by James Villas
“Lovely, isn’t it?” she mused. “Few tourists ever see this church, but I thought you’d enjoy it. Time has stood still here.”
“How did you first know about it?”
“Very simple. My husband’s people were originally from Georgetown, and were communicants at All Saints. Of course, this isn’t the same church that was built during Colonial times, which burned down, or the one that replaced the second after the war. Earl told me that at one time the church ministered to both planters and Negro slaves, and that, even after the war, the stained wooden slave galleries upstairs were considered to be the most beautiful in the whole South.”
O’Conner grimaced. “Sounds a little perverse, wouldn’t you say? A house of God ministering to black slaves, and people exclaiming about the architecture of their slave galleries?”
“Now, now, Dr. O’Conner,” she objected with a trace of irritation in her voice. “I’m simply telling you the facts and not asking you to pass judgment on something that happened more than a century ago. Lord knows, slavery was terrible, and I don’t have a prejudiced bone in my body against the Negroes, but there’s nothing we can do to change history. Besides, you know, the North wasn’t exactly innocent on the subject of slavery, but they don’t teach that in the schools, do they? That used to just burn my husband, Earl, up.”
Waggling his crossed leg up and down, he twisted his lips. “I’m afraid there’s lots they don’t teach in the schools today. We Irish Catholics know all about that.” He paused a moment. “I can’t believe that people still come all the way back here for church every Sunday.”
“Have been for centuries—some of the finest families in the area.” She pointed to the small cemetery. “In fact, Earl’s grandparents are buried right over there, and I’ll show you their graves in a minute. I once heard Earl himself say he wouldn’t mind being buried here, but that wouldn’t have made much sense since both his parents were buried in Charleston and we’d bought a plot for ourselves in Charlotte.”
“So where was he laid to rest?”
“Oh, in Charlotte, but not on our plot as originally planned. You see, Earl loved to play golf more than anything in this world, so when he died suddenly, I finally decided to have him cremated and give him the sort of funeral he really would have appreciated. What I did was organize a big get-together at our country club, invite our best friends and his business associates, and do it up right—a fancy luncheon buffet with the dishes he loved, a jazz band playing his favorite tunes, the works. Then I contacted a close buddy of his who had a Piper Cub and gave him Earl’s ashes, and while everybody was eating and listening to the music and talking about Earl, the plane flew overhead and his ashes were scattered over the club’s golf course, and everybody clapped and made a big to-do over Big Earl. Needless to say, my two youngest children thought I was disrespectful and had gone stark raving mad, and I did find out later that there is an ordinance in Charlotte forbidding such things. But nobody caused any commotion and everything turned out exactly as I think Earl would have wanted it.” She then appeared solemn. “I guess they’ll just stick me in the ground all alone when my time comes.”
With no warning, he put an arm around her shoulder, pulled her close, and, chuckling, said, “Miss Ella, you’re quite a woman.”
She didn’t resist his gesture and simply responded alluringly, “Why, Dr. O’Conner, I can’t imagine what might move you to make a statement like that.”
“Oh, come on,” he said, releasing her cheerfully. “We’re both too old to play games. You must know you’re a pretty unusual lady—and, as I said, still a very attractive one.”
She pretended to blush. “Why, thank you, sir. That’s the most gracious remark anybody’s made to me in ages.” She then glanced at her watch. “Lord have mercy, we better go take a look at those graves and get back to the inn. It’ll soon be cocktail time, and the folks must be wondering what on earth has happened to us.”
After they viewed the almost illegible Dubose headstones, he took her arm and was about to open her door when, in a split second, she reached for the side of the car, dropped her head, and mumbled, “Mercy me.”
“Are you okay?” he called out anxiously, grabbing her around the waist as if she might fall.
For a moment, she remained silent and simply stared at the car as she tried to catch her breath, her eyes blinking rapidly. “I’m all right,” she then muttered weakly. “Just a little dizzy spell. That’s all it is, just a dizzy spell. Nothing to worry about. Maybe if I sat in the car for a minute and…” She handed him her pocketbook as he helped her down to the edge of the seat. “There’s a small bottle of pills in here, and if you wouldn’t mind…”
Nervously, he rummaged about in the large bag, past the gold case and lighter and wallet and gun and a few cotton hankies, and finally retrieved the small bottle, which he opened. She shook out a single white pill, placed it under her tongue, and sat quietly while he watched her carefully.
“How do you feel now?” he asked, bending down as the color began to return to her fragile face.
“Much better, thank you. I can’t imagine what came over me, and I can’t tell you how embarrassed I am.”
“What are those pills?”
“Oh, they tell me I have a little heart murmur and should take one if I ever have a spell. Guess these things should be expected at my age, but it makes me mad as a hornet.” She grabbed the car door and began pulling herself back up as he took her arm again. “I’ve had a lot on my mind lately and guess I just overdid it today. But I’m okay now. I feel just fine.”
“Well, I’ll tell you one thing, Miss Ella, and that’s you’re not driving back,” he insisted, coaxing her around to the other side of the car.
For once, she offered no resistance, asking only if he thought he could handle her big car on the bumpy road. He informed her that he drove a large Mercedes himself, and had been driving down country roads and crowded northern turnpikes for years, and that she could just sit back and relax and let him take over.
“You’re a very considerate gentleman, Dr. O’Conner,” she said softly before he closed her door. “And I think we’ll both be ready for a good honest drink when we get back.”
Chapter 9
THE WHOLE OCEAN OF TRUTH
When Ella and Edmund arrived back at the Priscilla, Elizabeth and Sal kidded her father about there maybe being a little romance in the air, then told him how the two boys seemed to have struck up a real friendship with Goldie. Ella made no mention to Goldie of her dizzy spell at the church, asking only if she’d given Riley the fish to clean and stating that Dr. O’Conner had invited them to join his family for drinks on the front porch before dinner. At one point, she thought about phoning Tyler to let him know that she and Goldie were settled and looking forward to his visit on the weekend, but since she still hadn’t dressed for dinner and they were expected downstairs at seven, she decided to put off the call till the next day. What was now foremost in her thoughts was the wonderful afternoon she’d spent with Edmund O’Conner, his unpretentious sophistication, and the flattering remarks he’d made, all of which aroused in her certain emotions she hadn’t sensed in years. On the other hand, she couldn’t deny feeling tired after a strenuous day, and while nothing made Ella angrier than being forced to admit she simply couldn’t maintain the same pace she did twenty years ago, she told Goldie that she intended to eat lightly, make it an early evening, and get a good night’s sleep.
Most of the next day, in fact, she simply lounged in the cabana with her needlepoint and Tyler’s memoirs, dozed, and, while Goldie either fished or told the Mariani boys more stories, analyzed what she must do during Tyler’s stay. From time to time, Edmund, ignoring the much younger couple now occupying the cabana in between, would break the spell by wandering over to sit on the edge of her chair and chat. Now stuck to his rosy cheek was a tiny piece of Kleenex or toilet paper with a spot of dried blood, and, in the full light of day, there seemed to be a rusty hue to his white
hair, suggesting for the first time that he may originally have been a redhead. Once again, Ella studied his dark eyes and thin eyebrows, then his hands—long, pale fingers, perfectly manicured nails, ashen hair on the knuckles—and, for a split second, she tried to imagine what it would be like if one of those hands were to accidentally brush against her breast. At times, he would talk seriously about small ailments, and politics, and his tennis game, but mostly he gabbed casually and cajoled her about her accent and Southern mannerisms, leading Ella to wonder if he was openly flirting with her. At first, such a possibility seemed far-fetched, but when he would gaze steadily into her bright eyes while making a comment, or laugh and touch her arm tenderly, she couldn’t help but be seized by an undeniable thrill that made her feel very attractive and reminded her of youthful days so far in the past.
“I have a suggestion,” she finally said at one point, adjusting the kerchief on her hair and popping him playfully on one bony knee.
“I have the impression you usually do,” he jested.
“I think we should all go pier fishing tomorrow. I bet that’s something y’all have never done, and I know it would excite Goldie. It’s really loads of fun, and you’re almost guaranteed to catch some fish. What do you say?”
O’Conner laughed almost like a child. “Sure, I’m game for anything, if they are, and I’m sure the boys would love the experience.” He stopped a second, an apprehensive look on his venerable face as the breeze scattered his hair wildly in every direction. “But we don’t have fishing rods.”
“Lord, that’s the least problem,” she assured. “You can rent everything right on the pier—or at least you used to be able to. We could call to make sure.”
“Sounds good to me.”
“Fine,” she said as if the proposition were already settled. “And now, I have another idea, if you don’t think I’m being too presumptuous. Have you ever heard of Calabash, just up across the North Carolina border?”
He looked puzzled. “It seems I heard Sal and Elizabeth mention that. Isn’t it a restaurant?”
“Not per se,” she answered, an almost smug expression on her face. “Calabash is actually a small village with more seafood houses than you can count. Anyway, the last thing I want to do is impose on you and your family, but I was thinking that maybe it would be fun if we all drove up there tonight for some fried seafood and hush puppies. Ever eaten hush puppies?”
He broke out into a big smile. “No, I can’t say I have.”
“Well, I don’t guess many Yankees have,” she chuckled. “But I can tell you, honey, you don’t know what you’ve been missing. Little fried balls of cornmeal, and there’s nothing like them if they’re light and crispy and well seasoned. Lord, I could eat half a dozen this very minute.”
Before Ella could finish her discourse on hush puppies, Sal and Elizabeth returned from their swim, followed by the two boys, who’d been playing in the wet sand next to Goldie while she fished and intrigued them with tales about the buffalo. O’Conner informed them of Ella’s two proposals, and when he mentioned Calabash, Elizabeth exclaimed that they’d indeed been there the year before, loved a particular restaurant called Pirates Cove, and thought it was a great idea for dinner. Sal added that he wasn’t much of a fisherman, but since he knew the boys would get a real kick out of going on the pier, Ella and Goldie could count on them the next day.
Happy to have made friends with such a pleasant family that had what Southerners referred to as quality, not to mention being so attracted to Edmund O’Conner, Ella was excited as a schoolgirl as she poured a cool toddy, changed into an off white skirt and pink silk blouse for lunch, retouched her makeup, and thought about her beauty parlor appointment later in the afternoon. Then, just as she was wondering what she might be in the mood to eat and about to tap on Goldie’s door, the phone rang. A woman’s voice on the line apologized sheepishly for putting through an outside call, but, as she explained, her son in Charlotte was anxiously trying to reach her, and apparently there’d been a small incident involving the police, and perhaps Mrs. Dubose should take the call.
What had happened, of course, was that, by whatever chance or forensic maneuver, Ella’s big white Cadillac had finally been located during the car trace and reported to the Charlotte police.
“Mama,” Little Earl blatted on the phone, “would you mind telling us what in hell is going on? We’ve had the police in two states trying to track you down, and you’re bound to know you’ve had us worried sick.”
Ella simply held the receiver for a moment, thinking, then said in a low voice, “Earl, honey, I suggest first you calm down, and second, I’d appreciate you not using that tone of voice and crude language with me. I’m simply down at the beach with Goldie on a short vacation and have my own reasons for wanting to be left alone for a while. Is that clear?”
“But for heaven’s sake,” he continued ranting, “the least you could have done was let somebody know where you were going. I mean, we didn’t know if you were dead or alive.”
“Well, Son, I’m very much alive and enjoying myself, so you can stop all your worrying.”
Ella could hear him breathing heavily as he persisted in castigating her.
“Mama, have you lost your mind, just picking up and driving down to Myrtle Beach with that squaw without telling a single living soul?”
“Earl, I’ll not have you referring to Goldie in those terms, and if you do so again, I’ll hang up the phone this very minute. Is that understood?”
“Yeah, Mama, but this stunt you’ve pulled is just not normal—it’s crazy—and, well, it’s just one more example of why Liv and I worry about you so much. It’s like those ridiculous Christmas trees, and the marijuana plant, and the staircase episode, and that gun and whiskey you carry everywhere, and…Well, Mama, we never know what you’re going to pull next—and sometimes it gets to be downright embarrassing.”
The Christmas trees Earl was referring to were the two large and medium-sized artificial trees on wheels that Ella kept in the house year-round and loved to dress with appropriate decorations not only for Christmas but for Valentine’s Day, Easter, the Fourth of July, Halloween, Thanksgiving, and any other festive occasion that might inspire her imagination. No doubt the trees did cause tongues to wag, but this was a seasonal ritual that Ella had observed for years, one that gave her immense pleasure and that she had no reason to discontinue.
As for the staircase episode, this had to do with the dramatic circular mahogany staircase that once graced the house’s elegant foyer and elicited awed acclamations from everybody who came to visit. The problem was that, even when Big Earl was still alive, Ella had always hated the staircase, not so much because it was difficult to carpet properly and keep clean but because it camouflaged a large space that she thought would be perfect for displaying such treasured possessions as her impressive collection of Oriental porcelain urns. She’d learned to just abide the thing, but, then, one boozy evening, a well-to-do guest who’d been marveling passionately over the staircase asked Ella if she’d ever consider selling it.
“Why don’t you make me an offer?” she replied tersely to his and everyone else’s astonishment.
The man, only half-seriously, quoted a handsome figure, never suspecting for a moment that Ella might actually agree to the sale.
“I’ll tell you what,” she said with conviction, stirring the ice in her drink with a finger. “If you can get the staircase out of here no later than tomorrow, it’s yours.”
The man didn’t even question the urgency, and the following day, he, accompanied by a team of carpenters, dismantled the entire staircase and hauled it away to his mansion over on Queens Road West. Ella, in turn, had another, much more practical, straight staircase constructed along the wall, but before it was finished, her family and friends couldn’t help but be startled and troubled by a ladder that had to be climbed to reach the second story of the house.
“I do wish you and Betty Jane and Liv would mind to your own bus
iness and, for heaven’s sake, stop worrying about me so much,” Ella continued with her son on the phone in utter exasperation.
“But that’s the point, Mama: it is our business to be concerned about you, and it so happens that since you’re so bullheaded, we’ve gone to the trouble of making an appointment for you to see Dr. Singer.”
“You’ve what?”
“Next week, Mama. Dr. Singer can see you next week just for a routine checkup, and we expect you to show up. Liv says she’ll even go with you.”
After a long silence, Ella said calmly, “Well, you can just pick up the phone and cancel that appointment. Why, the nerve.”
“Now, Mama, we’re not going to argue with you till kingdom come about this. If you don’t have the common good sense to take better care of yourself…I mean, look, just look, Mama. There you are…flying the coop down to Myrtle Beach without telling a single soul…with a heart condition…and driving around like you were thirty years old…. It’s crazy, Mama. It’s foolish and crazy and has us worried sick.”
He was now breathing so hard that Ella could hardly catch everything he was trying to say.
“Now you listen to me, Son, and you listen to me good,” she finally said slowly but sternly. “I have my own reasons for driving down to Myrtle, and I don’t know exactly when Goldie and I’ll be back home. But I’ve taken care of myself—and you and your brother and sister and daddy—for more years than I can count, and I can take care of myself now. I know y’all have my best interests at heart, but nobody—not you or Liv or Tyler or anybody—is going to dictate what I should and should not do. Is that understood?”
