been built sometime in the 1990's. It was an ugly, institutional structure with no character, sprawling over several acres of what had once been prime farmland. The school districts from several counties had consolidated and built a huge junior high and high school out in the country supposedly in a "central" location. It just seemed inconvenient and remote to me. Every year several high school students were killed driving to or from school events. It was no wonder. The roads were curvy and narrow. I imagined that at night it would be scary on those roads.

Since I was early, I wandered around the halls for a few minutes before going to the principal's office. This was unlike any school I had ever been in. I went to eight years of elementary school in the local school in Osborne. Each grade had one classroom. The classrooms were packed with little Boomer kids, usually more than thirty kids in one room. The teachers were all old women. The schools were integrated when I was in fifth grade. Before that we were all white. After that, we were still mostly white because a lot of the black families refused to send their kids to the white school, and the truant officers only went after white kids who played hooky.

I went to high school in Osborne as well. Almost everyone from elementary school started high school. Only about half the people who entered the ninth grade in my class actually graduated. The dropout rate at the time was appalling. The kids who did stick it out got what I still consider to have been fairly decent education. We had a couple of really awful teachers but we had several truly wonderful educators. One of them was the English teacher who still taught writing in the high school. She was a recent college graduate when she taught me. When I first returned to the District, she was considered a dinosaur – something like a tyrannosaurus rex who struck fear in the hearts of the students and other teachers as well. She was to my mind one of the best writing teachers I've ever known.

The school where I taught in Boston was a New England blue-blood institution, complete with immaculately manicured lawns, ivy covered walls and Stepford children.

This school was nothing like the schools of yesteryear. It had no soul. The halls were plain concrete block decorated with hand painted banners encouraging the football team to "Stomp the Wildcats". The floors were dirty. The place smelled of disinfectant and body odor. Whatever vile stuff the lunchroom ladies were concocting smelled even worse.

I glanced into several classrooms. There were kids sleeping, talking, and heckling teachers. I couldn't hear what they were saying, but I saw one kid answer a question with such raw insolence, I would have thrown him out of the class. The teacher didn't even react. In another class, the teacher was reading a book while the entire class was goofing off, talking, walking around the room. She seemed oblivious to the chaos. I felt as though I had stepped into some kind of asylum where the residents were running amok.

Eventually, I made my way to the principal's office. A young woman was talking on the phone in the reception area. Since the call was obviously personal (she was discussing her plans for the evening with her boyfriend), I expected her to put the person on hold and announce my presence. Instead, she turned her back to me. The principal's door was open, so I simply walked in. He was on the phone as well, but at least his call was school-related. He was arguing with someone about improper repairs to the heating system in one wing of the school.

He motioned me to a chair and mouthed "excuse me". I smiled and sat down. I looked around his office, which was orderly and clean. On one wall there were bookshelves containing all manner of educational resources arranged neatly by author. On the opposite wall, there was open shelving containing folder after folder of what I suspected were worksheets and classroom resources. His desk was piled with orderly stacks of paper. As a former principal myself, I could almost tell what each of the stacks contained. This guy was a teacher's principal! I liked him before he ever said a word to me. I was not so enthralled with his school, and couldn't wait to hear how he explained the disconnect between the world of his office and the goings-on in the rest of the school.

When he got off the phone he stood up and shook my hand, "Sorry about that."

"No problem. Heating systems are perhaps the biggest bane in the existence of a principal. At least your school is relatively new."

"The school where you taught and were then headmistress in Boston was over 100 years old. I bet you knew the HVAC repair line number by heart."

"Better than that. Our system was so old, the school hired the repair person as a janitor. His main job was to keep the heat on in the winter. He was a hero. We had heat about ¾ of the time, which was something of a miracle."

We both laughed. I was not sure why he brought that up, but I was rather glad he did. I wanted it to be clear that I had not been in the classroom for many years.

After what I considered a sufficient amount of the preliminary "how's your family and them" chat, I said, "Darryl tells me you have an opening for an English teacher."

"Yes. Our seventh grade English teacher has run into serious complications with a pregnancy. She has been sent home on total bed rest for several months. We are making do with substitutes right now. We need a long-term sub. I have to caution you that we have to hold Mrs. Palmer's job open for her. After her baby is born, if she wants to come back to work, we have to have a place for her."

"Meaning this job is temporary."

"Technically, this job is a long-term substitute position. Actually, the school board is so thrilled to have a shot at hiring an educator with your credentials, I am sure that if you are interested in permanent employment in the district, we'll find a place for you. In the classroom. In administration. Somewhere."

"That may be premature. As you pointed out, I have been a principal for more years than I was ever a class-room teacher. My classroom skills are rusty at best. I spent the first 20 years of my career in a private school attempting to educate the children of Boston Brahmans. I spent the next 10 years working in a school for developmentally handicapped children. I have absolutely no experience with the public schools."

There was a long pause. He chuckled. "You're polite enough not to add, any derogatory remarks about what you have seen this afternoon."

"Walking through this school today is the first time I've been in a public school since I graduated from the old high school in Osborne in 1972. It is hardly a sufficient basis on which to form an opinion."

"Perhaps not, but I'll bet you are up on all the research and statistics about the appalling state of education in America. You don't have to have been in the trenches to know that it's bad out there. I guess the question is whether or not you're willing to enter the fray."

"You make it sound like a war."

"Oh, it most definitely is a war. It is a daily battle of emotional and sometimes physical combat for the minds and souls of our children. And, I have to tell you, we are losing."

I looked at him in some astonishment. That was positively the strangest job interview ever! I thought about it many times afterwards. I could never say that I was not warned. I can say that I did not believe him at the time.

"Seventh grade, huh? Language arts. Writing and literature, I presume?"

He laughed. "Literature? In seventh grade? If you can teach them literature in seventh grade, I'll give you my job!" He picked up a notebook from the corner of his desk and handed it to me. "This is the curriculum for seventh grade language arts."

I flipped through it. I didn't know whether to laugh or cry. "You have got to be kidding."

"I wish to God I were."

"Mr. Davidson..."

"Henry."

"Henry, this material is late third grade or early fourth grade level."

"You're very good. That's correct. You'll find that it will pose a serious challenge to most of the seventh graders, about half of whom test as functional illiterates."

I shook my head and continued to scan the lesson plans. I pursed my lips and could feel my old school-marmish demeanor settling in. "How strict is the administration about teachers sticking to the curriculum?"

He thought about that for a minute. "That's the first time anybody has ever asked me that question. I guess the rule is that teachers have to use a curriculum and they have to have some kind of lesson plans. Most of our teachers take the curriculum we give them as is. We insist that they use it if the alternative is to have no plan at all; not all of the teachers cooperate. To the extent you have lesson plans that will teach the students what they need to know, I certainly will not beat you up if you don't use these particular plans."

I nodded and continued paging through the curriculum. "Who wrote this?"

"We bought it from an educational publishing company."

"It sucks."

"I know."

"Well, Henry, here's where I am with this. You have an emergency. I really do need a job not so much for the money as to have something to do with myself other than sit at home with Pete and turn into a weird old lady before my time.

"I confess that I have a very bad feeling about how I will do in the classroom with your students. I can tell you that I have excellent curriculum development skills. In fact, I have an entire resource library of lesson plans at home. I wrote most of those lesson plans myself. A few were developed by committees of classroom teachers. They will need to be updated because some of them are quite old. It might be fun to work on adapting some of them to the needs of your school. Perhaps we can work out some kind of arrangement."

He looked as if he might cry from sheer joy.

I went on, "If you want to give me a try, I am willing to take a stab as a substitute. I would ask that you back me up. I know how students try to take advantage of substitutes. I am a very strict disciplinarian under the best of circumstances. It would be my inclination in a substitute setting to come on, to continue your combat metaphor, like an armored division and scare the hell out of them at the outset. Once I have their attention, I may be able to back off a bit. Do you follow?"

He grinned, "Oh, I follow. And I can't wait to see this!"

"My guess is that parents may complain."

"I could give you the names of the first ones who will call."

I sighed. "Students are challenging. Administrators are annoying. Parents are pains in the ass."

He laughed out loud and stood up. "School is out. Suppose I take you on a tour of the asylum and give you one last opportunity to back out before it's too late."

"Okay."

We walked around the school which now stood virtually empty and silent. The cleaning crew was arriving. We walked through the halls. I looked at my watch. It was 3:15. Not only were the students gone, but so were the teachers. There was litter everywhere. Desks in almost every room were pushed around in no order. The place looked like it had just been evacuated in some kind of emergency.

"Don't tell me. Let me guess. You want to know first of all where the teachers are. Second you want to know what kind of asshole principal would allow this kind of chaos to reign in his school."

"Yes to the first question. I would phrase the second question more along the lines of inquiring how things reached this point."

"You no doubt recall the days when teachers stayed after school to grade papers and be available to answer questions and have consultations with students, parents and/or other teachers. We actually have two teachers in this school who do that. We'll meet one of them in a minute. The other one is the band instructor who is giving lessons.

"With regard to the second question, I can't really tell you. I was an elementary principal for 15 years. My school was a much tighter ship than this, although I admit that even that school wasn't up to the standards I would have preferred. The school board fired the principal of this school last spring. They moved me over here to try to bring some order to the madness. I am seriously afraid that I am in over my head."

"You have only been here a couple of months. Give yourself some time. You might want to consider getting a baseball bat."

He laughed, "I considered that but that's been done. I'm thinking more along the lines of a whip and a chair."

"That could work, too."

I liked him. He liked me. We understood each other, even if neither of us understood the kinds of teachers who could function in this environment or the students who seemed so utterly uninterested in an education. It wasn't much, but it was something we could build on. He showed me to "my" classroom. It was a total mess. I shook my head.

"When do you want me to start."

"You tell me."

"How about right now? I'd like to clean up this pigsty before I go home. What time do they open the building in the morning?"

I have never seen a person look so happy. He said, "The janitor arrives at 6:30 to try to get the heat on. Teachers are supposed to be here by 7:30. School starts at 8:10."

I nodded. "I'm going to have to figure out some logistics of what to do about Pete. From time to time, I may need to bring him with me. He can help the janitor or sit in the library. Will that be a problem?"

"Absolutely not. Pete is a great guy. Everybody loves him."

"Okay, boss. Give me my room keys and my grade book and then get out of here so I can start cleaning up this mess."

He promised to return shortly with the keys and grade book. I took off my jacket and started pushing desks around. I preferred a circular arrangement for my classroom. I picked up litter from the floor and arranged books and the little bit of other educational material neatly on the shelves. The teacher's desk was a mess. I put all the papers that were strewn across the desk in a folder. The drawers were totally empty. I put the folder in a drawer and figured that I could always sort that out later in the unlikely event there was anything in it I would need.

I erased the graffiti that covered the white boards, and wrote my name in large letters on the front board. Below it, I wrote several class rules which included such basics as listening to instructions and not talking. Someone laughed.

I turned to see an older lady in the door. She seemed familiar to me, but I couldn't place her. She leaned against the door chuckling. "I wish you well, but you should know that these kids are very different from any kids you've worked with before."

Her tone irritated me. "I am at a disadvantage. You seem to know me. I am sorry. I think I should know you, but I can't place you."

"Marjorie Kinnett. I was a first year teacher in the high school the year you graduated. I taught sophomore history. That is probably why you don't remember me."

"You were Mr. Kinnett's bride from Savannah."

"Yes. Lord, that was a long time ago."

"I am sure he is retired by now."

"Oh, yes. And I intend to join him at the end of this school year. This year I don't care how much the school board begs and pleads, I am not going to relent."

I laughed. I had talked a number of teachers out of retirement over the years. Good teachers were too valuable to give up without a fight. "You would probably be one of the teachers that Henry told me would still be here."

"Yep. Me and Dan Role, the band director. We think he sleeps here, but can't prove it."

We were laughing like old friends when Henry walked into the room, "Great. I see you have met." He glanced happily from her to me and back. "You have no idea how good it makes me feel to have the two of you on my team."

She winked at me, "You mean the two old battle-axes you can wield in your efforts to tame this beast."

"Something like that."

She shook her head, "I don't want to sound cynical, but we're fighting a losing battle, folks."

I didn't want to go there, at least not until I'd at least given it a try. I picked up my purse and my jacket. "Well, I think I shall go home, go for a run and be prepared to get a good night's rest. My guess is tomorrow will be tough."

Henry shook my hand and said, "I hope its tougher for your students than for you."

"You watch my back. I'll take care of the kids."

At dinner that night, Pete gave us a minute-by-minute account of his day, which I think was the most wonderful day of his entire life up to that point. He was thrilled with his job. Darryl and I were overjoyed at how this seemed to be working out.

When Pete wound down a bit, Darryl asked me about my interview. I hit the high spots and then said, "I am worried about one thing, though. I think I am going to need to be at school a lot earlier than we expected. What time do you go in to work."

He said, "I usually go in about 7:00."

"That will work for most days. But tomorrow, I would like to go in really early. Do you think you could pick Pete up here instead of me dropping him off at the store?"

"Sure."

I turned to Pete, "Do you think that you would be okay for a little while by yourself if I leave early in the morning. You can be all ready, and we'll have breakfast together. Then you can watch TV or something until Mr. Darryl picks you up. It might still be dark. Do you think you'd be okay? You could call me on my cell phone if you get nervous."

Pete thought about it and then nodded, "Yeah. If it isn't too long, and I could call you. I guess I've got a job now, too, so I should be able to do that."

"It won't be every morning, but for my first day, I have a bunch of stuff I want to do to get my classroom ready."

"Sure. I think it'll be okay."

Darryl chimed in, "I'll come by early. Maybe Pete could save me a biscuit or two. I'll come over early for breakfast. Then Pete and I can go into the store at the usual time."

I wanted to kiss him.

After we cleaned up the kitchen, Darryl got up to leave. I walked him out to his truck. He leaned against the door and put his arms around me. "How did it go at the school?"

"Oh, Jesus, Darryl, I am so freaking scared, I can't tell you! That place is a nightmare."

He held me closer and put his cheek against my hair. "I have to confess, I called Henry to ask him how it went. He's about three-quarters in love with you. I think the guy did back flips all the way to his car. But, he's nervous for you. He knows you've got what it takes, but you're in for an uphill battle."

I pressed my face into his chest and we held each other. I felt as though I was entering very dangerous territory both professionally and personally. I was incapable of turning back, however.

We kissed good-night and I went in to sort through my teacher's bag of tricks, looking for posters or other decorative items to brighten up that ugly, horrible classroom.

**Chapter 12**

As I pulled out of my driveway at 6:20 a.m., I could see Darryl's truck cresting the hill on his way to meet Pete for breakfast. I called Darryl's cell phone, "You're up early."

"Couldn't sleep for thinking of Pete's biscuits. I want to be sure to get there before they are gone."

"You are a very bad liar. You are also a very, very nice man."

He made a kissing noise through the phone, and said, "You have a good day."

"I'll see you this afternoon."

"Ok. You know, you will probably be exhausted today. Why don't you let me pick up a bucket of chicken or something and bring supper."

"You are too good to be true."

"I try."

I can't really describe that day. I think I have blocked the details from my memory. I decorated the room the best I could on such short notice. When the kids came in to home room, they immediately trashed the place. They moved the chairs around, they dropped papers and pencils. They talked through the announcements.

It was time for me to set them straight. I had intentionally dressed in the most severe suit I owned. I intended to play the part of mean-old schoolmarm to the hilt. I stood up and ordered them to be silent. I think I surprised them. They shut up. I made them move the chairs back into an orderly circle. I made them pick up litter around their desks. By then homeroom was over. I hadn't managed to take attendance.

I went through the same drill every class period that day. It took the first fifteen or twenty minutes of each class to get them to shut up and put the room in order.

By lunch time, I was exhausted. As we made our way to the lunchroom, I asked another teacher what our lunch assignments were. He looked at me like I was nuts. "Eat your lunch and pray for the strength to get through the afternoon."

When I reached the lunchroom, I asked Henry about lunch duty assignments. He laughed. "You really are a glutton for punishment. The teachers spend lunch hiding in the faculty lounge. I typically handle police duties on my own, with the assistance of the real-live cops who patrol the school." He jerked his head at two uniformed officers at either end of the lunchroom.

I was shocked and appalled, "You have COPS patrolling the halls?"

He nodded, "Welcome to my world, Miss Bessie. Go eat your lunch. I'll check in with you at the end of the day."

Five minutes in the faculty lounge was enough for me. What a bunch of freaking losers! I took my coffee and some peanut butter crackers and decided to take my chances into the lunchroom. When I was a classroom teacher, we were required to eat lunch sitting at the tables with our students. Something told me that these kids would not welcome my sitting down with them. So I munched on my crackers and walked around. I tried to be pleasant but not overly friendly. I wanted them to know I was approachable, but would tolerate no bullshit.

By the end of the day, I was exhausted, but over all I decided it was not a total disaster. The kids didn't know quite what to make of me, which was exactly what I had hoped to achieve for starters. I would gradually let them know exactly what I expected, but at first I wanted to keep them off guard.

It would be an uphill battle, but the only way I knew how to teach was to take charge. I had not actually taught any lessons at all that first day. I suspected it might be days or even weeks before I started teaching any actual subject matter. My first order of business was to get the students to observe basic classroom decorum – something they should have learned in elementary school.

After the last bell rang Henry came into my room with Marjorie at his heels. "How did it go?"

"Well, my knees feel like jelly, I have a splitting headache and I'm exhausted, but I'm still standing, so I guess it went as well as could be expected."

They both laughed. Henry said, "The word is that you are mean."

"Excellent! That's what I was going for. I don't want you to get the wrong impression, Henry, but I am really exhausted. I think I am going to take off. I'd like to sneak in a run before dinner."

"Go. You're not required to work past the end of the school day."

"You can plan on me doing just that on a regular basis, but probably not this week."

Marjorie put her arm around my shoulders, "Take it easy. Start slow. You'll need to pace yourself."

I gave her a hug, shook Henry's hand and gathered my purse, sweater and a pile of papers and workbooks.

I picked up Pete at the store. When we got home, I went for a short run while Pete took a nap. I was almost finished making tea when Darryl knocked on the back door. I called to him to come on in. He entered with two pizzas and a six pack.

"You know even in Osborne you should lock your door these days."

"I knew you were coming."

"Actually, I have a key. Please don't leave the door open." He put the pizzas on the table, popped open a beer and took a long swig. He raised one toward me and I nodded. He opened that one and handed it to me. "Do you need a glass?"

"Bottle's fine." He leaned over and gave me a quick kiss on the cheek, "How was your day?"

Before launching into my answer, I savored a momentary awareness of how wonderful that moment was. I could see in his eyes that he noticed it too.

I gave him a very quick overview and added, "I'm starving. All I ate today was some peanut butter crackers from the vending machine at noon and a banana after my run. I'm going to go wake up Pete. He's pooped too. What are you, a slave driver of a boss?"

"Pete is an excellent worker. He just needs to learn to pace himself."

"I was reminded of the same thing today by a veteran teacher."

"Mrs. Kinnett?"

"The same. She's wonderful."

"She is the best teacher in the district. Or at least she was until today."

"Trust me, she still is. I intend to learn from her."

I woke Pete and we ate dinner, a little too quickly and without a lot of conversation. Later, I walked Darryl to his truck. "What's the deal with you having a key to my house?"

"Your mom gave it to me in case of an emergency. I'll give it back if you want."

"No, keep it. It's nice to know that you have it in an emergency. Or, so you won't give me hell again about leaving the doors unlocked."

I kissed him goodnight. He said it would probably be simpler for him to pick up Pete at our house rather than run the risk of having me drop him off if Darryl hadn't arrived at the store yet. He promised to be there by seven in the morning.

"Do you want some breakfast?"

"Sure."

"Then come about twenty till."

He looked at me with a strange expression. "People will talk if I start having breakfast and dinner at your house every day."

"People have been talking for a while now."

"I suppose so. Do you care?"

"Yes. But, there's nothing I can do about it."

"G'night, Bess."

I blew him a kiss as he backed out of the driveway.

**Chapter 13**

I debated about attending the ladies group the next evening. I was very tired and so was Pete but Pete wanted to go watch the fish. I felt the need of some adult company and Darryl didn't say anything about coming over, so I decided to suck it up and go to the meeting.

When we arrived, I was surprised to see that the evening appeared to be something of a party. In addition to the regular attendees, Caroline Endicott Davidson was there. She greeted me with a smile, saying, "I have been part of this group for a while, but I wanted to give you some space to get acclimated before having to deal with me. I guess you turned the tables on me. Instead of you having to deal with me being mad at you, I'm going to have to figure out how not to be mad at you since both my husband and my brother have succumbed to your charms. I guess I need to bury the hatchet somewhere besides in the back of your skull." She held out her arms for a hug, "Truce?"

I gave her a hug and laughed, "Thank you. I guess."

She drew me aside and said softly, "I have been furious at you for a long time, because I love Darryl and I hate what you did. However, you should know that Darryl took Lucille's death really hard. He has not been himself for years. Since you've been back, he's turning back into the brother I love. If he can forgive you and if having you around makes him happy, I guess I can give you the benefit of the doubt." She paused for effect and added, "At least as long as he's happy."

It was clearly a warning but it felt more like a blessing to me. I hugged her again. "Thank you, Caroline. I mean that. I can only imagine how difficult it must be for you to say that."

"I rather doubt that." She paused again, and then she smiled, "Listen, Darryl is coming over for dinner on Sunday. Since you're working for Henry and courting Darryl, you're practically part of the family anyway. Why don't you and Pete come, too. You and I can get reacquainted. We need to find out if we can stand each other."

I grinned and kissed her cheek, "Talk about an invitation one can't refuse! We'll be there. What can I bring?"

"How about one of those pecan pies that Darryl has raved about since Thanksgiving. I make good pies, but he said the one you served was better than mine. I would like you to prove that."

"I hope he didn't tell you I baked that pie. I have never baked a pie in my life."

"I assumed as much. Where did you get it?"

"Sarah Foster made it."

"Oh, well! That explains it. I have come in second to Sarah for 10 straight years at the county fair. She makes the best pie crust in the world. Would you mind getting a pie from her?"

"Not at all! I'll get a couple. Her pecan pie is fabulous. I haven't had the dutch apple yet but it smells great."

We joined the others and spent most of the evening chatting. A couple of the other ladies were teachers in various schools in the area, so we spent some time talking about the problems in the local schools. I learned a lot. None of it made me feel any better about my new job. I tried to ignore the subject matter of the conversation and simply enjoy being in the company of such delightful women.

We didn't decide on a movie to discuss after the first of the year, but we did agree that it would be fun to watch movies and discuss them. At one point Skylar asked if we wanted to do some kind of charitable project for the holidays. There were pros and cons to that. Every one of them except me was a regular church goer and they were all participating in their church's Christmas outreach projects. Several were also in the Junior League sustaining members and they were working on an anti-domestic abuse public awareness campaign.

I felt rather like a heel, not being involved in any of the community organizations which were the backbone of the town's social circle as well as the main dispensers of public assistance. I knew I needed to get involved in the community. It would go a long way toward bringing me back into the fold. I also needed to do it because I had always been community-spirited and I missed it.

Amanda said hesitantly, "One of the kids in my class recently blew me away with an idea for a project. I have no clue how to go about it, but I think its' a super idea. My student did a research paper on the war in Iraq and one of the things that she learned was that there are presently 37 men and women from this county on active duty in the military. Not all of them are in Iraq, but all of them are stationed far away from Osborne. The closest one is in Jacksonville; most of the rest are in Iraq or Afghanistan. Anyway, my student wondered if we could buy Christmas cards and have people sign them. That way we can send bunches of Christmas cards to each of our service men and women. Is that not a fantastic idea? I don't know where to start, but I would love to do this."

I blurted out, "I hereby volunteer to figure out how to do it and head up the project! It is a positively wonderful idea. I am not as busy as any of you. I have time on my hands. I can donate a little seed money for the cards, and I think I have the perfect accomplice. Pete is working at Darryl's store. We could put out the cards on a table at the store, the library and a few other businesses in town. Pete could make sure there are plenty of blank cards and collect up the signed ones. I think it might also make a neat writing assignment for my class to have the kids write letters to the service people."

Susan worked at Wal-Mart. "I think I could get some donations of small sample sizes of personal care products. We could make up small gift baskets for them as well."

Caroline added, "Maybe Henry and some of the other principals could put donation tables out in the schools. The kids could bring in small gift items."

Molly said, "I'll put out a donations box in the library."

For a minute, I was lost in thought. Skylar and Caroline both burst out laughing. Skylar said, "Uh-oh. I know THAT look. What is on your mind, Bess?"

"I need to work this out. We collect the Christmas cards and mail them a few at a time between now and Christmas so the our kids will get mail nearly every day. That would be neat, but we will also send each one a gift box. Suppose we get as many people as we can in the town to sign a 'thank you for being there for us' card which would accompany the gift. I'm thinking wouldn't it be cool if we could get nearly every one in town to sign such a thing?"

Caroline addressed the group. "There you have it, ladies: Bessie Morgan at her finest! How do you propose to manage that?"

I shrugged and made a silly face, "I have no earthly idea, but I'm going to work on it. The first order of business is to find out who all the people in this town are. We'll start with the city directory. The second thing will be to make the boxes for the cards, and we'll have to move fast. I'll get materials ready for next week. Come prepared to make boxes."

Amanda said, "I teach art. I could have the kids at my school make the collection boxes as an art project. We could spend our time here addressing envelopes."

Molly said, "If you can get me a list of the names and addresses of our troops, I'll print off mailing labels."

Susan suggested, "Maybe we should spend as much time as we can this week gathering the stuff for the gift boxes that go overseas. They'll have to be mailed within about 10 days. We'll have more time for the others, but we need to get those ready to go."

Skylar laughed. "Well, since shopping is sort of my life, I would be happy to do the shopping."

Caroline grinned, "I'll help. We should also visit all our local business people who, conveniently, are for the most part related to one or the other of us. We can put the squeeze on them... I mean we can politely request in-kind donations."

Molly giggled. "I heard Mr. Endicott comment once that whenever Caroline and Skylar walk into his store at the same time, he double locks the cash drawer."

We left the meeting energized and excited. Caroline and I bussed cheeks as she left. Skylar lingered after the others had gone. We waited for Molly as she closed up the library. Skylar put her arm around my shoulder and whispered, "Well, girl, it appears that you are well on your way to full reentry into the world of Osborne. How in the hell did you manage to turn Caroline around?"

I shook my head, "I didn't. Darryl did."

"You hurt that man again and you are dead meat, Sugar."

"Don't I know it. Believe me, I have every intention of doing right by him.... whatever that may mean."

"Care to explain that?"

"I mean that I am not sure what is going on with us, but I intend to be very careful of his feelings, no matter what happens."

"That would be not only the kind and loving thing to do. It would also be the smart thing. You do not want to piss off Caroline again if you plan to live in this town."

I laughed. Coming from Skylar it sounded funny, but I also knew it was yet another warning.

On the way home, I explained to Pete about our project. He was very excited. When we were almost home he asked where we were going to get the Christmas cards. I told him we were going to go to every store in town and buy about half their stock of cards, starting with Darryl's store. Pete thought about it for a while and then said, "Do they have to be really brand new cards?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, you know how Mama is. She never throws anything out. Over the years she sent out Christmas cards every year, but she never sent out too many. She always bought two boxes of cards, one religious ones for her church people and one not-religious for the people she called her heathen relatives, whatever that means. Anyway, she hardly ever used more than a few cards from either box. She bought new ones every year and kept the extras. I always asked her why she didn't use them up and she said she liked buying new ones. We have boxes and boxes and boxes of them with the Christmas decorations."

I laughed until I thought I would cry. I was willing to bet every old lady in town had boxes of unused Christmas cards in her attic. We would collect them as well!

Before I went to bed, I drafted an article for the local paper and sketched out a flier to post in local stores and businesses. I emailed each to all of the ladies in the group. I also sent a copy to Darryl and to Henry with the request that the School Board officially sanction the project so we could make the collection boxes and collect gift items in the schools.

About 10 minutes later my phone rang. It was Darryl, he said simply, "Go to bed. You're going to have a busy few weeks."

"Okay. I am pooped. By the way, I owe you a warning. Caroline and Skylar will be visiting businesses starting tomorrow. They will probably start with you. Pete is going to be the guy who will put out the blank cards in the various businesses and collect up the signed ones."

He laughed, "What would this world be without the wonderful women of the South?"

It was a rhetorical question, but I had an answer, "A lot quieter and skinnier!"

He roared. "Good-night. See you in the morning."

"Good-night. Oh, by the way, Caroline invited me and Pete to join the clan for Sunday dinner. I accepted. I hope you don't mind."

There was long pause. "She did, did she? No, I don't mind at all. I'll pick you up. I think that's most interesting, actually."

"Want to know what she told me about that?"

"What?"

"She told me that she figured if you could forgive me then she would have to figure out a way to bury the hatchet somewhere besides in the back of my thick skull, or words to that effect. Coming from Caroline, I thought it was rather sweet."

"That's my beloved kid sister. Always so diplomatic and subtle."

"It may not have been subtle, but I think it is the second most generous act of kindness I have ever received."

"She's a card, but you're right; she can be kind when she wants to be. ..... The second? When was the first?"

"When you forgave me."

There was a long silence. "Good-night."

"'Night."

The next few days were a blur between work, shopping, phone calls, visits to local businesses and other details. I was busier than I had been in years and Pete was busier than he had ever been. Both of us thrived on all the activity.

On Sunday morning we went to Sarah's for breakfast. I had taken an early morning run, so I was hungry. Sarah brought out very small stacks of pancakes. Pete looked up, disappointed. "What's the deal?"

Sarah looked down at him in her most matronly way and said, "I hear that you are going to Miss Caroline's house for dinner. Miss Caroline is a positively legendary cook. I can best her at pie crust and pancakes, but in every cooking competition we have entered, she routinely beats me in every other category. She made the finals of the Pillsbury Bake-off once. Did you know that?"

"No."

"So, I recommend that you go easy on those pancakes and save room for dinner. I hope she's making fried chicken. Hers is the best I've ever tasted."

I shook my head. Cooks! They were a breed apart. But, we did take her up on the suggestion to go easy on breakfast.

We left the restaurant with a pecan pie and an apple pie as our contribution toward dinner.

Darryl picked us up shortly after noon, driving an old Buick sedan. As we approached town, he turned right onto Maple Street. I looked at him and raised my eyebrows.

Pete called from the back seat, "Where are we going? Miss Caroline and Mr. Henry live in the other direction."

"I know but my darling sister persuaded me to make a detour to pick up Miss Skylar. She will be joining us in order to complete collection of cussed women at the table. Caroline's driveway is small and her neighbors complain when people park on the street, so when she has company she always tries to get folks to car-pool."

I laughed, "That has the added advantage of making it less likely that Skylar will damage any property when backing out of Caroline's driveway. Skylar is the worst driver in the world."

Darryl looked at me. "Do you know why?"

"She drinks?"

"No!" He looked at Pete and said, "Boy, cover your ears and if you hear this you pretend you didn't. Okay?" Pete nodded and covered his ears. I tried not to laugh; then I noticed the serious look on Darryl's face. "Skylar is going blind. She has macular degeneration. She's not supposed to drive at all, frankly. Her eyesight has been failing for years. Her diminished driving skills are a result. She recently got an actual diagnosis and the doctor told her to stop driving altogether. She's a typical pig-headed woman, and she still gets behind the wheel when she wants to go someplace but doesn't want to impose on anyone."

"That's awful – all the way around."

"Keep that in mind on Wednesday nights. You might want to offer to pick her up, but don't let her know that you know. She has told no one."

"Which means that everybody in town knows the whole story. I'll figure out a way to offer her a ride from now on."

The gathering at Caroline's had all appearances of a party. The men yelled at us about making so much noise in the kitchen that they couldn't hear the NASCAR race. Caroline told them they should put earplugs in their ears and pretend they were attending live. We all thought that was hysterical, which caused us to laugh loudly, thereby making even more noise.

At dinner the three of us women chattered simultaneously and at top speed about the Christmas Card project. The men stuffed themselves with fried chicken and mashed potatoes. Pete was in Heaven. He loved having a lot of people around, talking all at once. He loved it even better if there was lots of good food for him to eat while watching what he considered to be the entertainment.

During a lull in the conversation while we women took time out to sample the food, Darryl looked at Henry and laughed. "You know what we really ought to do. We ought to bring all our troops home from Iraq and send Skylar and Caroline and Bessie over there. They'd make quick work of the whole thing."

Henry nodded, "Caroline and Skylar would feed them to distract them from the need to fight and Bessie would simply scare the bejesus out of them."

Everyone but me looked at him in astonishment. I almost spit out my tea. I leaned across the table and asked in a stage-whisper, "How many parents have called?"

He shook his head with mock dismay and said, "All of them, I think."

Darryl and Skylar's looks demanded an explanation. Henry winked at me and said to them, "Well, you see, Miss Bessie here sort of walked into a snake-pit. Her class had been supervised by substitutes for weeks, and the kids were running amok. Miss Bessie needed to get some control rather quickly, so she sort of came on like General Patton's mean sister. The kids are already terrified of her, and some of the parents have expressed – ahem – concern."

I laughed , "As in 'how dare you expect my child to show up at school with his homework done, his clothes covering his underwear, and pay attention!' Never mind such added burdens as not throwing trash on the floor or fighting in class. Oh, well. Perhaps we need to educate some of the parents in addition to their unruly children."

Henry shook his head again. "Bessie, it's a good thing you taught in private schools."

"Yeah. I didn't put up with any crap. As a principal it was my policy that any kid who didn't play by my rules was encouraged to find educational and personal success elsewhere. The thing that bothers me with the public schools is that we don't have that option. Please let's change the subject. I don't want to talk about work and spoil Caroline's wonderful dinner. ....

I looked around and extended my open hand towards Pete, saying, "I think perhaps we should give Pete an opportunity to share with you his experiences as an employed person. I think we should offer him congratulations and a chance to tell us about his new job, if he would like."

We all applauded and cheered. Pete turned a deep crimson and positively glowed with pride. "There ain't much to say. Mr. Darryl has me sweeping up and helping stock the shelves. It isn't hard or anything, but I like it. And, you know what?! He told me that next Friday, I'll get my first paycheck ever." He stopped and furrowed his brow. "Bessie, when you take a check to the bank, they keep the check and give you money for it, right?"

"That's right."

He pondered for a minute. "Do you think we could go to the library first and a make a copy of the check before we give it to the bank lady? I'd like to keep a picture of it."

I blinked back the tears, and smiled, "Of course! We'll do better than that. We'll make a copy and then buy a frame. You can hang it up in your room."

"I'll give you a frame." Darryl's voice was husky.

It had never occurred to anyone that Pete might benefit from a job. His pride and erect bearing made me think we had all short-changed him for way too long. I was proud for Pete. I looked across the table at the kind, gentle, wonderful man who came up with the idea, and my heart positively overflowed.

Caroline interrupted my reverie and warded off a crying-jag by calling out just a tad too loud, "Who, besides Pete, is ready for dessert?"

Later, when we pulled into my driveway, Darryl turned to Pete, "Why don't you take that chicken and pie inside and put them in the fridge. I want to talk to Bessie for a minute. She'll be in directly."

I handed Pete the house keys and leaned back in the seat until he was gone. Then I turned to Darryl and waited to hear what he had to say. He didn't say anything. He just looked at me. About when I started to feel uncomfortable, he cleared his throat and said, "I can't tell you how much fun it was to see you and Skylar and Caroline together like that. I had forgot what pistols you and Skylar could be when you get together. Caroline was younger and she pretty much always thought that you weren't good enough for me. She seems to have grown into your group. Time will tell if she's changed her mind about you. It was fun to watch the three of you in action. This town may never be the same."

I laughed, "We were a little wound up, weren't we?"

"There is nothing I love better than to watch a bunch of women on a mission. I hope you don't take this wrong, and I'm probably an idiot to bring it up, but I think you'd have liked Lucille. She was a lot like your Mama. She was quiet and didn't get loud and wild like Caroline and Skylar do. I noticed today that you can do that, too, under the right circumstances. But, she was definitely cut from the same cloth.

"Anyway, I loved having you and Caroline in the same room without having to worry about potential stabbings with cutlery. It was especially fun watching you and Skylar in action once again.

"What I found I liked most was just having you around. I like having you here. I have been wanting to say that. I know you gave up a lot to come back. I hope that you know how much it means to a some of us that you are home."

I could feel my eyes burning, but I tried hard not to cry. I knew that Darryl couldn't stand it when I cried. I gritted my teeth and blinked madly. I couldn't talk, so I nodded and squeezed his hand.

He went on, "I don't know where this will go. I want to take it easy and slow and listen to my heart, and you need to listen to yours. So, I hope you won't think I'm either moving too fast or trying to pressure you, but I want you to meet my kids. More accurately, I want my kids to meet you. They know you're back, and they know that I've been seeing you. They also know all the trash that Caroline has spouted for years about you – sort of along the lines that you have horns, a tail and eat human children for breakfast. I want them to meet you and to see us together so they will understand how things are now."

I nodded and patted his hand. I recalled what Caroline had said about how he had mourned his wife and I hoped that his obvious happiness these days would mean a lot to his kids. I was not convinced that I actually needed to be physically present for them to see that.

He went on, " This year for Christmas we are gathering at Disney World. I reserved a couple of villas at the Wilderness Resort for the whole gang of us. I would like for you and Pete to come, too. If bunking with my tribe would be too much commotion for you – which it often is for me – we could get you a room at the Lodge. Pete would like Disney World. I'm not leaving until the 23rd, so your Christmas project will be done by the time, and school will be out, Teach. Will you go with me?"

He looked so earnest and hopeful. I had many immediate objections, starting with the fact that I mortally hate amusement parks, but something in my heart told me that I owed it to him to humor him if there was any way to do it. If he wanted me to go to Disney World with him, I would go, assuming I could overcome what might be serious objections from Pete.

I leaned against his shoulder and composed myself. Once I was pretty sure that I would not dissolve into sobbing, I looked up into his eyes and smiled, "If you can overcome Pete's objections to leaving the damned house, sure, I'll go with you and face the wrath of your children." I hoped that sounded a lot lighter than it felt.

He put his arms around me and whispered in my ear, "I'm way ahead of you, darlin', I already talked to Pete. He is on board. In fact, I think he has his suitcase packed. I can't believe he hasn't spilled the beans to you. As for the wrath of my children, there will not be any. If any one of them were to forget their manners, I will set them straight, I promise you. I will not tolerate any efforts to make you uncomfortable."

I wanted to burst into tears and blather on about what a wonderful, kind, generous person he was and how much I loved him (and it dawned on me like some kind of epiphany that I did love him!), but instead I smiled and said, "Mickey Mouse, here we come!"

We held each other tighter and just as our kiss became more urgent, the front light flicked on and Pete walked out onto the porch. "Bess! What are you doing? It's dark. You should come inside."

I grinned at Darryl and kissed his cheek quickly, "Big Brother is watching!"

Darryl flashed the headlights at Pete and said softly, "Damn."

I waved at Darryl as he backed out of the driveway and tried to compose myself. Pete was watching TV when I finally walked into the living room. He looked up, "What were you and Mr. Darryl doing out there?"

"Just talking."

He made a face, and said, "Didn't look like talking to me."

"And how would you know?"

"I could see you."

I wanted to smack him, but instead I went on the offensive, "Didn't Mama always tell you not to keep secrets?"

He looked down and tried to turn his back on me, but he answered me, saying, "Yes."

"It seems to me that you have a secret you haven't told me about."

He looked at me with pleading in his eyes. I know that Mama had beat it into him never to keep secrets so as to make sure no one was victimizing him. I felt a little guilty for doing this, but I also wanted him to continue to practice total disclosure, particularly now that he was working with the public and there could actually be more chances people would give him a hard time.

He said, "I thought it would be okay because it was Mr. Darryl and all."

I sat down by him and put my hand on his shoulder. For once, he did not flinch. I said, "Your instincts are correct. I believe we can trust Darryl in every possible way. And the secret he asked you to keep from me was an innocent one which didn't hurt anyone. Still, I want you to keep in mind what Mama taught you about secrets and tell me everything.... or at least everything except anything Mr. Darryl specifically asks you to keep to yourself."

He nodded. I could see the relief on his face and feel his whole body relax. "You know the secret about Christmas?"

"Yes. Do you want to go with Mr. Darryl's family to Disney World?"

He looked like he might float away, "Oh, yes. More than anything. He showed me some magazines about it. I think I would be scairt of the rides, but there's lots of shows and other stuff I think I would like. They got a place which is all about movies and how they make them. You know how much I love movies. You think we could go there?"

I hugged him gently, "We can go wherever you want. They also have a place called EPCOT where there are displays from all around the world. At Christmas they have a wonderful concert there which we will have to see. And at the end of the evening, they have fireworks. Amazing fireworks."

"You've been there?"

"Actually, no, I haven't been to Disney World. But I've seen pictures and movies about it. You know how I love fireworks. I'd like to see that. One night this week, I'll pull up some pictures on the computer for you to look at. Would you like that?"

"Yeah. You think we'll be in the way with all Mr. Darryl's kids and grandkids?"

"We will get a hotel room. There's a big hotel nearby. You and I will stay there, and we will visit with Darryl's family as much or as little as we choose."

"I never been on a real vacation."

"You are way overdue." I looked at the clock, "I think it's time to get ready for bed."

He hesitated and looked at me, obviously making up his mind to continue down a path that made him uncomfortable, "Bess, are you and Mr. Darryl courting?"

I thought about that for a minute. Full disclosure cut both ways. If I expected Pete to be totally honest with me, I felt I owed it to him. Problem was, I didn't know what the truth was. I shook my head, "I am not sure what is going on with us. Darryl and I have a long and very complicated history. We loved each other very much when we were young. I think that there is, amazingly, still some of that love left in our hearts. We need to take it slow and easy and find out what kind of relationship we can have now after all that has happened."

He nodded slowly and then asked the question that always loomed in the back of his mind – his biggest, most terrifying fear, "If you and Mr. Darryl get married, you'll want to live together. You won't put me in one of those places, will you?"

I knelt down in front of him and took his face in my hands, "Darling Pete, I want you to know that if I dropped dead tonight, nobody but nobody would put you in an institution. There are many people in this town who love you and who have made it known they are willing to help take care of you. I want you to know that you are safe. Nobody is going to put you in a home. Ever. I have no earthly idea of what may happen between Darryl and me, but one thing I do know for sure is that you and I are a package deal. If, by some incredible miracle, Darryl were to want to marry me someday, it would only be with the understanding that you would be part of our family. I believe that Darryl loves you as much as I do, so I don't think that will be a problem for him."

He relaxed totally, sighed and smiled. "I am so glad to hear that."

I felt constrained to add, "I would appreciate it very much, however, if you would not interrupt us when we are talking. It was rude of you to turn on the light."

For the first time ever in my life, he put his arm around me, and said, "I only did it 'cause I thought he was getting fresh with you."

I almost gasped, but I recovered quickly. Full disclosure!!! "Do you mean because he kissed me?"

He would not meet my eye. "Yeah."

I hugged him briefly. "That was sweet of you, but he was not really getting fresh. We both wanted to kiss each other."

"How come?"

"It's hard to explain. Maybe all I can say is that is what people do when they care about each other."

"Is it okay?"

"Yes, it's okay for Darryl and me to kiss each other. It doesn't mean he is trying to hurt me. And, it most certainly does not mean that we will put you in a home somewhere. It is kind of embarrassing to talk about this, but if something like that happens again, could you please not turn on the porch light?!"

He smiled and nodded. "Sure." As quickly as he brought it up, he was finished with the subject. He said, "Well, Bess, I got to go to bed. Tomorrow's a work day."

He stood up and looked so tall and proud, I felt tears burning behind my eyes. I hugged him. He stiffened a bit, but I could tell he was trying not to pull away. "Bubby, I am so proud of you, I can hardly say it."

He grinned from ear to ear. "You haven't called me Bubby in a long time."

"You like that?"

"Yeah. You always used to call me Bubby, before you went away."

I hugged him and kissed him and would have cried all over his shirt, except he pulled away when he felt my emotions welling up. "I got to go to bed. G'night, Bess."

I kissed his forehead, "G'night, Bubby." For perhaps the only time in my entire life, he kissed me back. It was the lightest of kisses on the cheek, but it was not my imagination.

He went off to bed. I closed up the house and went to my own room. It was hours before I drifted off. There were too many amazing and wonderful things swirling through my mind.

***

The Christmas Card Project was a smashing success. The donations of gifts-in-kind poured in, allowing us to provide much more elaborate gift boxes than we had originally envisioned. Since we were late getting started, we decided that we would send "basic" gift boxes to everyone at the first opportunity. To the extent there were extra donated items or money left over, we would send special gift boxes to those serving in Iraq and Afghanistan in January.

The townspeople responded to the request for cards with an enthusiasm and generosity we never imagined. Many people filled out individual cards for all 37 of our service people. We started mailing Christmas cards almost immediately. We mailed the first of the overseas packages by the end of the first week in December. By the middle of the month, we had signatures from virtually every person in the town on our "thank you" sheet. Pete kept collection boxes filled with empty cards in several locations in town. Every afternoon he brought the completed cards home for me to address and mail. The schools and churches got involved as well. Schoolchildren decorated the gift boxes. Some classes wrote letters to the soldiers. Others collected money or in-kind donations for the gifts.

I was astonished at the way the town got behind the project, but I shouldn't have been. The people of Osborne were that kind of salt-of-the-earth folks. We offered them a practical and direct way to support our troops. They simply responded with the kind of generosity that was totally natural for them.

By the week before Christmas we had collected so much stuff that someone suggested we use some of the overflow to make up gift boxes for the local families of the soldiers who were overseas. A couple of churches had extra donations of food and they offered to make up food baskets to go along with the families' gifts.

Before we were finished, each of our 37 soldiers received dozens of Christmas cards, and two gifts, one small one at Christmas and then a larger "surprise" care package which we planned to mail in January. The local families of the service people each received a gift basket and a "Christmas dinner" basket.

I think that virtually every family in town was involved with the project in some way. By the time school let out for the holiday, the project was complete except for delivering the baskets to the local families (which a group of volunteers planned to do on Christmas Eve) and mailing the January surprise packages, which we had ready to be sent by UPS right after the first of the year.

On the last day of school before we broke for the Christmas holiday, I typed up an article to send to the newspaper summarizing the project and the town's response to it. I made a copy of the article and tucked it into a card to which I added handwritten a thank-you note from me, on behalf of the Library Ladies Book Group. I took the card to Amanda's room and handed it to her, saying, "Would you give this to the student whose idea we stole, please."

She grinned at me. "Give it to her yourself." Her eyes moved to a tiny, very homely girl sitting in the back corner of the room obviously trying to make herself invisible. She was in my third period class. I knew her family to be relative newcomers to Osborne; they were very poor. In my class she spent most of her time trying to hide as well, which I felt was unfortunate because I could tell from the work she turned in that she was very smart. I thought she had a lot of potential. I walked over to her and put the card on her desk, "Sugar, this is from the Library Ladies Book Group. We sort of stole your idea and ran with it. We felt that the least we could do is to give credit where it is due and say thanks."

She looked up at me with shining eyes and said, "My brother is in Fallujah. He has got cards every day this month. He shared the letters and the gifts with his whole unit. I actually forgot about coming up with that idea until Mrs. Bennett mentioned it the other day. It turned out great, didn't it?"

"Beyond any one's wildest expectations." I leaned over and said very softly so no one could hear, "Please remember that. No matter how small or crazy an idea may be, if it's from your heart, you should put it out there, even if you don't know what to do with it. Someone may run with it."

She smiled directly into my eyes. A connection! I intended to zero in on her after the first of the year. The kid had intelligence and, more importantly, she had a good heart. I intended to do my level best not to allow her to hide from me and to avoid the blessings education could bring to her. I could hear Darryl's voice in the back of my head saying "Oh, Lord, there she goes again!" and I silently answered, "Just doing my job!"

I headed home as soon as the final bell rang. Darryl had taken the day off and he and Pete spent the day having the car serviced and doing last-minute preparations around both Darryl's house and ours.

Pete had packed his suitcase weeks ago. He had gone so far as to buy a second set of all his toiletry products so he could have everything packed well ahead of the trip and not have to worry about forgetting something at the last minute. Darryl was packed also. When I came in from school that day, Darryl and Pete were sitting at the kitchen table drinking coffee. Darryl looked up and smiled at me. "We're ready to pack the car. How much luggage are you taking?"

"One small suitcase. I'll pack after dinner."

Darryl looked at me strangely. "One small suitcase?"

Pete looked at me in astonishment, "You haven't packed yet?"

I grinned at Darryl. "Well, Pete is taking a steamer trunk I think. I travel light. An excellent habit I developed from taking long trips to exotic places. Never take more than you can comfortably carry. Pack loose. Always take about half of what you think you will need."

Darryl shook his head. "What the hell fun is that?"

I made a face, "Who said anything about fun? Packing is a pain in the ass, which is why I do it at the very last possible second. I guess before I pack I should ask what kinds of stuff you have planned. I tend to pack black slacks, black skirt and blouses and sweaters that I can mix around. If you are planning a special Christmas dinner or something, I'll throw in a dressy shirt and a shawl or something."

Darryl nodded. "My daughter loves to get dressed up. I think the plan is to have two evenings out. One will be adults only and one will be a family affair. If you don't mind, I think you'll need two fairly dressy outfits."

I tried not to grimace, but I must not have succeeded, because Darryl laughed. "Hopefully it won't be that awful."

"Sorry. I'm just not a big one for getting dressed up."

"And you call yourself a Southerner. What self-respecting Southern gal doesn't like to get all gussied up, apply make-up with a trowel and tease up her hair till it looks like a bushel basket?"

"An old school-marm who's lived among Yankees too long. But, maybe it'll all come back to me."

"Like riding a bike?"

"Yep."

He stood up and stretched. "I'd best let you pack then. You have lots of work to do, it appears. I will be by in the morning to pick you up. I'm not sure how long it will take to get there, but I'd like to leave here by about 8:30 a. m. at the latest. Will that be okay?"

"Sure. If you want, come over about 7:30 for breakfast."

"Okay. It'll be the last home-cooked meal for a while. Maybe we could persuade Pete to make us biscuits."

Pete grinned. He loved it when Darryl made over his cooking.

Pete and I ate supper consisting of soup from the freezer, and then I packed -- a project that took me all of about a half hour. Pete was amazed by that; it had taken him hours and hours over a period of days to pack. He didn't have as much experience as I did in that department. We watched TV for a little while, and then Pete turned in. I wasn't in the mood for TV and didn't want to start a book. I decided to make my Christmas phone calls instead.

First I called Sarah. She knew about our trip but I called to remind her that we would be away and to wish her and her family a Merry Christmas. We talked for a few minutes, and I promised to stop by the restaurant when we got back.

Next I called Skylar. She wasn't home, so I left a long affectionate message on her answering machine.

Finally, I called Caroline. She knew about the upcoming trip and I could tell from her reaction that she was not totally thrilled. We chatted for a few minutes about the Christmas card project. Soon the conversation turned to Christmas itself. Caroline seemed strangely reserved on the subject. Finally, I just blurted out the question, "Do you have a problem with me going on this trip with Darryl?"

She thought about that for a moment and said, "Frankly, yes I do, but not for the reason you think. I am reconciled to the notion that you and Darryl seem to be, well, back the way you always were. I never saw two people so perfectly in tune with one another.

"My concerns have to do with Darryl's kids. Has he said anything about them?"

"Other than daughter and son-in-law with two kids in Jacksonville, son and daughter-in-law with two kids in Tampa, no."

Caroline made a derisive noise, "I am curious as to what he's told you about their feelings about you. For one thing, I've told them some really hateful things. They are not your biggest fans."

"Have you talked to them lately?"

"No. I'm not really very close to Darryl's kids. I'm not sure why. Lucille was a little standoffish and she never really became part of the family, if you know what I mean. I never developed the kind of relationship with Darryl's kids that we had with Cousin Edna and her kids."

Cousin Edna was my mother's Cousin who was more like a sister to her, and an aunt to us. I laughed. "Cousin Edna was everybody's 'Other Mother'."

"I suppose you're right about that, but I've always felt bad that I my nieces and nephews don't feel that way about me.

"Anyway, I usually see them only occasionally on holidays, but I've not talked to either of Darryl's kids since you've been back. My concern is that they are both very protective of Darryl. They both grew up with me spewing vile stories about the evil witch who deserted him and broke his heart. I guess I am worried that this could be an uncomfortable weekend for you."

"Darryl and I talked about that. He apparently warned his kids that there had better not be any of that. But, he also suggested that if I'm uncomfortable in any way, I don't have to participate in the family Love Fest. Pete and I can participate – or not – to whatever extent we feel comfortable.

"I won't lie and say I'm not nervous about meeting his kids. I am. Even if they are not outright nasty, I rather expect an interrogation. But, in their place, I'm quite sure I would be inclined to do the same thing. I reckon they are entitled to some answers from me."

There was a long pause and Caroline asked very softly, "You love him that much?"

"Yep."

"Are you planning to get married?"

"We haven't discussed the future. I don't know, and don't care right now. My life has been in such upheaval recently, I'm not inclined to make any long-term plans too quickly. All I know is that I love the way things are between us now. I hope to build on that. That's as far as I can see."

She said very gently, "You aren't the same person who left him at the altar."

"No, I'm not. You know I was thinking about that the other night. There was a huge part of me that really did not want to leave Osborne. It was the only world I knew. I was afraid when I left here, but it was something that I felt I had to do. I made some really bad decisions about how to go about it. Leaving the way I did was a terrible and hurtful thing to a lot of people, most of all Darryl. I feel terrible about that and I really am sorry I hurt him and all my other friends.

"But, in retrospect, I have to say that I'm not sorry I went. I am a different person today than the girl who got on that bus in front of the Esso station. I think I am a better person.

"First and foremost simply getting on that bus and going to Boston, as terrifying as that was to me, was a character-building experience.

"Secondly, my relationship with Michael was amazing. I never loved him the way I love Darryl. He never loved me the way Darryl does. I never looked into his eyes and saw the gentleness and devotion I see in Darryl. I never found myself holding my breath when he would walk in the room like I do with Darryl.

"What Michael and I had was a partnership. Michael was on a mission to save the world. I was his assistant, cheerleader and confessor. He was a very good man, but he was way too busy being a hero to be a good husband. It is a blessing we never had children. I think both of us would have sucked at parenthood.

"Michael opened the world for me. He turned me on to traveling and seeking out new places and new experiences. That made an enormous difference in my life. Traveling changes a person, if you let it. I think I let it, but only to a certain extent; I enjoyed traveling as an intellectual pursuit, but I never let myself get emotionally involved.

"The biggest thing, I think, that made the difference was the work I did. I spent several years working in a school for the children of the privileged and powerful New England elite. Those kids were smart and full of potential. About two-thirds of them were spoiled brats, but the one-third who weren't comprised the kids who will be the movers and shakers in our country in the next generation. They challenged me every day to challenge them. It was terrific.

"Then I moved to Atlanta and went to work at the Parker school where the kids were developmentally disabled. Most of them were not from rich and powerful families. It was a challenge for many of them to simply get dressed and make it through the day. I think until I went there, I was sort of just an observer of life. I read. I pondered. I did research. I traveled and took photos. I watched and thought about the nitty-gritty of life. At the Parker school, I had my first experience of having to roll up my sleeves and get involved in the messier parts of life.

"But, even there, I was the principal, not a classroom teacher, so I suppose I was still able to set up a certain distance between me and the students.

"When I brought Pete back here, I knew that there would never again be an opportunity for me to have any barriers. Living with and caring for a person like Pete does not allow for many personal boundaries at all.

"Living in a town like Osborne where everybody knows your business and your grandaddy's business, does not allow for that either!

"I think that I would never have been happy here until I reached the point that I could stop protecting myself.

"I'm quite sure that I could never have been the kind of partner that Darryl needs and deserves until I could be that open and emotionally available to him.

"Perhaps I had the world's longest adolescence, but I think I have only recently developed the ability to let down my guard to that degree."

Caroline sniffed and could hear her blow her nose quietly. "Bessie, your mama trained you from childhood to protect yourself every second of every day because you needed to do that in order to survive in your home. I don't think any of us knew it at the time, but we all know it now. You did what she raised you to do: you protected yourself and you got away at the first opportunity. I'm very glad for you that you have been able to come full circle, to come back to where you belong, and where you are now and always will be safe and loved.

"I guess that was why I have some concerns about this weekend. I guess maybe now I find myself – amazingly! – feeling protective of you and I don't want Darryl's kids, especially Charlotte, who can be a bitch, to do anything to hurt you."

It was my turn to sniffle. It took me a minute to be able to talk at all. I kind of croaked, "Thank you, Caroline. That means more than I can say. I appreciate your concern." I made a feeble attempt at laughter, and added, "I think I could still manage to put my emotional dukes up if I have to. I hope I don't have to."

We talked for a few more minutes, wished each other Merry Christmas, and made promises to see each other on New Year's Eve when Caroline was hosting a party.

I turned in early. There was no doubt that the next day would be tough. I'd driven with Pete to Atlanta and back. That was an ordeal. Driving all the way to Orlando .... I didn't want to think about that.

**Chapter 14**

Darryl arrived promptly at 7:30 a. m., just as the buzzer on the stove announced that the biscuits were ready. Pete was already at the table. Darryl walked into the kitchen at the very moment I pulled the biscuits out of the oven. I turned around and waved the pan in his general direction, "You are right on time."

Darryl leaned over the pan like a TV chef, waving the aroma toward his nose and looking ecstatic, "I could never be late for Pete's version of Miss Maggie Lou's biscuits."

We ate quickly. While I did the dishes, Pete and Darryl loaded Pete's luggage in the trunk. He had taken way too much stuff, but he was so anxious and nervous, I let him take everything he thought he needed. The last thing I was prepared to handle would be a tantrum at Disney World because of something he forgot to pack.

When I finished cleaning up the kitchen, I brought my suitcase down from my room. Darryl looked at me in amazement. "That's it?"

"That's it. I told you, I travel light."

"Wow!"

Pete added, "Yeah, and it only took her a few minutes to pack it, too."

"Double wow."

I smiled at them both. "Maybe I can't cook like Pete can or fish like you can, but I have a few redeeming qualities. One of them is I'm a good traveler."

Darryl smiled at me and said with as many layers of meaning as he could fit into one sentence, "You have many good qualities."

We stood there sort of lost in each others eyes for a moment. Pete never had patience for what he referred to as "mushy stuff". He made a face and said, "Come on. Let's go."

We took Mama's Towne Car which was newer than Darryl's Buick. I had been meaning to sell it, but now decided I might keep it. It was a comfortable traveling car. If this trip went well, maybe Pete and I could make other short trips. I knew I'd never get Pete on a plane, but I had never explored the back roads of the South. I was up for that. As the miles clicked away I daydreamed about that. Pete dozed in the back seat.

Darryl was a wonderful driver: he drove carefully and attentively but he was also very relaxed and comfortable behind the wheel. He made me feel relaxed and safe. I liked that. I reached across the seat and patted his leg.

He glanced and me and said, "What?"

"Nothin'. I just ... I guess I just wanted to say I love you."

He was quiet for a long time. Finally, he cleared his throat. "You have never said that to me before. Not even way back when."

I thought about that for a minute, "I can't remember ever saying that to anybody -- except Mama and Pete, and that was different."

"Not even Michael?"

"I must have at some point, perhaps. But, it is possible I never did. I don't remember him ever saying he loved me. We had a weird relationship, I guess."

"I guess. You were married to the guy for six years and you never told him you loved him. Did you actually love him?"

I thought about that for a while, "Yes, I did in a peculiar way. I loved a lot of things about him. I admired him and respected him. We had fun together. We shared the same values. We had a few important things in common, but we were also so very different from one another that we were constantly surprising and challenging each other. I think what Michael and I had was passion, not so much about each other but about squeezing all we could out of life in general. We were passionate about our education, about our work, about travel and exploring the world. We were never soul-mates like you and I have been since childhood, but we shared a lot of wonderful things. We only had six years together so we really never had time for our relationship to mature. I think that doesn't make my relationship with Michael any less loving or valid or whatever. It was just very different from what I always had with you."

He was quiet for a long time. "Thank you for sharing that. I have to confess that I always wondered."

I could feel myself getting very nervous. I knew he was going to tell me about Lucille, and I didn't think I wanted to hear it. At the same time, I also realized that I, too, was curious.

He looked at me and I knew exactly what he was thinking. Even more, I knew that he knew I could read his mind, just like he could read mine. We both laughed. He raised one eyebrow. I waved my hand and said, "Yes, I guess I'm ready. Go ahead."

"I will in a minute but I want to say something about the mind-meld thing first. We both know that we have always been so in-tune with each other that we could read each others thoughts. That's why it still baffles me even today how in the hell you could have planned to move away and I never picked up on it. How in the world did you hide it from me? I always knew everything else about you. How could I not know that?" The hurt in his voice sounded very fresh even after all these years. I was afraid I would cry.

I leaned closer to him and took his hand. I said softly, "Perhaps it's because I never once allowed myself to think about leaving you even for a second in your presence."

He looked at me, and I could see the dawning of understanding. He was the one person who could have kept me from going away. I could never run the risk of letting him find out about it. He swallowed and cleared his throat. We rode along in silence for a while, holding hands, allowing those old wounds to continue their slow healing.

After a while, he cleared his throat again, "I was going to tell you about Lucille. I will tell you straight out and up front: unlike your relationship with Michael, I positively adored that woman. I literally met her in a bar in New Orleans. She was the sister of one of my Navy buddies. We had just come back from a tour of duty in the Med. We were all headed home for a month-long furlough but decided to party in N'Awlins for a few days first to blow off some steam. One of the guys was from Plaquemines Parish, way down in Cajun country. Lucille was going to school at Loyola. Her brother invited her to join us.

"Maybe what we had was passion, too. At least she did. When I met her, Lucille was all about having fun. She was almost the stereotypical Cajun. She loved to party and have fun, and, my Lord, could that woman dance. She would typically wear out three or four men in the course of an evening of dancing. She also liked to fight. That was the one thing I didn't like about her. Sometimes I think she would pick fights with me just because she was bored and wanted to mix it up a little.

"Anyway, we partied that weekend and had a great time. We corresponded while I was in service and visited when I came home."

"She wanted me to move to NO, and I did for a couple of years. We spent every spare moment during those years having fun. Then Pop died and I wanted to come back and take over the store. Frankly, I didn't like NO that much. It was dirty and noisy and way too busy for my small-town tastes. You know me. I'm quiet and boring. Lucille loved NO, and hated leaving it. But, by then she was pregnant with Charlotte and I guess she felt she had no choice.

"She never fit in around here. She was quite literally a wild, ragin' Cajun trapped in this boring little Baptist-dominated town. I don't think that anybody, including the two of us, expected our marriage to last very long after our first baby was born. But, amazingly it did. Lucille never really liked Osborne, but she loved me, she adored our kids and she loved working in the store.

"She came to believe – rightly, I think – that Osborne was a better place to bring up kids than N'Awlins, so she stayed. Every year we would go to visit her family. While we were there, we would take a couple of days to go to NO so Lucille could kick up her heels and dance her way up and down Bourbon street until we were too exhausted to move. I always pooped out before she did. I never could figure out how someone who smoked as much as she did could dance like that without getting winded.

"We had a good marriage. We raised two good kids. She never could kick the cigarettes, however, and she eventually died of lung cancer. I like to think she was pretty happy with her life, despite the compromises she made. I was certainly happy with her.

"I had a hard time after she died. I guess I'm just a sort of born-to-be-married kind of guy. Or maybe I was just used to having a wife to take care of me. It was very hard for a long time. Finally I started to get used to being alone. I never did like it, but I figured that I was stuck with myself so I might as well make the best of it.

"Then your Mama died, and you came home for the funeral. I watched you at the funeral. I wanted to be angry and hate you. I certainly did want to ask you why you left. But mostly I wanted to take you in my arms and hold you while you cried. Amazingly, my feelings for you had not changed even after how much it hurt me when you left and how many years had passed in between.

"I confess, that scared me because I didn't know if I could manage to avoid embarrassing myself and I didn't know if I could trust you again. I guess that still scares me a little."

We were quiet for a long time. There wasn't anything left to say. Those other relationships were in the past. We both honored the memory of our spouses whom we loved, but we both knew that what we had with each other was something unique. It was something different from anything we had ever had with anyone else. Ours was a totally special love that belonged to us alone. By some wondrous miracle it had survived betrayal, abandonment, other loves and a great deal of time. There was nothing to do but to marvel at that – and to feel deeply, humbly grateful for the second chance.

Pete sat up in the back seat and rubbed his eyes. I glanced at my watch. I could see Darryl's eyes twinkling. Pete asked, "Are we there yet?"

Darryl looked at me and raised his eyebrows. I answered, "Two hours. Not bad."

"How much of that two hours was he asleep?"

I laughed, "Maybe an hour and forty-five minutes."

Pete looked irritated. "What's so funny?"

Darryl looked at him in the rear-view mirror. "No, we are not almost there yet. We are not even out of Georgia. We will let you know when we get there."

Pete said, "I have to go to the bathroom."

Darryl and I tried, not entirely successfully, to avoid collapsing into hysterics. Darryl said with difficulty, "Well, actually, I could do with a cup of coffee. Let's watch for a gas station."

We played car games and sang songs to kill the time. Pete enjoyed watching for the Disney billboards along the freeway. At one point he noticed an ad for Ron Jon's Surf Shop. He leaned up between us and asked, "Are we going to the beach?"

I turned around and shook my head, "No, Bubby, Orlando isn't by the ocean."

He looked very disappointed. "That's too bad. I sure would love to see the ocean."

Darryl looked surprised. "You've never seen the ocean?"

"Nope."

Darryl looked at his map and at the clock. He turned to me and said, "We're making much better time than I expected. The rest of the gang won't arrive until tomorrow. I had them guarantee a late arrival in case we get held up. We could cut over toward the coast at Ocala, drive down the beach at Daytona and cut back on I-4. What do you think?"

"That's what, about three or four extra hours?"

"Depending on how long we stay in Daytona, that's about right."

I turned around to Pete. "Do you understand that if we go to see the ocean, it will mean we won't get to Disney until late this evening. It will mean several more hours riding in the car. Are you up for that?"

He thought about it and said, "Did you say Daytona Beach? Where they race cars?"

"Yes."

"Could we see the Speedway, too?"

Darryl nodded. "Sure, we'll drive right by the Speedway on the way from the beach to Orlando."

Pete almost hollered, "Oh, yes, let's go. I promise I will be patient and I won't ask if we're there yet. You really think I can see the ocean and the Daytona Speedway at the same time?"

"Not exactly at the same time, but on the same day."

"Wow!"

Darryl smiled. "Tell you what. We won't have time this weekend, but if you handle this vacation well, we could come back here when it's warmer. We'll get a hotel room at the ocean and you can actually get in the water. Then we'll visit the Speedway and take a tour. Would you like that?"

"Would I? Could we go to a race?"

Darryl shook his head and looked concerned, "I am not sure you are up for a race, Pete. The races are really, really crowded and noisy. Maybe if you like we could go to a local short-track race. If you tolerate that okay, maybe we'll consider a NASCAR race."

I looked from one to the other, confused. "What the hell are you two talking about?"

Darryl looked at me like I had taken leave of my senses, "Don't even tell me you grew up in the South and don't know anything about stock car racing."

"Actually, I don't. I think there is a racetrack near Atlanta...."

Darryl reached out and put his hand over my mouth, "If you were going to say you've never heard of the Daytona 500, please don't. I don't think I could stand it."

"Don't be an idiot. Of course I've heard of the Daytona 500."

Pete looked at me and grinned. He didn't often catch on when people were teasing, but this time he did, "Didja ever watch it on TV?"

It was my turn to look at him like he was nuts. "Of course not."

He made a face, "Until you moved here and we started going to the movies on Sunday afternoon, I never missed a race. Lately, I been just watching the Busch races on Saturday."

Darryl grinned and winked at Pete, and said to me, "You'll be surprised to know that Miss Maggie Lou was quite a NASCAR fan also."

"No way!"

Pete laughed, "Yep. Mama loves Kenny Wallace. She has a hat and a T-shirt. When we watch NASCAR, she wears her shirt and hat."

"Mama?! Our Mama?"

Darryl laughed, "It's the truth. She used to have me over on Sundays after Lucille died. She wore her Kenny Wallace hat and shirt. Pete wore his Earnhardt stuff. We would all holler and cheer. It was a hoot."

I looked at Darryl and asked, "Who's your driver?"

"I don't think I really have a favorite. I just like the whole racing thing."

I shook my head and laughed. I would have given anything to see my little old Southern-belle mother all tricked out in NASCAR regalia. I asked, "Darryl, did you ever take Mama's picture in that get-up?"

He thought for a minute. "You know I think I did. We had a sort of party one year for the 500, and I think I did take some pictures of Miss Maggie Lou gettin' ready for the race. It was too funny."

"I want to see those photos."

We took Route 40 from Ocala toward Ormond Beach. I didn't say anything, but I sort of wanted to stop at Silver Spring. Michael and I had stopped there on our way to the Keys. I loved the glass bottom boats. I kept my mouth shut. We were going to lose enough time as it was. I kept the though in the back of my mind just in case we did make another trip to Florida. Funny how I already assumed that we would all be making more trips together.

When we got to Ormond Beach, Darryl pulled off into a gas station and bought a paper. He leafed through it, looking for something. He responded to my curious expression, "I'm checking the tides to see if we can drive on the beach."

Pete looked amazed, "You can drive on the beach?"

"If the tides are right, you can. It's pretty chilly and windy today, so I hope we can drive on the beach instead of having to get out and walk around."

He found the tide chart and looked at his watch. "Great! It's almost low tide. Let's go."

Pete was jumping around in the back seat. Even I was kind of excited. It had been years since I'd seen the ocean. I was more of a "mountain-person" myself, but the ocean was always a magnificent sight. We drove down an on-ramp and in a moment we were driving along the beach. It was too cold and windy for many bathers, but there were a few hearty surfers and some runners. There were a million seagulls whirling around, squawking. It was a beautiful day, despite being chilly. The ocean was deep navy blue laced with white foam at the tops of the waves.

Darryl pulled over and parked. We pulled on sweatshirts and got out of the car. The stiff breeze from the north-northeast was very cold. We wouldn't be out there long! Darryl took some pictures of us by the car. Then he told Pete to take off his shoes and roll up his pants. We walked down to the water's edge and Pete stood in ankle deep water while Darryl took his picture. Pete was positively transported. I noticed a nearby walker stop and scan the water. I narrowed my eyes and saw them, too.

I whirled Pete around and pointed, "Look, Pete, a pair of dolphins!"

Darryl took some zoom shots of the dolphins gamboling just offshore. It was a magical moment for all of us.

We climbed back in the car and drove down the beach until we could go no further, then we pulled back onto U. S. 1 and turned west on International Speedway Boulevard. A beautiful bridge brought us into the old downtown of Daytona Beach. The street was lined with quaint shops and restaurants along the riverfront. It was lovely. I would have liked to stop and window shop or have a late lunch. We, however, were on a mission to see the Daytona International Speedway.

Much sooner than I expected, Darryl turned into the parking lot. We got out of the car and wandered around the sidewalk in front of the ticket office. There were several race cars lined up in a neat row. There was a statue of Bill France Sr. and his wife and another bigger-than-life-sized statue of Dale Earnhardt. Even I knew that he had been killed during the Daytona 500; I hoped nobody asked me exactly when that happened because I didn't have a clue.

I wasn't interested in the racing trivia, but I was interested in finding a restroom. I excused myself and went inside and found the ladies room, which was near a canteen that smelled pretty good. While I checked out the menu, I noticed through the windows that there were tour trams pulling up to the door. I asked an employee how often the tours ran. He looked at his watch and said that the next one would be leaving in about 10 minutes. He told me that the tram went through the infield and actually went out on the track. I asked if there were time for me to buy tickets. He pointed me to the ticket office.

I called Darryl on his cell phone and told him to meet me inside. I got in the ticket line. Darryl and Pete came in looking puzzled. I handed Darryl the brochure without saying anything. He smiled and nodded. I pointed toward the doors. He steered Pete in the direction of the trams while I bought the tickets.

Pete smelled the food, "I'm hungry. Let's get something to eat."

I walked up behind him and pushed him toward the door, "We're all hungry, and we'll eat soon, but we have a surprise first."

I handed the attendant our tickets and pushed Pete toward the tram. Darryl climbed in. We pulled up our hoods. This was going to be a chilly ride, but I thought it might be worth it. Pete was a little alarmed when we headed through the tunnel until Darryl distracted him by bringing up some detail of the track's history. The driver peppered his narration about the track with entertaining racing trivia. Even I enjoyed it. I was amazed at how narrow the track was. The high banks, from close up, were truly amazing.

Pete was totally beside himself with delight when we pulled out on to the racetrack itself. In some ways, I think the Speedway made more of an impression on him than the ocean. Maybe the ocean was too big and too mysterious. The Speedway was something he'd seen many times on TV. It was familiar to him in a way the ocean was not. Or maybe he just liked stock car racing better than watching seagulls fly around.

After the tour, we stopped for a late lunch in the canteen. Pete kept the souvenir cups. He drank his soda pop from one of those cups during every NASCAR race he ever watched on TV after that. When we finished, Darryl stretched and said, "One last bathroom stop before Disney World."

Pete almost ran into the bathroom. Darryl and I smiled at each other. He put his arm around me as we followed Pete down the hall. He kissed me on the cheek and said softly, "I don't know who's having more fun: Pete for experiencing all this stuff for the first time, or me for having the opportunity to show it to him. Thank you for agreeing to come."

I rested my head on his shoulder for a second and said, "I'm having the time of my life watching the two people I love most in the world have such fun."

I didn't need to use the bathroom again, so while they were gone, I slipped into the gift shop and purchased three identical souvenir key chains. When we got into the car, I pulled them out of the bag and handed one to each of them, keeping the last one for me. I still keep my keys on that key chain.

By the time we arrived at the Fort Wilderness lodge it was dark. Darryl had reserved a room for Pete and me for the entire weekend. He had booked himself a room at the Lodge for that night. The next day he would move to the villas with the rest of his family.

We were very tired. Instead of going out to dinner, we ate the last of the snacks we had brought with us. Pete was ready for bed. Darryl asked him, "Would you be okay if Bess and I went downstairs for a drink before we go to bed. I promise we won't leave the hotel. I'll leave you my cell phone you could use to call Bess if you need us."

Pete smiled sleepily. "I'm going to sleep. Leave the phone in case I wake up." He was out before his head hit the pillow.

We slid into a corner booth in the bar. The waitress asked what we wanted. Darryl didn't even look at me, "Two Jack Daniels, neat."

I leaned against him. "I would never have ordered that in public."

"I know. You'd have ordered something respectable like a glass of wine. After today, and with the prospect of spending the next few days with my family, you need a real drink. Want me to change that order to a double?"

"No. Let's save that one for tomorrow night after I've faced your children. If I had more than one tonight, you'd have to carry me to my room."

We sipped our drinks and discussed the wonderful day we had shared. Pete was a grown man, but his disability made him very childlike. Darryl and I felt like parents who had just given their child a very special and wonderful day. We felt wonderful, too.

Darryl walked me to the door of my room and kissed me good-night. He hesitated for a minute and pulled me closer. I knew what he was thinking, and I guess I was thinking the same thing, but I shook my head. "This weekend is likely to be complicated enough. Let's not add to it."

He chuckled, "For the record, I note that the lady did not say 'no'."

I smiled at him and hugged him, "To be absolutely clear, what the lady meant was 'later'."

He kissed the top of my head and whispered, "I intend to hold you to that."

I didn't even take off my clothes or brush my teeth. I crawled onto the top of my bed and was asleep instantly.

The next morning Pete woke me up. He looked concerned, "Bess, are you okay? You didn't even put on your pajamas."

I sat up and put my hand over my mouth, "EW. I didn't brush my teeth, either."

"How much did you have to drink?"

"One. But it was on an almost-empty stomach and I was very tired."

"Speaking of empty stomachs. I'm hungry. Can we have breakfast?"

"Call Darryl on his cell and ask him what time he'll be ready. I'm going to hop in the shower."

I was ready about 20 minutes later. Pete was bouncing off the walls. Darryl knocked on the door and we opened it immediately. We headed for the restaurant. Darryl checked out of his room and checked in to the cabin, which was not ready yet. His kids were due to arrive around 3:00 p.m. We planned to get our bearings by taking the tramway around Disney World. We did not plan to go into any of the parks, although we had a multi-day in-and-out pass so we could go into any park we wanted. Darryl intended to loop back to the cabin to meet his kids around mid-afternoon. We planned to meet for dinner at the Rainforest Restaurant. I thought that was kind of extravagant, but then I'm a notorious skinflint. When it came to this special Christmas vacation, Darryl intended to spare no expense.

We had a great time wandering around the entrance areas to the various parks, getting our bearings and deciding what we wanted to do the rest of the trip. Darryl left us a little after 2:00 to meet his family. Pete and I decided to go to MGM studios just to look around. The parks were packed, but we seemed to be either just ahead of or just behind the biggest part of the crowd, and we managed to see a couple of shows without much of a wait. Pete was thrilled beyond words. He didn't even jump around. He was absolutely transfixed.

Too soon, it was time to go back to the hotel to get ready for dinner. I lectured Pete the entire way back and for most of the time we were getting ready. At one point, he walked over to me and put his hand over my mouth and said firmly, "Be quiet! I promise to behave. You're making me nervous. What's the matter with you?"

I thought about that for a minute. "I'm nervous."

"Why?"

"I don't think Darryl's kids are inclined to like me very much. I'm very nervous about meeting them."

He shrugged. "They're okay. Charlotte is kind of snooty. Her husband is some kind of big shot in his company and Mama always said she thought Charlotte was a little big for her britches. Her husband's okay, I guess, mostly he lets her do all the talkin'. I don't know how old their kids are now, but the last time I saw them, they were kind of brats. I hope they're better now.

"Wade is a lot like Mr. Darryl. He's quiet and nice. His wife is funny and laughs a lot. She's a lot like Miss Lucille. She even looks a little like Miss Lucille which Mama always thought was funny. Their kids are real nice."

I was amazed. It had never crossed my mind that Pete knew these people! Maybe it's just as well I didn't know that. I might not have been able to resist the urge to pump him for information.

We took a cab to the restaurant. We were early, so we killed time wandering around Downtown Disney. Too soon, I saw Darryl and his family approach. He walked over to me and put his arm around me, kissing me on the cheek and turning to introduce me to his family. I whispered behind him, "If you introduce me as 'our dah-lin' Scah-lett,' I'll deck you."

He turned his head slightly and whispered softly, "Does every woman in the South know that goddammed movie by heart?"

I grinned and nodded, "It's a requirement."

He made a face and turned to his family, "I want to introduce you to Bessie. You already know Pete, I think."

He introduced me to his family. We shook hands all around. He checked in with the reservations desk. Our table was ready. Darryl sat on my right. Pete sat on my left. We marveled at the rain showers and the animated figures. Pete was mesmerized. Charlotte's kids were young teenagers who acted unimpressed. You and Robbie were younger and you both loved the show, especially the monkeys. We spent some time studying the menu. I thought the place was outrageously expensive. I must have made a face because I could see Darryl shoot me a look that could have killed. I smiled at him and turned to Pete. "What do you want to eat?"

"What do they have?"

I flipped through the pages of the huge menu, "Just about anything you could imagine. I think it would be easier if you told me what you're in the mood for."

"They got fried chicken?"

"I am sure they do, but I think that's a bad idea. You know that no restaurant could make fried chicken to suit you."

"How about a fried fish sandwich?"

I flipped through. "You're in luck. You want fries, pups and cole slaw with that?"

"Ok."

Your mom was having a similar conversation with you kids. The waitress took our orders. It was too noisy in the restaurant to have any serious conversations, which suited me just fine. Darryl talked mostly with his grandchildren. You two were 7 and 9 . I was delighted to notice how mannerly and very well-behaved you were. Charlotte's Danielle and David were, 14 and 13 respectively. It was obvious that they were not especially happy to be there, but at least they behaved.

The food arrived and we dived in. I was pleasantly surprised by the quality. In my experience, over-priced restaurants catering to tourists often served inferior food. It was expensive, but at least the food was very good.

After dinner, we went back to the villas. Darryl had reserved two adjacent two-bedroom villas. Darryl was bunking with your family. The kids all trooped into one villa to play video games. The adults congregated in the other villa. That kind of situation was always awkward for Pete. He would prefer to play video games with the children, but he knew that he was not allowed to be alone with kids. He had never showed any signs of inappropriate behavior, but Mama had always kept him away from children. I thought that was wise. Pete knew better than to go with the kids, but he did not really like to sit around with a bunch of adults.

Pete looked at me and raised one eyebrow. I wanted to laugh. That was Mama's favorite way of asking, "Just what do you intend to do now?"

I looked at Darryl for an assist. He nodded. "Pete, would you like to watch TV in the bedroom?"

Pete looked relieved. He followed Darryl into the bedroom. I could hear them talking as Darryl showed him how to work the TV.

Charlotte and Donna, spoke quietly about Christmas plans for the children. Darryl came back into the room and sat down next to me on the sofa. Wade smiled. "How about some egg nog?"

Charlotte's husband, Walt, chuckled, "Provided it has plenty of whiskey in it."

Everybody laughed.

We chatted about nothing in particular for a while. After I finished my drink, I turned to Darryl, "We need to get back to the lodge. Can you call us a cab?"

"Actually, we have a golf cart at our disposal. I'll take you to the Lodge."

"You don't need to do that. I want you to spend your time with your family."

He smiled, "I'll bring a couple of the kids along. They'll love driving the cart."

I thought about that for a minute. "You think Pete could drive it?"

He grinned. "That was what I had in mind."

"Oh my gosh, do you have any idea how ecstatic he will be?"

"Sort of."

Pete and I said our good-nights, and left with Darryl and the two grandsons in tow. Darryl let Pete drive the cart to the Lodge. He was going to let one of the boys drive it back to the villa. Pete was so excited I was afraid he wouldn't be able to sleep. I was wrong about that. That night it was his turn to fall into the bed without undressing or brushing his teeth.

I wasn't particularly tired, so I climbed into a hot bath and reviewed the evening. It wasn't bad. I had the feeling that everyone had been holding their fire.

The next day was Christmas Eve. The plan was to visit the Magic Kingdom in the daytime. We would do EPCOT in the evening and catch the Candlelight Procession and concert. After that, we would take the kids back to the villas and the adults would have dinner at the Whispering Canyon Cafe.

Pete had a wonderful time. I had an even better time watching him enjoy himself so thoroughly. The concert was wonderful. The laser and fireworks show was spectacular. I typically do not enjoy amusement parks, but even I got caught up in it, especially the concert and fireworks. Their parents took the kids back to the villas.

I took Pete back to the hotel. We ordered him dinner from room service, which he decided was the greatest thing he had ever experienced. Pete did not like to eat in restaurants. Room service was right up his alley. I explained that I would be downstairs at the restaurant. He knew my cell phone number and I showed him how to use the room phone. He had a TV, dinner and a comfortable bed. He was in Heaven. I knew didn't need to worry about him.

The adults gathered at the restaurant. Charlotte and her husband ordered a bottle of wine. Darryl looked at me and raised his eyebrows. I shook my head. Wine would be okay. Since I suspected I wouldn't like it, I wouldn't drink very much. That was good because I felt that I would need all my faculties. We looked at the menu and chatted. I had the sense that Charlotte and Donna didn't care very much for one another.

Watching them, I realized that Pete's assessment had been right on. He was an extremely good judge of character. I didn't care much for Charlotte or her husband. They were somewhat snobbish and appeared to look down on both Wade and Donna. Worse, they appeared to look down on Darryl as well. I liked Wade and Donna a lot. She was funny and vivacious. He was quiet and steady like his dad.

The food was excellent, if over-priced. The wine was okay. I am not a fan of American wine. I had learned to drink wine in France and was a bit of a snob about it. We polished off the first bottle, with one glass each. I looked at the wine list and saw a listing for a wine that Michael and I had loved. I called the sommelier to the table and ordered a bottle. It was every bit as wonderful as I remembered.

Darryl looked at me with an odd expression. "I thought you didn't like wine."

"I don't care for American wine, at least not ordinary ones. I understand there are some really excellent wineries in California that produce wonderful wines. I don't know much about them, however. On the rare occasions I drink wine, I want a good French wine."

That was Charlotte's opening. "Where did you learn about French wine?"

There was something about her tone I didn't like. I responded simply, "In France."

She looked at me as though she didn't believe me. "When did you go to France?"

I smiled and tried to modulate my voice so as not to sound too arrogant, "I have been to France many times."

There was an awkward silence. Wade interjected, "Dad seemed to think you prefer something else. What would that be?"

"Excellent sour mash whiskey, preferably made either in Kentucky or out behind the barn of somebody who knows what they are doing."

Everyone at the table laughed except Charlotte. Wade quipped, "You'd love some of our Louisiana relatives! They make some mighty fine moonshine."

Charlotte continued to eye me with suspicion. Her husband looked from her to me. I could see him shoot a look at Donna that said, 'Help us out here.'

Before Donna had a chance to say anything, I leaned back in my chair and looked around the table, making eye contact with each one of them. I ended with Charlotte, locking eyes with her and all but daring her to look away. I said, "Why don't we quit dancing around and get this out of the way so we can relax and enjoy the rest of our holiday? Go ahead and ask me whatever is on your mind."

They all looked at me as thought I had just descended from a space ship. The direct route was so very un-Southern! None of them knew quite how to react. My only excuse was that I had lived among Yankees for many years, I had picked up some bad habits, like honesty and directness. I just didn't have the patience for the round-about and utterly dysfunctional way they were likely to handle this. I decided to seize the the initiative. None of them knew quite what to do with that. There was a long, uncomfortable silence.

I decided to let Charlotte off the hook, momentarily. I looked around the table again. Donna turned her head slightly so Charlotte couldn't see her and winked at me. Wade looked as though he was about to burst out laughing. I glanced at Darryl, who was as impassive as he could get, although I could tell that it was all he could do not to laugh. It was very clear where the opposition lay, so I turned back to Charlotte and said softly, "I'm going to say this once. I hope you believe me because it is the absolute truth as I understand it. I invite you to ask any questions you may have tonight. After tonight, the subject is closed.

"Your father and I grew up as neighbors. We were playmates as children. We dated in high school. He was my first and still is my dearest love.

"I grew up in a very unhappy home and spent my childhood dreaming of getting out of Osborne at the first opportunity. That was a daydream that sort of took on a life of its own. By the time I was old enough to do it, I wanted to chicken out because I loved your father and I was very afraid of the world outside of Osborne. My mother, for her own reasons, wanted me to go away to school. As I believe you will recall, she was a most persuasive woman. She convinced me to leave despite my last-minute reservations. I went. I deeply regret the way I did it and the hurt it caused your father. I have to confess that I do not regret a moment of the life I lived while I was away.

"I lived in Massachusetts for many years. I married a doctor who was killed a few years later in a car accident in Africa. I worked as a school teacher and then a principal in Boston. A few years ago I moved to Atlanta to be closer to Mama. I worked as a principal in a school for handicapped children.

"After my mother died, I came back to Osborne to live with Pete.

"Darryl and I reconnected and discovered, to our amazement that our feelings for one another had survived my desertion of him and our intervening marriages to other people. I hasten to add that our feelings for one another diminish in no way the relationships we had with our respective spouses. We each cherish and honor their memory.

"I can't speak for Darryl, but I will tell you that I don't entirely know where we may be headed with our resurrected relationship. We will have to work that out between the two of us in our own time and in our own way. Whatever we end up doing, I believe you deserve to hear this from me: whatever happens between us, I will never, ever hurt your father again."

I looked around the table again and ended by locking eyes with Charlotte and asking, "Do you have any questions?"

The silence at the table was deafening. Donna and Wade both looked like they wanted to stand up and cheer or dissolve into a hysterical fit of laughter, or both. Charlotte and her husband both looked like I had smacked them, which I suppose I had done, verbally anyway.

Darryl let the silence hang there for a few minutes. Then he took my hand and looked pointedly at each of his children and their spouses. He said simply, "Now's your only chance to ask. After tonight, the opportunity is over."

Nobody said a word.

After a long pause, Darryl slowly picked up my hand and kissed my palm in front of his kids. There was a part of me that wanted to die of embarrassment, but that embarrassment was washed away by the flood-tide of joy that flowed over me.

I actually enjoyed the rest of the evening. Charlotte and Walt were very quiet, but Donna and Wade more than made up for it with their cheerfulness. Darryl and I had a great time chatting with them. I figured if Charlotte and Walt wanted to join in, they could, but I wasn't going to beg them.

On Christmas morning, we gathered at the villas. The adults had agreed not to exchange presents. The trip itself was Darryl's present to his children. There were to be presents for each of the kids. Once again that highlighted Pete's ambiguous status. I told him that I had a present for him which I would give him later; I didn't want to treat him like a child. He appreciated that, and tolerated watching the kids open their presents much better than I expected.

That day we went to Animal Kingdom, which every one enjoyed. We had left open the question of dinner, which turned out to be a great idea because we spent so long in the park there wasn't time to dress up for dinner. Instead, we ate together in one of the restaurants in the park itself. We had a great time. Charlotte was still somewhat cool to me, but I noticed she was cool to Wade and Donna, too. I decided not to take it personally.

After dinner, we took the ferry across the lake to the resort. When we reached the middle of the lake, the fireworks began in all the parks. We were surrounded by fireworks. I leaned back in my seat and allowed myself to be transported by the show. Darryl's arm came around me and I moved slightly to rest my head on his shoulder. With my other hand, I reached out and took Pete's hand. For once, he didn't jerk away. I said out loud, "I guess they don't call this the Magic Kingdom for nothing."

Pete and I went back to our room, leaving Darryl and his family to spend the evening together. Darryl protested, but I insisted. I needed some space. I had a gift to give Pete in private.

I had purchased a photo album in the gift store at Animal Kingdom. I had my photos developed and delivered to the room. While Pete was taking his shower, I put the photos in the album, leaving some blank pages at the end for the rest of the trip. I wrapped the album and laid it on Pete's bed. I put on my pajama's, dug my untouched book out of my bag along with Papa's sterling silver flask that I had brought along just in case I needed it. I hadn't resorted to it up to that point, but felt that a nightcap was in order. I had brought some of the excellent whiskey Darryl brought over for Thanksgiving. I poured a drink and stretched out on the bed.

Pete came out of the bathroom and saw the present. He grinned and, before even opening it, said, "Gee, thanks!"

He opened it and slowly turned the pages. There were photos of us by the car before we left home. Photos of him at Daytona Beach and at the Speedway. Photos in the Magic Kingdom, EPCOT, Animal Kingdom. There were photos in the room and in the villas. He looked up at me with tears in his eyes. I was shocked. I had never seen him cry before. He held the book to his chest and said, "Now I'll be able to remember it all forever. You know how I forget things. I have been so worried that I would forget all this great stuff. Oh, thank you."

I didn't try to hide my tears. Pete laid the album on the night table and went to sleep immediately. He slept with his photo album next to his bed for the rest of his life. I think he looked at it almost every day.

The next morning we checked out of our rooms and met in the lobby of the Lodge to say our goodbyes. Charlotte and her husband shook my hand. Wade pumped my hand warmly. Donna threw her arms around me and gave me a bear hug, whispering, "Welcome to the family! We're a mess, but some of us, at least, are glad to have you."

I hugged her back and replied, "Thank you for the best Christmas present ever!"

Darryl, Pete and I piled in our car and drove away from the Lodge. Pete pressed his face to the window. I took Darryl's hand. "Thank you. That was a wonderful Christmas."

He squeezed my hand, "It had its moments. I appreciate your coming, and I particularly admired the way you handled my insufferable witch of a daughter."

I looked surprised. He continued, "Oh, I know what she is. Her husband is a big shot with a cable company in Jacksonville. He makes a lot of money and she manages to spend it all and then some. She's a snob and a greedy wench to boot. I don't think I'll ever forgive her for the way she swooped in when Lucille died. She cleaned out Lucille's jewelry and tried to move in on the money. I let her have the jewelry, but I never gave her a dime. Don't get me wrong. She's my daughter and I love her. I just don't like her very much.

"You were magnificent, by the way."

"I hope I didn't make enemies."

"Absolutely not. Charlotte wouldn't like you unless you were really rich and likely to do her some good. Her husband, who is not as much of a snob as she is seemed to like you okay."

"How could you tell? He was almost completely unreadable."

"You'd know if he didn't like you. Wade and Donna fell in love with you instantly, I think."

"I'm glad we have that behind us."

I noticed that we were headed west on I-4 and had just passed the exit for the Florida turnpike. "Aren't you taking the turnpike?"

"Nope. Actually, I have a surprise for you two. I don't have to open the store until Monday. Since Pete enjoyed the Atlantic Coast so much, I thought he might want to see the Gulf, so I decided to take a little detour to a place I haven't been in years." He looked at me and raised his eyebrows, "Have you ever been to Sarasota?"

"No."

"Good. It'll be fun to take you someplace you haven't been! That is apparently a little hard to do. Someday I want to hear about all your travels, by the way. I hear you have photos."

"Thousands of slides."

"Wow. We could spend a lot of long winter evenings traveling to exotic places without ever leaving home."

"Be very, very careful what you ask for."

He laughed.

We arrived in Sarasota a little after mid-day. We stopped at a seafood place for lunch, and then drove around the town. Darryl turned to Pete, "Do you like the circus?"

Pete thought about that for a minute. "I don't know what that is."

Darryl looked shocked, "You've never been to a circus?"

"No."

"Well, we'll scratch the Circus Museum until after we remedy that." He looked at me. "Next time the circus is in Atlanta, we'll go."

I asked, "Why go all the way to Atlanta?"

"Because the circus that comes to the small towns is only a sampling of the whole thing. In big cities with large venues, Ringling pulls out all the stops with a full-out three-ring extravaganza that'll knock your socks off."

He continued, "Alternative plan number one." We drove to the harbor in the center of the city. Darryl purchased tickets on a boat tour. Pete had never been on a boat other than the ferry at Disney, and was a little nervous, but his trust in Darryl was complete and his excitement at experiencing these wonderful new things helped him overcome his fear. We took a two-hour cruise along the intra-coastal waterway. The scenery was lovely. Pete didn't see any of the scenery. He spent the whole time watching the dolphins that followed in our wake.

Afterwards, we headed for the resort where Darryl had rented a condo for the weekend. Our condo had two bedrooms and a balcony overlooking the Gulf. We checked in about 45 minutes before sunset. Pete wanted to go to dinner. Darryl told him he'd have to wait. We wanted to watch the sunset. I was so thrilled with the setting and the porch, I turned to Darryl and said, "Couldn't we just order a pizza or something and stay here? I'm a little tired of eating out and this is so beautiful, I don't want to leave."

Darryl shrugged. "Sounds good to me." He rummaged around in the kitchen and came up with a menu from a pizza place that delivered. He and Pete negotiated ingredients while I sat on the porch smelling the salt air, watching the gulls and finding my soul expanding and growing still the way it always did when I experienced something truly beautiful.

We watched the sunset in silence. Even Pete was awed by it. I noticed as the light faded that my cheeks were wet.

The pizza arrived and we made very quick work of it. Pete had discovered to his delight that his bedroom had cable TV with ESPN. He took his soda and bid us good night. At the bedroom door, he turned around and came back to us. He kissed me on the forehead, and then turned to Darryl and shook his hand, "Thank you for the very best Christmas I ever had. And for the only vacation I ever had."

Darryl's eyes filled with tears but he replied with some dignity, "You are most welcome. I promise you, this won't be your last vacation."

Darryl and I sat quietly on the porch. Now that the sun had set, it was chilly, but neither of us wanted to go inside. I had spied an afghan on the couch. I fetched it and sat next to Darryl on the love seat, pulling the cover over us. He tasted his Coke and made a face.

"This is vile stuff. I don't know how people drink it."

I whispered, "I brought Papa's flask with some of that whiskey you brought for Thanksgiving. I drank some of it but not all of it. You want some?"

He pulled the covers off me and said, "Yes, ma'am. I certainly could use a belt."

I brought the flask and a glass. I put on a pot of coffee for me. He said, "You're not having any?"

"Nope. I want some coffee."

"You are the only person I know who drinks coffee before bedtime and still sleeps."

"I guess I am just immune to caffeine."

I brought my coffee out and snuggled up to Darryl. The smell of the whiskey and the salt air was wonderfully pungent. I rather regretted I'd turned down the drink, but I knew there wasn't a lot left and I wanted him to have it. We didn't talk much. I'm not sure how long we sat there. At some point, he stretched and said, "I am pooped. I think the Disney experience and all this fresh air are catching up with me. Would you help me with the hide-a-bed?"

I paused and said softly, "It's 'later'."

He held me close and was quiet for a minute. "I've been thinking about that all evening, and I've sort of made a decision. When I move into your bedroom it won't be for just a night. It'll be for good."

I pulled my head back and studied his face which I could make out in the moonlight. "Hmmm. Am I to take that as a proposal of some sort?"

He pursed his lips. "Yes. I know there are a million details to work out, but, yes. Will you, finally, after all these years, marry me? We will have to work out the logistics later, but can we at least agree on that?"

I smiled and said, "Yes."

"Good. Now about that hide-a-bed..."

The next day we went to the beach in the morning. It was too cold to swim, but we were able to walk on the sand for a while and collect some shells. Later we checked out of our room and headed north. We were all very quiet most of the way home. Each of us was lost in our memories of the trip. Pete kept paging through his album and then, when he got to the end, he looked at the digital photos still in the camera, over and over and over. He was trying to memorize every detail of the trip which had been a life-changing experience for him.

Darryl and I were quiet too. We had crossed the Rubicon, and I, at least, was a little freaked out by it.

**Chapter 15**

We arrived home on Sunday night. I didn't have to go back to work until after the first of the year. Darryl had to open the store on Monday. He gave Pete the option of going to work with him, or staying home with me. Pete elected to go to work.

I fixed them breakfast and sent them off to work and then, for the first time since I had come back to Osborne, I was alone in the house. For a while I just wandered around aimlessly enjoying the blessed peace that I always found in solitude.

Soon, I became more purposeful about my wanderings. What changes did I need to make to accommodate Darryl into my home? It was clear to me that Pete would never live anywhere else. I began with the assumption that Darryl would move in with us.

The house had not been redecorated since shortly after my parents were married. It was clean, but very shabby and needed a lot of updating and repairs. I had never cleaned out Mama's room because I didn't want to upset Pete, who for months had clung to the notion that Mama was coming back. He had not mentioned her imminent return in a while, and I hoped that the time had come that I could clean out her room without precipitating a crisis for him.

I thought about whether or not I wanted Darryl and me to use Mama's room or my room. Mama's room was much bigger, had a better view and more closet space. It was clearly the only room in the house that could accommodate a couple. If Darryl and I moved into Mama's room, we would have two guest rooms to accommodate his kids whenever they might visit. The dormer room in the attic could be used as an overflow dormitory style room for grandchildren.

I knew I was making some incredible assumptions, but it seemed to be a place to start. I was excited at the prospect of remodeling this big, beautiful old home. I took a pad of paper from my desk drawer. Then I pulled out my bank statements. When Mama died, I put all of her money into a trust fund for Pete. I was the trustee. I had put all of my savings and the proceeds from the sale of my house into a living trust for me. Until I started working we had been living off the income from the two trusts. My salary from the school could support us if we were careful. I decided that I could afford to use some of our savings to fund the remodeling project. Pete's trust had more money in it. He was older than me. Being a woman I would probably live longer than he would. I decided to use money from his trust to fund renovations on the house. I figured I could pay the trust back gradually from my income. That way we wouldn't have to take out a loan from the bank, which I did not want to do because I hate to pay interest.

How much would it cost? I had no earthly idea, but I mentally decided that I would budget up to $100,000. This place was well over a hundred years old, and needed a lot of work. I hoped that would be enough.

I took my pad and started in the attic. I made a list of repairs needed as well as items to be discarded or given away. I made sketches of idea for changes in room design and furnishings. I slowly worked my way through the house, ending in the basement where the really big-ticket items were. It was clear we'd need a new furnace and air conditioner.

I ate a quick bite of lunch and then decided I'd earned a long run. I certainly needed one after all the crap I had eaten on our vacation. I left the pad on the table and took off across the fields.

By the time I returned, Pete and Darryl were home from work. Darryl's clerks were going to work the afternoon shift and close up. Pete had gone to his room to take a nap. Darryl was sitting at the table reading my notes.

He looked up and said, "My, my, you have been busy today!"

I blushed and, between gulps of water, said, "I hope I was not presuming too much in assuming that you would move in here. I can tell you that it would take an atomic blast to get Pete out of this house."

He nodded and flipped back through the notes and sketches that I had made. "I hadn't ever considered any other option. How do you propose to finance this project?"

"I have savings. I'll use that to fund the construction and then pay it back over time from may salary. I think I can swing it if it doesn't cost more than a hundred grand."

His eyebrows went up. "You planning to finance the whole thing yourself?"

"Yes. I don't want to take out a mortgage and I can't exactly ask you to help pay for renovations on my house, can I?"

"What if it's partly my house?"

"What do you mean?"

"S'pose I sell my house, and buy into yours. I talked to my accountant about that. He said that if you were smart, you'd have a living trust for you and one for Pete. Since you're smart, I'll assume you do. He said, if I sell my house and put the proceeds and all my savings into a trust for me, that will give us three pots of money. If we set up a household account and make equal contributions, we would all share the cost of living here. It would be fair and not a burden on any of us. The only issue is that I would want to have a stake in the property, too."

I thought about that for a few seconds. "That is positively brilliant. Everybody's money will go further if we split everything three ways. The money you pay for your share of the house will help fund the construction. We would all be equal owners in the property. I would propose only one change to that."

"That is?"

"Don't you want to give your kids the proceeds from your house?"

"Nope. I will leave my kids all my money when I die. I will leave you and Pete my share in your house. My kids will get what's left of my money when I'm dead and I will not be there to watch Charlotte squander her share and then try to weasel more out of Wade and Donna, who are nice enough, they will probably give it to her."

I nodded. "Okay. We have the basic outline of the plan. Who would have thought it would be so easy? We need to meet with our attorneys and accountants to hash out the details. There is only one major hurdle left in the way."

"That being?"

"My big brother."

"You think he'll have a problem with this?"

"I don't think he'll have a problem with you and me getting married. I think even he sees that coming. I expect he will have a big problem with changes to the house itself. In case you hadn't noticed, Bubby doesn't tolerate change well."

"Then we should take it slowly. Let's do it a little at a time."

I shook my head. "No. The house as it stands today is my parents' house. Their marriage was miserable and unhappy. I don't want to live in it this way. It's shabby and ugly, too. I want to get married on the front porch, and I want it to be clean and fresh and lovely. I want us to start our marriage in a house that is ready to hold the love we have for one another. Unless you have strong objections, I would prefer to do the construction first and then get married when the house is ready. That will give you time to sell your house before you have to move in."

He nodded. "We're back to you paying for the construction."

I shrugged, "I'll get your contribution in manual labor, and when you buy in, I'll put it back into the trust. It will all come out in the end."

"I'll make an appointment to see the lawyer and the accountant later this week if they are available."

"I'll deal with Pete."

"No, we'll deal with Pete together. There is one other thing we need to do."

"What?"

"We need to go shopping for a ring."

I did not say anything. I just held up my hand in a "stop" sign, turned and ran up the stairs. I came back down a few minutes later with one hand behind my back. I walked up very close to him and, with my free hand, I reached out and took his hand. I placed a ring box in his hand. "Mama was supposed to give this back to you, but I found it today in her jewelry drawer. I am so unbelievably horrified and angry that she failed to keep her promise. I wanted to return it myself before I left, but she talked me out of it. We both knew that if I told you I planned to leave, you would be able convince me not to go. So, she promised she'd return it to you once I was gone. Why she never did that, I have no clue." I knew I was babbling. I was also nearly sobbing. I looked up into his eyes through my tears and said, "I am returning it now. But, I want you to know that if you were to put it back on my finger today, I will never take it off again."

He flipped open the box to reveal the engagement ring he had given me on prom night more than 30 years before. "Does it still fit?"

I nodded, "I may need to get a ring guard. My hands have gone a bit bony in my old age, but otherwise it's fine."

He took my chin in his hand and said softly, "Bessie Mae Morgan, if I give this ring back to you, you had better never take it off and you had better never set foot outside this town unless it's with me. Do you understand?" I nodded. "In that case, I guess I may be the biggest damned fool in Georgia, but I love you. God knows why, but I do. Will you marry me?"

"That may go down in history as one of the most romantic proposals ever!" I laughed and said, "I promise I will never leave your sight again without letting you know exactly where I am and when I will be back. Yes, I will marry you, if you'll still have me, after all that's happened."

He slid the ring on my finger and then took me in his arms. Pete chose that moment to get up from his nap and come into the kitchen looking for a snack. He rolled his eyes, "Will you two stop with that!"

I started to pull back, but Darryl held me tighter and planted a big, loud kiss on my lips. Then he let me go, and turned to Pete, "What's wrong with a man smooching with the woman he loves?"

Pete looked uncomfortable and shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "I guess nothin'. It's just embarrassin'."

"It doesn't embarrass us. Why should it embarrass you?"

Pete thought about that for a minute. He didn't really have a good answer. Then he said, "I guess because its personal and I feel like I shouldn't be here."

Darryl nodded and smiled. He walked over to Pete and put his arm around Pete's shoulders. Pete was taller and bigger than Darryl. He was also older by several years. But, Darryl was clearly the authority figure. Darryl chose that moment to assume the role of paterfamilias, intentionally and purposefully. It was an absolutely masterful performance. "Have a seat." He led Pete to the table. They sat down.

I was still standing in the middle of the room. Darryl looked at me and said, "You, too."

I sat down.

Darryl reached across the table and took my hand in his left hand. He took Pete's hand in his right hand. I reached across the table and took Pete's other hand, completing the circle. To anyone looking in the window, we probably looked like we were saying grace. As it happens, we were creating a family.

Darryl looked at Pete and said very slowly, "You know that Bess and I love each other very much." Pete nodded. "And you know we've talked about the fact that when people love each other like that a lot of the time they want to get married and live together in the same house." Pete nodded again. I could feel his hand growing tense. I squeezed it.

Darryl continued. "Bessie and I intend to get married. We want you to know that you will be a part of our family always." He grinned. "I sort of look at you and Bessie as a two-fer deal." We all laughed, even Pete. "I intend to sell my house and move into this house. You will stay here with us. How does that sound?" I could feel Pete relax. Once again, his most overwhelming fear was relieved.

"There will be some changes, however. I know that it may be hard for you, but keep in mind that we are a family and we will all take part in decisions that affect all of us. Bessie wants to fix up the house and make some changes. I agree that there is a lot of repair and maintenance work that needs to be done. We won't make any changes to your room unless you want us to. We will explain and let you know what we're doing so nothing will come as a surprise, but we are going to make a lot of changes to the house. Do you understand?"

Pete nodded.

I looked at Darryl, wordlessly asking for permission to drop the first bomb. He nodded. I said, "The first thing we need to do is to clean out Mama's room. It's the only room in the house that can accommodate a married couple and I want Darryl and me to move in there when we get married. It doesn't mean we don't love Mama. We won't get rid of her treasures, although I do want to give her clothes to a charity that can use them. You can keep some of her things in your room if you want. The rest we'll put with Granny's chest in the attic. Do you understand?"

He seemed to be thinking about that. He didn't reject the idea or throw a fit, but he took a long time to respond. Finally, he looked up and nodded sadly, "I guess you might as well. It 'ppears to me that Mama's not coming back."

I asked, "Would you like to help me, or would you prefer me to do it while you're at work one day this week?"

He thought about that for a while. He studied my face. Then he smiled and said, "I think that you and I would both do better if you did it while I'm not here. I won't be in your way. You can bawl all you need to and I won't get upset." Sometimes he had the most amazing flashes of insight at the most significant moments!

I nodded, "I think you're right. I'll plan to start tomorrow."

Darryl picked up the story. "Soon we'll meet with the people we will hire to do the work. We would like you to be involved in that."

Slowly, we talked our way through the whole process. We knew that we would probably have to repeat this conversation many times in the coming weeks because information did not stick in his head for long, but we had made a very good beginning.

**Chapter 16**

The next day, after Pete left for work, I carried a box of garbage bags and a couple of laundry baskets into Mama's room. I intended to pack most of her clothes in the bags to give to Darryl's church. I intended to collect her treasures in the laundry baskets so I could haul them up to the attic. I worked quickly at first. The clothes were easy. Mama was a tiny bit of a woman. There was no way I could wear any of her clothes or shoes, so there were no decisions to make. That went fast, although there was a ton of clothes!

Her jewelry was easy, too. I intended to keep it all. I pulled out a few items that I would wear, and put them in my jewelry box. The rest would go in Granny's trunk. Lord knows who I thought might ever need that stuff, but I had no intention of getting rid of any of it.

Photos were easy, too. They all went to the attic.

I stripped her bed and took down the curtains. After washing them, I would give them away, too.

I saved her desk for last. That was where I expected things to get complicated. I knew that the lap drawer contained stationary and stamps and her checkbook. That was about all. That stuff all went to my desk.

The next drawer was full of receipts and tax records. That went into a box for the accountant.

The next drawer was hard to open. It was stuffed. Finally I jerked it open, and almost wished I hadn't. Inside was every letter I'd ever sent to Mama in the last thirty-plus years. That drawer contained my life. I had never kept a journal, but I'd written my mother very regularly and poured out my heart to her. There was no decision to make. This treasure trove was a definite keeper, but it was something I did not have the time or energy to deal with at that moment. I fetched a couple of shoe boxes from her closet and filled them with the letters, which I noticed were neatly bundled and wrapped in rubber bands, by year. They were in chronological order. The one on the very bottom was the tear-stained letter I wrote her on the bus traveling to Boston in which I begged her to let me come home. Some were heavy with photos from my travels. I noticed there were a few letters from Michael. I put them in the shoe boxes and put them all in the laundry hamper. Someday I wanted to read those letters, but that was not the day.

The next drawer contained more letters. There were several bundles. I felt like I was nosing through her life, but I unwrapped them and leafed through them. One bundle was from Mama's first love, the man who was killed in WWII. His letters were beautifully written love letters. There were only a few of them. There were some letters from a couple of Mama's girlfriends who had got married and moved away. The early ones were full of enthusiastic girl-talk. The tone changed as the letters reported pregnancies, miscarriages, babies born and dying, marriages crumbling or at least stumbling. They were wonderful reflections of the precious gift of women's friendship.

There was a large packet of what looked like business letters. I opened them and felt my heart breaking. After Pete's injury, Mama had apparently written to every prominent doctor whose name and address she could find asking if there were anything to be done for Pete. Dozens of them had replied, some with short businesslike statements that there was nothing they could do. Others took the time to be kind, but the answer was the same. The dates on those letters ranged over a period of more than twenty years.

I had to take a break and wash my face. While I was at it, I ate some lunch. On my way back to up the stairs the phone rang. It was Skylar. After answering her questions about our Christmas trip, she asked me if it was true that Darryl and I were engaged. I asked her where she heard that, and she laughingly told me that Pete was making it a point to tell everybody in town. I laughed. "Who needs a newspaper or radio when we've got Pete?"

We chatted for a few more minutes, and finally I said, "Honey, I hate to cut you off but I am cleaning out Mama's room and I want to be finished before Pete gets home."

She said, "Of course, you go right along. How far are you?"

"I'm almost finished. I think I'm getting down to the last of it. I'll have Darryl take her clothes to the church. The rest of the stuff I'll put in the attic."

She said softly, "Ok, then. I'll let you go. What time will Pete and Darryl be home?"

"I think around 4:00 or so."

"Well, you just get back to work. Will we see you at the reading group tomorrow?"

"Yes. It's my turn to bring treats. I think I'll bring something special to celebrate my engagement."

"Since you can't cook, why don't you let me bake a coconut cake."

"You don't have to twist my arm about that. Even people who hate coconut love your coconut cake. I accept your offer. I'm sure the ladies will appreciate not having to eat anything I might try to bake."

We rang off and I went back to finish the last of Mama's room. I found it interesting that there was absolutely nothing in any of her belongings that had anything to do with my father. She had totally expunged him from her life. In a manner of speaking, I guess we all had.

It took me three trips to drag all the stuff I wanted to keep up to the attic. It took many more trips than that to take the bags and bags and bags of clothes downstairs for Darryl to load in his truck. Mama loved clothes and I don't think she had ever got rid of anything.

At one point I thought I heard a car, but I wasn't sure. Soon the doorbell rang violently and I could hear Skylar's voice yelling, "Bessie! Bessie, you come open this door right now."

I ran down the stairs and found Skylar and Caroline standing there with a pie and a thermos of coffee. I opened the door, and they burst into the room, both talking at once. They said they thought that I might need a little pick-me-up after the hard job of cleaning out Mama's stuff.

I had been doing pretty well up until then, but at that point I lost my composure. I fell into Skylar's arms and cried and cried. Eventually, I stopped crying. We went to the kitchen with the pie. Skylar put it on the counter and made a face at it. She turned around to me and asked, "Where is it?"

"What?"

"The bourbon. You need something stronger than pie and coffee."

I laughed so hard I cried some more, but I managed to motion toward the sideboard. I said, "Get out the good stuff."

Skylar whistled and pulled out the bottle of aged bourbon that Darryl had brought for Thanksgiving. "You don't mess around! I've never had this."

"That was a present from Darryl. Pour us all a belt..... and do not even ask for ice or I'll smack you."

It was Caroline's turn to make a face. "Since I hate whiskey, I will drink coffee, eat pie and serve as Skylar's designated driver when you two are through getting sloppy drunk and having a crying jag."

We sat companionably at the table talking. We laughed and cried at intervals, and occasionally simultaneously. At one point – perhaps I was a little drunk and emotionally overwhelmed – I reached out and took Skylar's hand and said, "You have always been like a sister to me, even when I abandoned you like I did everyone else. I love you."

I took Caroline's hand, "I know that you never thought I was good enough for Darryl, and I think that my leaving him at the altar more or less convinced you that you were right. Frankly, I won't argue the point with you. He is a wonderful man, and Lord knows I don't deserve him. But, you have been so gracious about this situation. You will soon be my sister-in-law, but I already think of you as a sister, too."

Skylar made a face, "No more whiskey for her."

Caroline took my hand, "She can have all she wants. This has been a rough adjustment for everybody." She patted my hand and looked at me gently. Then she brightened, "But, we have something important to discuss. We have a wedding to plan! What do you want us to do?"

A deep voice said softly but firmly from the doorway, "For now, we would like you to hold off on any major plans. We still have a lot of talking to do among the three of us before you come in and take over and turn it into the marriage of Charles and Diana, Sister dear."

Darryl and Pete were standing in the doorway. Pete was eyeing the pie. Darryl looked like he couldn't decide whether to run away from an obvious female crying-jag or ask for a drink. I lifted the bottle in his direction. He sighed, took a glass from the closet and joined us.

I looked around and grinned from ear to ear. "This is probably the first time in the history of the town of Osborne that a man has joined a hen-party – at least voluntarily."

Darryl laughed, "It's probably the first time a hen-party ever served good aged Kentucky bourbon."

I thought about that for a minute, and said, "I'm not so sure about that. Some of Mama's friends liked their whiskey, a lot. Granny was their boot-legger." We all laughed.

Pete was standing by the counter, looking awkward. I motioned for him to join us. "Bring the pie. Caroline's not drinking either. You and she can have pie. The rest of us will defer that for another time."

I looked around the table and tears stung my eyes. Every one I loved in the world (who was still living) sat at my table. On the one hand, it didn't seem very many people to make up one's entire circle of love. On the other, they were such wonderful people, I felt like the luckiest person on earth. I instinctively reached out and took Darryl's hand. He squeezed my hand and then noticed the pile of garbage bags by the door.

"What's that?"

I made a face, "That is the reason for this crying party. I cleaned out Mama's room today. Skylar and Caroline brought me a pie to comfort me, but somehow that didn't seem adequate to the task. Anyway, would you take those bags to your church for their clothing drive? I think they still take clothes to Appalachia or someplace, don't they? Mama had more clothes than you could shake a stick at. I hope they can do somebody some good."

He nodded and I continued, "While you're at it, I want to get rid of her bedroom furniture as well. It's old and ugly. Does the church take furniture, too?"

He shook his head. Skylar interjected, "Habitat for Humanity does."

I raised my hands in her direction, "It's yours."

Darryl leaned over and kissed my cheek, "You okay?"

"Yeah. Couple more belts of this hooch, a hot bath and a good night's sleep and I'll be fine."

Pete looked confused, "What about supper?"

Caroline looked around the table, "Pete, my friend, I think our dearly beloved ones intend to drink their dinner. Let's see if we can scare up some leftovers to feed them so they don't get sick. Would you bring me the phone. I need to call Henry and let him know where I am."

I said, "Ask him to come over."

Darryl eyed the bottle. "I am not sure that soldier is going to hold out."

I shrugged, "Mama's bottle's still there. That'll do."

He laughed, "No it won't."

"Why not?"

"I don't want to switch to regular everyday bourbon. Caroline, ask Henry to stop at the liquor store and pick up another bottle of this stuff. I don't overindulge often, but when I do, I choose to make it count. I'll pay you back."

Caroline kissed him on the head. "Bubby, I think we can spring for a bottle of good bourbon for what appears to be turning into a decades-overdue engagement party."

Pete looked at me with a strange expression. "How come she called him Bubby?"

I said, "'Cause he's her big brother, just like you're mine."

Pete looked amazed and pleased, "How cool is that?!"

We had a wonderful time drinking and eating and talking for hours. Caroline took Skylar home. Henry followed them down the road. Pete went off to bed.

I took Darryl up to Mama's room to discuss what we wanted to do with it by way of remodeling. He looked around the room and then took me in his arms. It was all I could do not to dissolve into hysterical sobs. Instead, I just held onto him. He was my lifeline now. He held me tight for a long time. Eventually, I relaxed and he loosened his grip but did not let me go.

"Tell me what you want to do with this room."

"I was going to ask you what you want to do."

He shook his head. "You tell me what you'd do with it if I turned you totally loose to do anything you please."

I thought about it for a while. I leaned against him partly because I was a little unsteady on my feet but mostly because it felt so good. "Well, the coolest things about the room are the view and the high ceiling. I have always thought that this room felt a lot like being outside because it is so bright and airy, at least in the daytime. I would stick with very natural colors: shades of green mostly with maybe some earth tones for contrast. I'm thinking a sort of dark green carpet. Bedspread and curtains should be neutral colors, earthtones. Trim and other decorative items can be prints. I would prefer prints not to be florals, but perhaps something like vines or leaves. Maybe a border of vines along the crown molding would be nice. I think I'm creating an indoor-forest here....

"Walls are either a very, very light beige or, even better, plain white. Call me a boring old poop, but I like white walls.

"Furniture. That's a dilemma. I never liked this ugly stuff Mama had. It's hideous. I'd like something much lighter, but I don't think I mean lighter in color. I think I mean something less bulky. I don't like light colored wood furniture. I think a cherry or mahogany would be good with all the green. I'd have to go shopping to see what is out there, but I want something that doesn't overwhelm everything else in the room the way this stuff does.

"Lighting. I would take out the light fixture in the center of the room and put in recessed lighting all around the top of the crown molding. I'd put it on a dimmer so you could raise or lower the light level as needed. I'd put a nice big light on the wall behind the bed.... Do you like to read in bed?"

"He nodded. Absolutely. Been known to spend entire days abed with my head in a book."

"Great. I saw the perfect light once. It was wall mounted but had several different lights on adjustable arms. Separately adjustable, perfect for reading in bed.

"How am I doing?"

He laughed. "Actually you just described my bedroom at home almost exactly. So much so, I wonder if you would be interested in seeing the furniture. Perhaps we could use it."

"How old is it?" I didn't want to say that I didn't want to use the bedroom suite he'd had when he was married.

As usual, he knew exactly what I was thinking. "I bought it about two years ago. I was having a really hard time emotionally. Lucille had been in hospice care at home. She died exactly the way she wanted to, in her own bed. Hospice is wonderful before the person dies. It is wonderful to know that the dying person is comfortable and content and not afraid. The problem for a spouse, or at least for this spouse, was trying to sleep in the same room, in the same bed in fact, after she died. My ultimate solution was to move out of that bedroom. I left it the way it was because when I mentioned turning it into an exercise room Charlotte put up a caterwauling fit. I just backed down rather than fight her.

"So, I simply closed the door and moved down the hall to Wade's old room. I bought new furniture and turned it into what I thought of as something of a retreat. The furniture is cherry. It is very plain. My only concern is that this room is a lot bigger. I'm not sure my furniture would fill it up."

"Do you think it would leave room for a sitting area. I've always wanted to have room in my bedroom for a place to put a couple of comfy chairs and/or a love seat."

"That would be great. We'd have to measure, but I think it would work. We might have to buy another bureau and/or a dresser. I have only a small chest of drawers that I use for both a dresser and all my clothes."

"Actually, my bedroom furniture is cherry, and I have a really nice chest of drawers and vanity table. C'mon. I'll show it to you."

We walked down the hall quietly so as not to disturb Pete. We went into my bedroom and I shut the door so we could talk. Darryl thought the furniture would work perfectly with his. I said, "Then it's settled."

He looked at me with a strange look on his face. "You haven't even seen my stuff."

"I'll take your word for it."

"Is there any other woman in the world who would do that?"

"There probably are few who are as un-picky as I am when it comes to home decor. Now, I do have to warn you, you could be in for a hard time when it comes to picking out a mattress or those upholstered chairs we talked about. I don't care a lot about how a piece of furniture looks, but I care a whole lot about how comfortable it is."

He sat down on the bed and then stretched out. He put his arms above his head. "How old is this mattress?"

"It's new. I just bought it because the one on this bed was old and deteriorated."

"Let's use this one."

"You have a double bed?"

"Yes."

"Houston, we have a problem!"

"Yes?"

"Well, I had a queen all to myself for many years. I had a hell of a time getting used to this double bed all by myself. I think we may need at least a queen- if not a king-sized bed."

He pulled me down on the bed beside him. I snuggled close and put my head on his shoulder. He reached his arms to see how much room was left, and thought for a minute. "You're right. I never had anything other than a double, but if we're going to be making a change and if you're a bed hog, maybe we should move up to a queen. My bed frame expands to a queen, and there's an extender for the headboard to make it into a queen. Although, this is pretty comfortable."

I snuggled closer and said, "On the other hand, we have this mattress and it is comfortable. We could try it for a while and then if it doesn't work, we could always switch. There's no use in buying stuff we don't need."

"No. Let's go ahead and get the bigger mattress. We'll just buy one exactly like this one, so we'll know we like it."

We had made a lot of decisions in twenty minutes or so, and we relaxed happily. He sat up and said, "I should go."

I put my hand on his and said, "You know you've had a lot to drink. Maybe you shouldn't drive home."

He considered that for a minute and then said softly, "I told you that once I moved into your bedroom, I would not move back out."

"I remember."

"And?"

I smiled. "Hell, you're here for breakfast and dinner every day anyway. You might as well save the gas running back and forth to sleep at your house."

He lay back down beside me and said, "That is about the most romantic proposition I've ever heard! I have to confess to being on the verge of being swept off my feet by your invitation but for an equally sexy and romantic issue of my own."

"Which is?"

"I really need to brush my teeth and my toothbrush is at my house."

I laughed, jumped off the bed and ran down the hall. I was back in a flash with an unopened toothbrush. "Pete changes toothbrushes about once a month and/or whenever he gets a sniffle. He buys entire boxes of them so he can swap out whenever he takes a notion."

He took the toothbrush and went to the bathroom. In a few minutes he was back. I took my turn in the bathroom. When I came back into my room, Darryl was in the bed, under the covers. I giggled.

"And what is so funny?" he whispered.

"Well, I don't know. On the one hand, it seems so right and appropriate to have you here. On the other hand, I hardly ever even dared to dream that one day I'd come into my bedroom after brushing my teeth and you'd be sitting in my bed like it's the most natural thing in the world."

"Isn't it?"

I laughed. "That's the wonderfully magnificent part! It is absolutely the most natural and logical and almost ordinary thing in the world. Brrr. My feet are cold. Scoot over."

"Uh-oh. Problem. Big problem. This is 'my side'."

I thought about that a minute. "I'm flexible. I can adjust. I hope." I went around to the other side and climbed in beside him. The whole thing seemed so right that I was not even awkward with him. We snuggled under the covers until I warmed up.

He nuzzled my neck but then stopped, "Before we get totally carried away here there is one thing we haven't discussed."

"I don't need birth control because I'm very, very post menopausal. I have not had sex in more than 20 years so I don't have any STD's. I do not have HIV. What else do you need to discuss?"

He chuckled, "Okay. I can play that game too. Even if you weren't post-menopausal we would not need birth control. I had a vasectomy decades ago. I have not had sex with anyone but my wife in more than 30 years and to my knowledge she didn't have sex with anyone but me. I have no STD's. I know I am HIV negative because I recently took out a new health insurance plan and they did a test. None of that is what I had in mind, as romantic as all that is to discuss....."

I snuggled closer and whispered in his ear, "My oh my aren't we both so very politically correct and responsible? What else is there?"

"There's Pete."

"What about Pete?"

"He knows that we want him to live with us after we get married. How do you think he'll feel about me moving in a bit prematurely?"

"You know the truth is that I have no idea what Pete knows about sex. We have always watched him like a hawk around children because we know that some people with mental disabilities behave inappropriately. To my knowledge Pete has never shown any signs of acting inappropriately in a sexual way. When he acts out, he gets violent."

"Really? How violent?"

"Not dangerous, I don't think, just wild. He hasn't had a tantrum since we came back from Atlanta. I was on pins and needles at Christmas, I gotta tell you. He doesn't handle change well."

"What about me moving in?"

"I could be wrong, but I think he'll like that. He always did adore you, but he loves you more than ever now that you're his boss and you took him on that vacation." I chuckled and ran my hand down his chest, "Somehow I don't think that he'll mind you sleeping with his sister as long as he can keep going to work with you every day."

"God, I hope he doesn't mind because I am not ever going back to my house."

He put his arms around me and pulled me to him, and whispered, "This beats the hell out of the back seat of my dad's Oldsmobile."

My response was nothing more than a muffled giggle.

The next morning I woke at my customary early hour. I got up and went to the bathroom to shower. When I came back into my room, Darryl was awake. He leaned up on one elbow. "Would you be upset if I went home to shower and change?"

"No. I doubt that you'll want to go to work in the same clothes you had on yesterday. Your sister might stop in and God knows I don't want to get on her bad side again."

He got up and kissed me, slowly and tenderly. "Have I told you lately that I love you?"

"Seems to me you may have, but it's always nice to hear."

"I'll be back for breakfast."

"Heaven forbid that you should miss a meal!"

Pushed me down on the bed and kissed me. "Go back to sleep. I'll be back later."

I pulled him down to me, "I love you, too."

He was gone, and I was alone again. I stretched and felt sore in places that I had not even been aware of in years. I was tired, but full of energy. I got up, dressed and went downstairs.

I couldn't make biscuits like Pete, but I had learned the secret to Sarah's pancakes. I decided to surprise 'my guys'. By the time Pete got up and Darryl came back, I had prepared a mess of buttermilk pancakes. I had tasted some samples and knew that these babies would have made Sarah proud.

Pete was ecstatic. Darryl looked at me with love, pride and intense possessiveness. I was proud of my pancakes. In a the Southern world that seems to be overrun with great cooks, I'd always suffered feelings of inferiority. Staring into the appreciative and loving gazes coming of appreciative eaters like Pete and Darryl, I was the happiest of women.

They finished breakfast and Pete headed for the truck. Darryl lingered for a minute and took me in his arms. He kissed me lightly and said, "I'll talk to Pete today. I'll stop and pick up my things this afternoon. Let's plan to stay in your room until we get married. We can move into the master bedroom on our wedding night."

"Okay, Mr. Romantic. By the way, tonight is my ladies evening out. I usually take Pete with me. Tonight, I'd like to go on my own. Will you babysit?"

"I think he and I can find something to do."

**Chapter 17**

The book group ladies were all a-twitter at my good news. We more or less abandoned any pretense of having a business meeting or discussing movies. We briefly discussed our Christmas project and all agreed it had been well worth the effort and that we should continue to support our military personnel and their families. We also considered the need to continue to sponsor community service projects involving the schools. I sensed a change coming over the group. We were for the most part a bunch of do-gooders of one stripe or another. The group may have started out as a book discussion group, but it appeared we were heading in the direction of transforming it into a service club.

Caroline grinned at Skylar and tossed out an old joke, "I am NOT going to start wearing a damned uniform!"

Some of the ladies looked puzzled, others laughed. Caroline explained, "Skylar was president of the Junior League the year that a bunch of us voted to stop wearing uniforms. Skylar fought us tooth and nail, but we prevailed. If it were up to Skylar, we all still be wearing white gloves, pinafores and hats."

Skylar made a face but did not disagree.

The mood shifted and the subject changed. We had a wedding to discuss. Caroline and Skylar were ready to turn it into an extravaganza. I raised my eyebrows and put up my palms in a stop gesture! "You recall what Darryl said. He doesn't want a big 'do'."

Caroline waved her arm and said, "Oh, for one thing he's just an old poop. For another, he is merely the Groom. We can ignore him. What do you want Bess?"

I looked at her straight in the eye and said softly but very seriously, "I want never to go against his wishes or hurt him again. If he wants to get married by a justice of the peace with no celebration at all, that will be fine with me."

Amanda laughed, "Oh, don't be silly. All women want a big wedding and men usually go along with it."

I shook my head, "Not this woman. We will plan the wedding that we want. We will do it together. I am not sure what it will look like or how many people it will involve. Y'all will be the first to know, believe me. If Darryl wants to throw party, you'll be the first to know because I've never thrown a bash before and I'll need all the help I can get from the Party Queens, Miss Caroline and Miss Skylar to name two. If he doesn't want a big party, there won't be one."

Skylar and Caroline backed down, but I saw the look pass between them and knew they intended to take another run at it from a different angle. I figured Caroline would take the matter up directly with Darryl.

We ate our cake, made plans for the next week, and said our good-nights. I offered to take Skylar home. As soon as the car door closed, she turned to me with concern in her eyes and said, "What's up? Something is wrong. If you're thinking about running off again..."

I interrupted her, "Darryl moved into my house last night. For good."

She laughed. "Odd. I thought I would feel the earth shake when you two finally got together."

I giggled, "Well, this wasn't exactly the first time."

"You're kidding?!"

"But it has been a very, very long time in between."

She looked at me with an odd expression and said, "Interesting! Sooooo, how's Pete taking this?"

"I am not sure. Darryl was going to talk to him today. He's okay with our getting married. I don't think he'll have a problem with us living together now. I just don't know what he may have heard at church that would cause him to object."

"How are you taking it?"

I thought about it. "I'm scared. Mostly because I feel that we still have so much baggage to get rid of. So many hurts. So much suspicion. Pete doesn't take change easily. Darryl and I are both old and set in our ways. We will all have to make a lot of adjustments, and I'm very apprehensive. In a way I feel like we are moving way too fast, but I just cannot say no to Darryl."

"There were never two people who belonged together more than you two. You'll make it through the adjustment period. Whatever you do for your wedding, I would be honored if you'd let me make you a gift of a wedding cake."

I hugged her. "You may make us a gift of a small three tiered wedding cake, coconut, with butter cream frosting. If Caroline wins the upcoming battle with Darryl and this turns into a community event, I will insist on paying for extra sheet cakes to feed the masses."

"You're on. You want to make a bet on that wedding?"

"I think we'd both bet on Caroline. Darryl doesn't stand a chance against that woman when she's on a mission. What I don't understand is why it is so important to her that we have a big wedding."

"For one thing there hasn't been a big community social event in this town in years. Your wedding could be the perfect occasion for just such a community celebration, at least among the Old Families. For another, I honestly think that Caroline wants to give you the opportunity to know first-hand that the town folk have forgiven you and that you are completely welcome back her in our pitiful midst."

"Do you think that is true?"

"I know it's true. You seem to be the only person around who has any doubts. Caroline wants to put your mind at ease on that point."

"And, Caroline has never in her life missed the opportunity to throw a party. A party for her beloved Bubby is even better.

"By the way, how did Caroline get on with Lucille?"

Skylar thought about that for a bit. "They never had any overt problems, but I don't think they cared much for each other. For one thing, no woman would have ever been good enough for Darryl as far as Caroline was concerned. Lucille was too wild for Caroline's tastes when they were young.

"After a few years Lucille calmed down a lot. It always struck me that once Lucille reconciled to staying here in Osborne to raise her kids, a lot of the fire went out of her. After that Caroline seemed to like her a little more, but Lucille never really warmed up to Caroline."

"It sounds to me like Lucille was not happy here but decided to suck it up and make the best of it."

"Would it mean anything to you if I told you that the one person in this town besides Darryl that Lucille was really close to was your mother."

"The only other person in town who knew something about 'settling'?"

"That's always been my opinion."

"Darryl never knew how she felt?"

Skylar made a face. "He's a man. I think he was oblivious. It doesn't make his open and obvious adoration of you any less, but he really did love Lucille. He loved her, but I don't think he ever understood her."

I shook my head. "Well, he will have no such illusions about me. He knows everything there is to know about me."

"That's true. You are both very lucky."

"Don't I know it."

When I got home, Pete was stretched out on the couch, snoring loudly, and Darryl was asleep in the reclining chair, with the newspaper draped across his stomach and his mouth hanging open. I stopped to look at them for a minute and to acknowledge my deep and humble gratitude for these two wonderful men whom I loved. Then I opened the front door again, slammed it shut and hollered, "If this isn't just the biggest dead-assed party I've ever seen!..."

They both sat up, looking disoriented. "Both of you, upstairs. It's time for bed."

Pete got up and started toward the stairs. He stopped and said, "Bessie, can I talk to you a minute?"

He turned and went into the kitchen. I followed him. He sat down at the kitchen table. I sat down and took his hands which he had laid on the table in front of him. I could feel his initial reflex to pull away, but he fought it back and let me hold his hands.

"What is it, Bubby?"

"Mr. Darryl talked to me today about how he is going to stay here with us now."

"How do you feel about that?"

"I feel good. I like having him here. I like how he makes you feel. I like how he makes the house feel safe. But, I am worried about one thing that I didn't want to talk to him about."

"Which is what?"

"People around here talk about folks who stay together but who aren't married."

"They do?"

"Yeah. I heard them talking about a couple of people. It didn't sound nice."

"It isn't nice to talk about people behind their back. It isn't nice to make judgments about people when you don't know the whole story."

"That's what Mama always said. I don't want people to talk that way about you and Mr. Darryl."

"Well, all I can tell you is that Darryl and I are prepared for it, and I can pretty much guarantee that most of the talk will stop once we're actually married."

"When will that be?"

"We plan to get married after we finish the renovations on the house."

"Why don't you just get married now and then fix up the house."

"I guess we could, but ... It's hard to explain. There has been a lot of unhappiness in this house, and there has been a lot of unhappiness between Darryl and me. I want to start out our marriage in surroundings that are new and fresh and done with our own tastes and feelings in mind. I want to celebrate our marriage in our home, I mean the home that is his and mine and yours. Not the home that is Mama's family home where our parents lived. Can you understand that?"

He concentrated really hard and nodded, "I think I do. Sorta like how I don't like to buy clothes at yard sales. I want new stuff to be all mine."

"Exactly."

He thought some more. "Ok. I guess I can ignore anybody who says anything, but I think you should maybe try to get the people who will do the work around here to hurry."

"Ok. Let me ask you a serious question and I want you to answer me honestly."

"Never mind what other people say, do you, Pete Morgan, have any problem with Darryl staying here."

He thought about it for a few minutes to show he took the question seriously and then he said, "No. I like having him around. And I like how happy you are when he is here."

"Thank you."

He headed toward the stairs and then came back with an extremely serious look on his face. "I have a serious question and I want and honest answer, too."

"Ok."

"If I had said 'no' about him living here, would it have made a difference?"

I thought about that for a while. It had never occurred to me he would object.... or perhaps I had never allowed myself to consider the possibility. "If you objected to his staying here before we were married, I guess we'd have just had to go off and get married right away. If you objected to his marrying me. Well, I think we'd have just had to try to change your mind."

Pete smiled, "Good thing I like him, huh?"

"Oh, yeah!"

He let me kiss him on the forehead and headed up the stairs. I poured leftover coffee in the cup that always sat in the drainboard when I wasn't drinking out of it, and stuck it in the microwave. A few minutes later Darryl walked into the kitchen, yawning and looking disheveled. "Oh, my God, that is disgusting."

"What?"

"Drinking nuked coffee at 10:00 p.m. Yuck."

"I'm not asking you to drink it, so mind your own business. How was your evening?"

"Fine. We had a nice evening. You?"

"We had fun. I think we may look around for another project similar to the Christmas card project. That could be fun. I think most of us are sort of activist-types. We appear to be on the edge of turning the group into more than a book club."

He said, "'Activist' being another word for busybody." I laughed and nodded, but I was a little hurt.

I changed the subject. "I have to warn you, you may have your hands full when it comes to trying to rein in your beloved sister on the wedding plans."

He rolled his eyes, "I have known all along that would happen."

"What is 'that'?"

"Caroline thinks that every wedding, and in particular weddings involving the Old Families, should be community events. I disagree. I think a wedding is a personal thing between the two people involved."

He sat down in Mama's old seat and took my hands, "What do you think?"

"For one thing, do you recall the other night when we sat here at this table and took one another's hands and committed to moving forward as a family?"

"Yes."

"That was the day we got married, in my opinion. I agree with you that the sacrament of marriage is a private act between two people and God. For me, that was our sacramental moment.

"However, I also think that a wedding celebration, especially in a little town with as much inbreeding as Osborne, is almost by definition a community event. A marriage, and hence family merger, changes the fabric of the community and that needs to be acknowledged and celebrated by the community. I'm not much for big parties and I loathe being the center of attention, but I also know that there are certain people for whom the ritual of community celebration is important. The Old South is dying rapidly. There may be few opportunities left for such events. My guess is that Caroline thinks this may be the last one for Osborne. I think she may be right."

He shook his head and muttered, "It's gonna turn into the god-damned barbecue at the Wilkes', I just know it!"

I took his hands in mine and said, "For what it is worth, I went on the public record tonight as being totally behind whatever you want. If you want something simple and private, that is what we will have. I can stand up to Caroline, and she knows it. She also knows that if she does an end run around me and can somehow convince you to change your mind, I will go along."

"In other words you threw me under the bus."

"That was not my intention, but" I shrugged and made an sheepish face, "I am sorely afraid that is exactly what I did."

"So, tomorrow morning my Baby Sister will come parading into the store, probably with Skylar in tow and maybe even some other Amazons for support, and they will railroad me into agreeing to a big wedding."

I signed. "Probably. If you want me to, I can stop that train."

"By getting on your high horse and pissing them all off? No. You've managed to make great strides toward redeeming yourself with the local battle-axes. That would not help your cause any. Let's play it by ear. If I can fight her off, I will. If I can't, we'll plan a wedding on the lawn of our newly remodeled home."

I picked up his hands and kissed them. "Pete would like us to hurry that along as much as possible. He is very concerned about gossip. He doesn't like the idea of people talking about us."

He nodded. "Frankly, neither do I. I don't know what got into me." He looked at me and squeezed my hands, "Well, I guess I do, but I also know how vicious gossip in this town can be. What say we put this whole construction project on a fast track and shoot for a springtime nuptial?"

"Think we could pull that off?"

"I don't know, but we could try."

The next few months were a blur of construction and wedding plans. In addition, I had lesson plans to work on and the ladies group had decided to make as its next project focusing the community's eyes on the elderly shut-ins among us. I was busier than I had been in years. It was wonderful.

It came as no surprise to anyone that Caroline prevailed upon Darryl to reconsider his plans for a small wedding. The compromise was that we would have a private wedding ceremony on the porch, just for immediate family. That would be followed by a lawn-party reception for friends and neighbors, which, practically speaking, meant the whole town.

I never told Darryl but to me that seemed perfect. He grumbled and groused when there was an audience around, but privately, I think he rather liked the plans as they developed.

Interestingly, the gossip didn't seem as bad as we expected. I guess everybody in town knew we had always been meant for each other.

To appease the minister who would be doing the wedding and the gossips at Darryl's church, Pete and I started going to church with him occasionally. I had never been to a Methodist church before and didn't like it very much, so I refused to join and I didn't go every Sunday. At least a couple of times a month, Pete and I skipped services and went to visit Sarah.

One Sunday in early April we all skipped church. Darryl wanted to take a day trip through the Georgia countryside. He had been appalled to learn that, even though I had traveled the world, I had never explored the area closest to my home. I prevailed upon him to have breakfast with us at Sarah's. He had never been there. He hesitated, and I challenged him, "You got a problem with Sarah's place?"

He made a face, "No, I do not have a problem with Sarah or her restaurant. When I eat breakfast out, I usually go to Millie's because she makes the best sausage gravy I've ever had."

"I've never had Sarah's sausage gravy, but judging by her pancakes and pie, my guess is you won't go away hungry."

"Ok."

That was all bullshit and we both knew it. Darryl was a businessman. He learned from his father that there were certain rules to conducting business in the South. One rule always was that white business-owners did not patronize black-owned establishments unless they were the only source for certain services or goods. When it was necessary, it was to be done discretely and, if possible, through intermediaries. The South had changed much and that rule had softened a great deal.

The local business community in Osborne, however, had not caught up with the times. The white business-owners for the most part did not patronize black-owned businesses at all. For their part, the black-owned businesses tried not to patronize the whites either, if you didn't count Sam's Club.

We both knew that when Darryl walked into Sarah's restaurant, it would send a ripple through the business community. When we got out of the car he muttered, "... damned near got me kicked out of the church and now gonna get me kicked out of the Kiwanis ... "

I poked him with my elbow and said, "Are you talking to me??"

He shook his head and grinned, "You know your mama was considered almost more of a trouble-maker than your daddy. I guess the apple didn't fall far from the tree."

I stopped in the middle of the sidewalk and tried not to lose my temper. I walked up close to him so that we were almost nose to nose and said quietly but emphatically, "We can discuss this more later, but let me just say this quickly: My daddy was not considered a trouble-maker by some because his malignant beliefs fit in with the prevailing sentiment, not just in the town but in the South. He may have been an extremist, but for the most part there was agreement that the status quo was just fine.

"Somehow, by some miracle, my mother didn't catch the virus of prejudice that seems to be ubiquitous in this country. She spent my entire childhood trying to inoculate me against it as well. She sent me away to a place that she believed was free from the kind of bigotry we have here. I never in my entire life had the heart to tell her that she was wrong. Boston was just as bigoted and prejudiced as Osborne, only in a different way.

"I also never had the heart to tell her that I did not entirely escape the sickness of prejudice. I think maybe prejudice is a human weakness. Maybe it is something like Original Sin. Whatever it is, I have it, too, and I fight it constantly. I will not, however, give into my own prejudices or to anybody else's.

"I also want you to know now before I do it that I intend to invite Sarah and her whole family to our wedding -- as guests, not as caterers. I don't know if they'll come, but Sarah was my mother's oldest and best friend, and she has been a rock to me as well. You tell me right now if you've got a problem with that."

He smiled at me and kissed the tip of my nose, "I meant that remark as a compliment, Sugar. I truly did. The answer to your question is, I probably do have a problem with that somewhere deep down, but I know that it's the right thing to do, and, for that reason, if you'll permit me, I'd like to be the one to convey the invitation just to make the point to Sarah that it comes from both of us."

I looked into his eyes and saw a mixture of humor and love. I also saw the fundamental decency of this man who had so recently stepped out of the box of convention for the first time, willingly and with the full knowledge of what he was doing. I realized that I had underestimated him terribly, "I am so sorry for that outburst."

"No apology necessary."

Pete had already gone inside. Darryl and I followed. Sarah and Pete were sitting at our regular table. She had already poured coffee for Darryl and me. We slid into the bench seat across from Pete. Sarah pulled up a chair to the end of the table.

As was our custom, while we ate, Sarah and Pete chatted. Pete was full of news about his job and the construction on our house, which he was following with great attention and fascination. When Pete went to the kitchen to get his second plate of pancakes Sarah turned to us. Darryl was all but licking his plate.

Sarah's eyes twinkled, "Mr. Darryl, would you like some more of that sausage gravy?"

I interjected, "No, ma'am, he would not. Lord sakes, that stuff is good but I'm going to put him on oatmeal and beans for the rest of the week to clear out his arteries."

Darryl looked disappointed but he humored me and said, "Bess is right, but, Lordy Lordy, that was good!"

Sarah, in the manner of great cooks everywhere, puffed up and positively glowed with the compliment.

We chatted for few minutes. Darryl glanced at his watch. The after-church crowd was due any minute and he wanted to get on the road. He leaned back and pushed back his plate. Then he put one arm around me and rested his other hand on Sarah's hands which she was resting on her coffee cup. Somehow (I could tell it was with some difficulty), she managed not to jerk her hands away. If she had ever been touched by a white man before, it would not have been a pleasant experience. She glanced at me and I could see the astonishment in her eyes, followed almost immediately by the urge to laugh.

"Miss Sarah, we want you to be among the first to know that we've set the date for our wedding. It will be on May 16. We would be honored if you and Mr. Foster would join us for the celebration. The ceremony itself will be private for the immediate family, but my darling and beloved sister and her cohort of busybodies have turned the reception into something of a community event. We want you to be a part of it."

Sarah studied both of us. "You want me to cater it?"

Darryl shook his head, "No, Ma'am. We want you and Mr. Odom to be our guests, as Bessie's friends."

I leaned forward and put my hand on top of Darryl's as it still rested over hers. "Sarah, I am quite sure that you have never in your life attended a party that you didn't contribute to. I wouldn't expect anything different this time. Since everybody in three counties knows that I am a total incompetent in the kitchen and have never planned a large party like this, Caroline and Skylar are in charge of most of the planning. They have put together a committee of sorts. I am sure that if you wish to contribute something, they would love to have your help. However, as Darryl said, we don't want you to spend the wedding day in the kitchen. We have already arranged for people to serve during the party itself. We want you and Mr. Odom to be our guests."

She smiled. "I expect you know that I have never been a guest in a white person's home."

"That doesn't surprise me. But, there is always a first time for everything. And, besides, ... aren't you just the least bit curious to see what we're doing to the house you grew up in?"

Darryl shot me a questioning look. I smiled. "Sarah and her mama lived in at our house when she was a child. Their room was the one off the kitchen which will soon be our library."

Sarah shook her head, "I certainly would like to see it. The outside looks just grand, like it was a long time ago. I'll talk to Odom about whether we can attend or not. I can tell you for a fact that I will let Miss Caroline know she can count on me for whatever help she needs with the food preparations. It will be a delight to finally see the two of you wed."

Darryl and I grinned at each other. I said, "We think so, too."

I called Pete out of the kitchen and we headed for our day trip, feeling warm and full and content.

Once we were in the car and on our way, Darryl turned to me and asked, "How'd I do?"

"I thought you did great. I am sorry I misjudged you and lost my temper."

"I guess you have something of a right to be a bit touchy on the subject."

"You think so?"

"I sure do. Considering the way your mama raised you, and the way your daddy was I would not be surprised if you were a little quick on the trigger. Plus, the way your mama told it, Michael was something of a liberal do-gooder which probably would only have added to your bigotry-radar."

I thought about that for a minute. I was a little irritated by his choice of words, but he had the basic idea correct. "I suppose you're right. But, I really am sorry that I ever even for a moment thought you would be capable of that kind of bigotry."

He concentrated on the road for a while and then said softly, "Oh, but I am. I was not indoctrinated with your mother's liberal notions. I was raised by pure-bred segregationists. What I just did was very difficult for me."

Without hesitation, I put my hand on his thigh and said perhaps a bit too loud, "All the more reason for me to love you for it. Defying local convention is easy for me. I don't know any better. That you are willing to step out of your comfort zone, whether it be to please me, or because it's the right thing to do, or for whatever reason, fills me with love and pride. It doesn't matter why you did it. What matters is that you did it."

He smiled and relaxed. "It was the right thing to do."

"It certainly was. Thank you."

He patted my hand, "No. Thank you. You always did bring out the best in me."

Pete interjected, "Where are we going? This isn't the way to the movies."

I turned around and said, "No. We're not going to the movies. We're going on an outing. Darryl has decided that it is his duty to introduce me to the historical and cultural parts of Georgia which I have never explored. I have traveled the world, but have never really explored the South. Darryl proposes to rectify that. We are going sightseeing."

"Like on our vacation?"

"Something like that only we'll be home by this evening."

Darryl said, "The place we are going is not like Disneyland. It's more like a cemetery."

Pete asked, "Why would we go sightseeing in a cemetery?"

I shot a curious look at Darryl and said, "Damn if I know, but visiting graveyards seems to be a peculiarly Southern fixation. What particular cemetery are we visiting?"

Darryl said simply, "Andersonville."

I felt my stomach turn.

Pete asked, "Somebody important buried there?"

I replied, "Lots of important somebodies."

"Anybody I know?"

"No."

"I never heard of it."

I explained, "A long time ago there was a war in the United States. A war between the North and the South. The South operated a prison at this place in Georgia called Andersonville where they kept Yankee prisoners of war. It was a terrible place. Today it is a memorial to those prisoners."

"They used to lock up Yankees in prison?"

I could tell that Darryl was having a hard time not laughing. I answered quickly, "Not just any Yankee. Yankee soldiers who were fighting the South. It's a long story and it doesn't matter any more in many ways. What matters is that there were soldiers whose only crime was that they were serving in the United States Army who were locked up in prison, starved, beaten and for the most part allowed to die. Now, it's a memorial and a park so that people can be reminded of how easy it is for groups of people to hate other groups, for reasons which are often hard to understand."

"That's for sure. I never understand how people can hate other people."

I smiled and reached back to touch his hand, "That is because, my darling brother, you are totally pure of heart. I wish more people could be like you."

"I wish I was not so stupid."

I wanted to weep. I could see Darryl swallow hard. "You are not stupid, Pete. You have a hard time remembering things, but you are anything but stupid. You have a wisdom and an instinct about people and an innate decency I wish more people had."

We were quiet for the rest of the drive. We wandered around the memorial. Pete got bored rather quickly and went back to the car. He had brought some of his color-by-numbers books with which he entertained himself. He was happy sitting in the car coloring with his pencils. Darryl and I wandered around the park, reading the signs and contemplating the horror that had occurred there. It was a beautiful early-spring day: chilly but not cold, clear and crisp. This was not a spot to linger. I saw it, honored the dead, said a prayer for them and for all those unjustly and inhumanely imprisoned and then I was ready to go.

On the way home, I leaned over and whispered, "Why did we go there?"

"Partly because I thought you should see it. Everybody should see it. It is the closest thing America has to Auschwitz. Have you been there by the way?"

I nodded and shuddered at the memory.

He went on, "Anybody who comes to Georgia should go to Andersonville. I guess I think that we need to remind ourselves of the evil that people are capable of doing in order to motivate ourselves not to let it happen again."

I smiled, "I thought you were not a bleeding heart."

"I'm not. I'm just pretty sure that it is important for us to recognize when we've gone off the rails. Andersonville is a serious case of that."

We were quiet for a while. I said, "Do you remember the Confederate Memorial Day picnics? Papa always dragged us to them. In the evening after we came home, Mama would come into my room and give me a lecture very similar to that about how what we should remember about that war is that it was evil and wrong and we should let it stand as a reminder that we should never let anything like that happen again."

"Did you know they still observe Confederate Memorial Day in Osborne."

"They do??!"

"Yep. They doctor it up as a community picnic and downplay the reason. I suspect that some of the Yankees who have moved into town may not even be aware of the significance of April 26. It is now sort of a spring festival."

"I suppose that is harmless enough in one way, but it seems a little odd to me that people would observe a holiday without understanding what it is about."

"You're probably right, but what about Christmas?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean most people I know celebrate Christmas traditions with absolutely no clue why."

"You're not going to down the 'Christmas is a bogus holiday because it has its roots in paganism' road are you?"

"No and yes. I don't think Christmas is a bogus holiday because it has its roots in paganism. In many ways the fact that Christianity was able to use the pagan traditions, redefining them and preserving them seems to me to add layers of meaning and significance to the holiday. What bothers me is how many people observe all those traditions and rituals with no clue as to why."

"You surprise me. I thought you were a church-going Methodist. You're teetering dangerously on the brink of progressivism there, old bean."

He nodded. "Politically, I'm very conservative, which I sadly fear you will try to change. When it comes to religion, I'm not."

"That really surprises me because I would never have thought you would have had the opportunity to learn of any alternatives to the official evangelical party-line."

"That would probably be true but for a person I met in the Navy. Remember I told you that Lucille's brother was a Navy buddy. Before he joined the Navy, he had spent several years in a seminary, preparing to be a Catholic priest. He sort of took his studies way too seriously and went beyond the assigned reading lists. He got really into studying the Bible which ultimately caused him to leave the seminary, and the Catholic church, too, for that matter.

"I never pretended to understand half of what he was talking about, but the part I did understand and the books he recommended that I did actually read convinced me that we don't know nearly as much about Jesus Christ or the origins of the Church that allegedly follows his teachings as most people think. I've more or less come to the conclusion that I couldn't even say for sure that a person named of Jesus of Nazareth even existed. For my personal faith, it wouldn't matter if he didn't.

"I am pretty sure that I don't believe that, if he did exist, he bore any resemblance to the person depicted in the Gospels – any of them."

"Does your pastor know you feel that way?"

"Hell no, and I would appreciate it very much if you wouldn't tell him either, I'm in enough trouble with the church for shacking up with you without the benefit of holy matrimony. If they found out what I really believe about Jesus, they'd throw me out altogether."

"Why do you even want to stay if you don't believe in it."

"That's the really amazing thing. For a long time I didn't go to church much. Lucille was Catholic, and she went to her church. I went a few times. We were married by a priest because her family insisted. I could never get into all that ceremonial stuff...."

"In the Episcopal church, we call it 'bells and smells'."

"That's good. Bells and smells is right. All that ringing bells and chanting and goofy clothes. That thing they did with the holy water, blessing the congregation, always struck me funny."

"You mean 'holy water on a stick'?"

He roared. "That's funny. Yeah. Anyway, I couldn't get into her church, although I respected the fact that she took it so seriously. It was always odd to me that she took it so seriously without ever once exploring it in any way. She prayed her rosary every day, and went to Mass every single Sunday and Holy Day. Lent was hell in our house. But, I never saw her even pick up a Bible or read any kind of religious book. She thought it was creepy that I did, and she refused to listen if I tried to tell her about some of the stuff I read about. For her, religion was not something that had anything to do with study or understanding. It was all about emotion and tradition. Studying too much about it led to trouble, like what happened to her brother.

"I didn't go to church at all for a very long time. On Sunday mornings I went fishing.

"About fifteen years after we were married, Lucille had something of a crisis of faith. She never would talk about it. She stopped going to the Catholic church, but she was clearly lost without it. She asked a lot of questions about the Methodist church and expressed an interest in trying it. So, I took her to church. I think the preacher about fainted when we walked in that first Sunday as a family, but he was nice enough not to say anything.

"Lucille never felt totally at home there, but she went regularly and she dragged the kids along. I went, too, since it was technically my church so I didn't have an excuse not to accompany them. The congregation was wonderful and supportive to me when she was sick. I can't begin to count the kindnesses that they sent our way during that time. I continued to go most Sundays even after she died, mainly because I like the ritual of it. I like the music and the praying and the sense of belonging. The fact that what I understand and believe about who we are praying to and why differs dramatically from what most of the congregation believed came to matter less and less to me over time."

"You'd make a great Episcopalian, or at least you would have before the Episcopal church went nuts."

"You mean before it went all evangelical."

"Yep."

He chuckled. "Boy, did your mama go bonkers over that!"

"Pete and Skylar told me about that. I still have hard time getting my mind around what happened. I am pretty sure that Mama never read the Bible any more than Miss Lucille apparently did. Mama's religion came directly out of the Book of Common Prayer. I don't think she ever took a class or did any serious study on the subject of theology."

"I don't think she did, but she – as they said in the Wizard of Oz – had something others didn't have: she had a sort of basic, innate sense of right and wrong that had nothing to do with church teachings. When the church acted in ways she felt were right and just, she was there and threw her whole heart and soul into it. When the church acted contrary to her beliefs, she felt free to differ. Eventually, she differed so much she left."

"And went to the Baptists in Plains!"

"So they tell me. The folks at All Saints were scandalized. The rest of us mostly thought it was hilarious."

"So let me make sure I understand you. You think that belief in Jesus Christ is optional, even for practicing Christians. How is that possible?"

"Do you believe in the Jesus they talk about in church?"

I thought about that, "No. I guess I don't."

"Do you miss going to church?"

"Yes."

"Would you go to church if your views were welcomed."

I thought about that a while, "Maybe. Maybe not. It isn't just whether my beliefs are acceptable. The Episcopal church has, at least in most places, been very tolerant of a wide spectrum of beliefs for a long time. What I have a problem with is the cruel and dysfunctional way the member treat one another even when they agree more or less on the basics."

He chuckled. "That is interesting. I continue to participate despite the fact that I disbelieve almost 100% of what Christianity teaches. You do not participate even though I suspect you believe more of the official doctrine than even you care to admit."

"So what does that mean?"

He laughed as though he had just heard some wonderful inside joke, "It actually means absolutely nothing, because whether we go to church or not makes no difference. The only thing that matters is that we do what we believe to be the right thing, and respect others enough to let them do the same."

"That is the first thing you've said in the last half hour that I have both understood and agreed with. I am still having trouble putting this conversation in context. What the hell are we talking about?"

Darryl looked at the road and then at me, and said, " I don't know what you're talking about, but I am talking about Justice. Somewhere along the line, I have come to think that Justice is a sort of primary virtue. There is precious little justice in the world. I want to live my life so as to maximize it in my little corner of the world. Contemplating the evil of Andersonville and places like that help me keep my edge because they remind me of what can happen if we allow ourselves to be led in the wrong direction. Going to church, at least in my congregation where there is a heavy emphasis on outreach, gives me an opportunity to as the Bible says 'do Justice'."

I smiled. "I read that in some quarters those WWJD bracelets do not mean 'What would Jesus do?' They stand for 'What would Justice Demand?'"

He chuckled. "I like that. However, I would argue that it amounts to exactly the same thing."

It was my turn to laugh. "That's two things we can agree on. You know, you told me once you thought I'd have liked Lucille. After this conversation, I can tell you that I think you would have liked Michael, too."

To this day, I find that to have been one of the strangest conversations we ever had. He continued to go church about half the time for the rest of his life, and I went with him. On the Sundays we didn't go to church, we ate at Sarah's place, even after she died. For me, that always amounted to a Eucharistic meal.

I had always known Darryl was a decent and kind person. After that conversation, I understood how deeply his decency and kindness were rooted in his very soul.

When we got home that afternoon, I went for a run while Darryl and Pete fixed dinner. They were both wonderful cooks. In our household, the men did practically all of the cooking and I served as the clean-up crew. We told people that Darryl was the chief cook and I was the bottle-washer.

Typically after dinner, Darryl and Pete watched TV while I cleaned up. That particular evening Pete went into the living room and Darryl lingered behind in the kitchen. I washed the dishes and he dried them. He looked at me and said, "You could use the dishwasher, you know."

I laughed. "I know. You should remind me about that before I get started washing. I've never had a dishwasher before. It doesn't occur to me to use it. Washing the dishes is part of the cleaning up process. I do it without thinking of it. I'm a Stepford-wife or something."

He stepped close to me and cleared his throat. "We need to call my kids and let them know the wedding date has been set."

I nodded, "Sure. You want to do that after we're done here?"

"Yes, only I have a favor to ask. Just as I thought it was important for me to extend the invitation to Miss Sarah, I would like you to make the initial contact with my kids. I'll be on the phone, too, but I want you do talk first and make the invitation."

I thought about that for a minute, and understood why he wanted to do it that way. The call to Wade and Donna would be a delight. The call to Charlotte would likely be more difficult. I smiled, "Okay, you dial. I'll talk. Let's get the hard one out of the way first."

He dialed Charlotte's number and handed the phone to me. Her daughter answered. I identified myself, and she had a bit of a hard time placing me until I explained that I was her granddaddy's friend. She yelled for her mother who took a very long time coming to the phone. Charlotte was very cold to me. I explained why I was calling and gave her the wedding date. I told her that we had room at our house – upon which Darryl shook his head emphatically. I added quickly, "Or Caroline has rooms as does Skylar. If you would feel more comfortable, we could put you up at the Sheraton."

She said, "Well, I'll have to check our calendar. You know spring is a busy time for us. I'll let you know."

Darryl was on the extension and chimed in, "Charlotte, we would really love to have you here."

"I'll let you know."

I could see the hurt in his eyes. We chatted for a few minutes, and then Charlotte ended the conversation rather abruptly.

I reached across the table and took his hand. "Now let's do the fun one."

He smiled with his lips. His eyes were still sad. He dialed Wade's number. Donna answered on the second ring. I greeted her and told her that Darryl was on the line. I started to make the preliminary small talk, but she interrupted me. "Hold on. Hold on. I want Wade on the phone for this call."

A few minutes later they were both on the phone. I could hear giggling. It sounded like you kids were on the line, also. Wade said, "Okay. We're here. Did you have something to tell us?"

Darryl laughed out loud and jumped in ahead of me, "Yes we do. The construction has progressed to the point that we can set a date for our wedding. We want you to know that it will be May 16. We hope you can come."

I chimed in, "You can stay with us or with Caroline or any number of people in town, or we can put you up at the Sheraton whichever would be more comfortable."

Donna burst out laughing, "Oh, we are sooooooo far ahead of you two! We already have rooms reserved at Aunt Caroline's. We are coming in on Thursday so we can help with the last minute preparations. The kids are going to be on the food-serving crew and they are ecstatic about that. Wild horses couldn't keep us away!"

Darryl couldn't speak. He was laughing and crying simultaneously. I said, "We are so delighted to hear that."

There was an uncomfortable pause. Wade seemed to notice that Darryl had gone quiet. He asked softly, "Did you by chance just get off the phone from talking to Charlotte?"

I replied, "Yes. We started with her because we knew it might be the more difficult call. We had no idea that calling you would be totally unnecessary."

We all laughed but Wade muttered softly, "What a bitch."

Donna giggled and said, "Okay, y'all. We have another surprise for you beyond the fact that Aunt Caroline jumped the gun on you and called us already. Rumor has it that you are not planning a honeymoon. Is that correct?"

Darryl had recovered somewhat, he chuckled and said, "Rumor being spread by my darling sister, I presume?"

"None other."

"That would be correct. Bessie will still have a couple more weeks of school and Pete can't stay alone, so we're going to postpone the honeymoon until the summer and go someplace as a family."

"We think otherwise."

"Excuse me?"

"Here's the plan. I am a licensed teacher in Florida. Uncle Henry already got approval for me to get a temporary license in Georgia so I can substitute for Miss Bessie. Pete knows us and likes us. We propose that after the wedding, we move into your house for a few days with Pete. I'll sub for Miss Bessie. Y'all go on a honeymoon. It will give our kids a few days in Osborne to learn about their heritage. Wade can help take care of the store. What do y'all say to that?"

It was my turn to cry. These were such delightfully nice people. How kind and generous for them to honor their dad's re-marriage in such a way. Darryl cleared his throat and said, "Donna, the older you get the more you remind me of Caroline."

Donna let out an explosion of high, tinkling laughter and said, "I'll take that for a compliment, although I'm not 100% sure it was meant that way."

I chimed in, "We cannot tell you how much it means to us to know that you will be here to celebrate with us. And thank you for the gift of a few days together."

We chatted for a few more minutes and then hung up the phone.

Darryl shook his head and looked at me. "'ppears we have a honeymoon to plan on top of everything else."

"Let's do it easy. How about two or three days along the Gulf somewhere? I'm sure we could get a nice condo on the beach. Wouldn't take much planning."

"How about Destin?"

"I've never been there."

"The fishing is fabulous and the beaches are gorgeous. My P&G; rep has a condo there. I'll call him tomorrow. Maybe he'll rent it to us."

**Chapter 18**

I got up before sunrise on our wedding day and made coffee. The house was immaculate. Not only had it been recently remodeled from top to bottom, but that week every inch had been cleaned under the careful supervision of Caroline, whom we had taken to calling Frau Kommandant.

I wrapped up in an afghan and came out on the porch to watch the sun come up. Presently, Darryl joined me in the swing. I threw the afghan across his lap. He put his arm around me and whispered, "It's going to be a long day. You sure you want to be up so early?"

"I want to savor every minute of today from sunup to sundown. It has been a long time coming. I guess I also needed a few quiet minutes before Hurricane Caroline arrives."

He chuckled, "You want me to leave you alone?"

"Not unless you want to go back to bed."

"I think I will in a few minutes if you don't mind. Maybe I'll watch the sun come up with you and then catch a few more zzz's."

We rocked gently in the swing as the sun came up on what would prove to be a positively glorious Georgia spring day. After a few minutes, Darryl leaned toward me and gave me a long, slow kiss, "I've loved you my whole life. I can hardly believe I am finally going to get you to the altar."

I kissed him back, "I hope marriage to me will have been worth waiting for."

"I am not worried." He went back inside to sleep a while longer.

I sat here and watched the town come to life, like a flower blooming in one of those fast-forward nature films. At some point Pete came out munching on a cold biscuit. He sat down and handed a biscuit to me.

"Miss Caroline and Miss Donna told me to eat a cold breakfast and not to bother you about cooking today. They said there'd be plenty of good stuff later. Want a biscuit?"

I took it gratefully. I love cold biscuits, and I was hungry. I hadn't eaten much in a few days. I was surprised to find that I was quite nervous. I was not nervous about being married to Darryl. I was nervous about the wedding itself. I didn't enjoy big social events, particularly when I was the center of attention. I wanted everything to go well. I felt very grateful that Caroline had taken responsibility for all the planning.

Pete and I rocked silently for a while, fascinated by a hummingbird flitting around one of the feeders that hung at the end of the porch. After the hummingbird flew away, Pete breathed deeply. "Smell that honeysuckle?"

"Yes. It reminds me of Granny. Lord, that woman loved honeysuckle."

"I guess that's why we have so much of it around, huh?"

"Yes."

"You're nervous. How come?"

"A little, although it's getting better. For one thing, it looks as though the weather will be good. I think I was very nervous about that; I was afraid it might rain and spoil the outdoor party. We have done all we can, now all we can do is go through the day and try to have a good time. Hey, are you okay about staying here a few days with Miss Donna and Mr. Wade?"

"Oh, yeah. They are so nice. I'll be fine. And I know I can talk to you if I need you. I want you and Mr. D to go off and have a good time."

I kissed him on the cheek. "I love you, Bubby. I want you to have a good time today, okay?"

"I will. I am sure. Lord knows, I plan to eat good."

"Try not to give yourself a belly-ache."

He laughed. Eventually, he wandered back into the house to watch TV until it was time to get dressed.

Before I was ready, Caroline pulled in the driveway with Skylar and Donna in the car. Amazingly, they did not troop up the stairs, hollering and bustling around noisily. They came up on the porch quietly and whispered, "Is Darryl still sleeping?"

I nodded. Skylar looked at me suspiciously and asked, "How long have you been up?"

"I ain't tellin'."

Caroline sniffed. "She's been up since before dawn. Probably drank a whole pot of coffee already. She'll be falling asleep in her supper."

Skylar leaned against the porch rail and said to Caroline, "Okay, boss. What do we do first?"

Caroline thought about that. "Well, I don't want to do too much in the house until Darryl gets up. Let's start dragging tables out onto the lawn. Henry and Wade will be here shortly to set them up, but we can place them around where we want them.

About that time, Sarah and Odom pulled into the driveway. Buster and his wife were with them. Henry and Wade pulled in the driveway right behind the Fosters.

"I am going to go in and get dressed. I'll be right back to help you. Pete is up. He can help drag tables around, too."

I went inside and tried to slip into the bedroom quietly. Darryl said, "I'm awake. God knows nobody could get any rest with Caroline around. I don't know how Henry does it."

"Henry worships the ground she walks on for one thing. For another thing, he is very hard of hearing and when it gets too much for him, he turns off his hearing aids. And don't you dare tell Caroline."

Darryl laughed until he almost fell out of bed. I had pulled on sweats and was lacing my running shoes.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm going to help them set up the tables, then I'm going for a good hard run to work off some of my nerves and so I can stay out of the way of the folks in the kitchen who know what they're doing."

"What do you think I should do?"

"How about you help set up the tables and then go up to your favorite fishing spot. I'll meet you there later and we can stay out of everybody's way together."

"That sounds like an excellent plan."

We had the tables set up in no time. Soon other ladies began arriving and the house filled with the sounds of laughter and the smells of wonderful Southern delights. Darryl and I stood at the sidelines, well aware that our marriage was merely a pretext for this party. He put his arm around me and kissed my cheek. "I think that Caroline may be even happier today than we are."

"She should have been a party consultant."

"She is. She just doesn't get paid for it."

I kissed him lightly on the cheek and said, "I'm off. I'll meet you on the hill in a couple of hours. Please admonish Pete not to eat himself sick before the wedding."

He swatted me on the butt. I headed off across the fields, and saw Darryl walking toward the barn to get his fishing stuff. As I topped a nearby hill, I turned to look at the house and felt my heart skip a couple of beats and my eyes fill with tears. The house was glorious. Freshly painted, it reflected the bright morning sunlight, looking as happy as I felt. The lawn was perfectly manicured. Flowers bloomed everywhere. Caroline had added hanging baskets of flowers on the porch. I knew the florist would be bringing more arrangements which would turn the porch itself into a flower garden. It looked like something out of Southern Living magazine!

Several cars were parked behind the house. A dozen or more people bustled around putting table cloths on the long tables that scattered about the yards. Shade canopies dotted the lawn like toad stools. Two men were hauling wash tubs of ice to a spot under the oaks which would be shaded all day. One tub was for iced tea. I assumed the other one would be for the beer, since they put it behind one of the bigger trees. Officially, since most of the people attending the party were Southern Baptists and Southern Methodists who were supposed to be tee-totalers, the wedding was a dry affair. It was dry in the sense that the alcohol was put out of sight. I chuckled at the delightful hypocrisy of Southern hospitality, and then turned to continue my run.

Two hours later, I met Darryl at his favorite fishing spot and we dallied for a while talking about nothing in particular. We delayed returning to the house until early afternoon. Neither of us was eager to face the bustle. We knew Caroline had everything under control. There was nothing for us to do until time to get ready for the ceremony. As long as we were ready to hit our marks on the porch at 4:30 p. m., we were free to do as we pleased the rest of the day. I sat on a rock and watched Darryl fish. We were quiet for a long time. Eventually, he packed up his gear and put it in the trunk. Then he sat down beside me. We still didn't talk very much. We sat watching the water. I felt grateful for the opportunity to have a second chance for a future with the love of my life.

He seemed to be pondering something deeply, and then arrived at a decision. He took my hand and said softly, "Do you remember a while back when you told me that you felt we actually got married the night we sat around the table and held hands with Pete?"

"Yes."

"Well, I've given that a lot of thought. I agree with you. Today is the public announcement of a marriage that took place some time ago. I talked with the preacher about that. I told him what happened and how we felt about it. He agreed with me that the actual sacrament of marriage already took place. Today will be a civil ceremony to make it legal. What he's going to do is to bless our marriage instead of perform a traditional wedding ceremony."

I thought about that for a minute, and then started to cry. "That is wonderful!"

He smiled. "I wasn't sure how you would take that, but I thought you might like the idea. I would have told you about it, but I just talked to the preacher about it yesterday."

"It's perfect. I don't feel that we have been living in sin. We've been married all along."

"I know."

He paused and then reached in his pocket. "I want to do this part privately as well." He opened the ring box that held our wedding rings. He took out my ring and slipped it on my finger. Significantly, he didn't say a word.

Taking his cue, I put the other ring on his finger wordlessly.

We had made our vows already. The rings were a formality. The ceremony would be merely a public blessing of a union that had always existed at some level.

I looked at the ring shining on my hand. "Do you know the definition of a sacrament?"

"No. What is your definition?"

"A sacrament 'is an outward and visible sign of an inward and invisible grace.'"

He thought about that for a while. "I like that."

"I do too." I took his hand and lightly kissed his ring. I whispered, "I know it is unnecessary, but I have to say this to you out loud." I paused to swallow and compose myself.

"What?"

I looked into his eyes and whispered, "With this ring I thee wed and plight unto thee my troth, until death do us part."

He put his head on my shoulder. I could feel tears through my shirt. He said softly, "How long I have waited to hear that from you!"

Just before we left to go back to the house I looked around carefully so as to memorize the spot, the day, the sights and sounds and smell of that sacred time. He smiled. Finally, he sighed and hugged me. "I guess we can't put this off any longer. We have to go face the masses."

I put my head on his shoulder and put my arms around him. "It'll only be a few hours. A few hours that will make our family and friends happy. Since we already are happy, how can we deny them their party?"

He said, "I happen to have squirreled away our bottle of good bourbon in the bedroom. What say we sneak up there and have a belt while we're getting ready for the ceremony."

I laughed. "Well, if you can figure out a way to sneak past Caroline and get to it, fine. I have already been warned that my wedding things are in the master bedroom and that I am to get ready in there and you are not to see me once I am dressed until the ceremony."

"Caroline's a pain in the ass. So, we'll drink before you get dressed."

"Let's go."

When we got back to the house, it was all but unrecognizable. There were flowers everywhere. Party tents and festive tables dotted the lawn. A group of men were frying chicken out by the barn. The kitchen was full of women. It looked like chaos to me but there was clearly a plan and a schedule to it all.

Darryl and I walked in and Caroline looked at the clock, then at us, and then back at the clock. Darryl waved his hand in her face, "Not to worry, baby sister, we'll be ready. Can we have something to eat before we go upstairs to make ourselves presentable?"

Sarah was slicing ham at the table, "How about a ham sandwich and some potato salad?"

"Oh, yes!"

We fixed sandwiches and Sarah dished up plates of potato salad. Darryl said, while staring down Caroline, "There's no place to sit in here. Let's take these plates upstairs."

I giggled. "I'll get the glasses."

Caroline glared at both of us and hollered over the din, "Don't you dare get drunk before your wedding!"

Darryl was already half-way up the stairs. I turned around and winked, "Caroline Davidson, I am surprised that you would even think such a thing of us!"

She huffed and laughed. Everybody else in the kitchen laughed as well. I laughed, too, and virtually skipped up the stairs. We closed the door on my room and both of us became hysterical. Once we stopped laughing, we wiped our eyes and sat facing each other, cross-legged on the bed to eat our sandwiches and salad. We washed the food down with sips of bourbon.

I said, "This is the best potato salad I've ever had. I wonder who made it."

Darryl chewed thoughtfully. "This is Millie's potato salad."

"Does every woman in town but me have a signature dish."

"I think so, and I think they are all going to be served today. Today, Pete may be the happiest person of all."

I harrumphed, "Until he gets a belly-ache."

We finished our lunch and I got up to go down the hall for my shower. He was stretched out on the bed. I said, "Don't you dare fall asleep."

"With all that commotion downstairs. Fat chance. I'll be ready. Don't you worry. Go get beautiful. I'll meet you on the porch later."

I stretched out beside him and put my head on his shoulders. "This all seems so superfluous."

"It most certainly is. However, if it makes the ladies happy, there is no harm in it. And it has the added benefit that now Caroline owes me a big favor. I will never call it in. I'll cherish holding it over her head forever."

We laughed together, then I kissed him quickly and slipped out of the room.

We had done the master bedroom exactly as we had originally discussed. Walking into the room in the afternoon sun was like walking through forest glade. It was bright and cozy at the same time. I showered quickly and twisted my hair into a loose French twist. I had ordered a head piece that consisted of several small French combs with lilies-of-the-valley attached. My bouquet, which lay on the bed next to my dress, was magnolia blossoms and lilies-of-the-valley. It had turned out to be even more beautiful than I expected.

I seldom wore makeup, and I did not want to wear eye makeup that day because I knew I would shed some tears, but I did put on some foundation and blush. I decided to wait on applying lipstick until the last minute. Soon I was all ready but for the dress. I would put that on at the very last minute so as not to wrinkle it, or spill my drink on it. I sat in the front window watching the bustle of the party preparations. The marriage ceremony was scheduled for 4:30 and the reception guests were supposed to arrive at 5:00. There were already several dozen people who had come early to 'help'. I smiled.

Soon there was a loud knock on the door and Caroline barged in without waiting for an invitation. She was followed closely by Donna, Skylar and even Charlotte who had managed to bring herself to attend the wedding, apparently mainly out of fear of missing out on something. Charlotte was very obviously in on this little part of the ritual against her will. Caroline announced, "Okay, Bessie, it is too late to back out now. Put your dress on and go marry my brother. God knows why he wants to do this, but we're going to see to it that you go through with it this time."

I laughed, and said softly, "A herd of wild horses couldn't keep me off that porch today."

Caroline came over to me and hugged me, "I am glad to hear that."

They helped me into my dress, which was a simple suit. It was a very pale pink satin dress with a matching jacket. It has no decorations at all. Skylar shook her head. "Why in the hell did you pick out such a plain jane dress?"

"Darryl picked it out."

Donna jabbed Charlotte with her elbow. Charlotte glared at Donna for a minute, and said, "Daddy wanted me to give this to you. I don't know what you have that is blue, or borrowed. This is old. It was my great-grandmother's. Daddy would love for you to wear it."

She handed me a very old necklace box. I opened it and everyone in the room gasped. Inside was the most beautiful pearl necklace and earring set I had ever seen. The cast was a delicate pink.

Donna laughed, "That old dude picked you out a dress that perfectly matches his granny's beads. How about that!?"

I could barely speak. I notice that Charlotte looked positively apoplectic. It was pretty clear she didn't know the enormity of the treasure that the box had contained.

Skylar went down to let everyone know that I was ready. Charlotte and Donna made to follow her. I stopped them and took their hands. "I want to thank you for being here. It means a great deal to both your dad and to me that you are here and that you are willing to participate in our wedding, regardless of how you may feel about it." I kissed them each on the cheek. Charlotte gave me a perfunctory hug and left the room. Donna threw her arms around me in a bear hug and kissed me back. I never had a daughter of my own, but I felt as though I had just come into one by marriage. Lord, how I love that gal!

I turned and caught Caroline looking at me. She had an odd expression on her face. Then she smiled. "You ready?"

"Yes."

She walked across the room and took my left hand. She looked at the two rings and raised her eyebrows. I whispered, "You'll see in a few minutes."

Our immediate family and friends were gathered on the porch. Skylar was the matron of honor and Pete was the best man. Since Pete couldn't witness a legal document Caroline and Henry were to be the official legal witnesses who would sign the marriage certificate.

I believe the happiest moment of my life occurred when Darryl looked at me as I joined him on the porch, smiling at me with naked love in his eyes. I managed not to burst into tears. I don't know how.

The minister explained at the outset that this was a civil ceremony that would make our marriage legal but that the religious part of it would be a blessing of a marriage which had already taken place in the eyes of God. I glanced at Caroline who grinned from ear to ear. The ceremony only took a few minutes.

As if on cue (which it probably was thanks to cellphone technology), within minutes of the completion of the wedding ceremony, dozens of cars came streaming up the road. Soon the driveway was full and other cars parked on the road, almost all the way into town. I stood on the porch and looked out over virtually everyone in the town. I had known many of them since childhood. Others were newcomers and strangers to me, but they were patrons of Darryl's store. He put his arm around my waste and muttered under his breath, "I told you this would turn into the barbecue at the Wilkes'."

I smiled up at him and said, "Is that so bad?"

He smiled back and said, "No, but for God's sakes don't you ever tell Caroline I said that. Let's go greet our guests, my dear!"

"Let's do!"

We waded into the crowd and tried to greet everyone. Soon Darryl was lost to me in the crowd of men who were congregating behind the barn ostensibly to watch the chicken frying. In actuality they were standing very near where the beer was stashed. They were so obvious I laughed. I was thirsty, so I went into the kitchen for some tea.

Sarah was at the sink washing dishes. I marched up to her and said sharply, "I thought we made it clear you were to be a guest today!"

She smiled at me. "Miss Bess, I am a guest today. I have been blessed to be treated as one of the girls by Miss Caroline and made a part of the planning group for this party. I was on the porch with your friends and family when you wed. I am happy to be helping out now just as any good friend would do."

I walked over to her and hugged her. I put my head on her shoulder and said, "You know, Sarah, I know you take the Bible a lot more literally than I do, but one thing I do believe in literally because I have experienced it here in this place and especially today."

"What is that, honey?"

"Redemption."

She dried her hands and put her arms around me. "You know the hardest thing about redemption and forgiveness?"

"What?"

"Accepting them."

I smiled into her wise face and nodded. About that time Darryl and Wade walked into the room. Darryl asked Sarah, "Well, what do you think about what we've done with the house."

"Mr. D, it always was the most interesting house in the town. It used to be the most beautiful, but it sort of went downhill over the years. You and Miss Bess have gone and turned it back into the grandest place in the county."

He smiled at her and then at me, "Now we'll just have to see if we can bring back some of the happiness that used to live here."

I felt positively radiant and I gushed. "Somehow, I don't think that will be a problem."

Donna burst in at that point and said, "Miss Caroline and Miss Skylar say that you better get your asses outside and cut the cake before there is a riot."

I laughed, "My guess is that the chief inciter of that riot would be Pete, who has been eyeing that cake all day."

Darryl said, "Then let's go and let him have the first piece."

We trooped out onto the lawn where Skylar's beautiful wedding cake sat in the middle of the table, with large sheet cakes for the masses on both sides. Church-ladies stood at either end of the table with serving knives poised. Cameras clicked madly as we took our places behind the table. Darryl motioned for Pete to join us. He said, "Pete, you're part of this family. You need to participate in this business here."

Pete looked both confused and delighted. Darryl and I cut the first piece. We broke off a piece and, together, we handed it to Pete. We then delicately fed one another small bites. The crowd applauded.

Soon it was clear that the crowd expected us to leave. We had not intended to leave the party early, but they seemed to expect us to, so we decided to oblige. Our suitcases were already in the car. We found Pete and said goodbye. We kissed and hugged Caroline, Henry, and a dozen or so others who had helped with the party and/or who happened to be standing around.

Skylar brought me the bouquet and instructed me to toss it off the front steps. I thought that was silly, but I did it anyway. I didn't know the girl who caught it.

As we pulled out of the driveway, upwards of a hundred people congregated on our front lawn waving good-bye. I laughed, "I feel like someone should break out singing OKLAHOMA."

Darryl did just that. We laughed almost all the way to the highway.

We didn't talk much on the drive to Destin. We arrived late and we were both tired. We climbed into bed and Darryl chuckled. "Well, Mrs. Endicott, I hate to disappoint you, but I am utterly exhausted."

"I can't tell you how glad I am to hear that, Mr. Endicott. I would have hated to resort to a headache on our wedding night. I figure that the day was wonderful enough."

He chuckled and then started snoring instantly. I was probably snoring myself in a few seconds.

For the next two days we walked the beaches and fished and had a great time in Destin. Darryl was a bit disappointed that the place had grown so popular. He remembered it as a sleepy fishing village. He was not thrilled with the expensive high-rise condominiums and chain restaurants that had popped up everywhere.

We spent most of our time at Grayton Beach State Park, where there were no condos or restaurants at all.

It was nice, but I was glad we had only planned to stay a couple of days. I was soon ready to go home. We were supposed to stay until Wednesday, but by Tuesday we had had enough. We headed for home a day early.

Home. We had fixed up our house exactly the way we wanted it. Our family and friends were there. From that day to this, except for the occasional weekend trip to Atlanta or to the Gulf, we hardly ever left Osborne. Everything that either of us wanted was right here.

We arrived in the middle of the afternoon on Tuesday. The house was empty. Wade and Pete were apparently at the store. Donna would still be at school. I wanted to go for a run, but Darryl came up behind me and said softly. "Let's sit on the porch for a bit and enjoy the peace and quiet."

I stopped and listened. He was right. It was very quiet. We were alone in the house. Heaven only knew when that would happen again. We sat here in the swing with our arms around each other and talked for a couple of hours, about everything and about nothing. It was a totally magical afternoon for us, one which we talked about often afterwards.

At some point, we decided to make dinner for the gang. Darryl was a great cook. I followed directions well, so I was the a decent sous-chef. By the time the rest of the family arrived, we had dinner almost ready. Pete was delighted to see us. He hugged us both warmly, which I don't recall him ever doing before.

We called Caroline and Henry and invited them to come over and to stop and get Skylar.

After we said grace, Wade and Donna exchanged glances. Donna nodded and Wade put down his fork and looked pleased, "We didn't tell you before because at first there were so many things to work out and then we didn't want to steal any of your thunder at the wedding, but we have a very important announcement. Dad, you sold your house to an anonymous buyer whom you thought was a Yankee investor. We want you to know that you actually sold it to Donna and me."

Darryl looked from Wade to Donna and then at you kids. Then he lost it. He got up from the table, took Wade in his arms and wept, "Oh, my God, I am so happy to hear that. Selling that house was so much harder than I expected it would be. I can't tell you how wonderful it is to know it will stay in the family." He blew his nose and fought for control, then he asked, "Are you moving here full-time?"

Donna and Wade beamed at each other. "Yes, we are. Uncle Henry hired Donna to teach Home Ec. I am a little embarrassed to say that I'll sort of be your competition, Dad. I'm going to be the new manager of the Wal-Mart. We enrolled the kids in school already. We're here to stay."

Darryl and I both cried and whooped for joy. Pete grinned from ear to ear; he was excited that our family was expanding.

There was hugging and kissing all around. As I hugged Donna, I whispered, "Does Charlotte know about this?"

She whispered back, "We told her over the weekend."

"And?"

"Not surprisingly, she had a total hissy-fit, but it was too late. The deed was done."

"I am so unbelievably happy to have you here. You will be my colleague, my friend, my neighbor, my daughter. I can't begin to tell you how happy I am."

Pete died two years later. His funeral was an even bigger event in the town than our wedding. I think every person in the county attended the burial and the reception at our house afterwards. Pete was loved by everyone who ever met him. Originally, I had planned to bury him next to Mama. I changed my mind and put him next to the grave where I will be buried. I mourn him still. He was one of the two kindest, most decent people I have ever known.

I have taken such pleasure in watching you and your brother grow into such wonderful adults. Your parents have been my family and next door neighbors as well as my best friends. I love all of you more than I can say....

**Epilogue**

Wade and Donna pulled into the driveway. Wade stayed in the car. Donna got out and walked up on the porch where Bessie sat on the swing with Donna's daughter, Lucy. Lucy's head lay on Bessie's shoulder and her arms wrapped around the old woman. She was weeping silently. Bessie stared off into space, lost in her memories.

Donna put her hand gently on Bessie's arm and said, "Mother B, it's time to go."

Bessie looked up at her like a person waking from a deep sleep, and then her features froze and her color went somewhat gray. She nodded slowly, but somewhat vaguely. "I know. Oh, dear God, how can I do this?" Tears sprang to her eyes. Lucy sobbed. Donna started to cry, also. The three women were locked for a moment in an embrace that transcended generation and family, time and space. They were grief-stricken women, trying vainly to comfort one another.

After a moment, Bessie stood up and held herself very erect. "Let's get this over with." Donna and Lucy followed her to the car, weeping in each other's arms.

They drove to the funeral home without talking. The only sounds in the car were sniffling and quiet sobs.

In a few moments, they pulled into the parking lot of the funeral home. The line of cars with funeral flags already stretched all the way down Main Street. Virtually every family in town was represented in the procession. The funeral director asked Bessie if she wanted to ride in the limo. She said that she would rather ride with Wade. The funeral director motioned Wade into the line behind the hearse.

Charlotte and her family were in the car behind them. It occurred to Bessie that there might be hell to pay because Wade preceded Charlotte in the procession. Bessie almost hoped Charlotte would make an issue of it. Telling Charlotte off after twenty years of silently tolerating her bullshit would be a pleasure....

The procession slowly made its way toward the cemetery, and Bessie was lost in her grief once more. She held Lucy's hand on the one side and reached for Robbie's hand on the other. They may not have carried her genes, but in every other way they were her beloved grandchildren, and she thanked God for their comforting presence.

At the cemetery, she allowed herself to be led almost blindly through the maze of grave stones to the family plot. Pete's grave was decorated with flowers. Next to it was the empty grave reserved for Bessie when she died. On the other side of that was an open grave. The pallbearers brought the coffin to from the hearse and rested it over the grave. The minister read the committal service. The crowd dispersed.

Bessie stood by her husband's grave and wept as she had never allowed herself to do in her entire life up to that point. Caroline held her on one side. Skylar held her on the other.

Bessie looked at her husband's grave and said piteously, "How in the hell am I going to be able to go on drawing breath without him?"

Skylar put her arms around Bessie, "In the knowledge that he loved you with all his heart and that you made him a very, very happy man for these last 20 years."

Caroline looked across the family plot until her eyes fell on Henry's grave. She took a deep, ragged breath and said, "Here's what you'll do. You'll breathe in and then you let your breath out. At first it's amazing that you can do it, but you will still be able breathe. Then you will put one foot in front of the other and walk away from here. It will amaze you even more that you can do that. You will go home and greet your callers. You will eat food you don't taste. You will laugh at jokes you don't hear. You will sleep when your body can't go on any further without rest. After a while you will realize that you are not going to die, too. That's when it gets really, really hard."

Bessie looked at Caroline miserably and asked, "What should I do then?"

"Call me and Skylar. We'll be right over with a pie and coffee."

The three old ladies walked back to the car. Arm-in-arm. Weeping.

 **The End**



**Meredith Morgan** is a pseudonym for an author who grew up in the Midwest and now lives in Florida.

Born at the apex of the Baby Boom wave in the mid 1950's, every time she thinks of some great new, original idea or plan, she knows that next week it will show up on the cover of "Time" Magazine as the "Next Big Thing." She exhibits all the narcissistic Boomer neuroses, plus a few extra just to make things interesting, all of which she pours into her writing.

She enjoys walking the beaches, cooking (in theory if not in actual practice), and collecting odd, unusual and utterly useless bits of knowledge.

Visit her blog at: _<http://meredith-morgan.blogspot.com/>_

