Biloxi Brides (Sugar and Grits)

by Martha Rogers

  She turned her gaze to the fence along the edge of the property. It could certainly stand some repair, and the gate at the end of the driveway wouldn’t even close properly. “It’s a crying shame. This place could be so pretty.” For years she had envisioned flower beds and a clean lawn, but with no one around to care for it all, it seemed rather pointless. Thank goodness for the tall sprawling oak tree with leaves as green as emeralds. It provided her with some sense of relief. And hope.

  A loud noise from the street distracted her as a large van raced by, music blaring loudly. “You’re driving too dang fast!” Sassy hollered toward the road. Crazy kids. They needed something to motivate them, to keep them out of trouble. They should be in church on a Sunday morning.

  I should be in church on a Sunday morning.

  Sassy turned her attention back to the house, sipping her coffee. The two-story plantation-style home needed painting, and years of weathering had weakened the front porch steps. The large courting porch should be draped with flowers, but stood barren, waiting for attention. Not that it had been used much for courting, anyway.

  “I hope you can forgive me ahead of time, Lord.” Sassy looked at her watch. Ten twenty-five a.m. The service should be starting any minute now. “I hate missing church. I wanted to hear Pastor Jordan’s sermon on forgiveness… I really did. But I’m so embarrassed. They already think I’m just a big joke, anyway. When everyone gets word I fell in the river…”

  She shuddered, just thinking about the jokes that would make their way from the gas station to the Catfish House. She leaned back in the chair, taking another swallow of her coffee, which had cooled down.

  The leg on the chair shifted suddenly, and Sassy found herself sprawled across the front porch, her head striking the back of the metal chair with a hard thud. The cup of coffee leapt from her hand, covering her bathrobe and slippers in a warm, sticky mess. Staring dizzily at the front porch steps, her head began to swim. “Well, cut off my legs and call me Shorty,” she muttered. Everything after that faded to gray.

  ***

  Wendell Meeks sat down in the fourth pew of Calista Community Church, reaching to shake hands with Dottie Jean and Fletcher. “Mornin’,” he said with a smile.

  “Mornin’, Wendell.” Dottie Jean placed her Bible on the pew as she spoke. “Seen much of Sassy lately?”

  He hesitated before answering. “Yeah. Saw her for a few minutes last night, as a matter of fact.”

  Dottie Jean gave him a sly grin, and Fletcher reached to give him a firm pat on the back. “Atta boy,” he whispered.

  Wendell nodded lamely, glancing back to the rear of the sanctuary, hoping to catch a glimpse of Sassy. She had been noticeably absent from Sunday school – a real rarity. I hope she’s not sick. His mind drifted back to the evening before. What a sight she had been. She arose from the river-- so wet, so frustrated, and yet so beautiful. Her damp hair had curled into ringlets at the edges of her face and her crazy hat had only accentuated her beautiful features. Don’t they all see how pretty she is? He looked back and forth from the pulpit, where Pastor Jordan now stood, to the back of the auditorium, where Sassy should make her entrance.

  “Where are you?” he whispered.

  He only half-heard the pastor’s welcome, and found himself facing backwards through much of the first song. Finally, about mid-way through the offering, he had to conclude… She’s not coming. She’s actually not coming. He sat in solitude as the pastor spoke on forgiveness—a good sermon, though a little on the long side. Maybe his patience had just worn thin, Wendell couldn’t be quite sure, but he felt a sudden urge to drive out to Crab Cove.

  ***

  Mother, could you explain again exactly what happened?” Tilly’s words were filled with concern as she raced her sports car down the highway toward Biloxi.

  “I don’t rightly know.” Sassy pressed a damp washcloth to her right eye and leaned against the window of her daughter’s vehicle, feeling groggy. “I was just sitting there, happy as you please, when the chair gave way. Next thing you know, I was staring up at the heavens, hearing the angels sing. Or maybe it was the birds, I’m not quite sure. But I don’t know what all the fuss is about.” She pulled the washcloth away from her face and examined it with care. “See? I’m hardly bleeding anymore. There’s nothing wrong with me.”

  “That’s for the doctors to decide.” Tilly’s voice had a mothering tone. “And I, for one, will feel much better after they take a look at you in the Emergency Room. You’ll need some X-rays, if nothing else.”

  “I’ll be fine,” Sassy mumbled. She felt her head begin to swim again. “Just as soon as this headache clears.”

  “Mother, I want to talk about your living situation.” Tilly’s voice grew firmer still. “You really need someone up at the house with you at all times. At your age…”

  “My age?” Sassy’s anger flared immediately. “I’m barely fifty.”

  “Mom, you’ve been pressing fifty so long now, it’s pleated. You’re going to be sixty next month and everyone knows it.”

  “What’s that got to do with anything?”

  “Nothing. Only I think you’re reaching the age when you need someone to stay with you. If Tucker won’t come, maybe I should…”

  “No.” Sassy used her strongest possible tone. “I like living alone. No offense, honey, but I enjoy my privacy. Besides, I know you like living over there in that trailer of yours.”

  “It’s a manufactured home, Mom. They don’t call them trailers anymore.”

  “Well, great,” Sassy said, rubbing her aching brow. “The next time a twister picks one up and flies it over my house I’ll know what to call it.” She leaned her head against the back of the seat as Tilly sighed deeply.

  “Honestly, Mother. What are we going to do with you?”

  “Do with me? Just let me be, Tilly Mae,” she said finally. “I do believe that’s your answer.”

  ***

  Wendell pulled up to Sassy’s house, working up the courage to face her once again. Sassy, where were you this morning? Are you okay? He glanced at her truck in the driveway. It needed a good washing. He would have to remember to do that for her. Wendell made his way out of his car, then walked across the frazzled lawn and up the rickety front porch steps. He stepped over a broken chair and knocked on the door.

  Wendell waited for what seemed like an eternity before deciding to press the bell. Maybe she was sleeping. His hands trembled as he reached to press the button. He formulated words in his mind. I miss you when you’re not there, Sassy.

  Several moments passed, and no one answered the door. Wendell looked at her truck once again. “She has to be home.” He made his way down the steps and around to the side yard. “Must be working out back.” The back yard sat empty, unless you counted the broken barbecue pit, a scattered pile of lumber, and a bunch of old tires thrown around.

  “Where in tarnation is she?” He scratched his head, running his fingers through the short stubble of red-gray hair. “Surely she’s not back at the pier. Not this soon.” He walked back to his car, where he sat for a moment, head in his hands. “Lord, am I crazy? Maybe everyone else is right.” He turned the key in the ignition. “Then again, if they’re right, why do I feel the way I do about her? Why can’t I get her off my mind?” He put the car into reverse and pulled out of her driveway. He drove a block or so down Amberjack Avenue, just past the Bait and Tackle Shop and turned off toward the pier. “I’ve got to tell her soon Lord, or I’m not going to be able to go through with this.” He climbed from the car, walking toward the familiar pier.

  Empty.

  But not half as empty as his heart.

  ***

  Sassy sat in the diner, twiddling her thumbs as her friends worked diligently on crafts to sell at the upcoming church bazaar. “I don’t know why you won’t help us, Sassy,” Dottie Jean said with a grimace. “Is your head still hurting?”

  “Not too bad,” she said, and then sighed. “I’m just not a crafty sor
t of person. You know that. Besides, I’m just thinking…” When are they going to mention it? Surely the whole town knows by now.

  “Thinking about what?” Leota asked with a sly grin. “Wendell Meeks?”

  Sassy slapped herself in the head, completely forgetting about the stitches above her right eyebrow. “Confound it! If you all don’t stop harassing me about Wendell Meeks, I’m going to… I’m going to…” She stopped mid-sentence, rubbing her aching brow. “It’s bad enough I’ve got to sit down here every Sunday night and watch you three piece together these ridiculous craft items, but all this gossip about Wendell is enough to make me question my salvation. Besides, I know that’s not really what you want to talk about—”

  Let’s just get this over with, Lord. I can only take so much ridicule. If someone doesn’t mention my tumble in the river soon, I’m going to do it myself.

  “Let’s change the subject then,” Leota said. “Pastor Jordan asked me to come up with an appropriate name for the Fall Festival this year. I was thinking about something unique, something different from anything we’ve done in the past.”

  “What about Fall Fiesta?” Sue Ellen said, her eyes widening. “We could do a Latin theme. Lots of bright colors and piñatas for the kids.”

  “Oooh! I have an idea. What about Autumn in the Orchard?” Dottie Jean suggested. “We could make centerpieces out of fresh fruit. That would be fun.”

  “Actually, I was thinking about Fall in the Old South – sort of a Gone with the Wind theme,” Leota said. “What do you think about that?”

  “Fall Fiesta, Fall in the South, Fall in the River,” Sassy mumbled to herself.

  “What was that you said, honey?” Leota asked. “Fall at the River…?”

  “No, I—”

  “What a great idea!” Leota interrupted. “We could do a whole ‘river’ theme…work it around Pastor Jordan’s name! People are always teasing him about it, anyway.”

  “I didn’t say ‘Fall at the River,’” Sassy said impatiently. “I said, ‘Fall in the river.’”

  “I’m not sure I get it,” Dottie Jean said, looking at her oddly. “What sort of decorations did you have in mind?”

  Why are they making this so difficult?

  “Oh, come on now,” Sassy said, her anger mounting. “You know you’ve been wanting to talk about it all night.”

  “Talk about what?” Sue Ellen asked, giving her a funny look.

  “My accident.” Are they just plain cruel?

  “We know all about your accident, Sassy,” Dottie Jean responded. “You told us when you got here, remember? You fell out of the chair and hit your head, right?” She looked at the other ladies with a concerned expression.

  “Not that accident.” Sassy spoke through clenched teeth. “I’m talking about what happened to me last night. Didn’t Wendell tell you?”

  “You’re not making any sense,” Sue Ellen argued. “Are you sure you’re feeling okay?”

  “I’m feeling just fine, but I’d feel a whole lot better if you ladies would just up and confess that you know I fell in the river last night.”

  “You what?” All three spoke in unison, erupting into laughter.

  They don’t know. Wendell didn’t tell them. Suddenly that put a whole new spin on things. “Well, shut my mouth,” she said, sitting dejectedly.

  They all stared at her, as if waiting for an explanation.

  “I, uh… I fell in the Biloxi, and Wendell Meeks fished me out.”

  “Oh my,” Dottie Jean said, grinning. “Well, that would explain why you weren’t in church this morning, I guess.”

  Sassy shrugged. “Too humiliating. I couldn’t look him in the eye. Not sure I ever can again.” This just gets worse by the minute.

  “Of course you can, honey,” Dottie Jean said, patting her hand. “Besides, men love it when they get to play hero. It brings out their macho side.”

  “Wendell Meeks has a macho side?” Sue Ellen asked, nudging Leota. “That, I’d like to see. He’s such an old marshmallow. Talk about a softie.”

  “Ooo! Speaking of which, I have an announcement to make.” Leota spoke excitedly. All eyes turned to the younger woman. “Since Beauregard and I got engaged, I’ve been thinking a lot about men and women, about how they relate to each other and all that. . .”

  Sassy rolled her eyes impatiently. “Does your train of thought have a caboose?”

  “Now, stop it, Sassy. I’m being serious here. I’ve had an idea in mind. I thought maybe you ladies could help me with it.”

  “Do go on,” she said, her voice laced with sarcasm.

  “I was wondering if you all would be interested in starting a Bible study during our Sunday evening times together. Something along the lines of… I don’t know. Something to get me ready for marriage.”

  “Great idea,” Dottie Jean chimed in. “You know, I’ve only got three months till Fletcher and I tie the knot. I could use a refresher course, too.”

  Leota nodded as she spoke. “That’s what I was thinking. I even have a topic in mind. What about ‘submission?’ You all know how strong-willed I am.”

  Submission? She wants to do a Bible Study on submission? “Are you kidding?” Sassy asked, her temper mounting.

  “Well, no. I’m not,” Leota spoke quietly. “I’m very serious, in fact.”

  Sassy stood to her feet abruptly, reaching for her purse. They’re just doing this to get to me, Lord – and I don’t like it one little bit.

  Leota looked flushed as she spoke. “I just thought it might be a good idea for all of us to learn how to submit ourselves to the husbands God is placing in our lives, and ultimately to the authority of Christ.” She glanced nervously down at her hands, then at the other ladies. They all looked back and forth, from one to the other, obviously confused.

  “Well, you go right ahead and get married and be as submissive as you please,” Sassy said, heading for the door. “If you need me, I’ll be the one telling all the fish how to swim out on Crab Cove.”

  Chapter Five

  Sassy stood in line at Fanny’s Fancy Foods with Cherry gelatin, frozen chicken livers, a large box of oatmeal and five cans of dog food in her small hand basket.

  “Come on,” she mumbled. “This is supposed to be the express lane.” With only two people in line ahead of her, she should have reached the register in record time, but Fanny was managing the “10 Items or Less Lane” today and everyone in Calista knew what that meant.

  Waiting.

  Fanny had a way of turning “Good morning” into a full-blown discussion.

  “That’s not the only thing full-blown about her,” Sassy muttered, as she gave the clerk another once-over. Fanny was practically as broad as the lane itself. The hefty woman’s parents had built the grocery store when she was just a little girl, and had proudly placed her name on the marquis outside. Of course, they had no idea how prophetic that name would turn out to be. As the years progressed, so did Fanny’s backside. At a younger age she could man the register on foot like the other clerks, but these days found her seated in a special swivel chair in the widened aisle of the Express, portions of her anatomy loping over each side in defeat. Her body, like her conversation, tended to linger a bit, so you could always count on standing awhile.

  You’d think they’d take down the Express sign, at least. Sassy shifted the basket to the other arm, growing more frustrated. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the store’s front door swing open. Wendell stepped through, his eyes darting in her direction. She quickly grabbed a magazine from the rack to her right and held it up in front of her face. Please, God, don’t let him see me. She had managed to avoid him for days now, and didn’t want to spoil her clean record.

  She tipped the magazine a bit to the left, trying to see where he had gone. At that moment, someone tapped her on her shoulder, startling her. She turned around, finding herself face to face with Wendell Meeks.

  “Hey, Sassy. How’re you feeling?” He looked genuinely concerned.
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  “Fine,” she said. “Why?”

  “Well, I heard you had to go to the hospital.” His gaze shifted to the bandage above her right eye.

  “Oh, this little thing?” She reached to touch the bandage. “It’s nothing.”

  “Still,” he said, “I’ve been worried about you. I’ve tried to call out to your place a couple of times, but always seemed to get the machine.”

  Sassy flinched, remembering all-too-well the calls she had deliberately avoided. Ironically, his voice had brought her comfort, even over the machine, though she would never have admitted it to anyone. Why am I avoiding him, Lord? He’s such a good man.

  “Thank you for calling.” She closed the magazine and put it back on the rack. “I’ve been really busy the last few days.”

  “You need to be taking things easy, Sassy.” His soft voice, laced with compassion, made her feel better.

  She shrugged. “Too much going on.”

  His gaze traveled to the items in her hand, a look of curiosity settling in them as they landed on the dog food. She shuffled it under her arm, trying to hide it.

  “Did you get a dog?”

  “Nope.” No point explaining what she used the crazy stuff for. He’d probably just laugh at her, anyway.

  Fanny cleared her throat loudly, and Sassy realized she had worked her way up to the register without knowing it.

  “How are you today, Sassy?” Fanny asked, her eyes locked firmly on Wendell.

  Look at me and I’ll tell you.

  A momentary lull in the conversation passed until Fanny turned to look at her. “I’m fine, thank you.”

  “Quite an accident you had,” Fanny said as she scanned the chicken livers. “Or so I hear. How wonderful that Wendell came to your rescue. Lucky for you he showed up when he did. Amazing coincidence.”