The Whole Town's Talking

by Fannie Flagg

  1946

  The Sweet Clover Dairy had almost tripled its production during the war and was now the largest dairy in the area. Ander Swensen owned thirty-eight delivery trucks and employed more than one hundred people, and the dairy was still growing. Ander and his wife, Beatrice, had just bought a brand-new two-story brick house and a new car. They now had everything a couple could want, except a child.

  —

  IN LATE SEPTEMBER, Elner Shimfissle was at the kitchen sink, running cold water over her string beans, when the phone rang.

  “Hello?”

  It was Beatrice, who said, “Elner, are you peeling potatoes?”

  “No, I just finished stringing some beans. Why?”

  “Do you remember that dream you had?”

  Elner had to think a minute…then she remembered. “Oh, no, Beatrice…you don’t mean it!”

  “Yes, I do. I just got home from the doctor.”

  Elner was so happy for her friend, she danced a little jig around her kitchen.

  Beatrice and Ander had given up hope of having a child long ago, so when out of the blue, the doctor had informed Beatrice that she was pregnant at almost thirty-six years old, she and Ander were overjoyed.

  A week later, the happy couple flew to Chicago and went to Marshall Field’s department store to shop for their new baby. They bought all the latest baby clothes, a bassinet and a Mother Goose baby bed, and almost cleaned out the toy department. The salespeople got a kick out of the joyful couple, who were obviously from a small town. Ander handed out cigars to the salesmen and a “bouquet of roses” pin to all the salesladies. They bought two of everything, one in pink and one in blue. This child would be loved and raised as a prince or a princess. They didn’t know which yet. They didn’t care. All they knew was a baby was coming.

  That same day in Chicago, in a tenement apartment building with gray rickety wooden stairs in the back, another woman was expecting a child, her sixth. But there was no joy in it, only despair.

  She was so tired. But there was no way to stop the babies from coming year after year. And her priest said it was a sin to try. As she stood looking out at the clothesline full of wet sheets and diapers strung between the buildings, she suddenly winced in pain. This one would be a boy. She could tell by the way he kicked at her. He wasn’t due for a month, but he was already like his father. He would come out like the rest of the boys had, hungry and angry, wanting to kick someone.

  Two different babies were coming. Two different lives. The chances of their ever meeting one another would be slim to none.

  After some delivery difficulties, the long-awaited Swensen baby was born. She was a beautiful little brown-eyed girl they named Hanna Marie. Both Ander and Beatrice were over the moon with joy. Ander gave all of his employees at the dairy a fifty-dollar baby bonus, and a huge party was planned in her honor.

  As someone said, “My Lord, you would think that they were the first people in the world to ever have a baby.” The party was held at the house, and everyone in town was sent a pink invitation tied with a white ribbon.

  Come say hello to

  MISS HANNA MARIE SWENSEN

  Tuesday afternoon, 2 to 5

  One year later, pink cards were sent out to every child in town that read:

  You are cordially invited to a celebration in honor of

  MISS HANNA MARIE SWENSEN’S

  First Birthday

  Favors, entertainment, and all the ice cream you can eat!

  Every child in town came. They didn’t care so much about seeing the baby, but all the ice cream you could eat was a once-in-a-lifetime treat. And their parents were only too glad to take them. They all liked the Swensens and loved to visit their home. It was beautifully decorated with the finest furniture that could be bought and had a magnificent grand staircase leading up to the second floor. Ida Jenkins marched through each room and exclaimed, “I swear, Beatrice and I have the exact same taste.” When Ida got home that night, she asked her husband, Herbert, why they couldn’t have a grand staircase like the Swensens.

  “Because, Ida, we live in a one-story house.”

  “Couldn’t we add an upstairs?”

  “We could, if we were made of money. Just because I work at the bank doesn’t mean I own it.”

  “Well, you’re the president. Couldn’t you give yourself a loan?”

  Herbert sighed. He loved her, but the woman just didn’t understand finance.

  —

  BY THE TIME HANNA MARIE was a year old, her smiling picture was on the side of all the Swensens’ milk delivery trucks. Everybody in town waited for their invitation to her second birthday party. But it never came.

  Other people had noticed it first. Some even whispered about it. They couldn’t quite put their finger on it, but Hanna Marie was not like the other children her age.

  At first, her parents tried to ignore it, to pretend everything was all right, but soon it became very clear. There was something wrong with their little girl.

  Of course, they had suspected it. A local doctor had told them as much, but the words were still hard to hear. The specialist at the Mayo Clinic sat down across from Ander and Beatrice Swensen. “Your little girl is completely deaf.”

  This was devastating news. They had been hoping it had just been a hearing impairment and that she could possibly get help.

  Ander said, “Money’s not a problem, Doctor. Isn’t there anything…an operation or something?”

  He shook his head. “No. I’m sorry.”

  The little girl could see her parents were upset, and she kept stroking her mother’s face. “Will she ever be able to speak?” asked Ander.

  “No, when children are deaf from birth, they don’t know what speech sounds like. They see our lips moving, but it’s a silent world for them. But as you can see, she is very bright. Her cognitive tests are perfectly normal. And, my God…just look at her. She’s the prettiest little child with that smile, and there are plenty of schools for the deaf. She can be taught sign language, lip reading…with some special training, she should be able to live a completely normal life…get married, have children…a lot of deaf people do.”

  Beatrice asked, “Do you really think she could get married?”

  “I don’t see any reason why not,” said the doctor with a smile. “We’ll just have to wait and see and hope for the best.”

  A few months after Cooter Calvert got home from the army, he married his old girlfriend and later, with a little help from his father-in-law, he started a local newspaper.

  After mulling it over, they named it The Elmwood Springs News. It was not very original, but the town was excited to have its own paper at last, and all promised to buy advertisements.

  The first day Cooter opened his door for business, Ida Jenkins appeared in his office and said, “Well, Cooter, you’ll need a society columnist, and I’m here to volunteer my services.”

  Cooter was not aware that there was any society in Elmwood Springs, but you did not say no to Ida Jenkins. Besides, she had already written her first column and had supplied her photo to be used at the top.

  * * *

  THE WHOLE TOWN’S TALKING

  * * *

  by Mrs. Ida Jenkins

  Greetings to all! This week, the whole town’s talking about the magnificent soiree thrown by Mr. and Mrs. Swensen, owners of our very own Sweet Clover Dairy. The festive affair was in celebration of the third birthday of their lovely daughter, Miss Hanna Marie Swensen. When it comes to fashion and style, none can hold a candle to the Swensen mother-daughter duo. Hanna Marie was a perfect picture of “What does the well-dressed little girl wear?” in her darling frilly pink dress. Mother Beatrice was also lovely in a pale aqua knit frock, so flattering to her slim figure. Never saw such a proud poppa. As usual at any of the Swensens’ delightful get-togethers, anybody who was anybody was there. Elner Shimfissle, longtime friend of Mrs. Swensen’s, was also in attendance.

  * * *

  1949

>   At around six A.M., J. J. Ballantine, the caretaker, walked around the cemetery and placed an American flag on each veteran’s grave. It was only a small flag, but it meant a lot, especially to the boys who had been killed. They considered themselves to be grown men, but most were still young enough to enjoy the special attention.

  Gene woke up early that day and was starting to get a little fidgety waiting for his family to arrive. He could tell by the sun that it must be around nine-thirty. Last year, they had brought his little girl, Dena, with them. He hoped they would bring her again.

  Pretty soon, he began to hear cars driving into the cemetery, and he immediately recognized the sound of his father’s car, the same big black 1936 Plymouth he had driven forever. Gene heard it pull up to the curb and stop and then the sound of all the doors opening and slamming shut, and here they were. As always, his mother came first. His father held the rest back for a moment while she walked right to him and placed her hand on the white cross that stood above his head and said, “Here’s my baby.”

  Gene could almost feel her hand as he had so many times as a boy. That cool hand that had soothed away his fears or made him feel better when he was sick, that hand like no other that told him that everything was all right. “I miss you, son,” she said. “I miss you, too, Momma.”

  Now came Dad, looking a little older this year. Gene noticed a little potbelly starting, but he owned a bakery, so who could blame him?

  And there was Aunt Elner. But where was Dena? He knew she always spent the summer with her grandparents. He was starting to worry, when he saw her come running from around the other side of the car, pulling his cousin, Norma, behind her. Norma was busy talking to some sandy-haired athletic-looking boy he did not recognize, when the little girl broke loose from Norma and ran toward him. He was surprised to see how tall she was getting. He figured she must have grown an inch since last year, and he was amazed at how much she looked like pictures of him at that age—the same white blond hair and blue eyes. Aunt Elner walked up behind her and said, “Here’s your daddy, honey. You can talk to him if you want to.” The little girl looked where Aunt Elner was pointing and seemed puzzled.

  “Where do I look?”

  “It doesn’t matter. He’ll hear you.”

  She stood there while Gene tried his best to help. “Come on, honey,” he thought. “Say something. I can hear you, sweetheart.”

  “Go ahead, honey, tell your daddy what a big girl you are,” urged Aunt Elner.

  The little girl looked down at the grave, held out four fingers, and said, “I’m this many.” And it tickled Gene. Then she said, “I’ve got a kitten,” and then, “Why don’t you come home?”

  Aunt Elner petted her head. “He would if he could, baby girl. But he loves you and watches over you every day.”

  “That’s right,” Gene thought. “Tell her I wanted to come home.”

  “Dena, don’t you want to tell your daddy you love him, too?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Go ahead. Tell him.”

  The little girl then leaned over and shouted into the grave as loud as she could, “I love you, Daddy!”

  Gene had to laugh. He then heard his mother call out from the car for them to come help with the flowers and the rest of the things.

  Katrina, who was enjoying seeing everyone, said, “Oh, Gene…she is so pretty.”

  “Isn’t she? She’s going to be very tall, I think.”

  “Yes, I can see that.”

  Gene was pleased to see that the basket of flowers they placed at the head of his grave was even larger than last year’s. They were not getting smaller, at least. His only fear was that he would be forgotten.

  Suddenly, he noticed what a pretty girl his cousin, Norma, had turned out to be. After a moment, he recognized the boy Norma had brought with her. It was Macky Warren, whose daddy ran the hardware store, all grown up. Gene had taught him to swim when Macky was such a skinny little kid that he could hardly keep his swimming trunks on. Gene guessed Macky must be “the boyfriend” because Norma was gazing at him like a lovesick calf.

  Gene dozed in the warm sun for a few minutes, but awoke again when he heard the trunk of his father’s car open. Then he saw his dad coming toward him, walking around with the picnic blanket, looking for a place to set it down, and finally choosing more or less the same spot he always did, just to the right of his son’s grave.

  It was a perfect spot for Gene. He was downwind and could smell the food as each basket was uncovered. First the potato salad…good and tart, bread and butter pickles, olives, hot fresh corn on the cob. And then…oh, here it comes. Just as the white towel was lifted, a gentle breeze caught the familiar aroma of his mother’s golden fried chicken, and, what’s that? Oh, Aunt Elner’s fresh buttermilk biscuits. Someone was buttering one right now. Then he heard a jar of Aunt Elner’s fig preserves pop open.

  He was happy to see the family seeming more talkative. For the first two or three years, they had been so quiet. But this time, they weren’t, and he was enjoying listening to them. He found out that Tot Whooten had thrown her husband, James, out of the house again, and his aunt Ida, Norma’s mother, was in St. Louis at one of her many garden club conventions. And according to Elner, she was still busy putting on airs, which made him smile. Nothing much changes.

  After the meal was over, Aunt Elner stood up and poured out what was left of the iced tea close to his feet, and he laughed as the cold liquid cooled the ground. Had he really felt it? Or had he just imagined it? Oh, well, it didn’t matter; it felt good. After they had cleared off the blanket, and his father had folded it back up, Gene heard the trunk open and close again. That was always a signal they were getting ready to leave. He hated to see them go, but the sun was about to go down, and he knew the mosquitos were bad at this time of day, and they should get Dena on home. It was probably a long day for such a little girl.

  After they all got back in the car, they waited as they did every year, as his father made the solitary trek back to his son’s grave, removed his hat, stood perfectly still, then saluted his son. As Gene heard the car turn around and drive away, he called out, “Goodbye, everybody. Don’t forget me.”

  At sundown, a group from the VFW came out, and Bobby Smith, a Boy Scout, played taps as they lowered the flag. Later, after everyone had driven away, the cemetery was quiet again. The fireflies had just started to twinkle, and a half moon was beginning to show itself, when Mr. Hendersen, who had said nothing all day, commented, “Hey, Marine, your old man’s getting a little fat.”

  Gene smiled. “He’s getting a belly, all right.” Gene figured that, had he lived to be his dad’s age, he probably would have looked a lot like him, and that was fine with him. Mrs. Lindquist called over, “Gene, I swear, Gerta and Elner look the same as they did the day I died, still just as chubby and cute.”

  Mary Childress said, “All the Knott girls are heavyset, except for Ida, and she starves herself.”

  After a moment, his grandfather called over to Gene. “It was good to see everybody looking so well today, wasn’t it, son?”

  “Yes, sir, it was.”

  Lucille said, “All in all, I think it was just a lovely day.”

  Macky Warren and Norma had been dating each other since high school. He had never even looked at another girl. But as he walked home from Norma’s house that Memorial Day night, a question kept going back and forth in his mind. Should he and Norma get married now or wait? She wanted to. So did he. But somehow, going out to the cemetery that day with the Nordstroms had started him thinking. Even though he had been the one who had delivered the telegram about Gene four years ago, it was still hard to believe that Gene Nordstrom was really dead.

  Gene had been a boyhood hero of his and of most of the other boys in town. They had all wanted to grow up and be just like him: play baseball, basketball, and football; be a lifeguard at the pool, just like Gene had.

  And it wasn’t just the boys who idolized him. All the girls in tow
n hung around the pool all day, staring at him and giggling whenever he said hello, but Gene seemed oblivious to the fact that everybody had a crush on him. The last time Macky had seen him was at the bus station, the day everybody had gone down to see the boys off. That day, Gene had been so alive, so bigger than life. Now all that was left was a photograph in the bakery window.

  Gene’s death had greatly affected Macky and the other boys his age. Before that, they had all felt so safe and secure. But Gene Nordstrom being killed in the war had changed all that. In the movies, it was always the bad guys that got killed, and the good guys lived happily forever. Gene’s death had forced them to face the reality of life. If something like that could happen to Gene Nordstrom, then you could never really be sure of anything ever again.

  Life was so unpredictable, and death was so damn final. You didn’t get a second chance. This was it. You had to make the most of your life right now.

  If he got married now, what would he miss out on? He might wind up like his father, never going anywhere but to work and then home again with a one-week vacation to the same place every year. It was tough to be grown up, to make decisions that would change your life forever. It didn’t seem fair that he got only one life. He needed three or four to do all the things he wanted to do: play professional football, go fly-fishing in Alaska, take a year and follow the sun to Australia. He dreamed of a year of two summers. He had even worked at his dad’s hardware store after school and saved money for the trip. But if he married Norma now, he would have to use that money for a down payment on a house. He loved Norma, but she was never going to be adventurous and go places with him. She was too nervous to travel too far from home.