The Pecan Man(10)

Gracie flattened herself against the porch column, hands reaching behind to grip its wide round girth, her face a mask of terror and her feet back pedaling as if she could push the column out of the way with her body.

I don't remember a time when I moved so swiftly. I was out of my chair within seconds, my glass of tea cast aside without thought. I reached Gracie just as the scream penetrated her paralyzed vocal chords and joined the sound of the wailing siren. Scooping her up under one arm, I flung open the screen door and entered the living room, kicking the heavy wooden door shut with one foot. Both doors slammed at once.

Blanche met me at the hallway and took Grace from me without a word. I don't remember if I ever even told her what happened. I think she just knew from the sound of the scream that it was another nightmare come back to haunt her little girl.

Blanche took Grace into the guest room and worked to quiet her down. A wave of nausea hit me with the force of a hurricane and I stumbled to the downstairs bathroom, my fingers shaking too violently to manage the light switch. I don't know how long I vomited or how many times, but by the time I felt able to walk again, Blanche's crooning had worked its magic and Grace was asleep under the chenille bedspread, bathed in that now familiar pink glow.





Six





We missed seeing Patrice's squad pass by the house and her disappointment was

obvious when she popped in to eat dinner before the game.

"Mama!" Patrice complained. "Where were you?"

As Blanche struggled to respond, the twins mercifully provided a plausible, if not completely accurate, reason for our absence.

"Aw, that ol' sireen scared Gracie half to death," Danita put in first.

"Yeah, you shoulda seen it," ReNetta said, rolling her eyes. "Miz Ora had to carry her inside, hollerin' like a little baby."

Patrice's annoyance quickly turned to concern.

"Is she okay?" she asked Blanche.

"She fine," Blanche answered. "She been sleepin' ever since."

"I'm worried about her, Mama," Patrice said. "She hasn't been herself lately."

"Don't you worry none." Blanche tried to reassure her. "She go'n be all right. She jus' tired, that's all."

"She's been tired a lot," Patrice persisted.

"You best stop your fussin' and eat up now. Game starts in half an hour."

The rest of our meal passed in silence and Grace did not wake until Blanche put her into the taxi to go home.

It was a while before I got used to the constant commotion in the house each day after school, but I took to taking a nap after lunch, so I’d at least be rested up for the afternoon onslaught of laughing and squabbling. The twins often asked me for help with their homework. They seemed to be in awe of the fact that I had been to college. They were puzzled, however, as to why I had never actually taught school, as I had intended to do with my degree in Home Economics.

Up until that point, I had never questioned it myself. Sometimes it seemed like I was listening to the story of my own life and not telling it when I explained to the girls how different it was for women “way back then”. Don’t get me wrong. I’ve had a nice life and Walter was good to me for all practical purposes. It’s just that their questions made me wonder how my life might have been different if I’d lived it for myself and not for the man I married.

I remember one of those conversations vividly. It had been decided that Blanche’s entire family including Marcus, who would be home on leave from the Army, would have dinner at my house for Thanksgiving. It was the first year we would do such a thing. Every year before, I had given Blanche a turkey and a ham, an extra twenty-five dollars in her paycheck and four days off for the holiday. By the standards of the day that was rather generous for hired help and it made me feel good, benevolent soul that I was.

Walter and I always ate dinner out after serving at the Episcopal Church’s benefit meal. Walter, an insurance agent and local philanthropist, used every opportunity he could to make contacts in the community. Charitable events were his thing and my job was to help coordinate the details and then show up in a nice dress. I was never a great beauty, but I cleaned up well.

The twins helped me polish the silver for Thanksgiving dinner. They wanted to know all about the silver and why we were spending so much time polishing it for use at only one meal. ReNetta was the more inquisitive of the two, although in all other ways the two were identical and I had yet to find a way to tell them apart.

“These sure are some pretty forks, Miz Beckworth.”

“They belonged to my mother,” I said. “She gave them to me when I married Mr. Beckworth in 1931.”

“Dang! That’s a long time ago.”

“Mmm…thirty-five years,” I agreed.

“How many times you reckon you used ‘em since then?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Not so many times lately, but fairly often when I was younger and Mr. Beckworth was trying to make a name for himself in Mayville.”

“What’s silverware got to do with that?” ReNetta asked.

“What, indeed!” I thought, but then I snorted a little and replied genially, “Back then, it was important to be a good hostess. Wives played a big role in their husbands’ success in the business world.”