Mama Stalks the Past

by Nora Deloach

  I glanced around the room: They waited to hear something more. “The nurses arpund told me that you were vomiting, and had diarrhea with blood,” Gertrude said, when it was clear that Mama wasn’t going to continue.

  Mama nodded. “I was hoping I didn’t have to tell all that.”

  We laughed. My mother wasn’t the type you’d imagine throwing up or having diarrhea. It just wasn’t the thing you expected of Candi Covington.

  Gertrude’s voice boomed above the laughter. “I remember a story that one of the doctors told me,” she said. “A man was admitted to a hospital complaining of weight loss, severe gastric problems, hair loss, numbness, and skin rash. The doctors ordered test after test, but they all came back negative. They were about to send the man home without knowing what was wrong with him when one doctor overheard nursing students talking. One girl, who read mysteries, jokingly said that the patient’s wife must be poisoning him with arsenic. The doctor wrote the order to test the man’s arsenic levels and was shocked when the test came back positive. The man’s wife had been giving him poison every morning in his coffee!”

  “You ain’t trying to say that it was James that poisoned Candi, are you?” Sarah Jenkins demanded loudly as eveiyone else laughed.

  Whatever emotions Daddy had bottled up against these women now broke loose. He wasn’t laughing. For a second, watching his face, I actually thought he was going to hit this silly woman. He shook his finger in front of her watery eyes. “Sarah Jenkins, have you lost your mind?”

  Mama and I rushed to Daddy’s side. “Now, Daddy, calm yourself. Miss Jenkins didn’t mean that. Did you?” I asked.

  “Calm down, James,” Mama added.

  Sarah Jenkins shook her head. She was scared. Her face told everybody in the room that if she had ever thought James Covington capable of hurting his wife, she was very sorry she’d said it.

  “Now, James.” Carrie Smalls came to her friend’s assistance. “No sense losing control, you know. Sarah didn’t mean no harm.”

  “James,” Mama said. “Carrie is right in what she’s saying.”

  But Daddy was livid. “I had better never, ever hear anything like that said again!” he shouted.

  Sarah Jenkins didn’t say anything, but she was trembling. Carrie Smalls spoke again. “We all know that you’d never do anything to hurt Candi.”

  This was the last time I remembered hearing from either Sarah Jenkins, Annie Mae Gregory, or Carrie Smalls that day. To be honest, they were so uncommonly quiet, I don’t even remember them leaving the house.

  Somebody passed around a plate of deviled eggs. I glanced at Mama, who looked at the platter, shook her head, and handed it to the lady next to her.

  Right after that, Daddy’s first cousin from Philadelphia, Fred Covington, got to his feet. He cleared his throat loudly. “We might as well have this out here and now,” he declared. “It’s my opinion that land is dirt. The only good it does you is when you’re dead and gone like Uncle Chester. Money is what’s for the living, plain and simple!” Fred looked around at the gathered family and friends, glaring.

  Cousin Agatha squirmed in her chair. “If you’re insinuating that we sell the Covington land, Fred, it ain’t going to happen. This land has been in our family since Reconstruction. And it’ll stay with us until Christ comes again!”

  Fred waved his hand dismissively. “What you’re saying doesn’t make any sense,” he insisted.

  Cousin Agatha spoke again. “Our people worked hard for this land, did without things they needed, suffered so that we could have it.” Her voice trembled with emotion. Fred tried to cut her off, but she didn’t stop talking until she had finished her speech. “As long as I live, it won’t be sold!”

  “Suffered for what? So you could have this?” Fred roared, pointing around the room. His eyes bulged. “Floors that are wooden, walls that are plywood that’s been stained mahogany, chairs that will give you splinters if you sit too fast, a table with one of the four legs shorter than the rest?”

  Daddy stood up, anger still in his voice. “Take it easy, no need talking about this place like that. As long as Agatha is comfortable …”

  Cousin Agatha’s usually timid eyes held their determination. “Mind you, I could use better,” she told Fred, “but not at the expense of selling the Covington land.”

  “Corporation is what we’ve decided to do with the land, that’s all to it!” Daddy added hotly.

  The veins popped up in Fred’s neck. He stuttered furiously. “I-I want my piece. I’m g-going to sell it.”

  I took a deep breath. How much scotch had Fred drunk since he’d arrived for the funeral?

  “Sell to who?” I asked.

  “What?” he roared, turning to stare at me like he’d never seen me before.

  “Who are you going to sell your portion of the land to? That is, if you get it?” I repeated calmly.

  Fred glared at me. “T-There’s a man who’s trying to buy land. I’ve talked to him and he’s offering a good price for it, way above what it’s worth!”

  “Who is he?” Mama asked. There was an odd look on her face. “What’s his name?”

  “It’s not really a man,” Fred replied hastily.

  “Then who?” Daddy demanded impatiently.

  “It’s a company. A corporation.”

  “What would a company want with acres of rural land?” Mama asked.

  “They want to farm the timber,” Fred answered. “The money ain’t in cotton, watermelons, or soybeans anymore. The money is in timber!”

  “What company?” I asked. “What corporation is buying up land around here?”

  Fred’s look grew blank. “I-I don’t know. I just know this company wants to buy land around here so that they could farm timber. I-I ain’t got nothing against that. And you shouldn’t either!” he roared at poor Cousin Agatha.

  “Well, I do have something against it,” she snapped, showing more spunk than she’d ever shown while Uncle Chester was alive. “I don’t care if a plow never touches the Covington land again! No company’s getting it!”

  “How much is this company offering an acre?” Mama asked Fred.

  Fred hesitated. “Two hundred fifty dollars. Maybe two seventy-five,” he said. “But I got the idea they’d give more for a quick deal,” he added greedily.

  “I don’t care if they give a thousand dollars an acre, we’re not selling,” Cousin Agatha retorted.

  “K-keep your land to be buried in, if that what’s you want. I-I want my Daddy’s part and I’ve got a right to it!” Fred bellowed, veins bulging again. I was glad Gertrude was in the room, just in case he had a stroke.

  Cousin Agatha folded her arms across her breast. “Can’t be split,” she said, satisfaction in her voice. “I done put it in a corporation and that’s all to it!”

  “Can’t be! Uncle Chester wouldn’t never sign the papers for something like that,” Fred roared.

  “Well, he did,” Cousin Agatha replied. “Before my Daddy died, he signed the papers. Ain’t that right, James?”

  Daddy nodded. “It’s legal and all. We’ve had the lawyer look it over, everything has been fixed up. Nothing more can be done about it.”

  Fred’s mouth twitched. The sweat poured from his forehead. “What good is having all this land when—”

  Cousin Agatha cut him off. “Calm down, Fred. I knew you wanted money. So I’ve got it set up that the timber on the land will be cut every ten years. The money from that will be divided among us.”

  Fred scowled. “What good will that do us today?”

  “The timber hasn’t been cut since I was a boy, almost fifty years ago,” Daddy said.

  Cousin Agatha beamed. “It’s going to be cut soon as the weather breaks, and it should net us all a little money to do something with.”

  “How much money are we talking about?” Fred asked anxiously.

  Cousin Agatha smiled. “Enough, I hope, to get me a better house to live in,” she told him with satisfaction.

/>   Tishri turned to Mama, who seemed lost in her private thoughts. “Why don’t you sell those two hundred fifty acres Hannah Mixon left you to that company Fred just told us that’s looking to buy land?” she asked.

  “I’m not going to sell that land,” Mama said firmly. “I’m going to give it away.”

  “Give it away! For God’s sake, why?” Fred looked like Mama had just uttered a string of swear words.

  “Because I don’t want to profit from it,” Mama answered evenly.

  “Who are you going to give it to?” Tishri asked.

  “The county,” Mama said. “They’re going to make it a nature preserve.”

  Fred stomped toward the front door, pushing through the roomful of people. “That’s stupid,” he boomed. “You people are too crazy about dirt. Obsessed with dirt!” he spat out.

  “I don’t think you should give that land to the county,” Cousin Agatha told Mama. There was a pleading in her voice. “Give it to somebody in Hannah’s family. People around here believe that land should stay in the family!”

  Mama looked stunned. Cousin Agatha’s words seemed to have hit her like a brick. She stared at Agatha as if she was the only person in the crowded room.

  “You all right, Candi?” Daddy asked, concerned.

  But I recognized the look on Mama’s face. “She figured out what has been happening,” I said. “Isn’t that right, Mama?”

  “There is a bond between family and their land,” Mama whispered. “She wasn’t trying to kill me, she was trying to scare me into giving her back her family’s land!”

  CHAPTER

  NINETEEN

  Inside the car, Mama made her announcement. “I want to stop by Abe’s office. Can you drive me, Cliff?”

  Daddy made a face. “What you need Abe for?” he asked.

  “I need his help,” Mama said. “I need Abe to convince Judge Thompson to allow me to give Hannah’s acres to another person.”

  “Another person?” I asked.

  “I thought you were going to give the land to the county for a nature preserve?” Cliff asked.

  “I’ve changed my mind,” Mama told us. “Land should be kept in the family. Agatha reminded me of that—it’s the way folks do things Mama Stalks the Past around here. It’s what I’ve been expected to do all along!”

  The sheriff and his deputy were in their office. “I’m glad you stopped by,” Abe said, when we walked in the door. “Hunters found Trudy Paige’s body in the woods behind her apartment house this morning.”

  Mama thanked Sheriff Abe for that information. Then she explained her theory about the poisoner. A little over an hour later, we all left the office. Sheriff Abe, Deputy Rick Martin, Daddy, Cliff, and I agreed to help Mama with her scheme. She had worked out the details of a trap to catch a killer.

  Two weeks after that, Cliff and I were once again back in Otis. I must admit what we’d planned to do was scary. The only thing that made Mama’s plan halfway all right was that Sheriff Abe and Deputy Martin would be in the next room.

  “It’s possible,” Cliff had warned Mama, “what you get won’t stand up in court.”

  Mama had shrugged. “It’ll have to do. There’s no other way.”

  “It won’t stand up in court even though the sheriff and Rick Martin will hear it?” Daddy asked.

  Cliff shook his head. “I doubt it,” he said.

  “Maybe the killer will confess,” I said.

  “If the killer is as ruthless as Miss Candi thinks,” Cliff had replied, grimly, “I doubt that, too!”

  Mama had a set table again. Her crocheted tablecloth, her china, silver, crystal. Everything was perfect. Mama was ready for her guests and it showed.

  The menu: homemade relish tray with pear relish, roasted turkey with herb gravy, baked country ham, peach catsup, corn bread dressing, steamed rice, marinated vegetable salad, candied sweet potatoes, turnip greens, brandied cranberries, yeast rolls, and butternut pound cake with caramel sauce. Just looking at that table made my mouth water.

  Judge Thompson had finally agreed to Mama’s petition, and Calvin Stokes had notified Hannah’s niece Raven Wescot that Mama wanted to give her the two hundred and fifty acres of land; Mama, Calvin had told Raven, felt the land belonged to somebody in Hannah’s family, not to her.

  Exactly at one o’clock, the front doorbell rang. A few minutes later, Mama walked into the dining room. Both Raven Wescot and Moody Hamilton followed behind her.

  Raven looked different than she had the first time we’d seen her, the day she’d been with Nat in Mama’s kitchen. I remembered her light skin, but her lustrous hair was no longer in long thick cornrow braids; today it hung loosely over her shoulders. Her large black eyes were clear and intelligent; her features looked sculptured, almost aristocratic. She smelled of Chloé perfume, a scent I particularly liked. Still, something about her struck me as odd. I think it was her body language. Every gesture and motion seemed exaggerated. “This is a beautiful table! The food looks delicious!” she said, her voice soft, breathy.

  Mama normally loves it when someone admires her cooking but today something told me that it didn’t much matter. “Thank you,” she told Raven. “I’m glad that Calvin was able to convince you to join us.”

  “I was happy that you decided to give up our land,” Raven said. “I’m glad you’ve come to feel, like most folks around here, that heirs’ property belongs to the family!”

  “I really didn’t want it,” Mama said. “It’s right that it goes to Hannah’s kin.”

  Moody Hamilton, who hadn’t looked into Mama’s eyes since he had arrived, glanced at her now, then turned away. He looked very uneasy.

  Later, after we were all seated, and the food was being passed around the table, Mama turned to Raven. “I understand that you’re Hannah’s niece through her third husband, Richard Wescot. Is that right?” she asked politely.

  Raven held a fork full of turnip greens in midair. She didn’t answer at once. She shifted in her chair and seemed to want to make us wait for her explanation. “I’m kin to Hannah through Uncle Richard but I was kin to Hannah before he married her,” she finally told Mama. “Hannah’s second husband, Charles Warren, was my mother’s brother.”

  “Nat’s father was your uncle, too?” I asked.

  Raven nodded. “Hannah made Nat use the Mixon last name but Nat was really a Warren like all my Mama’s people,” she said. Raven smiled, then ate her forkful of turnips. We waited. “Besides that,” Raven continued, “Hannah’s fourth husband’s first wife, Stella Gordon, and my mother were sisters.”

  “I was under the impression that Stella Gordon didn’t have any brothers or sisters,” I whispered to Cliff. The unsettled feeling in my stomach intensified.

  There was silence. “My mother was an outside child. Old man Gordon never admitted to fathering her. Still, my Mama was a Gordon,” Raven said firmly.

  Daddy, who had just swallowed a piece of country ham, nodded knowingly. “One thing about those old people, they didn’t mind sowing seeds wherever they found fertile ground.”

  Raven cut her eyes, unamused.

  Mama smiled and looked at Moody. He sat, staring morosely down at his hands, his fingers interlaced and knotted on Mama’s best tablecloth. “Moody, I’ve known you for years,” she said. “I had no idea that you were any kin to Hannah or Nat!”

  Raven’s head jerked toward Moody. Moody didn’t say anything. Finally, Raven spoke. “Moody is my son,” she told us.

  Moody kept staring at his hands. “My grandmother in Darien raised me,” he said, as if he needed to explain. “I just got to know Raven a few months ago when she came home for a visit just before Hannah died.”

  Raven’s gaze drifted away from Moody. “I told you I had to finish nursing school, had to get a job.” She paused. “But all of that is behind us now,” she added cheerily.

  From that point on we talked about land that had been handed down from generation to generation and how difficult it was for families to
keep it intact. Daddy did most of the talking. “Forming a land company and incorporating it is the thing to do,” he said. “That way, no matter how many generations come and go, the land will always stay with the family.”

  Moody, who didn’t eat much, took long pauses between bites. At one point, he raised one hand to his mouth, put a knuckle to his teeth, and gently chewed on it. Raven gobbled up four or five bites in rapid succession, saying little, but agreeing with most of what was said. She seldom looked at her silent son. Suddenly her eyes were scanning the table.

  Mama was the first to notice. “What are you looking for, Raven?” she asked.

  “Turnips,” Raven replied. “There’s no more in the bowl.”

  Mama smiled. “There’s plenty in the kitchen. Give me your plate and I’ll get it for you,” she said. Raven handed her the plate; Mama excused herself and headed off toward her stove.

  Daddy kept talking about land. “There are people,” he told us, “who think that selling land and getting the money is the best thing. Grant you, you can’t eat land, but it’s still money. Take for instance this property, this house. If I ever got in tight for some cash, I could borrow on it, use this house and land as collateral.”

  Raven didn’t say anything, but the expression on her face showed that she was more interested in what Mama was going to bring out of the kitchen than what my father was saying. Mama came back and handed Raven her plate. “I. don’t know the last time I’ve eaten such good greens,” Raven told her.

  Daddy grinned. “Candi knows how to lay it on you,” he agreed, reaching for the bowl of candied sweet potatoes.

  “I’m glad you like them,” Mama told Raven. “Eat up, there’s plenty more in the kitchen,”

  I hid a smile, wondering whether it would dawn upon Raven that if there was so much food in the kitchen why was it that it hadn’t been put on the table.