The pastor called for Mr. Miler to lead the next hymn. She pulled out the hymnal and the voices sang “I Surrender All” together.
Sometime during the song—even though he still looked out of place—he didn’t look so…so formidable. For a moment, he almost seemed like one of them.
And then it happened. Pastor took to the lectern again and made an alter call. Furman had probably never heard of such—having people come down to the front of the church, kneel at the alter and pray their sins away.
“That’s right,” Pastor said. “If you’re guilty of pride, if you’ve been caught up in this grand life and if you’re running low on humility, come and confess.”
Hanna had been used to the emotional openness in her church, but Furman was probably in shock over all the sentiment. The differences in their spirituality was just one more thing that made them completely incompatible.
Jewel Hunter walked down the center aisle. Next, Forest Whaley followed. Two of the Mifflen boys—Horace and Sonny Boy—joined them and knelt. Pastor walked by each and prayed over them. Hanna just prayed that the service would be over soon.
After a few more excruciating moments, the Lord did answer her prayer and Pastor dismissed the service.
She and Furman stood with the rest of the congregation. “What are you doing here? I thought I’d never see you again,” she said.
“The check. Your cousin had said that she wanted it at the end of the evening. But…well, you know. Things got a little…prickly last night.” He looked around at the people remaining in the sanctuary. “Is she here?”
So, he was here for Callie. Hanna looked around, as well. “I guess she wanted to sleep in this morning after all the excitement last night.”
“I can’t say that I blame her.” He pulled an envelope from his jacket pocket. “Will you give this to her?”
“Sure.” They started down the center aisle. The closeness of him was almost electric. She inhaled the spicy fragrance of his cologne and wondered what it would be like to really walk down the aisle with him—to be around him all the time. For all her talking about getting away from him, she realized that she really wanted to be near him—with him. She just didn’t want him to feel uncomfortable around her—and her meat puddings, and her deer trophies, and her less than cultured world. She wanted him to…to…to admire her.
But how could he admire the butcher shop and her lack of social graces?
Pastor shook their hands at the back door and offered them a Hershey’s Kiss from the sack he held in his left hand. “Thanks for visiting. We’d love to have you worship with us again.”
“The service was refreshing. I may come again—if this lovely young lady extends an invitation,” Furman said.
“Well, I’ll make sure that she does,” Pastor Vines said with a smile.
She wanted him to come back, too. But he was probably being kind and couldn’t wait to get away from Four Hole—never to return.
Furman unwrapped his chocolate, popped it into his mouth and walked down the church steps beside her.
“There you are, Hanna.” It was Aunt Della. She looked next at Furman. “And Mr. Laurens! What brings you to our neck of the woods?”
“Just tying up our business from last night.”
“Is your mother still angry at me? I’ll pay any retrospection she needs. I have a little money squirreled away for a rainy day.” Aunt Della patted her purse.
“No, no, no. She’s not angry with you. She was just concerned about her guests. I’m sure she didn’t want anyone dying over a peach tart is all. I came to drop off the check we should have given Callie last night.”
“Ohhhhh.” Aunt Della exhaled deeply.
“Everyone loved the food. And it was the most exciting Jasmine Society dinner we’ve ever hosted.”
“I’m glad everything worked out.” Aunt Della shook her head. “I wouldn’t want to mess up Callie’s chances to expand her catering business.”
Uncle Marion joined them.
“After all the compliments about the food I heard last night, I’m sure her business will double.” Furman looked around the grounds of the church and pointed to the dark wooden huts at the perimeter. “What are those?”
Uncle Marion smiled. “Those are our cabins. Some call the wood buildings tents. We have revival meetin’s there twice a year—spring and fall. The whole church camps out. Each family has a tent. The Rudder family’s has been there for over a hundred years.” He pointed to a particular structure. “That one’s ours. Cousins, aunts, uncles, everybody stays.”
“They look kind of small for an entire family.” Furman turned around to gaze at the entire line of rustic huts.
“The thing is…is that it’s not about the space. It’s about what goes on under that roof.” Uncle Marion pointed to the pavilion made from the same rough-hewn wood as the cabins. “In fact, when spring camp meetin’, begins, you need to come out and join us.”
“Yep. Everything happens under the partition,” Aunt Della said.
If Mrs. Laurens were there, she would have repeated pavilion, pavilion, pavilion. Hanna had never seen the need to embarrass her sweet aunt over a silly misuse of words. Aunt Della had only an eighth-grade education because she had to quit school to take care of her sick mother. One day when Hanna had caught the old woman reading the dictionary, Aunt Della explained everything. She had thought she had married up when she married Uncle Marion. The family name had been connected to Four Hole Swamp for hundreds of years. It only made sense to her that she improve her vocabulary. But the new words seemed to have gotten mixed up in her head after the incident. She did her best though.
“You asked them yet, Della?” Uncle Marion smiled an imperfect grin.
“I almost forgot. I got Sunday dinner warming on the stove at home. You both need to come eat with us,” Aunt Della said.
Hanna couldn’t allow that. “I don’t think—”
“I’d love to,” Furman said.
As much as Hanna enjoyed spending time with Furman, she recognized this as just another opportunity for humiliation. She didn’t want to give him any more reasons to realize the disparity between them. He had no idea what kinds of things Aunt Della might have on her table.
“Aunt Della, I hate to put you out.” Hanna couldn’t really think of a good excuse for them to turn down Sunday dinner.
Her aunt and uncle both broke out in laughter. Hanna almost laughed at herself, as well. The two old people have never been “put out” by company in all their lives. In fact, they cherished visitors and treated them like family. They were what Southern hospitality was all about. Share anything and everything you had with gracious humility.
“Darling, you know that’s ridiculous.” Aunt Della held her stomach like she was protecting a hernia from bursting. She laughed even louder.
“Then come on.” Uncle Marion started toward his car.
Hanna looked around. By now, they were nearly the last ones left on the church grounds. A breeze eased through the sweet gum and pine trees around them, and she watched as the magic of the leaves and pine needles moved in unison on the trees in drifts. Hanna had begun to notice more and more of these enchanting moments when she was around Furman. Did his presence bring them to her, or did her heightened senses create the entrancements?
Suddenly—in the middle of her amazement—the thought of her car hit her. There was no way she was going to let him see her behind the wheel of that El Camino. She was smarter than that. She could think of a way out. “May I ride with you? I can show you the way.”
“Sure. I’d love the company.” Furman took the keys from his pocket.
They got into his black Volvo. “Take a right,” she said at the entrance.
She wavered between being wholly excited about having Sunday dinner with him and being totally horrified about him seeing the unusually decorated house in which she’d grown up. Maybe they would have a minor wreck on the way to her aunt and uncle’s. And this would all be over. But that
wasn’t what she wanted either.
Furman drove as carefully as she’d ever seen anyone drive. They passed only two vehicles on the way. There wasn’t much of a chance for an accident before they pulled into Uncle Marion’s dirt drive. There stood the old clapboard house. Some of the white paint on the sides had rolled and crackled away from the wood. Faded blue shutters guarded the sides of the windows on the front of the house. The old homestead had seen its better days.
She took a deep breath and got out of the car. If she took him through the front door, the shock of her aunt and uncle’s home might be mitigated. They climbed the front steps and crossed the gray buckling planks that made up the front porch floor. She held the door open for him to walk through. He was so tall, he almost had to duck his head.
He looked around the living room. “This is where you grew up?”
She nodded, too aware of the scent of antique dust and neglected years. But something was missing. She looked around. She’d ask Aunt Della about it later.
The floors creaked like an old rusty hinge on a treasure chest as he walked over to one of the faux wood bookshelves that flanked a plastic covered chair. Instead of books, however, the shelves held every breed of knick-knack Aunt Della could find. Yep. Breed was the right word. It all started when Aunt Della entered the Rudder family. She was proud to have gained entrance into the family of butchers. And she seemed impressed that they owned their own storefront shop.
She had started picking up little ceramic pigs at first, then she graduated to cows and finally to chickens. Any animal that anyone might find living on a farm—or any animal they might find dead in the family’s meat cases. Hanna thought the collection rather bizarre.
Furman picked up a glass duck with a little blue bandana tied around its neck. He smiled. “Cute.”
The only thing that was cute about it was the way his gorgeous blue eyes matched the bandana.
He put it back and looked around the room. There was the orange couch with the old plastic slipcover still pulled across it. The coffee table had an ancient family bible on it that was too large to even pick up. The windows were covered with cheap yellowed lace panels, and the green shag carpet had fourteen small throw rugs protecting the long strands of pile. She knew. She had counted them.
His family’s home was so different.
“This way,” she said. He was getting ready to see something even more mortifying. The family room.
It was where all sense of restraint was abandoned. There wasn’t even a theme of farm animals. It all started with the woodland creatures. Deer, wild boar, ducks, snakes, squirrels, raccoons. Taxidermy. If you could find it in the woods, you could find it in Uncle Marion’s family room. But that wasn’t the worst of it. They weren’t stately like some she’d seen. Aunt Della had seen fit to accessorize the beasts. One of the deer wore an old straw hat. Everything had some piece of gaudy costume jewelry on it—chains, pearls, and even earrings. The boar had on a pair of sunglasses.
“I see your aunt has a sense of humor.” He chuckled.
She smiled. If only that were so.
Between the tacky taxidermy were pictures of every family member, pastor’s family and friend they’d ever known.
Then there was the Caribbean influence. Anything that looked remotely tropical found its way to the tables scattered throughout the room—plastic pink flamingos, ceramic tropical fish in all sizes and colors, and then there was the recreation of the tropical rain forest Aunt Della had created—just because she liked all the colors.
From the door frame hung every color and shape of plastic bead known to man. The effect was to partition the kitchen from the family room. Interspersed amongst the beads were plastic tropical birds, hanging on glittering perches. Rainbow-colored feathers that had seen better days had been glued onto each bird. Hanna remembered when Aunt Della had sat at the kitchen table with her new Bedazzler and a bucket of feathers.
Hanna held the beads and a bird aside for Furman to walk into the kitchen. He had a look in his eyes that she couldn’t determine. Amazement? Disgust? Repulsion?
“Something smells good,” he said.
“Fried chicken, butter beans, collards and cornbread,” Aunt Della said as she placed a big cast iron pot on the table. Family-style dining was her only method of serving. Didn’t even bother with bowls.
The heavy scents of solid Southern food hung in the air. A person could just about get filled on the potent aromas.
“I’ve never seen so much Southern food in one place,” Furman said.
Her aunt giggled, like she was a schoolgirl.
Hanna needed to explain. “We don’t eat fancy out here in Four Hole.”
“Fancy can sometimes mean bland or inedible. I’d take this kind of hearty food every time.” He looked around the utilitarian kitchen. “By the way, Della, are you responsible for that liver pudding I had from your shop last week?”
“Yes, sir. I go in twice a week in the mornings before my stories come on and make it.” Aunt Della reached into the oven and pulled out the cast iron skillet filled with corn bread.
“Well, I’m a fan. I’m going to have to make a trip out here every now and then to pick up some of it.” He turned to Hanna. “Unless I can convince your niece to bring me a pound or two each week now that she’ll be working closer to me.”
Aunt Della smiled as she put the last of the pots on the table. Hanna knew her aunt just loved it when she got compliments about her pudding. It made her feel useful. Like she contributed to the running of the business.
“Everybody says Aunt Della’s liver pudding is the best. People come from all over to get it.” Hanna filled four jelly glasses with ice and sweet tea. Aunt Della’s tea was the best.
“Marion!” Aunt Della called out the back door. “Sunday dinner’s ready.” She shook her head. “I believe that man’s losing his hearing.”
When her uncle came in and washed his hands, they all sat at the small green Formica table and held hands.
Without being prompted, Uncle Marion said grace. “Lord, we thank thee for this and all our blessin’s, and we ask that you watch over each one seated at our table today. Amen”
They all let go of each other’s hands, but Furman reached for Hanna’s hand again under the table. He sat still and quiet, like he was hearing grace for the very first time. He squeezed her hand like he was trying to tell her something deep—something important—something that transcended words.
For a moment she almost forgot about the ceramic pigs in the living room, the decorated deer in the family room and even the Bedazzled tiki birds in the doorway. For a while she just enjoyed the serenity around the table and the proximity to the handsome man beside her.
Hanna felt her own heart being bedazzled. And after her heart had been thoroughly and dangerously bedazzled, Hanna realized the foolishness of leaving it unguarded throughout Sunday dinner. Wasn’t she just setting herself up for torture at a later point?
He was wealthy, educated, connected, cultured and who knew what else? She simply needed to put an end to all of her imprudence right now.
Chapter Ten
Alligators and Ancestry
Finally, the meal was over, and Furman politely acted like he was interested in Uncle Marion’s story about how he’d cornered his last trophy boar in the swamp.
She took the paper towel she used as a napkin and placed it across her plate. “Oh, Aunt Della, where did you move Mamma’s sideboard that Daddy had made her?”
Aunt Della reached for another piece of cornbread and said, “I sold that old thing at the church yard sale. Got us a pretty penny for it, too. I give some to the church, and I’m putting part of it aside for you later. Case you ever get married or something. I got my washing machine fixed with the rest.”
Hanna couldn’t speak. How could she? That sideboard was the most precious thing she had left from her parents. Didn’t Aunt Della know how much it had meant to her?
Hanna looked at Furman. Then she looked out
the door, trying not to cry. She didn’t want Aunt Della to feel bad. It was her own fault for not telling Aunt Della that she’d wanted it. This was just more of the same from her family. Nothing was precious or sacred in the family. Aunt Della gave away part of Hanna’s heritage and kept the stupid tiki birds that had no value or meaning.
All she knew was that she needed to get away—from everybody. She gathered her composure. “The meal was delicious, but I have several things I need to get done before I start my new job tomorrow.” She got up and took her plate to the sink. “I’ll help you with these first.”
Aunt Della pushed her chair from the table. “You will do no such.” She stacked the remaining plates on top of one another. “Now you young people get going. This will only take me a minute.”
Furman stood and folded his jacket over his left arm so properly. He walked to the door and seemed to be waiting for Hanna.
That wasn’t going to happen. She’d escaped him finding out that the baby blue El Camino was hers at the church. If she left with him now, he’d know for sure. She had to think of something quickly. “Furman, you should head out. I’ll get Uncle Marion to take me home.”
Her aunt turned from the sink, looked at her and then looked at her husband. “Why, the church is on Furman’s way out of Four Hole.” She turned back to her husband. “And I believe your uncle has plans of an early nap this afternoon.”
Uncle Marion yawned. “Teachin’ that Cubi-Jack Banks yesterday took it all out of me. Didn’t get a wink all day long.”
“Furman, you don’t mind, do you?” Aunt Della asked.
“Of course not. That was my plan anyway.” He held open the screened door.
Hanna had no choice but to walk out of it.
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Swamps and Soirees: A Summerbrook Novel Page 16
