by Beth Hoffman
I took a big bite of a cookie and groaned. “You’re the best cook, Oletta,” I said with my mouth full. And when she smiled, I stood up from the table and hugged her. “You’re the best cook and the best friend I’ve ever had.”
Before leaving for home that afternoon, Oletta handed me a pad of paper and a pencil. “Sit down and write something for me, will you?”
I did as she asked, poised with pencil in hand, wondering what she was up to.
Oletta crossed her arms over her chest and gazed out the kitchen window as she dictated: “Cut up two boiled chicken breasts—no skin. Chop three stalks of celery, half a small sweet onion, and a handful of grapes. Put all that in a bowl and . . .”
I smiled to myself as I wrote out Oletta’s chicken salad recipe. When I finished, I handed her the paper, and she placed it on the kitchen counter next to Mrs. Odell’s saccharin bottle. She seemed enormously pleased with herself, and for the first time in more than a week I heard her humming a tune as she hung her apron in the pantry and gathered her handbag and sweater.
Together we walked out the front door, down the steps, and along the shady sidewalk to the bus stop. When the bus slowed to a stop and the door swung open, Oletta hoisted her handbag over her shoulder and said, “See you tomorrow, child.”
Just as she planted her feet on the first step, I blurted, “I love you, Oletta Jones.”
She stopped and turned. Her face was so serious I wondered if maybe I’d done something wrong to speak such a thing in public.
The corners of her mouth edged into a smile, and from her lips came the words I’d longed to hear. “Oletta Jones loves you too.”
Twenty-seven
Mrs. Odell wandered into the kitchen. She had just risen from a nap, and the hair on the back of her head stood up like wisps of damaged feathers.
“Did you have a nice rest, Gertrude?” Aunt Tootie asked, walking out of the pantry.
“Yes, thank you, I did.” Mrs. Odell seemed a bit embarrassed when she glanced at the clock. “Oh, my word, I slept for nearly two hours. I had no idea.” She looked at the basket of peaches on the table and said, “Oletta, would you like some help?”
“That’d be nice, Gertrude. Thank you.”
Mrs. Odell slipped an apron over her head, not bothering to tie it closed behind her back. She pulled a knife from the drawer and eased herself down across the table from Oletta. “I’ve always liked peeling peaches. When I was a young girl back on the farm, my grandmother would make pies and . . .”
While Mrs. Odell, Oletta, and Aunt Tootie talked about peach pies, what to add to the grocery list, and how quickly the summer was coming to end, I sat quietly and listened as their chatter lifted into the air, gilding all four corners of the kitchen. And as the sweet aroma of the fresh peaches mingled with the sound of their voices, I folded the memory into myself, feeling a peace I’d never before known.
When Mrs. Odell finished slicing a bowl of peaches, she wiped her hands on a towel and said, “Oletta, I’m sorry, but my arthritis is acting up. I have to give these old hands of mine a rest for a few minutes.”
Oletta nodded. “I appreciate your help, Gertrude. Thank you.”
Mrs. Odell stood at the sink and washed her hands. “Tootie, would it be all right if I used the telephone? I’d like to call my cousin Adele.”
“Of course,” Aunt Tootie said. “Please feel free to use the one in the den.”
Mrs. Odell thanked her and headed out of the kitchen. I don’t know how long she was on the phone, but when I closed my book and climbed down from the stool, it seemed like she’d been gone for a long time. I ate a peach, asked Aunt Tootie if she’d please add chocolate ice cream to the shopping list, and wandered down the hall. Mrs. Odell wasn’t in the den, so I headed for the stairs to see if she’d gone to her bedroom.
As I stepped into the foy-yay, I saw her from the corner of my eye. She was standing in the living room looking out the front window. Her hands were clasped behind her back and a ray of sunlight revealed far more scalp than hair on her head.
“Mrs. Odell?”
When she didn’t answer, I stepped around a chair so I could see her face. Her skin was pale.
“Mrs. Odell, what’s wrong?”
“I have no place to go,” she whispered.
Her words and the look on her face frightened me. I touched her shoulder. “What do you mean?”
A blue vein pulsed at the side of her temple. “No house, no furniture, nothing.”
I helped her into a chair and covered her hands with mine. “Just stay here. I’ll be right back.”
I bolted down the hall and skidded into the kitchen. “Hurry! Something’s wrong with Mrs. Odell.”
Aunt Tootie, Oletta, and I rushed to the living room and huddled around Mrs. Odell. “Gertrude, what is it?” Aunt Tootie said, taking hold of her quivering hands. “Do you feel sick?”
Mrs. Odell shook her head, but her voice was pained and brittle when she told us what had happened.
“I called Adele to see if any of my mail had arrived, but her son, Roy, answered. He told me he’d stopped by to see his mother last Wednesday, and when she didn’t come to the door, he let himself in.” Mrs. Odell looked from me to Oletta and then to Aunt Tootie.
“He found Adele in the living room, sitting in a chair in front of the TV. Dead.”
Aunt Tootie gasped. “Oh, Gertrude!”
“The doctor told Roy it was a stroke. Roy knew I was here in Savannah, but he couldn’t find where Adele had put your phone number.” A tear leaked from the corner of Mrs. Odell’s eye. “I can’t even go to the funeral, she’s already been buried.”
Aunt Tootie pulled up an ottoman, sat down, and rested her hand on Mrs. Odell’s knee. “Did Roy say anything else?”
“He said I was welcome to live in Adele’s house if I wanted to.” Mrs. Odell absentmindedly kneaded the hem of her dress with the saddest expression I’d ever seen. “I’m a foolish old woman,” she said, lowering her head. “I never dreamed something like this would happen.”
Oletta let out a long sigh and eased herself into a chair. “So what you gonna do, Miz Gertrude?”
“Roy is such a nice man. He offered to drive up here and get me. But I don’t know a soul in Florida. When my stay here is through, I guess I’ll take the bus back to Ohio.”
Aunt Tootie scooted closer. “But with your home being sold, there’s no reason for you to go back, is there?”
Mrs. Odell’s lips quivered. “I have to. That’s the only place I know. There are some apartments for senior citizens in Willoughby. I’m sure I’ll find something.”
Aunt Tootie turned and looked out the window. After a brief moment I saw her lips curve into a smile. It was the exact same smile I’d seen on the day she walked into my life.
“Gertrude, you do have a home,” she said, turning toward Mrs. Odell. “And it’s right here in Savannah. I’d love to have you live here with Cecelia and me.”
Mrs. Odell shook her head. “I thank you for your kindness, Tootie, but I couldn’t impose.”
“You most certainly wouldn’t be imposing.”
“This here child sure does love you,” Oletta said. “If you was here in Savannah, then everyone would be happy.”
Mrs. Odell looked stunned. “I’ll admit I’ve grown fond of Savannah. The warmer weather has been good for these old bones of mine. I don’t have much, but I have the money from the sale of my house. Maybe you could help me find a little place to rent, something close by. Within walking distance.”
Aunt Tootie reached out and patted Mrs. Odell’s hand. “Now, why would you want to up and rent a place when you have a home right here?”
“Oh, Tootie, you’re so generous. But my knees are riddled with arthritis. I don’t know how much longer I’ll be able to climb the stairs.”
My aunt glanced toward the staircase and thought for a moment. “Well, you can climb them now, right?”
Mrs. Odell nodded.
“All right, the
n this is where you’ll stay until your knees say otherwise.” She smiled at Mrs. Odell and said, “We’ll be like Scar-lett O’Hara and worry about the rest tomorrow.”
“I don’t want charity. I’ve never needed it before, and I don’t want to start now. If I did live here, then I’d have to pay my way and—”
“Gertrude, it’s all settled. You’ll live here with Cecelia and me, and your rent will be overseeing the care of the gardens. I don’t have the time to fuss with them like I used to, so I hired a nice man to do the heavy work. I’d be thrilled if you’d keep an eye on things.”
I knelt on the floor in front of Mrs. Odell. “Oh, please, say yes.”
While Mrs. Odell fumbled with a tissue and tried to regain her composure, Oletta rose to her feet. “C’mon, Miz Gertrude, dry them eyes. We’ve got one more peck of peaches waitin’ to be peeled. Let’s go get it done so we can make us some nice preserves.” She reached out and offered Mrs. Odell her hand.
Aunt Tootie stood and winked. “Oletta runs this house, so we all better do as she says.”
Like birds coming to roost in a favorite tree, we fi led down the hallway and into the kitchen, settling comfortably in our places. It was a moment so perfect I wished I could stop time. I thought about how we all had Life Books—Mrs. Odell, Aunt Tootie, Oletta, and me—and how someone, somewhere, had seen fit to write our names on one another’s pages.
That evening after dinner, Aunt Tootie, Mrs. Odell, and I were relaxing on the porch when we heard Miz Goodpepper scream. “Oh, no. You evil little bitch!”
“What in the world?” Aunt Tootie said, rising to her feet.
“I’ll go see.” I bolted down the steps, across the patio, and cut through the opening in the hedge. Miz Goodpepper was standing by the jasmine trellis. “What’s the matter?” I asked, trotting toward her.
She pointed to a huge spider web. “Just look at what Matilda has done. I’ll never forgive her.”
When I saw what she was so upset about, the hair on my arms prickled. “Oh, no. We’ve got to save it.”
“It’s too late,” Miz Goodpepper said, burying her face in her hands.
Caught in the sticky, silvery strands of web was an emerald green hummingbird. The bird’s needlelike beak gaped open as it hung suspended in the web, dying.
Behind me I heard Aunt Tootie and Mrs. Odell making their way across the lawn.
“Oh, Thelma, how awful.” Aunt Tootie leaned closer to the web and shook her head. “That poor little thing.”
Mrs. Odell never said a word as she stepped forward. Slowly she reached out and pushed her hand through the web, cupping the hummingbird in her palm. As she pulled it free, long strands of web fluttered in the breeze.
“Thelma, can you get me tweezers and some tissue?” she said, holding the bird in her left hand while gently pulling the tangles of web away with her right.
Miz Goodpepper raced into the house and quickly returned. “Oh, Gertrude, do you think you can save him?”
“I don’t know,” Mrs. Odell said, wrapping tissue around her index finger. “But if the spider didn’t inject him with venom, maybe it’s not too late.”
She gently wiped away the web, then took the tweezers and pulled a few of the stickiest strands free of the bird’s delicate wings.
“Here, honey,” she said, handing me the tweezers. “Your hands are steadier than mine. See those pieces of web wound around his neck? Take the tweezers and pull them away. But don’t pinch him.”
I held my breath as I removed the remnants of web. The bird lay so still I was certain he’d never survive.
“Well, this little fellow is in shock,” Mrs. Odell said. “There’s nothing more we can do but wait and see.”
“Gertrude, you need to sit down,” Miz Goodpepper said, taking her arm and guiding her to the patio.
We all pulled up chairs and sat in a circle, looking at the bird in Mrs. Odell’s hand. I felt sick to my stomach knowing he would probably die any minute.
Aunt Tootie clasped her hands beneath her chin. “Oh, I hope he makes it.”
No sooner did those words leave her lips than the hummingbird tried to right himself. We sat at the edge of our seats as he flopped around in Mrs. Odell’s hand. It was so sad I could hardly bear to watch, but at the same time I couldn’t look away.
All of a sudden his tiny wings fluttered and he got himself to his feet.
“Go on, honey,” Mrs. Odell said. “Fly away and be free.”
And that’s exactly what the hummingbird did. He lifted himself up from Mrs. Odell’s hand and rose into the warm evening air.
“Gertrude, you’re a miracle worker,” Miz Goodpepper said as she watched the bird disappear. “Thank you.”
When Mrs. Odell pushed herself up from the chair, Miz Goodpepper nearly knocked her over with a bear hug. “Bless you, Gertrude. There’s a special place in heaven for people like you.”
“Glad I could help, Thelma.”
“I’m going to brush the rest of that web down right now,” Miz Goodpepper said, heading for her porch.
“Aunt Tootie, can I stay and help?”
“Sure, you can.”
Aunt Tootie and Mrs. Odell headed for home while Miz Goodpepper retrieved a broom. “I can’t believe my ignorance,” she sputtered, poking through the jasmine with her broom. “I had no idea a hummingbird could get caught in a spider’s web.”
“Oh, my gosh, is that her?” I said, pointing to a huge yellow and black spider that was fearfully clinging to a wooden slat at the top of the trellis.
Miz Goodpepper came and stood behind me. “Yes, that’s her, wicked little witch that she is.”
I moved closer and studied Matilda. “I’ve never seen a spider marked like that. She really is pretty.”
Miz Goodpepper raised the broom. “Not anymore she’s not!”
I was shocked speechless when she knocked Matilda to the ground. Slap went the broom as Miz Goodpepper lifted it over her head and brought it down on Matilda. Slap. Slap. Slap.
Poor Matilda was pulverized. I looked at Miz Goodpepper and gasped. “You killed Matilda! Why? I thought you loved her.”
“Yes,” she said with sadness in her voice. “I did love her. But this had to be done. There was no choice. Better to be killed by someone who loves you than a total stranger.”
To me, dead was dead no matter who did the deed. But I figured this wasn’t the time to share that thought.
I looked at what was left of Matilda, then peered up at Miz Goodpepper. I couldn’t stop myself from saying, “Well, looks like you won’t be reaching nirvana anytime soon.”
She pushed a stray lock of hair off her forehead and sniffed. “Yes, I suppose that’s true. I guess I’ll just have to settle for a trip to Idaho.”
Twenty-eight
I was on my way down the stairs carrying a basket of laundry when Aunt Tootie came bustling through the front door with several large shopping bags. “Hi, sugar,” she said, dropping them on the floor and setting her handbag on the hall chest. “What a day this has been.” She removed her hat and fluffed her hair. “Help me get these bags into the kitchen, will you?”
“Sure. What did you get?”
“I was shopping with a friend of mine and I found the most beautiful table linens. They’re so festive and bright. Just wait till you see them.”
We hauled the bags into the kitchen, where Oletta was showing Mrs. Odell how to make a sweet potato pie. The ceiling fan sent the spicy aroma of nutmeg whirling through the air.
Aunt Tootie chattered up a storm as she showed us what all she’d bought. “Every store we visited had an end-of-summer sale. The bargains were amazing,” she said, pulling out a stack of coral-colored tablecloths and dozens of floral napkins edged in yellow piping.
Mrs. Odell wandered over to have a look. “Those are so lovely. I’m partial to that shade of coral.”
“Me too,” Oletta said.
I couldn’t imagine why she needed that many napkins, especially because
an entire cupboard in the pantry was devoted to stacks upon stacks of table linens.
I smoothed my hand over the napkins. “They’re real pretty, but why do you need so many?”
Aunt Tootie pinched my cheek. “I have a big surprise. The reason I bought all these beautiful table linens is because on Sunday afternoon I’ll be hosting a lovely, ladies-only garden party. I wanted to have a party when you first arrived, but Oletta encouraged me to give you time to adjust to your new surroundings, and, as usual, she was right.”
Oletta beamed proudly and nodded.
“And now that Gertrude’s here,” Aunt Tootie gushed, “it’s the perfect time to have a party. Remember that beautiful white dress I bought you at the beginning of summer—the one with the petticoats and the pink sash?”
Remember? How could I forget?
Aunt Tootie was all lit up, waiting for me to say something.
“Yes, ma’am, that dress is hanging in my closet.”
She clasped her hands beneath her chin. “Well, now you’ll finally have the opportunity to wear it.”
My stomach dropped to my ankles, and my mind screamed, NOOOOOO. Not that dress. Oh, please don’t make me wear that dress.
“I’ve invited some of the neighbors, all the garden club members, and my friends from the Foundation. Just a nice, small party—about forty women in all.”
My mouth dropped open. “Forty?”
Aunt Tootie put her arm around my shoulder. “Oh, forty is nothing. I often have sixty or so.”
“And don’t forget that Christmas party you had back in ’56,” Oletta said. “We had over a hundred people that night. I’ll always remember ...”
While Mrs. Odell and Aunt Tootie listened to Oletta recount the culinary details and festive decorations of the Christmas party, I slipped out of the kitchen and went upstairs to my bedroom.
From the back of my closet I removed the white dress from its hiding place and hung it on a hook by the door. I thought about all the party dresses and gowns Momma had collected over the years. How much she loved them, how much shame they brought me, and how mad I’d get when she wore them in public.
