Dancing in the Lowcountry

by James Villas

  He and Bud were as close as any son and father could be, going to ball games and the racetrack together, fishing in the crappiethons at Lake Wylie, and venturing across the state line from time to time to shoot ducks down in South Carolina. Unfortunately, it was during one of these duck-hunting forays that the tragedy occurred that would change Goldie’s life forever. Bud and John had left home in the pickup one Saturday morning at the crack of dawn and were headed toward Fort Mill in dense fog when they collided head-on just across the state line with a tractor trailer transporting tons of auto parts. The driver of the eighteen-wheeler walked away without a scratch, but Bud and his son were killed instantly, their bodies barely recognizable when the state police arrived on the gory scene. The rig driver swore that the small truck had simply veered into the wrong lane, and since there were no witnesses or suspicious tire marks on the road to disprove his story, he was not even called in for further questioning. When Goldie received the horrid news, the shock was such that neighbors had to take her to the hospital emergency room for sedation, and after she was found the next day in the house on her knees with ritualistic blood smeared on her face from a self-inflicted hand wound, chanting incoherently in words nobody could understand, Big Earl was called to arrange for a doctor.

  Big Earl and Ella both went to the funeral, and it was there that Ella, taking sincere pity on the devastated young Indian, told Goldie to call if she ever needed help or advice or even work. Bud had been meaning to take out some life insurance just six months before the accident, but since he never got around to it, Goldie would have been virtually destitute if Earl had not seen fit to provide a little financial compensation till she got back on her feet. As the months passed, Goldie did take on odd jobs at places like Winn-Dixie and Wal-Mart just to make house payments, hung out with a few close friends at the bowling alley and a diner where she used to go with Bud and John, and, on some weekends, got a kick out of going to the racetrack with two other Cherokees who also worked at Wal-Mart and were as assimilated as she was. But increasingly lonely and unable to meet another man who might be interested in getting to know her better, she developed a serious drinking problem, reverted to braiding her hair and wearing more traditional Indian outfits, and often astonished her neighbors by hanging bones, feathers, and other cryptic amulets in her windows and chanting quietly to a hand drum in the wee hours. Some thought she’d actually lost her mind, in fact, and were thinking of ways to encourage her to return to the reservation and her own people, when, one evening, Ella called to ask if, by chance, she might be available to do some housework a couple of days a week.

  While the children were growing up and afterward, Ella had always paid a number of maids very well to clean, and polish silver, and do laundry, but, as she complained one day to Lilybelle Armstrong, colored help was just not what it used to be, and recently she’d come home to find Leanna watching TV when she was supposed to be ironing napkins, and she wasn’t going to stand for it a moment longer. It was not long after that tirade that she suddenly remembered Bud’s wife as a pleasant enough, honest-looking young girl and figured she might be needing a little extra work. Goldie found the opportunity to do some housecleaning for the elegant lady Bud had always called Miss Ella to be a gift from the Great Spirits, and while she was intimidated at first by the big home over in Eastover, Ella put her at ease by carefully showing her about and patiently explaining in detail what the chores would be.

  Before long, Goldie had begun to pull her life together again and felt right at home working on Colville Road, and while Ella found many of her mannerisms to be bizarre, she couldn’t praise her Indian maid enough to the wary ladies invited routinely for lunch or tea and to her and Big Earl’s close friends who came over periodically for dinner to eat Ella’s renowned shrimp and oyster gumbo, cracklin’ cornbread, and grasshopper pie. So pleased was Ella with Goldie, in fact, that she gradually entrusted her with more responsibilities, enticed her to work additional days for more cash as time passed, and, since she was winding down a little, essentially turned over most of the daily housekeeping, shopping, and even part of the cooking to the younger woman. Earl himself was basically indifferent to Goldie, perceiving her only as another commodity that made his wife happy.

  By now, Goldie couldn’t have been more content in her working routine. Ella knew that she maintained close contact with her relatives on the reservation and assumed she had a few friends in Charlotte with whom she socialized, but such was their proper relationship that Ella never asked much about Goldie’s private life. What she did often worry about out loud to Big Earl was the possibility that Goldie might announce one day that she was returning to the reservation or that she was getting married again and couldn’t spend as much time on the job.

  The truth was that Goldie, her hair starting to gray and her weight more of a problem the older she became, not only had very few social outlets and certainly no prospects of marriage but, at least in her own mind, had adopted the house on Colville as her real home and the Duboses as her surrogate family. When Big Earl died and Goldie stayed a couple of nights in a back room at the house, it unnerved Ella to hear the woman’s hushed grief chant and to find a weird collection of small feathers, beads, and shells in a bowl by the bed, but she asked no questions. Now Ella depended on Goldie even more than before for help and companionship, and while both Little Earl and Olivia viewed “the squaw” as little more than a harmless necessity for keeping up the big house, Ella’s oldest and closest friends were fully aware of the strange but necessary bond that had come to exist between these two women whose backgrounds, lifestyles, and sophistication couldn’t have been more different. As for Goldie herself, nobody on earth came to better understand and respect Ella Dubose’s demanding, often condescending ways, and while the Indian was always aware how grateful she was to the other woman who’d virtually given her a new life, such was her nature and pride that she’d also evolved various means to handle Ella like few others could.

  Just being in a plush milieu like the Priscilla for the first time was so overwhelming to Goldie that she was satisfied simply taking in the surroundings and watching the sophisticated guests come and go, but for Ella the experience was so nostalgic and bittersweet that most of her disoriented thoughts focused either on how much she missed the good times with Earl and the children or the best way to reveal to Tyler a truth that could no longer be concealed. Her reflections, in fact, might have brought on a bad case of nerves had they not suddenly been interrupted by a soft but nasal voice on her right as the family with the young boys made their way toward the dining room.

  “Please excuse me,” said the older man with the bow tie, leaning down and nodding to both women.

  “Why, good evening,” Ella responded cordially, obviously surprised.

  “I’m Edmund O’Conner, and I hope you won’t find me too presumptuous, but, to tell you the truth, my two grandsons here are absolutely intrigued by your friend’s beautiful dress and jewelry.” He turned to Goldie. “They aren’t by any chance authentic Native American, are they?”

  It was hard to tell by Goldie’s expression whether she was slightly piqued or just shy, but she said nothing.

  “As a matter of fact, they are,” Ella answered forthrightly. “Yes, sir, my companion here is, in fact, a full-blooded Cherokee Indian, and the tunic and all the jewelry couldn’t be more traditional and genuine.” She patted Goldie on the arm while looking at the gentleman. “Very becoming, don’t you think?”

  “Oh, yes, very,” he agreed affably. “You see, one of the boys here is studying Native Americans in middle school up in New Jersey—we’re from Englewood—and when we noticed the lady’s turquoise and silver and the way she wears her hair…”

  “Well, let me introduce you to my American Indian friend,” Ella said proudly, gesturing to the boys who were standing back sheepishly with the couple. “This is Goldie Russell, and I’m Mrs. Dubose. We’re from Charlotte, but Goldie was born and raised on the Cherokee reservation
up near our national park in the Smokies, weren’t you, Goldie?”

  “That’s right,” Goldie finally murmured, smiling.

  “Well, this is a rare privilege, indeed,” said the older man, shaking hands with them both, then coaxing the two boys to step up to Goldie. “Again, I hope we’re not intruding, but…Boys, say hello to Miss Russell, and you’ll have something special to tell your friends about.”

  “Everybody just calls me Goldie,” she said in a more relaxed voice, extending her hand as all the bracelets jangled. “It’s nice to meet you fellas.”

  “Do you ever wear feathers?” asked the boy whose dark, curly hair once again reminded Ella of the beloved boy she’d known in her youth.

  “Tommy!” his mother scolded, visibly embarrassed. “You shouldn’t ask questions like that.”

  Goldie cracked a big smile. “No, no, honey, no feathers or deerskins—though some of the men in our tribe do wear them at ritual powwows.”

  “Gosh,” the youngster exclaimed, staring at Goldie with eyes of amazement. “My teacher told us about powwows.”

  “Okay, Tom, that’s enough for now,” insisted the older man, taking the boy’s arm. “We’ve bothered these nice people enough, and it’s time for dinner. Mrs. Dubose, I would like for you and Goldie to meet my daughter and her husband, Elizabeth and Sal Mariani. We’re all here together on a vacation while the boys are on spring break from school. Are you down for long?”

  “Maybe a couple of weeks,” Ella said vaguely.

  After everybody shook hands and the family proceeded inside, Ella reflected for an instant on how attractive and vigorous the older man still was. Then she patted Goldie again on the arm.

  “It appears you’re something of a celebrity to them, dear.”

  Goldie began to blush. “They’re very nice people.”

  “Yes,” Ella laughed. “Some Northerners can be interesting and charming. Not all, mind you, but some. I wonder how in heaven’s name they knew about the Priscilla. Mr. O’Conner obviously has an Irish background, and…Mariani—sounds Italian.”

  Most of the rockers along the wide porch were now occupied by well-dressed guests chatting cheerfully while enjoying the glorious vista of the sea, and when Ella eventually placed her empty glass on the banister and allowed Goldie to help her up, she was aware of feeling delightfully tipsy and hungry as a bear. Wondering if the dining room had changed much, she was startled when a rather frail-looking but distinguished black man with gray hair and eyebrows stepped forward in a tuxedo as if preparing to seat the two women.

  “Mrs. Dubose?” he said quietly. “Mrs. Ella Dubose from Charlotte?”

  “Yes,” she responded with more astonishment.

  Breaking into a wide grin that exposed a mouth full of pearl white teeth, he leaned over and said, “Lord have mercy, ma’am, I saw that name on the list and wondered if that could maybe be the same Mrs. Dubose from the old days.”

  Ella studied his venerable face for a moment. Then she opened her mouth as if dumbfounded, extended her hand with glee, and exclaimed, “Riley! Well, I don’t believe my own eyes. I really don’t believe my eyes!”

  “Yessum, I’m still here doing the same old thing, Miss Ella, and I knew that was you the minute I noticed you coming across the hall. Lord, Miss Ella, you haven’t changed one little bit.”

  “Now, now, Riley, let’s not go overboard. But I can tell you this is the biggest surprise I’ve had in ages,” she continued, pumping his hand. “I never had any idea….”

  “Yessum,” he repeated, patting his lower back. “A little creaky in the joints and gray as an old gander, but, yessum, I’m still around and guess I’ll stay till they carry me out feet first. Here over forty years now.” He grinned widely again. “And how’s that nice family of yours doing, Miss Ella?”

  “Well, Riley, Mr. Dubose passed on some years ago, and my son Tyler’s become a full-fledged Yankee writer up in New York City.”

  “Umm, umm, you don’t say.”

  “Yes, he has, and the other two children are just fine, and are in Charlotte, and have beautiful children themselves. And how’s your family, Riley? Still throwing those big oyster roasts and fish fries?”

  “Oh, no, ma’am, ’fraid not. The missus passed ’bout ten years ago—a bad cancer—and I lost my boy in a bad accident down at the mill in Georgetown a spell back. But my daughter, Essie, she’s with her family over in Conway, and I see right much of all of them. Remember those spots I used to catch for Mr. Earl’s breakfast? Well, I still love to fish in my spare time. I do.”

  Ella’s face took on a more somber expression. “Times have changed, haven’t they, Riley? There’s not much left of the old days.”

  “They sho have, Miss Ella. Just look at what they done to this beach.” He shook his head back and forth. “Not like the old days, as you say. No, ma’am. And wait till the season begins next month. But I gotta say things stay pretty much the same ’round here at the inn—thank the good Lord.”

  All this time, Goldie had simply stood and listened, but once Ella and Riley had finished reminiscing about better days, she was introduced to the head waiter as Ella’s companion with no further explanations. Nor did Ella volunteer any particular reason why she’d stayed away so many years or why she’d now decided to return with this curious-looking other woman. What did impress her beyond words was that, from memory or by sheer coincidence, Riley seated them in the half-filled dining room overlooking the ocean at a table for two in the exact same area where she and the family used to take their meals morning, noon, and night. She immediately recognized on the wall the same colorful oil painting of sea oats and a pier, and even two large potted palms in the corners seemed familiar and were comforting.

  After Riley handed them simple printed menus that listed mainly classic Southern dishes that changed daily, Ella wiggled her finger for him to lean down as if she had a secret to reveal.

  “Perhaps I should tell you, Riley, that Mr. Tyler is planning to fly down and join me on the weekend.”

  “Why, you don’t say, Miss Ella. That’s wonderful news, just wonderful. Now I’ll get to see him again—all grown up.” He laughed. “Lord have mercy, the last time…”

  “You probably won’t even recognize him, and I’ll keep it a surprise, but maybe you should know since we’ll then need a bigger table.”

  “No problem, ma’am, no problem at all, and, yessum, it’ll be a real pleasure seeing that young man again.”

  Chapter 5

  KEYBOARD TINKERBELL

  It had been months since Ella had seen Tyler, and while she was as excited as ever over the prospect of spending a few days with her older son, the circumstances that had prompted her to call him from Charlotte weighed heavily on her conscience all during Holy Week as she had gone about the same routine Easter rituals she’d observed for decades. Once Billy from next door had finally rolled one of the artificial Christmas trees into the library in preparation for the Ash Wednesday afternoon tea she always held for members of her church guild, she decorated it with hand-painted eggs, tiny fuzzy bunnies, and streamers of pastel ribbons. She attended the Good Friday service at church, and the next day, with Goldie’s help, she conducted her traditional Easter egg hunt in the yard for children in the neighborhood. And, naturally, she went to church with the whole family on Easter morning, as was expected, followed by a festive lunch at Little Earl’s and Betty Jane’s home.

  What was not routine, and what lunch with Little Earl and Olivia had helped trigger, was Ella’s impulsive decision and determination to finally confront a shattering facet of her past that had remained a closely guarded secret and that, even in old age, still could not be erased from her mind. The secret, of course, was her certain knowledge that Tyler was not the son of Earl Dubose, a complex intuition harbored for half a century and based as much on the nature of her son’s personality as on the logistics of his early birth. Many were the times she had been tempted to confess the truth to Earl or broach the subject with
Tyler the way other devoted wives and mothers might eventually do. Fear, however, had always precluded any overdue, open declarations on Ella’s part, not that she was exactly ashamed of this youthful reality or daunted by the possibility of retaliation, but because revealing such a fact might have caused her husband or son to question her moral creed in general. Over the years, Ella had simply learned to cope with the periodic anxiety and tame the guilt, rarely allowing the inner conflict to affect her genuine love and respect for Earl and the efforts she made to deal normally with her family. But now, forced to face her mortality and overwhelmed more and more by distant memories as the shadows closed in, it was her peculiar but earnest conviction that the fog of deception that had shrouded her life had to be finally lifted and that Tyler had every right to know why and how he came into this world. She also felt the desperate urge to get away from Charlotte and the family, to escape back to the region of her roots that held such vivid nostalgia and where, if only for a short time, she might wrap up some loose ends and perhaps find the emotional fulfillment needed to round out her life.

  Ella’s plan couldn’t have been more bold, a concocted scheme to simply take off in the car with Goldie for Myrtle Beach, spend a couple of off-season weeks at the Priscilla without informing a soul in Charlotte, and convince Tyler to join her there for at least a few days. Friends had told her that, while the inn itself was still very nice, she might be shocked by the changes at Myrtle since she and Earl were last there. But no matter. Ella’s mind was set, and when Ella Dubose set her mind to something, nothing could alter her intentions.