She spotted Linda in her little Honda as soon as she pulled into the driveway and strolled on out. At least she’d meet some local lesbians tonight.
Chatting about the welcome cool weather, they drove past the turnoff to Sandy’s house, which reminded Bree of the recent Samhain celebration. “I don’t know much about Wicca,” she said idly. “Can you explain the basics?”
Linda kept her eyes on the road. “I haven’t been involved all that long, but I’m beginning to realize Mother taught me a few things, maybe without even knowing it.”
“Your mother was a witch?”
Linda laughed. “I’m not sure. The label might have horrified her. But she always warned me to never say or do anything to harm a living creature. If I did, she said, my action would come back to hurt me.”
“How does that fit in Wicca?”
“You know how most religions have a long list of rules?”
“Yeah. Don’t sleep with people of the same gender and do give generously to the church fund.”
Linda laughed. “That’s an oversimplication if I ever heard one.”
“But you have to admit it’s true. Churches want to interfere with our personal liberties and draw a salary to do it.”
“You may be right.” Linda nodded. “Most faiths seem to be guilty of that shortcoming.”
“So is Wicca any different?”
“As far as I can tell, Do no harm is Wicca’s only rule. It’s apparently more of a lifestyle than an organized religion like we’re used to.”
“What about those animals out there?” Bree pointed at a herd of cattle.
“What do you mean?”
“I like hamburgers. But I sure have to harm one of those cows to have one.”
Linda glanced at the pasture as they passed. “That’s another thing Mom used to tell me—to thank the animal that died so I could eat.”
“Sounds like an American Indian thing. Respect for the earth.”
Linda simply gazed at the road unwinding before them. “Yes. It all boils down to your attitude and your intent.”
“What do you mean?”
“If you respect someone or something, you seldom harm it.”
“How’s that?”
“Let’s say you’re in love with somebody.”
“Okay.” Bree immediately thought about Ann.
“One day you wake up and realize how much she hates to go sailing, though she’s been going with you. But you can’t imagine life without being out on the water.”
“That’s a rather far-fetched example, but okay.”
“Do you insist she continue to sail with you, or do you respect the fact that she dislikes it and join a sailing club—tell her she doesn’t have to go with you anymore?”
“If I loved her enough, I’d probably quit sailing and do something she prefers.”
“Wow. That’s a surprise.”
“Why? Did you think I’d insist she learn to like it?”
“No. And I didn’t mean to get personal. But a lot of people with forceful personalities would.”
“And your point is?” Bree couldn’t soften her tone.
“Wicca’s only rule makes you decide for yourself how to act in every situation you encounter.”
“That’s a lot of work.”
“Yes, but it puts you in charge of your life.”
“Instead of relying on some God to tell you what to do and think. Yeah, makes sense to me.”
Linda glanced at Bree. “Say, I’ve been trying to put my finger on what’s different about you, and I finally know. You don’t talk the way you used to.”
Bree bristled and leaned forward in her seat. “What do you mean?”
“You’ve lost your East Texas drawl.”
“You mean I don’t sound like a hick anymore?”
Linda gripped the steering wheel harder and half turned toward Bree. “Do you think I sound like one?”
Bree let her shoulders relax and rested back against the seat again. “No. Your voice is soothing, like a glass of sweet milk.”
Linda grinned. “Thanks. I like your new sound, but it’s just different—faster and crisper, I guess you’d say.”
“Well, I like it, and I worked hard to cultivate it. Maybe I’ll tell you why someday.”
Linda looked surprised, but Bree didn’t care. She wasn’t ready for Linda to judge her choices.
Bree stared out at a familiar building surrounded by distinctive low rock walls and dredged up the name of the small community they’d just reached. Joinerville—that was it. Named for the man who discovered oil in East Texas during the Great Depression.
“Didn’t they build this school for the children in all those families that moved here during the oil boom?” Bree felt more comfortable discussing history than the personal topics Linda was trying to introduce.
“Yeah. My dad went to school here,” Linda said. “And the schoolhouse that exploded back then isn’t far.”
Bree began to calm down. “My dad mentioned that explosion once. He and the rest of the high-school football team in town left spring training and drove over to help pull bodies from the rubble.”
Linda suddenly looked sad. “The worst public-school disaster in American history. It’s still hard to imagine almost three hundred students and teachers dying because of a natural-gas leak.”
“That’s true. Wonder why we didn’t know more about it when we were kids?”
“People didn’t want to even think about it, much less discuss it. Still in shock, I guess.” Linda shook her head, her expression still solemn. “The survivors have just recently begun to get together to share their memories and put things in perspective.”
As they passed vast fields dotted with pine trees, cows, and oil pumps, Bree thought about the day in 1957 her brother died. She’d been at home, sleeping late on the Saturday before Thanksgiving.
“Bree, wake up.” Her mother shook her shoulder. “Something’s happened.”
Bree opened her eyes. Tears ran down her mother’s cheeks. She’d never seen her cry before now. “What’s happened?”
She sat up in bed and stared at her mother, then at the large willow tree outside her window. Its limbs drooped down bare and barren, stripped of the yellow leaves that had covered it since the first frost in early November. It seemed as if the leaves had fallen overnight.
“It’s Brett.” Her mother sat on the bed beside her, closed her eyes for a minute, then sighed and seemed to force the words from her mouth. “He’s dead.”
“Dead!” He’d gone deer hunting early that morning with their dad and a few friends. “No. He can’t be. He didn’t even like to hunt.”
Her mother sat rigid beside her, squeezing her hands together so hard Bree hoped she didn’t break all the bones in them. “I know. That makes his death even harder. Damn guns and men trying to prove they’re men.”
Bree had wished her mother would cry some more, but she’d just sat there like a statue, dried tears on her face, as if she’d turned to stone. So Bree did the same.
“What are you thinking so hard about, Bree?”
The voice jolted her back to the woman beside her. Linda. She must think she was a clod, sitting here ignoring her. “Sorry. This stretch of road brought back some unpleasant memories. What were we talking about?”
Linda looked relieved, as if she’d been worried about Bree. “Just some local history. It’s all in the past, though. That was a long time ago. Let me tell you a little about some of the women you’ll meet at the dinner. Okay?”
“Sure. I need all the help I can get. I can usually remember people’s names if I’m doing business with them, but in purely social settings, I’m not so great.”
“I wouldn’t say that. The Bree I used to know always did everything well, no matter where it took place.”
Bree grinned. “Thanks. I’ll do my best. And I appreciate the kind words.”
She gazed at Linda. She really was considerate, with more to offer than Bree had suspec
ted. She began to warm to the idea of getting to know Linda better, even if she was a little too nosy.
*
As they neared the city, the sun had almost set. They passed the sprawling University of Texas at Tyler campus on their right, then turned left on the loop that circled Tyler. Another quick right turn led them to Cheng’s China Bistro.
“This is new, isn’t it?” Bree asked as they stood before the large, squared-off entryway made of whitish-yellow rectangles of Austin stone.
Linda pulled open one of the double doors, each with an oval glass inset. “Three or four years old, I think. I’ve eaten here a couple of times with the group. We like it because it’s not crowded and they give us a private room.”
In the dim interior, Linda spotted one of her friends, who immediately walked toward them.
“Bree, this is Lou Anne, the woman who keeps this group running.”
They exchanged greetings, and then Bree glanced over at the bar. “Love the sign.”
Linda read the white block letters on the wall above a large display of liquor bottles: Wine is Bottled Poetry. “That’s strange. I’ve never noticed it.”
Lou Anne nodded, her earrings dangling. “Neither have I. Maybe it’s new, or maybe we just haven’t paid attention to it.”
Bree shrugged. “Strangers see differently than residents do. That’s the sign I’d put up in my restaurant, if I ever opened one.”
“Oh, do you cook?” Lou Anne lit up, evidently hoping for a kindred spirit.
“You’ve got to be kidding. But I do love to eat other people’s creations, which has to count for something.”
Standing side by side, Lou Anne looked like a delicate bird in contrast to Bree, who was probably six inches taller than she was.
Lou Anne glanced at the front door as another group member walked in. “Why don’t you two go on back? I’ll be there as soon as everyone gets here.”
“I like the wood sculpture of the tree,” Bree said as they strolled down the corridor toward the back of the restaurant.
“Yes. This place has a pleasant atmosphere. Here we are. Just through the door to the left.”
Six members of the group already sat around a long table covered with a white tablecloth and dishes. “Hey, y’all. We have a visitor,” Linda announced. “This is Bree Principal—prodigal daughter. She just came to her senses after fifty years in exile from East Texas.”
What had possessed her to introduce Bree to everyone in such a silly way? Everyone probably thought she’d lost her mind.
“That’s exactly right. I can’t imagine why I’ve stayed away so long,” Bree said. “If I’d known about you all, I’d have at least visited more often.”
Relieved, Linda introduced Bree to each woman individually. Finally she said, “This is Kay, Lou Anne’s partner. They have quite a story and are sharing it all over this part of the country.”
“Hmm. Can’t wait to hear it,” Bree said smoothly, and sat down next to Kay.
Just then Lou Anne came in with the final member of the group tonight and sat across from them.
Linda took a deep breath of anticipation. Hopefully Bree would enjoy being with these women half as much as she did.
*
“I understand you’re the curator of a museum in Chicago,” Lou Anne said as Bree dipped a piece of wonton into a clear pink sauce.
Savoring the combination of sweet and salty, Bree took her time answering. “Yes. It’s a wonderful job. I have to do everything from negotiating with art sellers all over the world to getting my hands dirty preparing pieces for exhibits. I love every minute of it.”
“Quite a shock to be back here, I bet,” Kay said, her eyes bright and lively. She looked several years younger than Lou Anne, perhaps in her midsixties.
“A little. But Chicago has never really felt like home.” Bree had never verbalized that feeling before tonight and was a little shocked that she had now. “I’ve always considered it a place to work and sleep.”
Lou Anne nodded like she understood, so Bree continued. “I live close to the museum and don’t venture out of my neighborhood all that often, except when I have to fly somewhere for business. My work has dominated my life.”
“Are you part of a group like this?” Lou Anne seemed to want to bypass social chitchat and jump right into meaty topics.
“No.” Bree shook her head. “Various gay and lesbian organizations do exist in the city, of course, but I’ve never joined any of them.”
“But you do know people there, don’t you?” Lou Anne certainly listened well. Bree understood why Linda liked her.
“Oh yes. I socialize mostly with various museum administrators and University of Chicago faculty members—some gay, but mostly straight.”
“Of course,” Linda said. “It sucks to be a minority.”
Lou Anne dipped a wonton into her sauce but didn’t put it in her mouth right away. “It’s not so bad. I’ll tell you what sucks.”
Kay quirked a brow. “What?”
“When the majority think gays are sinners who are going to hell.”
The woman sitting next to Lou Anne nodded so vigorously Bree could almost hear her thinking, Amen, sister.
“How long have you two been together?” Bree asked Lou Anne and Kay.
“Ten years, now, isn’t it, dear?” Kay said, and Lou Anne smiled her agreement.
“Did you know each other long before you got together?”
Just then two waitresses appeared and asked for their drink orders.
“A glass of chardonnay,” Bree immediately said, surprised when most of the others requested either iced tea or water. “No one except Karen and Jolie and me saw the sign about wine being bottled poetry?”
A tall, elegant woman, who’d just walked into the room, raised a wineglass. “I saw it. In fact, I picked up a glass from the bar on my way in.” She strolled over to Bree and held out her other hand. “Tonda. I’m a defense attorney here in town. And you are?”
Bree rose and shook her hand. “Bree, visiting from Chicago, though I grew up around here.”
Tonda made the rounds and lingered near Linda, whispered something to her, then found an empty chair.
Someone in the group picked up their conversation about wine. “This was a dry county for so long, most of us aren’t in the habit of drinking alcohol out at a restaurant.”
“Oh yes. I forgot about that archaic law.” Bree grinned. “I bet most people in Chicago wouldn’t even know the term dry county.”
“Believe me, it’s never been very dry here,” Tonda said. “The liquor stores in the neighboring wet counties sure hate to lose all their customers from Tyler.”
“And a lot of those customers are so-called pillars of the church,” Lou Anne said. “That’s one thing that really bothers me. Drinking on the sly is okay, but loving another woman isn’t.”
Kay reached across the table and took Lou Anne’s hand. “No, dear. If we don’t publicly admit to anybody that we love each other, they’ll be just fine with us.”
Lou Anne gazed at Kay with affection shining in her eyes. “That’s exactly right. But I’m determined to tell the world about us and keep on going to the Baptist church just like we always have.”
Bree admired Lou Anne and Kay. Not many people had their courage. Even though Bree felt no need to be part of organized religion, she respected these two women for taking a stand for what they believed in.
And, to her surprise, she envied their relationship. Was it too late to find someone who made her eyes glow as much as theirs did?
*
“Did you find Lou Anne and Kay interesting?” Linda asked Bree as they drove back home in the dark. In some spots the tree-lined highway made her feel as if they were the only two people in the world, speeding through a tunnel. But then the lights of a house or another vehicle would break the intimate spell.
“Yes. But I never got to hear their story. All I know is they seem very much in love.”
Linda dimmed her h
eadlights as a car approached. “For starters, they were both married to men for quite some time and have several children—Lou Anne has four and Kay has two.”
“That seems to be a trend around here.” Bree obviously didn’t mean to hurt Linda’s feelings, but the remark stung. She immediately went rigid.
“Yes. When you live somewhere as repressive as this area, it’s easy to bury your true feelings so deep you don’t realize they’re there for a very long time. It’s a little different for kids today, but for our generation and those before us…” She half shrugged.
Bree touched her forearm, as if in apology, and Linda let her tense shoulders fall.
“I know. Why do you think I left?” Bree said softly and removed her hand.
Linda took a deep breath. She needed to focus on driving, not on how much she wished Bree had left her hand where it was. Being alone with her like this was a dream come true. “I’ve wondered about that, a lot.”
“That’s another story for another time.” Bree stared straight ahead, as if walling herself up.
Linda tried to recapture their earlier closeness. “You’re right. We were talking about Lou Anne and Kay, weren’t we?”
“Yes. I’m aware that many of the women in the area—and men—of our generation denied or weren’t even aware of their attraction to the same sex.”
“Exactly. I had no clue about myself.” Linda glanced at Bree, who was still staring at the road stretching ahead of them, lit only by their headlights. “Or if I did, I totally ignored the feeling or rationalized it as a crush I’d outgrow.”
Bree turned back to her. “I can certainly understand. But how do Lou Anne and Kay differ from you or any of the other women around here who’ve experienced the same thing?”
Linda paused at the four-way stop in Joinerville and watched a big truck cross the intersection. As she accelerated, she said, “Because they’re not placing the blame onto their exes, like so many women do. They’re standing up and accepting responsibility for their feelings and their actions.”
Autumn Spring Page 8
