Maggie Sweet

by Judith Minthorn Stacy

  “Now, Mama Dean, you know Mary Price is in show business. She’s supposed to look different than real life,” I said.

  “Hmph. Show business or monkey business, she looks wild as a buck. You always did admire wildness, though. You take after your daddy that way.”

  I smiled helplessly at Mother, unpacked my comb, a round brush, rollers, setting gel, and hair spray. “I did Mary Price’s hair for her opening at Palomino Joe’s,” I said.

  “Hmph. I wouldn’t brag on it.”

  I dropped the subject of Mary Price and Palomino Joe’s and started combing Mama Dean’s hair. Mother’s radio was playing “Tennessee Waltz.”

  Mama Dean said, “I think you young people are losing your simple minds. I heard about Toy Overcash. She ought to count her blessings. A good husband and all those children. Then she runs off over a’ art studio.”

  “Who told you about that?”

  “Mama ran into Dreama Nims uptown the other day,” Mother said.

  “Why do you listen to that old gossip?” I asked.

  “Well, I don’t get around like I once did and no one around here tells me a thing,” Mama Dean said.

  “That’s because it’s over and it didn’t amount to a hill of beans. I just hate and despise Dreama Nims. She’s a gossip and a liar,” I said.

  “Well, sister, what a thing to say,” Mama Dean said.

  “It’s only the truth. Toy did leave home, but only for a few hours. She got fed up with Bobby treating her like a doormat.”

  I’d rolled the top of Mama Dean’s hair, now I was sectioning off the sides. The radio was playing “On the Rock Where Moses Stood.”

  “It’s always over some stinking man. But now Toy’s gone and ruint herself. And her with that new ranch-style house with the automatic garage-door opener. I tell you, the women’s getting as selfish and no-account as the men,” Mama Dean said.

  “Toy’s not selfish and no-account. If anything she was too nice for her own good,” I said.

  “Well, she couldn’t be that nice or she’d stay at home. A real mother’s place is at home with her children, not gallivanting off to some art school. If her nerves is bad let her take up something soothing like cake decorating or crocheting, something for the family. She could even start a ceramics shop in her garage and never have to go anywhere,” Mama Dean said.

  “Ceramics would go good here in Poplar Grove. The ceramics shop in Harmony is so busy people have to take numbers to use the kiln,” Mother said.

  “Mrs. Babcock from our church goes over there. She made those cute little frogs with fishing poles. Why, she’s made gnomes, dozens of the prettiest things,” Mama Dean said.

  “But Toy doesn’t want ceramics, she wants art school,” I said.

  “Hmph. Art school don’t put food on the table. It’s as useless as tits on a bull,” Mama Dean said.

  “Lord, Mama Dean! It doesn’t matter if everyone thinks it’s useless, it’s what Toy wants. While Toy was nicing herself to death, Bobby was doing exactly what he wanted and no one ever accused him of not being a ‘real’ father. I don’t see why she can’t do what she wants instead of doing what she has to do and pretending it’s what she wants,” I said.

  “Well, Maggie Sweet!”

  “Well, it’s true. Can’t Toy have a life? Isn’t she a person? Look what all Mary Price has done and she’s—”

  “Mary Price is entirely different. She was always different. Hoyt knew that before he married her. Bless his heart. But Toy changed after. A person can’t go around changing after. Why, just think how Bobby and those children must feel with Toy going around like a hippie,” Mama Dean said.

  “You don’t have to bless Hoyt’s heart. He’s not pitiful.” My neck felt hot. It’s true what they say about getting hot under the collar.

  “What did you say, Maggie Sweet?” Mama Dean said.

  “I said Hoyt isn’t pitiful. They might fuss and argue but at least they know they’re alive,” I said.

  “We’re not talking about Hoyt and Mary Price. We’re talking about people changing after. People ought not to change after they marry.”

  I didn’t think, I just blurted out, “Well, for goodness sake, Mama Dean. If people can’t change after, they might as well book the church for their wedding and funeral on the same day—cut out the middle fifty years altogether.”

  Mama Dean just looked at me. Then she said, “Speaking of people changing after. I heard you was seen dancing in the Winn-Dixie awhile back. There’s some that says you must’ve been drinking the way you was carrying on.”

  I took a deep breath. I’d taken the bait, walked right into her trap after all.

  “Well, damn! Damn that Dreama Nims, anyway,” I flared.

  “Well, sister! What a thing to say!” Mama Dean said.

  “Maggie Sweet, there’s no need to cuss,” Mother said.

  “It’s enough to make a preacher cuss, Mother. Dreama Nims talking about me to my own grandmother. I can’t believe it.”

  Mama Dean narrowed her eyes to slits. “What I want to know, sister is, is it true?”

  “Lord, Mama Dean, I was dancing. Mary Price and Hoyt were in the Winn-Dixie…they’d just found out they had the job at the Palomino. We were laughing, hugging…celebrating. I tell you, I could kill Dreama Nims!”

  “They say the boy you dated back in school was in on it,” Mama Dean went on, dismissing my explanation like a dog flicking off a flea.

  My eyes welled up. Mama Dean knew about Jerry.

  Nobody said anything for a while.

  Finally Mother said, “Now, Mama, there’s no need of this. Nobody was ‘in on’ anything. Nothing happened. Why, that boy was twenty years ago. Besides, Maggie Sweet doesn’t drink or gallivant. She’d never do a thing in this world to shame any of us. She’s been a good wife and mother, you’ve said so yourself a million times. She even gave up that beauty shop she wanted so bad to stay home with her children.”

  Mother defending me made me feel worse than Mama Dean fussing at me. Her absolute belief that I’d always do the right thing made my stomach clench and my eyes well up, but so far it had always worked.

  “I didn’t give it up, Mother. Steven wouldn’t let me work,” I muttered.

  “And I thank God every day for that,” Mother said. “Steven’s a good man. I’d have given anything to have stayed home and raised you full-time.”

  “But my girls are raised. What am I supposed to do now?”

  “See, Betty. I told you she bears watching. And, sister, I can sure as the world tell you what you’re not supposed to do.” Mama Dean shook her finger at me.

  I ducked my head. Felt the tears behind my eyes.

  “Lord, Mama,” Mother said. “Life’s hard on women and Maggie’s always been deep. Why, I’ve seen her staring out the window up the road for years. But she’d never go back on her raising. She’s always done the right thing. And I know she’ll do the right thing now.”

  Oh, Lord.

  “Hmmph. Hard times! Hard times. You all don’t know a thing about hard times. Why, Maggie’s got everything a body could want, a family, a fine home in the historical part of town, that Add-a-pearl necklace…I don’t know what more she could want. I’ll tell you about hard times; the Depression was hard times, walking to school barefoot, living off corn bread and beans. Why, I could go on and on.”

  I wanted to say, I know you’ve seen hard times, but it’s hard to turn an Add-a-pearl necklace into a reason for living. But I kept quiet. Mama Dean was still going on and on when I covered her curlers with a net and tucked her under the dryer.

  Lying in bed with Jerry that afternoon, I told him about Dreama’s gossip and what Mother and Mama Dean had said.

  “You’ve got to tell them, honey. It’ll be a lot easier when you tell them you’re leaving, when everything’s out in the open.” he said.

  “How can I leave now? The girls graduate in two weeks.”

  We’d talked about me leaving, about almost nothing else, sin
ce that first day. But I’d never really thought it through. Somehow I just pictured it happening: Maggie and Jerry living happily ever after at the farmhouse. Wave a magic wand, wish upon a star, blow out your birthday candles, and make your dreams come true. But I’d never thought about the actual steps; the actual telling.

  How would I tell them? Call a family meeting, announce it to all the relatives over Sunday dinner? Tell them at the graduation party? I could bring it up casually while Steven carved the ham. “Oh, by the way. I’m moving out right after dinner. But you all take your time. Don’t worry about a thing. The U-Haul won’t be here ’til after dessert.”

  Would my motherless daughters’ lips tremble over the potato salad? What about Mama Dean’s tragic broken figure, the hurt in Mother’s eyes, Daddy and Willa Mae’s embarrassment, Mother Presson’s sinking spell? What would Steven do? In spite of everything, he was clueless. He seemed to think we’d limp along side by side ’til All Souls Cemetery and eternity.

  Could I wait ’til he was asleep, leave a note, slip off in the dead of night—the coward’s way out?

  But for some reason, even more than telling Steven and the girls, I dreaded telling Mother and Mama Dean.

  “Oh, Lord! They think my whole life’s settled—that I’ll always do the right thing. They see me as this good…”

  Jerry sighed. “Lord, Maggie, you sound like you did back in school. I thought you were past that.”

  “Well, I guess I have lost my ‘good girl’ standing,” I said, covering myself with the queen-size sheet. “But everything I’ve ever known is flashing before my eyes. I just…I don’t know how to do this.”

  Jerry sat up, pulled on his clothes, and left the room.

  I wrapped the sheet around myself and followed him.

  In the kitchen, he kept his back to me as he scooped coffee into a filter. He looked calm, but the set of his back said pure tight-lipped Navy.

  “Tell me what you’re thinking. Don’t shut me out if you’re mad,” I said.

  “I’m not mad. It’s just…God, Maggie. We knew it wouldn’t be easy. I keep thinking about what happened to us back in school. You wouldn’t stand up for yourself then and you can’t stand up for yourself now.”

  “That’s not fair. It’s only been a few weeks. I need time to work everything out. You said yourself that it’d be a mess, that I was the one with everything to lose. I just want everyone to be all right,” I said.

  He stared past me, out the window. Then his shoulders slumped. “Yeah. You’re right. I am rushing you. It’s just—for a minute there, it was like we’d had this exact conversation before.” He shook his head to clear it. “Do you remember the first time we were together here at the farmhouse? You asked me if I thought two eighteen-year-olds could have been in love for real—could have been each other’s real life? Do you understand how lucky we are to have found each other again? How special it is to get another chance? I know it won’t be easy, but we can’t let that stop us. Don’t you see, Maggie, this might be the last chance we get.”

  He got up and poured coffee strong enough to walk to the table by itself. When he’d made the coffee, he’d forgot to measure. He hadn’t been calm and collected after all.

  “We’re not eighteen anymore, Maggie. We’ll never see our golden wedding anniversary. I want us to walk through town holding hands—to get started.”

  “Do you really think they’ll be all right?

  “They’ll be fine, honey. They’ll be better than fine,” he said.

  I reached for his hand. “If I tell them as soon as the girls graduate, we’ll only be eighty-eight on our golden wedding anniversary.”

  Chapter 17

  The next week, when I wasn’t with Jerry, I concentrated on the girls’ graduation party. For months, I’d been stocking up on cake mixes and confectioner’s sugar, macaroni, pickles, mayonnaise and mustard, Jell-O and canned fruit for salads, a fancy paper tablecloth and napkins, candles, butter mints, nuts, and ingredients for the punch. Wednesday, I bought a twenty-pound ham on sale at Winn-Dixie.

  I’d just wrestled the ham into the kitchen when Jill came up behind me.

  “Hey, Mama.”

  “Lord, Jill. You scared me to death! I thought you were in school.”

  “I’ve got, uh, cramps. The school nurse tried to call you.”

  I gave her Midol and the heating pad and she went back to bed. Then I carried the ham down the basement stairs and put it in the deep-freeze and went back upstairs to check on Jill. She was in her room with the phone cord stretched under her door.

  Starting toward her room, I heard, “You’ve got to see me…no, I haven’t seen a doctor…I just know. You said you’d take care of it! All right, I’ll see you at three.”

  I stopped dead in my tracks, my heart pounding like a hammer. I cannot tell you all the thoughts in my head.

  A second later she came out in the hall and saw me standing there. We stared at each other for a full minute. It was awful.

  Finally Jill said, “You scared me to death. I thought you were downstairs.”

  “Who were you talking to?”

  “When?” she asked, pale and shifty-eyed.

  “Just now. On the phone. I heard you.”

  “You shouldn’t have been listening in on me. What did you hear?” She was trying to turn it around, like I’d done something wrong.

  “We can stand here all day if you want to, but you will tell me.”

  “Nothing’s going on. Why can’t you leave me alone?”

  “I’m your mother. I’m not going to leave you alone.”

  “Don’t start that talk-to-me-I’m-your-mother stuff. You always say that but when I tell you anything you get upset. Besides, it’s my body and I’ll do what I want with it.” She prissed past me into her room and shut the door.

  I barged in behind her. I didn’t even bother to knock. Her saying “my body” made the hair on my neck stand straight up. “Don’t you slam your door on me. Tell me what’s going on.”

  “All right! If you really want to know, I’ll tell you. In fact, I’ll show you.” She turned around and dropped her jeans.

  For a minute I got swimmy-headed.

  Jill had a tattoo on her butt—an eagle tattoo!

  “Are you happy now?” she wailed. “Oh, Mama, I think it’s infected! Gangrene’s setting in.”

  I stood there with my mouth dropped open and my stomach heaving. I didn’t know what to do. Part of me wanted to hug her ’cause it wasn’t any of the terrible things I’d been thinking, but I also wanted to hit her ’cause hotalmighty-damn! my own little girl had a tattoo on her butt!

  “Lord, Jill! When did you do this?”

  “Friday.”

  I thought back to Friday. I’d gone to Chatham Road that day. If I’d been home, it might not have happened. Then I thought, Jill should have been in school on Friday. “So you played hooky, too?” I said.

  “It doesn’t matter. I’ve got all the credits I need so they have to give me my diploma. Besides, I’m not going to graduation and I’m not going to college, either. I’m taking carving classes from the chief and that’s all there is to that.” She crossed her arms over her chest and glared at me like Mama Dean.

  I couldn’t believe it. She was going to stand there and get snippy with me, talk back to me when she had a tattoo! I pinched her hard on the arm.

  She looked shocked. “God, Mama, that hurt!”

  “If you say another word about graduation, I swear I’ll pinch your head off. I shudder to think what your daddy will say about all this.”

  Her face went white as flour. “Why do you have to tell Daddy?”

  This went right through me. It didn’t matter one almighty bit what I thought, but let her daddy get mad and she went all to pieces. “I have to tell him. You can’t go around doing anything you take in your head to do.”

  She started to cry. “But he’s always mad at me. It’s like I had to do something he’d hate to get back at him.”

>   “You can’t go around disfiguring yourself to get back at people.”

  “I know it was stupid. But it seemed like a good idea at the time,” she said, sounding like she did at two.

  I checked the tattoo. It wasn’t infected, only new and tender. I thought of infection, blood-poisoning, my daughter paying cash money to get herself disfigured for life. For a minute I thought I might vomit.

  I got the first-aid kit from the medicine cabinet, found the tube of Neosporin, and handed it to Jill. I was too queasy to dab it on myself.

  By then I was so dizzy, I had to lie down. I went to my room and thought about Steven and Jill. It was true, they did nothing but fuss and argue now. If I told Steven about the tattoo it would only get worse. Steven’d have a hissy. Jill would stomp out the door. On the other hand, if I didn’t tell him and he found out…I tried not to think about that. How much of this was my fault? Would it have made any difference if I’d been home that day?

  I got up, went down the hall to Jill’s room. She looked miserable. I sat on the edge of her bed. “I’ve decided not to tell Daddy.”

  “Thanks, Mama,” she said, her eyes full.

  “Don’t thank me yet. You’ve got to go to graduation—behave yourself. We can’t be having World War Three around here all the time.”

  “I know. But the rules around here are so stupid.” She leaned on her elbow and studied me. “Why’s Daddy mad all the time?”

  “He’s not mad at you. He’s mad at me because of Palomino Joe’s.”

  “That was ages ago. If he’s still mad over that, he’ll never get over me not going to college.”

  “Jill—”

  “I’m not going, Mama. I plan to carve. People say I’m good. I’ve got to see what I can do. Daddy makes everything so hard. Why can’t he just let me be?”

  I started to say “it’s for your own good.” But I stopped myself. Was going to college really for Jill’s good, or was it just what was expected of Steven Presson’s daughter? I thought back twenty years, when my family had shipped me off to Chapel Hill, changed my life forever, for my own good. Maybe if they’d let me be, I’d be married to Jerry now and running Styles by Maggie Roberts instead of sneaking around, trying to fix my eighteen-year-old life.