Plantation

by Dorothea Benton Frank

  “Where’d you find it?”

  “Out by where the steering wheel was,” he said. “It was all I could find.”

  We got serious when we reached the chapel. It struck me as odd that in the middle of this worst event of our lives we weren’t weeping nonstop. The truth was that the weight of it all—Daddy’s death—it hadn’t really registered.

  I had no intention of going in the chapel. Glimpsing my father’s coffin through the door was enough for me.

  “Okay,” I said, “just go open the coffin and throw it in.”

  “Hell no! What, are you crazy? You do it! You’re the oldest!”

  “Ah, shit! Shit, Trip!” I knew I was stuck. And, I had made that stupid oath to myself in the barn about being nice and all. Damn. Why did I say that? It was a lot easier to be brave when you didn’t have to. I looked at Trip. His bottom lip was shaking again.

  “Ah, shit! Let’s flip for it. Gotta penny?”

  “No, I don’t.”

  Neither of us had a coin, and we finally decided to do it together, as quickly as possible. I hated being the oldest. It was a pain in the ass.

  “On three, okay? One, two, . . .” We ran like lunatics and struggled with the lid to open it. There was nothing inside but a black vinyl bag, so we threw in the finger with the handkerchief, let the top slam shut, and ran like all hell. When we finally got close to the house I stopped and turned to Trip.

  “Trip?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Did Mother really say she was glad I was leaving?”

  “Yeah. But, I think she was just upset.”

  Upset? That’s no kinda excuse for telling my little brother something like that. Makes both of us feel real damn secure. “God, she makes me mad.” We looked at each other for a minute, knowing there was no good explanation for what Mother had said about me. “Come on. Let’s get showered up and dressed and see if we can help Millie.”

  “What about Mother? Are you gonna say anything to her?”

  “She can go to hell, for all I care. And, above everything, Trip, don’t let her see you cry at the funeral.”

  I told Trip that because if he cried and Mother wasn’t sympathetic to his pain, he’d hurt even more. So would I. A bond was formed between us then, one I hoped would carry us through the trouble I knew in my bones surely lay ahead.

  It wasn’t as hard as I would’ve imagined to get through the funeral service. After the finger, what could have been worse? Or maybe I was numbed by the amount of pain I wasn’t allowing myself to feel. I watched, fascinated, as they lowered Daddy’s coffin into the ground. Ms. Blanchard from Charleston started singing “Swing Low Sweet Chariot,” and it gave me the chills. Boy, she had some pipes!

  Then she sang “Amazing Grace” with such a passion that everyone joined in and sang with her. Now that was a killer, to sit at your father’s graveside and sing his soul to heaven with everybody you had ever known. The entire crowd of several hundred people, singing and crying with all their hearts, raised my spirits so high that for a moment I thought God was there right with us, the same God who had forgotten us just days before. I felt so comforted and almost happy for those few minutes.We all stood up for that song, the Edisto River in the background over the bluff, blue against the brown and green grasses of the marsh, all against a sky so clear—hell, if that wasn’t a religious experience, I give up.

  ’Tis grace has brought me safe thus far,

  and grace will lead me home.

  Take my daddy home, Lord, I prayed, take him right to heaven.

  I think that was the first time in my whole life that I believed in God. I had always attended church when Mother insisted that I go, but I had never felt anything until that moment. Sure, I had these weird experiences, like seeing Daddy’s plane on fire, but there was nothing religious about that. If anything, it felt like a message from hell. A curse of a vision I’d be burdened with through nightmares every time I closed my eyes for the rest of my life.

  In that moment, that moment of everyone singing together, something happened to me, something inside of me opened up to the possibilities of a real God. One that would take care of me, would listen, would advise—oh, if that feeling could last, we would all be all right no matter what! Incredible.

  I was on Mother’s right and Trip was on her left. I wore a navy linen sundress and sandals, Trip wore khaki pants and a navy blazer. His hair was plastered to his head with some kind of hair junk that smelled like bug repellant. I knew it was bad to discover God in one moment and criticize in the next, but it was going to take me a while to adjust to being good and all that.

  In plain English, Mother was dressed like a freak, which could be another reason why I didn’t break down and cry through all I was feeling. I was too embarrassed. Her hat was a huge black straw thing with a wide brim and veil that sat on her head like she was the Queen of England. Even though it was a thousand degrees and the bugs were chewing on my ankles and the back of my neck, Mother wore a black linen dress and jacket to her ankles and those damn pearls. She fanned herself with a black and pink fan brought home from some trip and dabbed the corners of her eyes with a thin black handkerchief. She never made eye contact with Trip or me, but once, during the prayers, probably for dramatic effect, she reached out for our hands to hold. Mine was hot but Mother’s was cold and clammy.

  I remember that cold and clammy hand because I remember thinking it was like her heart. I didn’t care. I didn’t need her. I was leaving in six weeks. I just kept telling myself that over and over. Soon, I’d be out of this place and I’d never be like my mother. Never.

  The reception following the burial was unbelievable. I had to admit that Mother had done an amazing job to pull it off in so short a time. But that was her. Appearances were more important to her than the breaking hearts of her children. I knew I’d be angry with her forever.

  Trip and I accepted her shallowness that day and held each other’s attention the entire afternoon. The adults all but ignored us. Every time somebody put down their champagne glass, we picked it up, walked away, and drank it. By six o’clock, Trip and I were knee-walking dead drunk. So much for my newfound religious persuasion.

  Millie found us on the docks, throwing rocks in the river, pretending to be throwing them at Mother. We never even heard her coming.

  “Yanh! Take this, you old bitch! This is for not tucking me in the night my daddy died!” Trip said, throwing the stone across the water with a furious windup.

  “Yanh! Stuff this up your butt, you damn bitch! This is for ignoring us!”

  “Yanh! You suck! I wish you had blown up instead!”

  “That’s enough!” The voice of Millie shook us so hard we nearly fell in the water. “You stop this fool! Right now!”

  “Shit,” Trip said. I could see him listing and worried then that if Millie knew we were drunk, she’d be even madder. I reached over and steadied him.

  “Just burning offa liddle stream,” I said, twisting my words.

  “Is that a fact? How much you children had to drink?”

  “Us? Drink? Millie, how could you accuse us of something like that?” I thought I sounded better then.

  She looked at me and I knew she didn’t believe us for a minute.

  “Okay, you two,” she said, “I gone turn my head this time. Go on up to my cottage and sleep it off. I come to see about you later, yanh? Now, move it!”

  Move it, we did. As fast as we could. We only stopped once for Trip to water the bushes. When we got there, Trip fell onto the couch and I fell into Millie’s bed, both of us sleeping through the night.

  The next morning, I woke up under Millie’s covers. She wasn’t there. Trip was still on the couch, sacked out. Mother hadn’t come for us. Big surprise. I went outside to see what the day was like. It wasn’t even eight o’clock and it was already steaming. I heard a truck and thought it was probably someone picking up stuff from yesterday. To my surprise, it was a pickup truck with a horse trailer. I watched as Mr. Jenkins
shook hands with the driver and as they led the beautiful gelding down the ramp to the ground. In the middle of all this hell, someone had seen about Trip’s birthday. Tears of happiness and relief, tears I didn’t think I had left, ran down my face. Somebody cared.

  Twenty-nine

  Rescue Me

  2000

  HOW could I return to Tall Pines and not be reminded why I had moved away from there in the first place? I had left because there was no one who wanted me to stay. Like a mother bird, Miss Lavinia had all but pushed us from our nest. I had never looked back. And, each time I came home over the years to visit, I came with a chip on my shoulder for Mother and a longing in my heart for my daddy.

  Trip had barely ever looked ahead. With only marginal planning, he had arranged his life to paint himself into corners. Raucous children, a crazy wife to justify his drinking, the lure of hunting and fishing, the beckoning call of the river sirens and all of the ACE herself. No, he was addicted to the lifestyle and it was patently clear he wanted Tall Pines for himself and his swelling brood. It would have been fine with me for Trip to have it. I had never given it a second thought, assuming all along that when Mother went to that big Special Event in the Sky, Trip would inherit the whole shebang.

  What bothered me was his unbelievable sense of self-serving timing. Who in the world was he kidding? Did he really think that Mother would move out so that he and his family could move in? Mother sit in the Presbyterian Home in Summerville or somewhere else while Frances Mae ran her house? Talk about delusional!

  Well, Mother had set him and Frances Mae straight. At least temporarily.

  I looked toward the barn, remembering Trip’s horse, Jimbo. I thought of the endless afternoons Trip and I had spent together, racing Jimbo and Ginger across fields without a care in the world. Eric was entitled to at least that much—to have a portion of his childhood pass without a care in the world.

  The sun was low in the sky and our first night at Tall Pines wasn’t far away. I turned to go back to the house and Millie was standing on the back porch, watching me. I had not seen or even heard her cross the lawn. It felt so good to be in her eyes. I knew they were just blinking away and with every blink she would add something to a list of what she meant to do for me or for Eric to help us get settled.

  “Hey, Millie! What’s up?”

  “Miss L gone be back directly. Thought it might be nice to talk to you a little bit before the house is crawling with people again.”

  I stopped at the bottom of the steps and looked at her. She smiled back at me.

  “I don’t have to tell you a thing, do I? You already know!”

  “That’s right, girl. Get in this house and let me show you what I did for you and my boy.”

  She held the door open and followed me in.

  “So strange to be here like this, Millie, you know what I mean?”

  “Yeah, but it ain’t really so strange at all. It’s where you belong and high time you came home too!” She stopped at the refrigerator and opened it, taking out a platter. “Fudge?”

  “Oh, my word, Millie!” Millie made fudge that could tempt Richard Simmons to binge! “You’re gonna ruin me!” I took a huge piece and put the entire thing in my mouth, licking my fingers.

  “I ain’t gonna ruin you; I’m gonna save you!” She laughed wide and put the fudge away. “Follow me.”

  Upstairs, Millie had unpacked all my things in my old room and all of Eric’s in Trip’s old room next door. As my eyes passed over the placement of our belongings, it looked like we had been there all along. I opened the closet door in my bedroom, trying to figure out what to change into for dinner.

  “Millie, I can’t thank you enough for doing this!”

  “I’ve been waiting to unpack y’all’s bags since the day that boy came into this world!”

  “You always knew, didn’t you?”

  She smiled, looked at the floor and then hard at my face. “Why don’t you get a bath and lie down for a little bit. You look tired.”

  I looked at the bathrobe on the hanger I had unconsciously chosen for dinner clothes. “You know, Millie? I believe I will. I am beyond tired.”

  “I put a CD player in the bathroom for you, because I suspect you like to have some music while you dress. You go on get your bath, I’ll be right back.”

  The bathtub was filled with steaming water and floating gardenias. They smelled divine and I felt like taking a bath with gardenias was extremely decadent. Without a single warning, Richard flashed across my mind. Hell, I thought, I could bathe with an entire gardenia bush and not be decadent next to him! I undressed, hung my clothes on the empty hangers on the back of the door, and slipped on the robe. I flipped on the boom box and found she had loaded an old Joe Sample classic CD. I tested the water with my hand and it was the perfect temperature for a good soak.

  Between Joe Sample and the perfume of the gardenias, I nearly fell asleep in the tub. But, I pulled my tired self out, drained the water, and dried off. I went into my bedroom as Millie was leaving, closing the door. She had opened the French doors, but turned the louvered shutters up to keep out the afternoon sun. On my bedside table stood a small Limoges pot of tea and a warm slice of banana bread. I poured with the full knowledge that the tea was laced with one of Millie’s specialties and drank it straight to the bottom. The Sorceress had turned down my bed, rolling back the plissé blanket cover to reveal Mother’s finest crisp white Irish linens, the ones she saved in case Margaret Thatcher stopped by. The pillow slips had been edged in a fine crochet of airy scallops years ago by my grandmother. It was no coincidence that Millie had prepared so carefully for Eric and me. No, I was on quicksand.

  As I made myself comfortable under the covers, I remembered that I had wanted to ask if Trip and Frances Mae were coming for dinner. Oh, well. I was so sleepy and it didn’t matter anyway. Frances Mae would just have to get used to us.

  It was the breath of Eric that began to bring me from the depth of my sleep. I knew and loved his breath the way a lioness does her cubs. I didn’t want to open my eyes. Apparently he was unsure of waking me. I could feel his presence next to me, the way his body took up space in the room. Then I could sense him leaving. Good, I thought, let me rest just a few more minutes. Good. Eric was safely home.

  Even with closed eyes, I could sense the day slipping away by the cool fingers of the breeze. Friday? Yes, it was still Friday. Okay, I had a couple of days to figure things out. First, Eric’s school. Miss Nancy was right. I should ask around about a tutor. Maybe I’d call Matthew-baby-hottie-in-a-uniform and see if he knew someone. Old Frances Mae might know someone from the Walterboro school system. A good icebreaker. I’d try to get along with her. I would.

  Bam! Bam! I must’ve drifted off to sleep again because I was awakened by the distinct slamming of a car door and then another.

  “Mom! Mom!” Eric began calling for me. Before I had a chance to get up, he opened the bedroom door. “Mom! Uncle Trip wants to take me down the river to check the crab traps! Can I go? Can I please? Please?”

  “Of course you can go. Where’s your jacket? Come yanh and give your old mother a kiss!”

  He leaned over the bed and planted a kiss on my cheek. “On the front stairs. You’re the best, Mom! You shoulda seen Uncle Trip in the courtroom! He’s like Johnnie Cochran or something! He was like, Sir, do you want to think that answer through? Sir, may I remind you that you are under oath? Amazing! Totally amazing!” He pulled off his tie and the rest of his shirttail flew out of his khakis.

  “When did you get home?” I leaned up on my elbow when I remembered that I had smelled him earlier.

  “This guy was totally sweating! Uncle Trip was like, Take that, you dog!” He began to imitate someone in a duel, fencing and lunging across the room.

  “Eric?”

  He stopped and replaced his imaginary sword in its sheath.

  “Just this second!” he said, finally answering my question. “You heard me, yelling for you?” I mu
st’ve looked at him in a strange way. “What? What’s the matter?”

  My brother’s voice called out for him. “Eric? Eric? Come on, bubba, let’s shake a leg!” He opened the door to my room and stuck his head in. Eric’s navy blazer hung on the end of his index finger. “You leave your clothes lying around and your grandmother will beat the tar outta you! You coming with me, or what?” Then he looked at me in the bed. “What the hell’s the matter with you?”

  “I’m having a nap,” I said. “Ladies do that, you know.”

  “Jesus, you sound like Miss Lavinia!” He winked at Eric.

  “How’d you like a black eye, buster?” I said and threw back the covers. “Wise guy. I’m stressed out. When I’m stressed out, I sleep.”

  “Well, you’d better get over it. Frances Mae and the girls will be yanh at six.”

  “Listen, Trip. I’ve taken an oath to be nice and try to get along with her.” I stopped at the dresser and looked in the mirror. I looked like hell.

  “Mom? You don’t get along with Aunt Frances Mae?”

  “We get along just fine, son, just fine.” I smiled at Trip and ruffled Eric’s hair. “Now you go change and have some fun. Just be home by dark, okay?”

  “Okay!” Eric zoomed out of the room and soon another door slammed almost off the hinges. Trip and I cringed.

  “I’ll talk to him,” I said. “You know, you could say welcome home, brother dear.” I opened my eyes wide and nodded my head, waiting.

  “Welcome home? Welcome to hell, sister dear! Yeah, boy! Welcome to hell!”

  He grinned at me and closed the door.

  “Thanks a lot!” I said to the door.

  Then I remembered again. Someone had been in my room while I slept. Who was it? I could’ve sworn it was Eric. Maybe he was playing a game with me. Boys!

  At six Mother, Trip, and I were in the living room having the requisite cocktail and nibbling on peppered cheese biscuits. The phone rang and seconds later Millie burst into the room.