The Pecan Man(12)

“But, if I’d had a child, I’d want her to be just like you, Gracie-love.”

She wiggled happily in her seat and pushed her cheeks even higher.

“Okay, let’s see,” I searched my ever-fading memory. “Mr. Beckworth and I married in June of 1931. It was right after my graduation from Agnes Scott College in Atlanta. My mother had to plan most of the wedding without me, but that didn’t bother me a bit. I never was big on pomp and circumstance, but I’d go along with just about anything Mother said was the right thing to do.”

“What’s pop and circus hands?” Grace demanded.

“Pomp and circumstance,” I corrected. “It means fancy stuff.”

“Oh,” she sighed.

“Grace, hush!” ReNetta complained. “We’re never gonna hear this story if you keep askin’ so many questions.”

I continued, “I picked out my china pattern and a wedding dress when I was home on spring break and got home from graduation just in time to have a bridal shower and help my attendants get fitted for their dresses. Mother picked out the flowers and everything else.”

“Was it pretty?” Danita wanted to know this. Danita, the dreamer, I was coming to know.

“I thought so. But, mostly it was suitable. Suitable for a young lady from a good Southern family. The right china patterns, the right customs, the right number of bridesmaids and the right food at the rehearsal dinner. I was a suitable bride for a suitable man.”

“Sounds kinda boring to me,” ReNetta grunted.

“I honestly didn’t think so,” was my bemused reply.

“So, what’s all this got to do with silverware?” ReNetta was not going to let up at all.

“Well, the silverware was just part of the whole thing. When you got married, you had things you just did, like the things I told you about. You got fine china and your mother’s silverware pattern and you went from being someone’s daughter to being someone’s wife and then that had its own set of expectations, which you just fulfilled, same as everything else.”

“Were you happy?” Danita wanted to know.

“Well, of course I was happy,” I replied. “What’s not to be happy about?”

“You never said why you only used the silverware sometimes, though.”

“Too much work,” I replied a little too sharply.

“So how come we’re using it for Thanksgiving?” Grace quite logically asked. I sighed and shook my head.

“Some things are worth the effort,” was all I could think to say.





Seven





Thanksgiving that year was the first time in a long, long time that I filled my house with so many happy, laughing people. Marcus arrived home on Wednesday, and on Thursday the whole troop of Lowerys arrived on my doorstep at 10:00 a.m.

Blanche and I had baked pies the day before and the turkey was stuffed and ready to be put in the oven. Marcus found several things to do around the house which I felt certain Blanche had mentioned to him in advance. Patrice set the table as if she had been doing it for years. Blanche had obviously been attentive to her training all along, if Patrice’s confidence were any indication. The twins were charged with entertaining Grace, which they happily did. Close to noon, Blanche appeared in the doorway of my living room where I had retired to rest my feet.

“Reckon Eddie has anywhere to go today?”

I felt a sudden twinge of guilt. It had been over a month since my yard had been mowed for the last time that year. I had offered to find a few things around the house to keep Eddie busy, but he had allowed as how he might take a few months off to rest. I hadn’t argued and assumed he was doing exactly as he said.

“I hadn’t thought of it, Blanche, but I’m sure there’s something going on at one of the churches. The Episcopals still have their event every year.”

Blanche dried her hands on the towel she was holding. “That’s clear across town.”

“What are you getting at, Blanche? Do you want to invite him to dinner here?”

“Well, not exactly, but I was thinking maybe Marcus could take him a plate later on.”

“He could, but wouldn’t it be kinder to just ask him here to eat?”

“He may not be comfortable with that, Miz Ora.”

“Why don’t we give him the option?”

So, that’s what we did. Marcus was dispatched to the general area of the old man’s living quarters, if you could call it that. He reappeared a half hour later with the news that Eddie would indeed like to join us and would be along in an hour or so. I must say I was a little surprised at that, seeing as how the man had never ventured past the left corner stoop of my house.

An hour later he showed up looking somehow neater than I remembered. His face was clean shaven and his hair so closely cropped that you could see the distinct tiny curls of gray and white that littered his scalp like a field of dandelion. They looked equally fragile, too, as if one good puff of air might blow them all away. Gone was the cap in hand, gone the threadbare shirt. If I hadn’t known better, I’d have thought he’d gotten a real job and a roof over his head somewhere. But Marcus had found him where he always stayed, so I knew that wasn’t the answer.

“I’m so glad you could make it. Won’t you come in?”