Up the Devil's Belly

by Rhett DeVane

  Jake cocked his head to one side. “Poor baby. Tough to be admired so much, isn’t it?”‘

  Jake artfully dodged the wet kitchen towel I threw in his direction before sticking out his tongue as he stepped out of the front door.

  The four-wheel all-terrain vehicle kicked up puffs of dust in its wake as we crossed the five-acre field behind the farmhouse. Once a cultivated patch of field corn and acre peas, the barren land had begun to show signs of reclamation by the surrounding woodlands. Clumps of broom sedge and weeds were interspersed with volunteer pine seedlings. The small pines held the promise of maturing into tall sentinels that would whisper secrets into the passing wind.

  At the edge of the field, a small cleft in the tree line revealed a narrow, one lane rutted path leading to the fishpond. Briars and wild honeysuckle vines draped across the canopy of trees like leftover New Year’s party crepe paper streamers. Holston negotiated the winding lane, occasionally blocking a low-hanging branch before it slapped the human intruders in the face.

  The fishpond was nestled in a small depression at the base of two hills where three natural springs converged. In the middle of the wide earthen dam, the lean-to shed listed precariously to one side, barely shading two rusted lawn chairs. A twenty-gallon drum with a cement-weighted lid held commercial catfish food. On the cleared slope, a series of steep steps led to the water’s edge. Heavy spring rains had washed the foundation from the final step. Holston jumped down, then held his arms up to retrieve Sarah. I landed with a thump beside him.

  “We’ve really got to fix the steps this summer,” I said. “Jake won’t be able to make it down here at all.”

  Sarah giggled and cooed at our mutt rescue-dog Spackle as he jumped up and licked her stubby toes. He dashed to the water’s edge and plowed into the water, yapping and biting at the small frogs and minnows that fled in terror.

  I spread an old quilt on the soft grass.

  Holston studied the wooded slopes surrounding the water. “Bobby and I were discussing the pond yesterday. Jake has sketched a design for a covered gazebo and multi-layered deck. He didn’t think it was a good idea to put it on the dam. Maybe on one of the hills overlooking the pond.”

  “Jake loves this pond almost as much as Bobby and me. He’s been coming down here since he and I were kids. He spent a lot of time down here after the assault. Called it his healing time.”

  “It’s your and Bobby’s land. Do you want it changed?”

  I picked up a smooth stone and skipped it across the water. “I think Mr. D and Mrs. Tillie would love to look down and see us enjoying the pond they built. Did Bobby say what he and Jake had in mind?”

  Holston smiled. “I don’t know that I can explain it with quite the flamboyance Jake did…but…it would sit on the hill overlooking the pond to one side, kind of a treehouse type of thing. Bobby even suggested screening in part of it so that the mosquitoes wouldn’t keep us from using it during the summer months.”

  “Good idea. They’re not too bad yet, but give it a few weeks, and they’ll tote you off.”

  Holston motioned to the opposite shore. “Jake suggested a set of stairs with landings at a couple of points. Maybe a staggered series of decks.”

  “That must’ve been the part of the conversation I overheard in the kitchen this morning. Leigh was saying something about buying some new rocking chairs. We already have several on the porch at the Hill. I wondered what she was referring to.”

  Holston nodded. “Bobby wants to widen the road leading down here, too. It’s getting so overgrown, even the ATV gets scratched trying to dodge the limbs and briars.”

  I hugged my knees to my chest. “Good idea. I think it would be fantastic to have a place here by the pond. It’s the one spot on the Hill where I feel closest to my parents.”

  “Bobby said something about starting to clear out a spot next weekend…if it’s okay by you.”

  I nodded absently. A small blue heron waded at the far edge of the pond. As I watched, it jabbed its beak into the water and emerged with a struggling minnow.

  Holston rested his arm around my shoulders. “I forgot one detail, Jake’s idea, naturally. He wants to build a small waterfall next to the gazebo to provide the music of running water. Bobby was more inclined to see the benefits of the aeration it would provide, especially during the hot part of the summer.”

  I nuzzled the soft spot beneath his ear. “Hmmm…sounds beautiful to me. It’ll seem almost like being in the mountains.”

  Sarah played with a lime green grasshopper that had joined us on the quilt.

  “Oh! No!” I called out.

  Spackle bounded directly to Sarah, then shook himself silly to remove the muddy pond water from his coat. Sarah held her hands toward the spray and giggled, babbling in baby language.

  Holston wiped a spatter of mud from his face. “Maybe we’ll take a dip in the pool when we get back, since we’re already wet. Thanks to our hound.”

  The small fenced-in pool was the one modern addition my father had made to the farmhouse.

  “It’ll be dark soon. The water’s warm.” I smiled playfully. “We could always skinny-dip.”

  “There’re two times in a person’s life where she has life figured out – as a child and as an old woman. Trouble is, nobody much listens to either one.”

  Piddie Davis Longman

  Chapter Two

  Though I had known Sarah just shy of a month, there was clearly one major difference between us. She, like Holston, was a chirpy Rebecca-of-Sunnybrook-Farm morning human who greeted each day with bouncing enthusiasm. Holston immediately assessed the disparity in our approaches to awakening. He and Sarah giggled their way through breakfast, while I schlepped around, sleep-matted hair hanging over my eyes, a cup of strong coffee in hand. The house rule: no one spoke to me until after my second dose of caffeine.

  My family of origin had been similar. My mother, Mrs. Tillie, and brother, Bobby, hit the floor in high gear. My father, Mr. “D”, and I groused like spring-stunned black bears, cranky at being upright and mean-hungry. Had my middle sister survived, she would’ve tipped the balance of family dynamics. Bobby and Mama chirped good mornin’ to each other and discussed everything from world news to local affairs. Dad and I struggled to avoid colliding with the furniture. As long as each person remained with his respective dive partner, no one got hurt.

  My normal low morning energy level was magnified by the remnants of jet lag and the general lack of spunk I’d felt since the cancer surgery. Fortunately, my massage therapy practice would allow the freedom of scheduling appointments later in the day. Being the compassionate boss, I frequently gave myself a day off. Holston could tend Sarah in the mornings, writing while she slept or played at his feet. When his body rhythms crashed in the afternoon, I planned to take my shift.

  Shammie and Spackle quickly became Sarah’s animal guardians. Spackle, the devoted slobbering canine, immediately cherished the baby. He loved anyone who would show him kindness. Shammie’s initial feline disinterest melted after the first few days. The cat code of ethics demanded that she not welcome us home with open paws. A mandatory period of martyrdom over being deserted for an extended length of time forced her to wait two full days before succumbing to Sarah’s charms. From that point, Shammie was never far from the baby and slept curled in a tight ball on the rocking chair by the crib.

  On the morning of the open house/welcome home party, Holston had showered, dressed, fed and clothed Sarah, packed the diaper bag, and fed the animals before I emerged from the shower. I climbed into the black slacks and white shirt I’d ironed the previous night, ran a comb though my wet hair, and grabbed a cup of coffee in a travel mug. Make-up was not an issue. I rarely wore any.

  Regardless of the name on the property title, the sprawling white house on the corner of Morgan Avenue and Bonita Street would forever be referred to as the Witherspoon Mansion. Jake’s mother, Betsy Witherspoon, had been the wealthiest woman in the history of Chattahoochee high soci
ety. The Greek revival style antebellum residence her husband Beau had built for his wife and young son made Tara’s columned house from Gone with the Wind look like a sharecropper’s shack in comparison.

  The house was tucked between towering stands of short-needle pines, flowering dogwoods, mimosas, and ancient Spanish moss-draped live oaks. Banks of azaleas surrounded many of the trees, with moats of grass providing pathways between the vegetation. By the time Jake inherited the property following his mother’s death, the once-proud showpiece was in a state of accelerating decay. Sheets of curled paint and extensive wood rot threatened the integrity of the exterior walls. The grounds were weed-infested and overgrown.

  To Jake’s dismay, his mother’s inherited family fortunes had dwindled, and her flamboyant, expensive tastes had amassed mounds of unpaid credit card debt. The sale of the family homestead left Jake, after settlement of the estate, barely enough money to purchase the flower shop and a second-hand delivery van. Until he and I opened our business uptown, The Madhatter’s Sweet Shop and Massage Parlor, Jake had camped out in a cramped storage room in the rear of the Dragonfly Florist. Upon my insistence, and because we needed the shop space for expansion, Jake relocated to the Hill.

  Holston had purchased the mansion following his extended stay in town while he worked on his novel about Jake’s assault. After Holston and I married, Jake renovated the second level of the mansion for his private quarters. Holston depended on him to oversee the building and grounds in exchange for room and board. Jake and Mandy, the owner of the Cut ’n’ Curl, came up with the idea to turn the expansive lower level of the house into a day spa and salon. Stephanie, a former waitress at the Homeplace Restaurant, had received massage therapy training and planned to set up shop in the newly appointed clinic space. Melody, Mandy’s nail care specialist, won a prized spot in the main hair salon.

  Holston pulled Betty into the Triple C’s main entrance off Bonita Street, then took the paved delivery driveway to the rear door. The Dragonfly Florist van stood next to the ramp with its side door ajar.

  Jake shuffled from the back door and waved when he saw us pull in. “Hey! Glad you got here early. Help me with these pots of bamboo for the front parlor, and I’ll give you the three-dollar tour before we have to get into our party frocks. Evelyn’s busy steaming the last minute wrinkles from the kimonos…like there are any!”

  Holston removed Sarah from the car seat. She was in her usual effervescent I’m-just-a-baby-so-I-don’t-know-enough-to-be-cranky mood.

  “You are one cute kid.” Jake cooed at Sarah, who blew spit bubbles in reply.

  “You’ll be an asset today for the grand opening.”

  “We’ll all try to do our part,” I said, sarcastically.

  Jake raised one eyebrow. “Eww…is Evil Rita with us today? Or is it my friend, Hattie?”

  “She just needs more coffee,” Holston said.

  Jake grabbed my elbow, leading me inside as he patted my arm. “There, there, sweet girl — my little sweetie-poots. Jakey has a fresh carafe of Colombian special dark blend just for you.”

  The kitchen buzzed with activity. Mandy, Stephanie, and Melody were putting the final garnish on four round platters of cheese and fresh fruit. When Melody opened the commercial-sized refrigerator to rearrange the layered trays of cold cuts, I spotted an intricately carved watermelon shell filled with melon balls in summer sherbet shades of green, peach, and red.

  Melody handed a stack of napkins to a pretty, petite black girl. “Just put these on the small, round table by the door, Tameka honey.”

  “Anything I can help with?” I asked.

  “Nope,” Jake said. “You and your crew are guests today.” He handed me a steaming cup of strong black coffee.

  Holston nodded toward the parlor. “Who’s the little black girl?”

  “That’s Tameka Clark. She and her older brother, Moses, are going to be helping out a little around here.” He lowered his voice. “I’ll fill you in on the details later. Mrs. Lucille Jackson told me about them. The kids live with their grandmother, Miz Maizie, and she’s been pretty sick here lately…out of work. I figured we could use them for odd jobs. Any amount of money will help them put food on the table. Moses planted a lot of the meditation garden. They’re both good kids. And…don’t worry. It’s legal and above board. I checked on permission for the two of them since they’re underage. All of the paperwork is in place. It’s not such a big issue right now, with them out of school for the summer.”

  Holston nodded. “I’d never doubt your judgment, Jake. Not for one second.”

  Mandy clucked. “Hattie, Hattie, Hattie! Your hair looks like a rag mop. Give me twenty minutes with you in the salon, and I’ll make you presentable.”

  “I didn’t realize it was that bad.”

  “Trust me…” Jake nodded. “It is.”

  “Give me a few minutes to show them the house and grounds, then she’s all yours.” Jake ushered us out of the kitchen. “Besides, it’s only a matter of time before Evelyn comes sniffin’ around.”

  I glanced into the front parlor. “Is Aunt Piddie here yet?”

  “Joe’s bringing her over a little later. Evelyn came in pretty early to make sure the Elf-wear display was perfect and her workshop was straightened up a bit. She’s been working like a mad woman to get ready for today.”

  “Leave the little dumplin’ with us!” Mandy held her arms out to receive Sarah. “Can she have a chunk of cantaloupe, Mama?”

  “Sure. She has a few teeth. Just make sure it’s not so small that she’ll choke on it. She mostly just sucks the juice out, anyway. There are bibs and baby wipes in the diaper bag. Whatever you do, don’t let her mess up Evelyn’s new outfit. I’ll never hear the end of it!”

  “Don’t you worry, Mama. Auntie Mandy’ll take good care of her.” Melody and Stephanie hovered nearby, anxious for their turns to hold the baby.

  Built-in baby sitters, not such a bad thing. Holston and I followed Jake into the front parlor.

  Jake motioned us into the spacious waiting area. “I know you saw some of this before you left, but we’ve added a few touches.”

  Upholstered high-back chairs lined the walls, interspersed with teak occasional tables. A richly hued Oriental rug covered a large portion of the highly polished hardwood floors. In one corner, a bubbling rock fountain provided the soothing music of trickling water. The floor to ceiling windows were shaded by almond-toned plantation blinds, opened slightly to allow the soft morning light into the room. The Spa’s logo, three gilded C’s connected to form a triangle, was centered on the far wall so that it was the first thing a salon patron would see upon entrance. One long wall displayed two bold modern paintings, art work commissioned especially for the Triple C. The artist, five-year-old Ruth Hornsby, was the adopted Chinese daughter of our friends, Patsy and Rainey Hornsby of Tallahassee.

  “I found most of the small bric-a-brac at a discount store in Tallahassee.” Jake motioned to a set of blue and white ginger jars and a stone planter containing a Jade plant.

  Two ornamental parlor palms and a standing ivy topiary added live greenery to the room.

  “It just feels like the sort of place you’d come to relax and indulge yourself,” I said.

  Jake pointed to the next door. “That’s the idea….now…this, of course, used to be the dining room. Now, it’s the reception area and display room for Evelyn’s Elf-wear.”

  An antique mahogany desk and armoire held court in a corner next to a glass and wood display case filled with Stephanie’s chosen line of professional skin care products. The majority of the room was occupied with long painted poles suspended from the high ceiling. Evelyn’s gowns and casual ensembles hung in artful display.

  Holston whistled. “Wow! She has been busy.”

  Jake threw one hand into the air. “Positively a maniac. She’s had all three of her sewing machines going, sometimes two at once. That computerized model acts like it has a mind of its own. She plugs in a design disc, posi
tions the material, and the thing just takes off all by itself. She’ll be hemming on one machine and it’ll be over there, just sewin’ away without her!”

  Jake waved toward the kitchen. “Of course, the kitchen’s like it was when we first started to renovate. It won’t be open to the public. Just us girls.” Jake cocked his head coquettishly to one side. “We didn’t change a thing in your private office and bedroom, Holston. If you want to redecorate your space, just say the word.”

  The hair salon combined two smaller rooms, divided by a large arched doorway. “One area is Mandy’s. The other is Wanda’s.”

  I had been curious to meet the woman with the New Jersey accent since Jake told me Mandy had hired her. “Is Wanda here yet?”

  “Unfortunately, no. The sale of her condo down in Naples hit a hitch. She’s closing on it Monday of next week. She should be up in a few days. She just won’t be able to make it for the grand opening. She’s supposed to be an expert with African-American hair design and care. Mandy’s excited about her coming on board.”

  Jake waved toward the far corner. “Melody has a little niche for her fingernail care and pedicures near the rear of the hair salon. We installed a strong exhaust fan so that the acrylic fumes won’t bother her or the patrons.”

  Jake continued toward the back of the lower level. “We put Steph’s massage therapy room back here — nice and quiet, away from everything.”

  I admired the spacious treatment room. The pale blue walls and ceiling were painted with fluffy, white clouds. Blue-gray slate tile covered the floor. A soft, tufted wheat-hued rug cushioned the area surrounding the massage table.

  I spotted the electric lift levers. “She went all out, didn’t she? An automatic adjustable table! I’d kill for one of those.”

  Jake nodded. “Steph says she’s gonna have to do a lot of hard labor to pay for that piece of equipment. It was…I believe, close to three thousand dollars by the time she added the extras.”