by Rhett DeVane
Tameka jumped up and hugged Wanda, almost knocking her off the swing.
Moses laughed at the two of them teetering in midair. The hard knot of anger deep inside melted a little around the edges.
“When we went on the Alaskan cruise last year, the young folks went on a trail walk with a feller that made the best salmon spread they’d ever tasted. Hattie described it to me, and we experimented till we came up with this recipe.”
Piddie Davis Longman
Spicy Salmon Spread
One 6-ounce can of canned, boneless, skinless salmon, drained of the packing water
One teaspoon lemon juice
One splash of hot sauce
One sprig of green onion, finely chopped
One clove of garlic, minced
One Tablespoon of prepared horseradish
One, 8-ounce package of cream cheese, softened
Mash up the salmon a little. Add the rest of the ingredients and mix well. Keep in the refrigerator. Serve with toast or crackers.
Chapter Twenty-nine
The Madhatter’s Festival
Hattie
As I stood on the muddy banks of the Apalachicola River holding Sarah in my arms, I couldn’t help thinking of my father. Mr. D. had been a tall, burly man with a growling exterior wrapped around a marshmallow-sweet middle. How ironic; my own parenthood was necessary to bring a full appreciation of the struggles of my mother and father.
I was born to Tillie Davis toward the end of her thirty-ninth year, smack dab in the middle of her Masters Degree studies at Florida State College for Women, known in years since as Florida State University. Like the women on her side of the family, she began to experience the hot flash mania of perimenopause shortly after turning forty, when I was close to four years of age. Without the benefits of hormone replacement therapy, she had to simultaneously endure an active toddler and female madness. The way I figured it, my father was the only reason I made it past five. I tagged along with him everywhere: service calls, dove hunting, and fishing.
Bobby was adept in the outdoor sports department. I was not. I smiled as I recalled the countless times my father had tried to teach me to bait a fish hook. Because I couldn’t abide the thought of inflicting pain on a defenseless worm, cricket, or minnow, I was a fisherman’s nightmare companion. As long as Mr. D. baited my hook and removed any fish I caught, I enjoyed the act of fishing. I just didn’t like all the yucky stuff that went with it.
One late summer afternoon after a frustrating teaching session, he beached the aluminum johnboat on a river sandbar.
“Get out,” he said, “and take that bucket of minnows and your pole with you. When I come back, you’d best have a minnow baited on the end of that hook!”
He gunned the small outboard motor and putted down river, until I could no longer pick out the sound of its engine.
First, I sat down on the sand and cried at the thought of being deserted. Then, I figured out a plan. I carefully poured one minnow from the bucket, hemmed it between two pebbles, and pierced the edge of a fin with the tip of the hook, all accomplished without actually touching the little fish. I lowered the minnow into the bucket to keep it alive until my father returned.
A few minutes later, my father’s boat appeared around the bend of the river. “Did you bait your hook, gal?” he asked as he pulled to shore.
I proudly held up the nylon line, the minnow dangling from its speared dorsal fin like a limp linguine noodle. The expression on his face will forever live in memory.
He shook his head, trying to hide a bemused grin. “Aw…just get in the boat, for heaven’s sake!”
From that point forward, I fished often with my father. We cut a deal that worked for us both. I packed and served our lunch, snacks, and drinks, and he baited the hook and removed my catch. On a few trips, between ministering to me and navigating the river, he managed to land a few fish himself.
“Hey, there!” Patricia Hornsby’s familiar voice snapped me from the past.
“Oh, hello!” We hugged and she pecked Sarah on the cheek. “I’m so glad you could come over today. Looks like we’re going to have a banner year. Jake said we’ve already sold over a thousand tickets, and it’s just barely started.”
Patricia nodded. “Traffic’s backed up past the hospital entrance on Highway 90.”
I searched the crowd. “Where’d you leave Ray and Ruth?”
“As frightening as it is to me, they’re in New York. A set of Ruth’s abstracts are being auctioned off for the nine-eleven relief effort. They really wanted Ruth to be there to present her paintings, so…” Patricia shrugged.
We turned and walked toward the festival grounds.
“It’s kind of eerie, really,” she continued. “Ruth painted the pieces a few months back, before the terrorist attacks. We didn’t think much of the images then. Ray had hung them in the dining room, and we walked by them every day. But, afterwards, we noticed their significance. Even though they’re abstract, you can clearly see the outline of the New York skyline before, and after, the attacks. The paintings have created quite a stir in the New York art world.”
“She’s always had multiple gifts. That heaven painting she did for Aunt Piddie — that was close to Pid’s death.”
“Oh! Don’t let me forget. Ruth sent a new painting for you guys. I have it in the car. I’ll transfer it to you before I leave today.”
“What is it?”
Patricia shrugged. “I don’t know. She wrapped it herself. Said it was for your family. That reminds me, did you see the article in the Tallahassee Democrat on that mural over in Quincy, a couple of weeks back?”
“No. I’ve gotten so depressed over the news lately, I’ve stopped reading the paper or watching TV.”
“That’s understandable. I may still have the article at home. I cut it out and stuck it God knows where. Seems this wall mural the local children painted five years ago on the side of the Sheriff’s department building has one scene that looks like the World Trade Center towers, complete with a jet airplane approaching it. I stopped by to get a close look at it on the way over here. You can see faces painted in a few of the windows, and some figures appear to be leaping from the buildings! One of the deputies even pointed out what looks like a little demon with a pitchfork at the base of one tower.”
“That is so bizarre. I’ll have to stop and check it out next time I’m over that way. I’m sure it’s been the talk at the spa. I just don’t get by there as much as I’d like.”
Patricia gestured toward the crowd. “Jake waved at me as I made my way through the festival grounds. He was flustered about something or other. You want to walk around and see the crafts with me?”
“Sure, maybe I can pick up a few early Christmas presents, and Jake’s always in a fizz around festival time. There’s the usual planning and stuff. But this year, Elvina and Evelyn are at odds over who’s entitled to judge the Best Damn Chocolate Cake and Icing Contest, what with Piddie being gone. That’s probably what’s got him in an uproar. The two women were barely speaking to each other last week. Let’s check out the booths, then we can stop by and see how the cold war is going.”
Jake and Jolene had settled on a patriotic theme for the festival. Flags of assorted sizes were suspended from several of the low-hanging live oak branches, and the arts and crafts venders had followed instructions to decorate in red, white, and blue. The main performance stage was flanked with two immense wreaths of red and blue carnations tied with oversized white bows. The 2001 Madhatter’s Festival was printed in bold blue lettering across the banner spanning the stage. Between the booths, large glittering white paper stars on gold sticks were plugged into the ground like the discarded magic wands of migratory behemoth fairies.
As the city’s contribution to the relief effort, a large portion of the proceeds from ticket sales and vendor fees were earmarked for the American Red Cross Victims Relief Fund. Evelyn and Stephanie had spent two weeks gluing silk daisies to lapel pins wrapped with st
rips of red, white, and blue ribbon to sell for donations. Most of the craft vendors had pledged a percentage of profits to the fund. The local women’s quilters’ guild offered an Americana-themed handmade quilt that was being raffled for five dollars a ticket.
Over sixty arts and crafts booths were scattered between the live oaks and down one side of the dirt and clay river landing road paralleling the bank. Unlike the first Madhatter’s Festival with its scattering of local craftspeople, the annual event now drew vendors from as far away as Tennessee and the Carolinas. Intricately designed quilts, hand-loomed rugs, nature photography, watercolor paintings, wood carving, and pottery booths were interspersed with local church and civic groups hawking baked goods, fried fish dinners, southern barbecue, and powdered sugar funnel cakes.
Rich and Carol Burns stood beside the entrance to an inflatable trampoline room watching their twin girls bounce and tumble.
“If I did that, I’d lose breakfast,” Carol said when she saw us. “Hey there, Patricia. You over here solo today?”
“On the loose with money just burning a hole in my pocket! Ruth and Ray are out of town.”
“Glad you could come over,” Rich added.
I took the opportunity to pump my police friend for information. “Anything new on Hank Henderson, that you can tell us, of course.”
“I think Mr. Henderson, as we knew him, is gone from this world.” Rich shook his head. “He’s been sedated, pretty much, most of the time. When they take him off the drugs, he rants and raves and fights. Sees things that aren’t there. And, for some odd reason, he goes absolutely ballistic if he sees the color yellow. I doubt he’ll ever stand trial. He’s already in more torment than any prison sentence would hand out.”
I shook my head. “Wow. What about Alfonso?”
“That whole thing’s bound to drag out for a while. He’ll probably be tried as an adult. But, there’s a faction who see him as a victim of Hank, too. It’s hard to say which way things will go for him. As to Hank’s cousin, Lamar…” Rich rolled his eyes. “They’ll nail his butt to the cross for his part in cleanin’ out the evidence room over in Midview. Although, some of the officers think he’s a hero for providing them a nice break room. Go figure.”
“I read a tidbit about the FBI’s ongoing investigation in the paper,” Patricia said. “Maybe they can use Hank’s Internet connections to at least round up some of the jerks in the kiddie porn ring.”
“We can all hope.” Carol watched her girls for a moment. “You try to keep your kids safe, and you hope you’re doing okay by them.”
“Holston and I were just talking about the same thing the other night.”
“At least we live in a small community where we can watch over them and help each other. Of course, that didn’t stop the likes of Hank.” Carol frowned. “I just want to lock my girls in a room and throw away the key.”
Patricia chuckled. “Save that until they’re teenagers.”
Wanda appeared beside us, flanked on either side by Tameka and Moses Clark.
Wanda patted the children on their backs. “Go on in there. But, you watch out now, Moses. You’re bigger than some of the younger kids. Be careful you don’t hurt anyone.”
Moses nodded. He and his sister joined the squealing gaggle of bouncing children.
Wanda watched with her hands propped on her hips. “He’s at a weird age. One minute he wants to act all grown up, and the next, he’s a kid again.”
“You enjoying your visit with the kids?” Carol asked.
“Yeah, a lot. It’s been a little over a month since they moved to Alabama, but it feels more like two years. I didn’t realize how much I’d miss them.” Wanda’s gaze drifted to the playhouse. She turned back to the adults and smiled. “I’m spending Christmas with them. James and Alicia have invited me up.”
“Things goin’ pretty well up there?” Rich asked.
“Seem to be. Alfred and Antwoin – you remember James’ two boys? They were here for the funeral. Well, they’re helping Moses ease into big city life. Moses told me he’s thinking of trying out for the soccer team next season. Both of his cousins play. And, I believe Tameka’s the little girl Alicia always wanted. She’s buying her clothes and teaching her to behave like a young lady. I think Miz Maizie would approve.”
“No one’s heard from the kids’ real mother?” Carol asked.
“No. I doubt we ever will. James and Alicia are the legal guardians, and they’re already discussing adopting them so there won’t be any conflict, in case she does show up some day. James and Alicia will make sure they get an education, too. Moses is already talking about wanting to train in horticulture.”
“Sister-girl! Yoo-Hoo!” Jake’s voice was tinged with his normal festival-level panic. He hobbled to where we stood. “Your presence is needed at the Cake and Icing contest booth. You’d better come with me before Elvina and Evelyn start to slap, spit, and scratch.”
I rolled my eyes. “Will you all excuse me for a bit? Patricia, I’ll catch up with you in a few.”
“What’s the deal?” I asked as we waded through the crowd.
“Elvina’s still holdin’ out that she should judge the contest, on account of her taking Piddie’s position at the spa…and, of course, Evelyn is Piddie’s daughter and swears she’s had some sort of vision. I’m afraid they’ll cause a scene!”
“It’s perfect, don’t you see, Jakey? Evelyn and Piddie used to snipe at each other. Now, there’s Elvina and Evelyn! I mean, how would we know what peace is, if we didn’t have war?”
The national level implications of my flippant comment hit us both simultaneously.
Jake smirked. “You do so much have a way with words, Sister-girl.”
I shrugged. “Sorry.”
“By the way, mark your calendar for the first two weekends in November. We haven’t decided who’s what, just yet…but, Bobby and Leigh’s cabin warming will be held on one Saturday, and Jon and my house warming will be the next.”
“What about…?”
Jake smiled. “FSU football? Got that covered. We’ll both have the game on in one room for the painfully sports-addicted people who get dragged out durin’ game time. You and I can slip off and catch the score, ok?”
“Works for me. Our team’s not doing so well this year. I’d almost rather watch it in bits and pieces. Less agony that way.”
Jake sucker-punched my arm. “Now, come on. Don’t be a fair weather fan. They’ll rebuild. Heck, they graduated half the dang team last year!”
“I know. They really shouldn’t let that happen.”
With the exception of Joe, who was helping with the Baptist Church bake sale, the family was huddled around the Best Damn Cake and Icing Contest booth when Jake, Sarah, and I arrived.
Holston had an amused expression on his face. “Just in time, hon,” he mouthed.
Elvina sat in the official judge’s red velvet high-back chair, arms crossed over her chest.
“If you’ll just let me tell you about my vision, it’ll all work out just fine!” Evelyn begged. “Will you just listen?”
Elvina’s lips pursed into a pout. “It’s just somethin’ you’ve made up to cheat me out of my rightful place as contest judge, Evelyn Fletcher.”
“No, I promise, it’s not. Cross my heart and hope to die, God strike me down with a bolt of lightnin’!”
Elvina looked up. “That’s a pretty safe wager, seein’ as how there’s nary a cloud in the sky.”
“It was this-a-way,” Evelyn lowered her voice a little. “I was near asleep last night. Joe was staying up to watch some TV, but I was plain tuckered out. I saw this vision of Mama standin’ at the foot of the bed.” Evelyn’s eyes watered. “She was beautiful, her face all lit up with light, so peaceful. She said she was gonna be leavin’ us all, now. She felt like we could handle it on our own from here on in…she’d check in on us from time to time. And, of course, she’d see us all in the by-in-by. Said she was done with earthly concerns, that she had bette
r things to occupy herself with.”
Evelyn looked toward the family, her eyes dreamy. “Mama told me she was proud of all of us, the way we’d come together, and that we were gonna need to lean on each other in the comin’ tryin’ times. But, she was sure we’d be all right if we kept the faith.”
She spread her hands in the air and wiggled her fingers. “She got all wispy then, like she was fadin’ out. She said one last thing.”
Elvina, totally engrossed in the story of Evelyn’s ghostly visitation, leaned forward. “What was it she said?”
“You and Elvina got to work on gettin’ along. You’re my only daughter, and she’s my best friend ever. Tell her to lighten up a little, and that I said y’all should both judge the contest this year. This will be y’all’s true test – ’specially if y’all gonna collaborate on Easter bonnets and outfits come springtime. As for the contest, now, two sets of taste buds are better’n one.”
Evelyn gazed heavenward. “Mama smiled at me, the most angelic look I’ve ever seen, painted across her face. Then, she was gone. Just like that!” She snapped her fingers.
Elvina smoothed a hank of hair that had escaped from underneath her red and white striped pillbox hat. “Well, I reckon we can rate them separately, then figure a way to reach a winner.”
“Lord help! I’m glad that’s all settled,” Jake said. “I’m getting too dang old for all the drama!”
I poked him in the arm. “Only because it’s not your drama.”
He shook his cane in my direction. “Don’t get fresh, Sister-girl.”
Discovering the things I didn’t like in life came easy: raw celery, lima beans, too much hairspray, rude people, traffic snarls, and shopping for bathing suits. Not until I was firmly ensconced in my forties had I recognized the things I held important: family, friends, a sense of community, and a balance between work and play, sorrow and joy.
My father, mother, Aunt Piddie, Maizie Clark – their absence in our lives left us searching for ways to heal. They had been given the blessing of many years, unlike the multitudes whose lives had been brutally snuffed out on September 11th, 2001. As many people across the nation had grasped, the best tribute to the loved ones who’d left us behind was to move forward with our lives in the best way possible. To do less would be unthinkable.
