Linda shook her head as if Bree’s statement didn’t surprise her. “When you understand the basics of Wiccan beliefs, it’s not a big deal. But outsiders have so many misconceptions, we keep our little group very secret.”
“So enlighten me more, please.” Bree took another bite of the tangy sauce heaped on angel-hair spaghetti. “Before you do, though, what makes this sauce smell so spicy?”
“The green peppers. Every summer I grow several plants, and when I have extra, I just rinse the peppers, cut them into chunks, and freeze them in a Ziploc bag. Simple. Even the onions are from my garden.”
Bree raised an eyebrow. “Wow. This is a true gourmet meal. My parents never had the gardening gene, and in Chicago it’s probably extinct by now, so all this is a revelation.”
“It’s actually very enjoyable and, like I just said, makes me a lot more aware of the cycle of life.”
“That Wiccan thing you just brought up, eh?”
Linda took another drink of water. “Yes. As Sandy mentioned at Samhain last weekend, this time of year is a period of contemplation, when we enjoy what we’ve accomplished during the fertile period we’ve just been through.”
“So by eating these vegetables you’ve grown, we’re celebrating your success as a gardener?” Bree had never considered that a meal could have so much meaning.
“Something like that. It’s also a time to think about the final phase of the life cycle.”
“The final phase? What do you mean?”
Linda spoke slowly, as if emphasizing a very important point. “This time of the year we let ourselves rest and reflect on what we’ve done. It’s like letting the earth lie fallow.”
Bree nodded. “That makes sense, especially if you think of Samhain as a kind of New Year’s. But I’ve been wanting to ask you something.”
“What?”
“How do you reconcile going to church with Wicca? I can just imagine the expressions of the women in your Sunday-school class if you announced that you’re, gasp, a witch.”
Linda laughed and pushed back her empty plate. “Yeah. They’d probably think we were all running around naked in the woods having orgies with warlocks and with each other.”
“You’re not? Shoot. Count me out.” Bree laughed. “Though I have to admit that was one of my first images on Halloween night when Carolyn told me what was happening at Sandy’s.”
“Really?” Linda laughed even louder. “Orgies?”
Linda laughed with her but finally said, “Seriously, Christianity and Wicca share many of the same gods and goddesses, holidays, and beliefs. Halloween isn’t a Christian holiday, but All Saints’ Day is important in the Catholic faith. If you study Wicca enough you’ll see a lot of common roots.”
“Hmm. That might make for some interesting reading. Can you loan me some books?” Bree had been looking for something to occupy herself until her mother adjusted to her new situation, when she’d feel better about heading back to Chicago.
“Sure. I can give you an armful,” Linda said. “But there’s one thing I especially like about Wicca.”
“What’s that?”
“Its lack of organization.”
Bree scraped her plate clean, wishing she wasn’t too full to ask for seconds. “Okay. I’ll bite. How does Wicca lack organization?”
“I could be a solitary witch, if I decided to, and perform whatever ceremonies I want.” Linda wiped her mouth on her napkin.
“So a coven’s not necessary?”
“That’s right. But if I want to celebrate with a group, we can make up our own rituals honoring whatever deity we choose, if any.”
“Hmm.”
“The books I loan you will give you plenty of examples of what I’m talking about.” Linda glanced at the kitchen clock and began to clear the table.
Bree got up too. She’d forgotten Linda had a meeting. “So, how did you get involved in this?”
Linda rinsed the plates and silverware as Bree handed them to her, talking as she worked. “Oh, Sandy influenced me. She learned a lot on the West Coast.”
Bree nodded.
“When she found out I was interested in that sort of thing, she started teaching me.”
Linda picked up her sweater from the sofa, where she’d tossed it earlier. “Sorry we don’t have time for dessert, but I need to leave. I’ll bring you some books about Wicca next time I see you.”
Bree pulled on her jacket. “Sure. Thanks a million for the great meal. Next time’s on me, at whatever restaurant you recommend. I’m looking forward to it.”
And as Bree walked through Linda’s back door, she realized she’d meant what she’d just said. A fresh breeze seemed to have just swept through her life, bringing a hint of spring with it.
Chapter Twelve
Linda couldn’t get Bree out of her mind during the board meeting and woke up the next day thinking of how easy it had been to spend time with her. She wanted more, so after she finished dressing she reached for her cell phone. “Hi, Bree. What are you doing today?”
“The usual. Visiting Sarah and worrying about what I’m going to eat.” She laughed. “Just kidding. I can take care of myself in that department. What about you? By the way, thanks again for yesterday. That was fun.”
“It was. I need to visit a couple of patients, but then I’m free for the rest of the day. Doing anything later?”
“Not after eleven. Have something in mind?”
Linda picked up her keys and headed out to the garage. “Since you’ve spent so much time working at a museum, want to go to Kilgore and see one there?”
“The oil museum? I’ve been meaning to visit it since it opened. I’ve heard it’s well done but wouldn’t mind seeing for myself. Have you been?”
Linda started the car. “A long time ago, but I’d love to visit it with an expert. What do you think?”
“Good idea.” Bree sounded more energetic than she had yesterday. “Are you sure you don’t have anything better to do than babysit me?”
“Positive.” Linda began to back out of the driveway. “Look. I need to run. How about I pick you up about eleven fifteen? We can grab some lunch in Kilgore.”
“Sounds great. Casual clothes?”
“Absolutely. Let’s just relax.”
“Looking forward to it, and thanks, Linda. You don’t have to be my tour guide, but I appreciate it. I’ll do the same if you ever come to Chicago.”
“Sure thing, Bree. See you later.” She backed into the street and headed toward Silverado.
Linda didn’t like the idea of Bree going back to the big city, but evidently that’s where she wanted to be. Linda steeled herself to make the best of what time they still had together.
*
Bree sat across the booth from Linda at The Back Porch in Kilgore. “How’s your burger?” Linda asked.
“Not bad. And these hush puppies are good. Haven’t had any in years.” Bree examined the patty of the burger she’d enjoyed a bite of. “The meat’s great. But in Texas, I wouldn’t expect anything less.”
Linda waved a hand, her mouth full.
“And in case you want to know,” Bree sprinkled a little salt on her fries, “I did just thank the young steer who sacrificed himself for my burger.”
Linda grinned. “So you actually remember some of what I’ve told you about Wicca?”
Bree nodded, but she didn’t want to tell Linda that, compared to a Chicago burger, this one was rather unimaginative. Where were the tomato jam, the Hook’s cheddar cheese or double cream Gouda, the pickled onions, and the brioche bun she’d become accustomed to in the Windy City? No, this food was good yet basic, and she suddenly felt homesick for Chicago and its variety.
She dipped a crispy fry in some plain ketchup. “You know, I really have wanted to visit the oil museum, but the only times I’ve been home have been for Father’s funeral last year and an occasional Christmas. I never stayed long enough to do anything except visit my parents.”
Linda took a bit
e of her beans. “Yes. I didn’t realize you’d even been in town, except when your dad died. You had so many people around you at the visitation and the funeral, I didn’t want to intrude.”
“That’s all a blur. Even if I’d had time to visit with anyone, I doubt if I’d remember now. But we’re making up for lost time now, aren’t we?” She finished her burger and wiped her hands on her paper napkin.
She hadn’t noticed Linda at the funeral, but Ann hadn’t been there, which made the day even more painful. As a teenager, Ann had spent so much time at their house, and her father had always tried to make her feel special. In fact, if she hadn’t known how much in love her parents had always been, she might have been angry when Ann flirted with him. But he’d always rebuffed her with a joke and a laugh, which annoyed Bree only because Ann had paid attention to someone except her.
Linda finished her glass of water and reached for the check the waitress had just left, but Bree grabbed it. “Oh no, you don’t. Remember our arrangement? This is my treat.”
“You don’t have to, Bree. I had to cook for myself last night anyway. I’d have had leftovers and probably ended up throwing them away.”
“Ha. You saved me from either eating out, begging Carolyn to feed me, or trying to rustle up something for myself. No, I like our agreement just fine, though it’s too bad you’re getting the short end of the stick.”
Linda stood up. “Okay. If you’re happy, I’m happy. Ready to go see the museum?”
“Sure. Where is it?”
“Not far.” Outside, Linda looked up at the clear sky. “In fact, why don’t we walk?”
“Good idea. I don’t usually eat this much back in Chicago, so a little exercise might help me keep my girlish figure.”
Linda looked at her appraisingly. “I’d say you’ve done a good job of that.”
From anyone else, especially another lesbian, the comment would have sounded flirtatious. But Bree didn’t detect anything other than a sincere compliment. How refreshing.
“Thank you. I’m blessed with good genes, and believe it or not, I don’t think about food unless I’m really hungry.”
“Really? I can’t imagine. I love to eat.”
“You know how a lot of people eat when they’re stressed?”
“Do I ever!”
Bree shrugged. “I’m just the opposite. I forget to.”
“Must be nice.”
As they strolled down a sidewalk past a series of white brick structures, Linda pointed out the college auditorium and central administration building. “Remember the Kilgore Rangerettes?” she asked.
“Sure. They put Kilgore Junior College on the map back in the early ’40s, didn’t they?”
“Yep. The dean wanted to attract young women to the school and keep rowdy fans in their seats. They were drinking too much and getting into fights under the grandstands during halftime.”
“How funny.” Bree laughed. “I do know that the contemporary art museum in Houston honored the woman who founded the Rangerettes for creating a living form of art.”
“Score one for the women. Come to think of it, they have a small museum here. After we visit the oil museum, we might take a peek.”
“Suits me. The more museums the merrier, I always say, even if I am mangling a cliché.” What a relief to casually visit such a place instead of oversee it. Bree took a deep breath. Maybe life was more than a job after all.
*
The big-band music engulfing them made Bree feel like dancing as they entered Boomtown, the oil museum’s major attraction. She and Linda glanced around at the full-size replica of a typical East Texas oil town during the ’30s.
“Hey, listen to that swing tune,” Bree said. “It’s called ‘Sing, Sing, Sing.’ My folks used to play it when Brett and I were kids.”
“Before my time.” Linda smiled.
Bree ignored Linda’s joke. “I’ll never forget my dad running in for lunch one day and putting a new record on. It’d just been released.” Bree suddenly felt like dancing. “He and my mom acted like it was a major event they’d been looking forward to forever.”
Linda seemed to catch fire from Bree’s memory. “Yeah. Dad used to tell us all about going dancing at the Cooper Club.”
“My folks talked about that club too. According to my mom, everybody in town looked forward to the big bands that played there. Even Duke Ellington and his band performed in the club.”
Bree looked into a formal-wear store. “Check out that satin evening gown. My mom said everybody dressed up to go to the club, but she was too young. By the time she turned eighteen the war had started and it’d gone out of business.”
Linda walked into an old newspaper office and scanned the clippings thumbtacked to a bulletin board. “This area must have really prospered during the oil boom to attract so many big bands.”
Bree pointed to an article. “Yeah. According to this, the bands could make more money hitting a lot of small places than staying in the cities, where the Great Depression hit so hard.”
As they left the newspaper office, Linda touched Bree’s shoulder. “Hey, want to go to the drugstore? We could have a Coke float or a lemonade.”
“Sure. Those fries made me thirsty.” In the drugstore, Bree headed for the jukebox. “Check out these song titles—‘I’ve Got You Under My Skin,’ ‘The Way You Look Tonight,’ ‘It’s De-Lovely.’ Weren’t the lyrics romantic back then?”
“Yeah. A lot more than the ones in the ’60s.” Linda sighed and read some more titles. “I’d love to return to those old June- moon-spoon songs and have someone treat me so special. In fact, Bob Dylan’s new album earlier this year features ten hits Sinatra sang.”
“I have that album and have almost worn it out, especially ‘Autumn Leaves’ and ‘Some Enchanted Evening.’”
Suddenly Bree saw past the shy, gangly teenager Linda had once been. She’d like to become more intimate with the woman she’d just glimpsed.
But then Linda’s expression changed. “Our generation lost all the romance our parents enjoyed and valued.”
Bree opened her mouth to disagree but nodded instead. “I remember hearing ‘Annie Had a Baby’ in the third grade.”
Linda laughed. “Definitely before my time, but I remember the Beatles singing ‘Why Don’t We Do It In The Road?’ Not very romantic for sure.”
Bree selected a sentimental song from the ’30s, and Linda asked, “Did you know my dad met his first wife at the Cooper Club dancing to that kind of mushy music?”
“Really?”
“Yep. In the stag line. He saw her dance by with another man and cut in. After that, he made sure they danced in a corner of the room, as far away from the stag line as he could get.”
“She must have been attractive to catch his eye that way.”
“You bet. I’ve seen her picture, and it’s eerie how much Ann looks like her.”
“Hmm. Guess that’s why he wouldn’t want another guy to horn in.” Bree shook her head. “What happened to Ann’s mother? I don’t remember anyone ever talking about that.”
Linda sat down at a small, round table. “I’m not sure. I just know she died rather quickly and left Dad with three children to raise.”
Bree stood across from her. “I think I will have something to drink. How about lemonade?”
Linda agreed, and Bree brought them two glasses from the soda fountain. “So he married your mother not long after his first wife died?”
“Yes, in 1949, I think, because I was born in 1950.” Linda stirred her lemonade with her straw, then took a sip. “Ann was about three when they got married, so she was really young when she lost her mother.”
Bree drank her lemonade straight from the glass. “That’s so sad. Makes me realize how lucky I am to still have mine.”
Restless, she strolled back over to the jukebox and flipped to another group of songs. “Hey. Look at this. It says Ella Fitzgerald performed at the Cooper Club. Wow.”
Linda took a last sip of
her lemonade and joined her at the jukebox, their shoulders touching as Bree bent to look more closely at the song list. “Being here helps me understand better why you enjoy your profession. Preserving the story of people’s lives must be gratifying.”
Linda’s statement jolted Bree inside, like their brief contact just had. It felt good to have someone realize why she’d always loved her work so much.
“They’ve done a great job re-creating how rutted the roads of the time were, haven’t they? It’s one of my favorite parts of this place,” Linda said as they wandered past a barbershop and a gas station. “It’s hard to imagine life without paved roads, but this sure helps make the point.”
Bree studied the exhibit from her perspective as a professional curator. “I’m impressed. Boomtown’s a creative way to let people experience what life then must have been like.”
“Glad you like it. Want to go to the movies now?”
“Sure. My feet could use a little rest.”
The movie showed actual footage of the ’30s boom and how an oil well was drilled. As they sat side by side in the darkened room, Bree noticed each time Linda’s arm accidentally brushed hers, especially when Linda squeezed her forearm to emphasize something they were viewing on the screen.
But the sensation that swept over Bree wasn’t lust or excitement. She was too well acquainted with those responses. It was more like the refreshing pleasure of a cool breeze on a hot summer afternoon or the welcome taste of cold water when she was thirsty.
“How about it?” Linda asked as they left the building. “Are you up for another museum, or have you had enough?”
“Enough museums? Are you kidding? I’m a pro. Let’s go visit the Rangerettes.”
Bree hadn’t enjoyed herself this much in a long time.
*
From the oil museum, Bree followed Linda back toward where they’d parked to eat lunch. Linda stopped and pointed across the street at an imposing building. “That’s the Van Cliburn Auditorium, named, of course, for one of Kilgore’s most famous gay residents.”
Autumn Spring Page 12
