Biloxi Brides (Sugar and Grits)

by Martha Rogers

  “Well, here I am again, Lord. Just You, me, and a mess of catfish I ain’t caught yet.” She lifted up a small, empty ice chest toward heaven, a sign she half-expected to see it filled before the conversation ended. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me today, Lord. Nothing seems to be going right. Seems like everything gets me madder than a hornet, and this heat isn’t helping thing either.”

  The late August heat enveloped her like a shroud. She paused to lift her hat, wiping the ring of sweat from her brow. Everything was so much easier when Joe was here to help me.

  Sassy’s thoughts drifted to her husband, and tears began to flow. Six years had barely begun to ease the pain of his passing. Her heart still longed for him; not a day went by she didn’t think of him, wish she could have just one more moment with the love of her life. The day she’d pulled the ’n Joe’s from the sign out in front of their Bait and Tackle shop had been the saddest day of her life.

  “It’s just too much, Lord. Running the store by myself sure ain’t no fun. Everything’s falling apart at the seams. I know I complain about this a lot, but every day it just gets worse. The lock’s broken on the front door and the roof needs to be patched. I can’t get up there to do it myself. And the nerve of those vendors, trying to talk me into selling my bait recipes to the big named companies. I won’t do it, Lord. I won’t!”

  The tears flowed down her cheeks. Sassy added a couple of sinkers and a floater to her line and cast it out into the water as far as it would go. With the release of the line, she felt the weight of her problems lift a little.

  “I’m sorry, Lord. I know I whine a lot. I do thank You for the friends You’ve given me—for Sue Ellen and Leota and Dottie Jean.” And Wendell.

  Wendell. For weeks now, Joe’s oldest and dearest friend had ventured in and out of the shop on a regular basis. Seemed every time Sassy turned around, he came by again—to look at the latest in custom rods, to buy magazines, knives, bait, fishing line—anything and everything to fill his tackle box. Wendell seemed anxious to learn all he could about fishing before retiring.

  Not that she minded. He had always been so kind, so tolerant, finding something pleasant to say with each visit. Somehow, just the thought of him brought an unexpected smile to her lips.

  Sassy felt a sudden tug on her line. “Oooh, I’ve got something.” She clasped the reel and beginning to work it in her favor, then pulled in a large catfish, a fine catch. He looked up at her with sad, woeful eyes.

  “Looks like I’m not the only one having a bad day,” she observed as she pulled him loose. Tossing him into the ice chest, she turned to bait her hook once again.

  ***

  “Wendell Meeks, have you lost your mind?”

  “Course not.” Wendell leaned his elbows onto the small table at the Calista Catfish House and grinned at his best friend, Gus, who sat across from him looking stunned.

  “Well, what’s gotten into you, then? There are plenty of good women here in Calista without setting your sights on an ornery old thing like Sassy Hatchett. Sassy Hatchett, of all people!” Gus erupted into laughter, causing others in the diner to turn their heads in curiosity.

  Wendell lifted his glass of sweet tea and tried to look casual and confident as he took a small sip. His hand trembled, causing the cold liquid to tumble out of the glass and slosh across the bottom half of his face. He carefully dabbed at his mouth and chin with a cloth napkin. “Sassy is a great woman,” he said after a moment. “I can’t think of anyone I’d rather spend my time with.” He folded the napkin neatly and laid it in his lap.

  Dottie Jean, the diner’s owner, chose that moment to appear with two plates full of steaming crabs, fries and hushpuppies. Placing one down in front of Wendell, she added her thoughts on the matter. “You’ve got your eye on Sassy? You’re a brave soul, Wendell Meeks! She’s a real pistol, that’s for sure. ‘Course, I love her. I always have. Gotta love Sassy.” Dottie Jean’s giggles caused her to lose her grip on Gus’s plate. It hit the table with a soft thud, sending the peppershaker into a tailspin. Wendell grabbed it just as it hit the edge of the table.

  “Go ahead and laugh, both of you.” He unfolded his napkin and tucked it into the collar of his starched blue postal shirt. “It won’t do you any good. I know what I’m doing.” His elbow suddenly hit the glass of tea, knocking it off-balance. He managed to catch it before too much could spill out onto the blue and white checkered tablecloth below.

  “Uh huh.” Dottie Jean left the table with a “Sure you do” nod, and the most aggravating grin Wendell had ever seen on a woman’s face. He went to work, trying to mop up the mess with his napkin.

  Gus continued to laugh until his cheeks turned crimson. “When was the last time you even thought about trying to snag a woman’s heart?” he asked. “Thirty years ago? Forty? And why, in the name of all that’s holy, would you start with a piece of work like Sassy Hatchett? She’s as mad as an old wet hen!”

  Wendell didn’t answer for a moment. He shook his head as he continued to dab at the tablecloth. “I’m not sure you’d understand, Gus,” he explained at last.

  “Try me.”

  Wendell fought to formulate the words. None seemed to come. Truth be known, he hadn’t deliberately avoided married life. In fact, he’d always wished for a loving wife. But the good Lord hadn’t seen fit to give him one, at least, not yet. In the early days, asking a woman out on a date had been a nerve-wracking ordeal. His own shyness and insecurities caused him to put off the matter for years. But now, at sixty, Wendell just couldn’t seem to get the idea out of his mind. He still had a few good years left after retirement, and he didn’t want to spend them alone.

  “I don’t expect you to make any sense of this, Gus,” he said quietly. “You’ve got a great wife and a houseful of kids and grandkids. But when a man gets to be my age and he’s shut up all alone in the house, he gets to wishing he had someone to share it with, that’s all. I’ll be retiring from the post office in a couple of years, and I’d like to spend them with—”

  “Sassy Hatchett?” Gus shook his head in mock despair. “Everyone in town knows she’s got a bite worse than any shark in the Gulf of Mexico. Talk about a temper. Why, she could kill a man with just a look. Is that the sort of woman you want to spend your retirement years with?”

  “Absolutely.” Wendell’s heart began a beat a little harder, just thinking about the possibility. “I know she has a quick tongue,” he said, his heart warming. “I sort of like that side of her. But she’s got a soft side, too. I’ve seen her in church on Sunday mornings. She really loves the Lord. She spends a lot of time up at the altar in prayer.”

  “My point, exactly,” Gus said with a firm nod. “She’s repenting.”

  “Come on, now.” Wendell popped a piece of crab into his mouth and swallowed it whole.

  “I could understand all of this—the temper, the sharp tongue, the nasty disposition—if we were talking about a knockout here.” Gus dumped ketchup all over his hushpuppies. “But she’s no beauty queen. In fact, I’d be willing to bet she hasn’t been over to the Rhonda-Vous House of Beauty to have her hair done in years.” He gestured toward the beauty shop down the street. “And that crazy get-up she wears out on the pier wouldn’t attract much of anything but the flies.”

  Wendell bit his lip to keep from responding. Sassy Hatchett had a beauty that ran far deeper than the physical, although Gus had apparently never noticed it. Her gray eyes glistened merrily when she got riled up. Lately they seemed to glisten a lot. Her skin, tanned from years in the sun, seemed firmer than that of most women her age. Her thick, curly hair glistened with a silver shimmer. Even her old, worn fishing hat with its dangling fishhooks held a certain amount of unexplainable charm.

  “I don’t know how ole’ Joe Hatchett did it,” Gus rambled on. “Thirty-five years with Sassy. Gotta give a man like that a lot of credit.”

  “Joe Hatchett was a good friend of mine,” Wendell said thoughtfully, “and a great man. He loved Sassy from
the time he was a kid in school. Loved her till the day he died.”

  “Died of a heart attack, poor guy,” Gus mumbled, his mouth full of food. “She probably gave it to him.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  “No, I mean it,” he said and then swiped his mouth with the napkin. “Don’t you know the story of how Joe came to open their Bait and Tackle Shop?”

  “Yeah, I know.” Wendell swallowed down a couple of French-fries, then took a long, cool drink of the tea. He had heard the tale for years. According to legend, Sassy, who had been born and raised just outside of town, had come out of the womb swinging and swearing. Her parents had given her a good Christian name—though, for the life of them, no one in Calista seemed to be able to remember it. Her own mother had taken to calling her Sassy as a little bitty thing, and the name had stuck.

  As the story went, Sassy’s temper would flare up to the boiling point pretty regular-like. Her father, being a good Christian man, would hand her a fishing pole and send her out to the pier at the edge of their property for a time of good, old-fashioned repenting. Young Sassy spent many a day at the edge of the Biloxi fishing and praying, praying and fishing. As her temper grew, so did her ability to catch fish. Day after day she reeled them in.

  Once Sassy and Joe Hatchett married, she spent more time than ever with a pole in her hand. After their twins, Tucker and Tilly, came along, she practically set up house on the pier. Rumor was, Joe Hatchett spent so much money on bait that he finally gave in and opened up “Sassy ‘n Joe’s Bait and Tackle” just to keep his head above water financially.

  The whole thing made for a great story.

  “You can’t believe everything you hear,” Wendell said, as he turned his attention back to Gus. “Besides, I think it’s nice that Sassy has a way to vent her frustrations. Fishing’s a good thing.”

  “She’s pretty nearly supplied my restaurant with catfish for the last twenty years.” Dottie Jean reappeared with more napkins. “That’s quite a temper, if you ask me. ‘Course, I’m not complaining. I figure it’s true what the Bible says—”

  “What’s that?” Wendell asked.

  “‘What Satan meant for evil, God will use for good.’” Dottie smiled with a playful wink as she turned her attention to other customers.

  Wendell shook his head in defeat.

  “Just answer this one thing,” Gus said, suddenly looking serious. “Is this why you bought Dottie Jean’s boat last month? Why you’ve spent so much time fishing? To get close to Sassy?”

  Wendell shrugged. “I like to fish. What can I say?”

  “Right, right.” Gus nodded. “Well, don’t say I didn’t warn you. If you’re looking to hook Sassy Hatchett, you’d better have a good piece of stinkbait in your back pocket. Nothing else will work on an old snapper like her.”

  He burst into laughter again, this time drawing the attention of nearly everyone in the restaurant. People began to murmur amongst themselves from table to table.

  “Sassy Hatchett? Wendell’s taken a liking to that persnickety old thing? Pretty fishy, if you ask me.” The story went around the room and bounced back again, reverberating in his ears.

  He stood so quickly the chair nearly toppled over behind him. “Now listen here,” he announced to all curious onlookers as he snagged the chair before it tumbled, “I may be old, but I’m not deaf. You all just mind your own business now, you hear. You leave my love life to me.”

  Their laughter nearly deafened him.

  Chapter Two

  Wendell studied his reflection in the mirror and gauged his expression as he spoke to himself. “Say, Sassy, I was wondering if you’d like to go to dinner with me this Friday night.” Nah, that won’t work. “Sassy, how would you like to be my date at the fall festival?” Nope. She’ll never buy it. Besides, the festival is weeks away. “Sassy, I was thinking you might need some help around the shop. Would you mind if I came over and had a look at that broken lock on the front door?” Ah. Definitely a winner. Not exactly a date, but an opportunity to see her, none-the-less. Wendell picked up the phone, hesitantly dialing the number. A trip out to Creekside Park might be just the ticket on a beautiful day like today.

  “Sassy’s Bait and Tackle.” The machine. “If you need me, pick up a pole and meet me out at the pier. Or leave a message. Whatever.”

  He waited for the tone, and then tried to steady his voice. “Uh, Sassy. This is Wendell. Wendell Meeks. I was thinking maybe I’d come around sometime this afternoon and have a look at that broken lock you’ve been talking about. I’ll try to be by around three.” He hung up the phone, wiping the sweat from his forehead with a handkerchief. “It’s hotter than blue blazes in here.”

  For the first time in quite awhile he thought about his property out off of Goodson, just west of the highway. For years Wendell had held onto the large piece of land, hoping to someday build a home for his own family. As the years had come and gone, the value of the property had dropped. So had his prospects of ever finding a wife or having children. He had finally sold the property off to a developer from Houston. Giving it up had been the toughest thing he’d ever done. But lately something seemed to have come over him, something nearly miraculous.

  For some unexplained reason, Wendell suddenly had the tenacity of a bulldog, and Sassy Hatchett was tugging at his leash. The opinions of others made no difference any more. What matters is what I think – and I like her. A lot. His heart suddenly swelled within him. Sassy might not be everyone else’s ideal, but she was looking a little more like his every day.

  The more Gus debated her looks and personality, the more Wendell felt himself drawn to her. “She’s no spring chicken. But then again, neither am I.” He scrutinized himself, running his fingers through his thinning gray hair. “I need a haircut.” He glanced at his watch. One-fifteen. Just enough time to stop off at the Rhonda-Vous for a cut before heading out to Sassy’s place.

  Moments later, Wendell pulled his truck up to the front of the beauty salon feeling as nervous as a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs. Things were a sure sight easier before Sassy’s daughter Tilly bought out Harry’s Barber Shop and turned it into The Café’ Latte. That left only one place in town for a man to get a haircut. Course, it couldn’t really be blamed on Tilly. Harry had up and left Calista when his wife got an itch to move to Texarkana to be near their children.

  Must be nice to have children.

  A chemical smell, strong enough to knock a man down, greeted Wendell as he entered the shop. Never had to deal with that at Harry’s.

  “Well, hello Wendell,” Sue Ellen’s cheery voice rang out as he entered. She turned her attention from Dottie Jean, who sat in the chair with plastic rods and smelly goo all over her head. “How in the world are you today?”

  “Fine, and you?”

  “Busier than a one-armed paper hanger,” she said, rolling Dottie Jean’s hair at lightning speed. “What can I do for you?”

  “Just a cut,” he mumbled, his nerves suddenly an issue. “But if you’re too busy, I understand.”

  “Never too busy for you, Handsome. You’re as welcome as the sunshine any time. Have yourself a seat.”

  Handsome? Wendell felt his ears heat up. He rubbed at them.

  “Just give me a minute, Hon,” Sue Ellen said. “ I’ll be with you in two shakes of a lamb’s tail, just as soon as I get these last few rods in. She’ll have to sit and cook awhile anyway.”

  “Cook?”

  “Sure. Perm solutions have to stay in for twenty minutes. That’ll give me plenty of time to give you a nice cut. In the meantime, you sit right down there and look through those magazines for a style you like.”

  A style? I never had to tell Harry how to cut my hair.

  Wendell sat, picking up a magazine. Nothing but pictures of hair, lots and lots of hair. He stared, mesmerized, at Dottie Jean, who chattered incessantly about her life as an engaged woman. She droned on and on about Fletcher, her husband-to-be. It was “Fletcher
this” and “Fletcher that” until Wendell felt sure he would snap like a twig.

  He took a quick look at his watch. 1:54. Come on now. I don’t have all day. Harry wouldn’t have made him wait this long. And he would have offered him a cup of coffee too—hot and strong.

  “I’ve got peach tea, if you’d like a glass,” Sue Ellen said, as if reading his mind.

  “Uh, no thanks.”

  “Well, are you ready, then?” She gestured toward an empty chair.

  “Sure” As he stood and hesitantly made his way across the room, Wendell caught a glimpse of himself in the full mirror. Let’s just get this over with.

  Sue Ellen pulled a leopard print cape around his neck, and then stood back, and appeared to observe his appearance. “You know, Wendell, you’re a real looker.”

  “Well, thank you very much.” He felt a smile creep across his lips. Not many people complimented him on his looks, though he had always felt they suited him. At five foot ten, he weighed in at one hundred seventy-eight, just twenty pounds more than the day he graduated from Calista High. Not too bad. Of course, his postal route kept him on his feet much of the time. That might have something to do with it. See Wendell, you’ve still got it.

  “You’re a real looker,” she continued, running her fingers through his hair. “But you’ve got to do something about all this gray.”

  “Excuse me?” He spoke to her reflection in the mirror.

  “Tell you what,” she said, elevating the chair with a mischievous grin on her face. “I’m going to make your day. I’m going to turn you into a new man.”

  A new man? She would do no such thing. He instinctively reached up to unsnap the cape, ready to make his getaway.

  “Oh, relax.” Dottie Jean glanced up from her magazine. “She’s never ruined me yet, has she?”

  “Well, no, but—”

  “Just you sit still and let me think.” Sue Ellen studied his head, picking up strands of hair and examining them as a doctor might inspect a specimen under the microscope. “A different cut would be nice,” she said. “Something a little more contemporary. And just a little color to take a few years off.”