Looking for Salvation at the Dairy Queen

by Susan Gregg Gilmore

  Miss Mabie's house was like a giant jewelry box filled with treasures she'd found all over the world, like that huge blue-and-white jar that always sat in the middle of the dining room table. Miss Mabie said it was an ancient Chinese vase and that it was older than Ringgold. Flora kept it filled with fresh flowers every single day.

  My room probably wasn't much bigger than our tool-shed back home, but I loved it. It was painted a soft shade of yellow and had a large picture window that looked out on the backyard. And right outside my window was one of the prettiest magnolia trees I'd ever seen. Sometimes, when I was lying in my bed, I actually felt like that little baby bird Daddy was always talking about. And there I was, safe and sound, settled in my nest way up high in my beautiful magnolia tree.

  Miss Mabie said she loved knowing somebody else was in the house with her, especially the daughter of a preacher. Flora was always there, too, but she was the biggest scaredy cat I'd ever seen. When it was storming and lightning one night, Flora cried so hard, Miss Mabie had to let her come in bed with her just to quiet her down.

  I liked to sit in the kitchen and talk to Flora while she worked. She was a large-boned woman, but the graceful way she moved her body around the kitchen was something beautiful to watch. She was a lot like Ida Belle, actually, but with skin as dark as night. She'd been cooking Miss Mabie's meals since she was fourteen years old. Flora said her own mama died shortly after giving birth, and she said her daddy never did get used to looking at her. Her daddy worked for Miss Mabie's daddy and so they met when Miss Mabie was home visiting. He told her he had a girl, didn't know what to do with her. Miss Mabie said she did. Flora said Miss Mabie was the only mama she'd ever had. She also said she was the craziest white woman she'd ever known.

  “Oh precious Jesus,” she told me one afternoon while she was rolling out dough for the evening's biscuits, “she took me shoppin’ for some new clothes as soon as I started workin’ for her. She said there was no lookin’ like a street chil’ in her house. You shoulda been there. She tol’ all a those clerks that I was her baby niece visitin’ from South Carolina. I think she done it for fun, jus' to watch ’em all squirm like some little earthworm after the rain. But Miss Mabie spent so much money in that sto’ they jus' had to smile.”

  Flora thought it was very funny that I was selling fancy foods and didn't know how to do much of anything in the kitchen but make strawberry jam and Thursday-night meatloaf. I told her I also knew how to make Mrs. Gulbenk's special tea, but she said that didn't count.

  Most nights Miss Mabie asked me to join her for dinner, unless she was too tired, and then Flora served her in her room. We always sat on opposite ends of the big, long table in the dining room. Miss Mabie was a little hard of hearing, so talking at the table was more like a shouting match on a school playground than the exchange of some polite conversation. Flora always sat in the kitchen by herself, except for Christmas, Thanksgiving, and Easter. I felt kind of funny about that, but I didn't dare ask Miss Mabie how come.

  Most days I just couldn't stop pinching myself. I had paid Miss Mabie my first month's rent, had bought myself a pretty pair of panties, and still put one hundred and fifty-three dollars in the bank. I was waking up in a world that I had only dreamed about, except in this dream there was a magnolia tree outside my window. And even though I found myself wondering what Daddy and Martha Ann were doing, I just couldn't imagine being anyplace else.

  October 25, 1975

  Dear Catherine Grace,

  I am so excited for you. First your job, now Miss Mabie. She sounds wonderful, Flora too. I agree, the Lord is listening to you now!

  Daddy said that maybe I could come down and see you sometime in January, after the Christmas-shopping rush. I can't wait to see your new room, Miss Mabie's fancy house, and Davison's. Sounds like you're living more like a princess than a preacher's daughter!

  We were all sorry you couldn't come home for the Cedar Grove Homecoming. I really missed you, but I understand that working retail means giving up some of your weekends. It was a lot of fun, though, more fun than I ever expected it to be. The youth group played bingo with the Euzelian class, and for the first time ever, the youth group won. Of course, all we won was another bingo party hosted by the Euzelians. Ha!

  Ida Belle outdid herself in the kitchen, of course. She fried seven hundred and twenty-five pieces of chicken and baked more than four hundred and fifty brownies. She wanted to be sure everyone, including Brother Fulmer, left with a full stomach.

  The best part though was playing musical chairs. Everybody played—Lolly, Miss Raines, Ida Belle, even Emma Sue, although she's still carrying that stupid doughnut pillow around, which slowed the game down a bit. Mrs. Huckstep says her little Emma Sue has a very delicate bone structure and the healing process is taking longer than expected. Naturally.

  Anyway, Mrs. Huckstep couldn't bear the thought of losing even a child's game, so she would linger around a chair just waiting for Mrs. Gilbert to lift her fingers off those piano keys. Heck, that woman practically knocked me over trying to plant her big butt on my chair. But I squeezed in right under her. It was actually pretty funny!

  OK. I know I haven't mentioned Hank. I guess to be perfectly honest with you I was avoiding the subject because I really didn't know how to tell you this. He is dating somebody else. They've been going together for about a month now. He said they'd been friends forever and then one day they just saw each other in a different way. I am so, so sorry.

  But here's the really bad news. It's Ruthie Morgan. I'm sorry, so, so sorry. I couldn't believe it either. But I have to say Catherine Grace, Ruthie has been a lot nicer these past few weeks—maybe Hank's rubbing off on her—he certainly has enough goodness to spare and still nobody would think any less of him. But I know that's got to hurt.

  Listen, please don't waste one minute of your time thinking about Hank Blankenship. I know you're going to meet somebody a lot more exciting than Mr. Ringgold. Besides, you need a man who's much more worldly and cosmopolitan than the son of a dairy farmer!

  When you come home for Thanksgiving, we can stay up all night counting all the things we hate about Ruthie Morgan, starting with her collection of cashmere sweaters! I cannot wait till you come home. I've been missing you so much lately.

  Oh yeah, thanks for the jar of raspberry jam. You were right, there is a little hint of lemon in it. I like it, but it does seem kind of silly for Davison's to sell jam made all the way over in England when the very same thing is made right here in Georgia. On the other hand, I guess the kinds of people shopping at Davison's aren't the same ones looking for the weekly specials at the Dollar General Store. Oh well, what do I know about retail!

  Love You Lots,

  Martha Ann

  Hank and Ruthie Morgan. Well, how about that. I guess I wasn't surprised Hank was dating again. Boys his age like to have a girl they can call their own, at least that's what Gloria Jean always said. And maybe when you're eighteen and you plan on running your daddy's dairy farm, there's nothing else to do but marry some pretty girl and start having babies. But Ruthie Morgan, damn-it-to-tarnation, I had to wonder if he chose her just to get under my skin like a tiny little chigger that leaves you itching and scratching for days.

  But I didn't care. Really. I didn't.

  Lolly wrote me a real long letter. She felt I needed to hear the news from my best friend. She said Hank and Ruthie were always together, hugging and kissing on each other, even in plain daylight at the Dairy Queen. I could not believe Mrs. Morgan would let pure, precious Ruthie get away with that kind of behavior, in public and all. Maybe it's not so trampy when your potential son-in-law can keep you knee-deep in butter and milk for the rest of your life.

  But I didn't care. Really. I didn't.

  Then Hank wrote me a letter. He thought it only right that he let me know that he and Ruthie were going steady. He said he hadn't planned on falling in love with her, and he figured it must be hard for me knowing how I feel about her and all. But he s
aid if I ever took the time to get to know her, I'd fall in love with her, too.

  I almost threw up. I knew he'd fall in love, but why her? Why Ruthie Morgan? She always had everything, everything I didn't—pretty clothes, pretty hair, and a mama and daddy who were home every day just waiting for her to waltz through the door. I know life's not fair, Daddy said it all the time. But for some people, it just seemed to be so much better.

  I kept telling myself that I didn't care. Really. But I did.

  I cared that Hank was in love, and not with me. I cared that at night, when everything was quiet and I started thinking about him, my heart would start hurting so much that I was afraid that there was nothing in this world that would ever make it stop.

  And I cared that Daddy and Martha Ann were probably going to think that I didn't care about anybody but myself when they found out I couldn't come home for Thanksgiving. I cared all right. I cared about a lot of things.

  Mr. Wallis never said flat out that I couldn't go home, but he sure said enough that made it hard to think that I could. He said the day after Thanksgiving was the store's busiest day of the year, and he suspected it would be the biggest day yet for the new gourmet foods department. Then he said I was the best junior sales clerk he ever had and that you couldn't get ahead in the world of retail without making some sacrifices. And if that wasn't enough, he said he would be naming an assistant manager before the end of the year. He said my name had come up in conversation, and even though I wasn't sure what that meant, he said it was a very good sign.

  I finally found the courage to write Daddy and tell him the truth. That may have been one of the hardest things I've ever done in my life, almost as hard as leaving him in the first place. Miss Mabie said that Martha Ann and Daddy were welcome to come to Atlanta for Thanksgiving. She said she had plenty of room and plenty of turkey. I told Daddy he was welcome to come, but I knew better than anybody that a preacher during the holidays was in more demand than a sales clerk at Davison's department store.

  Daddy wrote me back right away. He said Martha Ann was very upset with me. He said that of course time heals all wounds, like that would really make me feel any better. Funny how preachers can deliver all these sermons on forgiveness and then faster than saying “Amen” can make you feel guiltier than dirt.

  Miss Mabie could see the sadness filling my eyes. She told me she had been away from her daddy more Thanksgivings than she should count. She said she knew exactly what I was feeling and that's why she told Flora to make her famous bourbon pecan pie. She said after just one bite I wouldn't be missing my family quite so much. Then she walked into the kitchen and told Flora she better make two.

  Thanksgiving at Miss Mabie's turned out to be a very formal, fancy affair unlike anything I'd ever seen. Even though it was only the three of us, the table was perfectly set with the prettiest china, crystal, and silver. The dishes were creamy white with Miss Mabie's monogram in the center, written in a deep, brilliant blue. And I could even see myself in the silver spoon and knife resting by my plate, although Miss Mabie was quick to point out that the knife and spoon were for eating, not for self-admiration.

  And Flora, well, she done outdid herself. She cooked all week long and in the end there was turkey, sweet potatoes, green beans and stuffing, rolls and cranberry sauce enough to feed an army. And Miss Mabie was right about Flora's pie. One minute I was feeling awful sad and homesick, out of place at this fancy table, and the next minute I couldn't stop giggling. Everything turned funny; even the marshmallows on the sweet potatoes were looking pretty silly to me.

  I fell asleep after dinner, which was just as well, better than sitting in my room wondering what Martha Ann and Daddy and Gloria Jean were doing. The next morning I didn't have time to think of anybody. Mr. Wallis wasn't lying. The day after Thanksgiving was the busiest day I'd ever seen at Davison's department store. I stood on my feet for twelve hours, barely having time to stop and pee!

  You'd have thought Christmas was the very next day the way everybody was reaching and grabbing for things. I even sold ten tiny cans of smoked trout, although I'm still not real sure what you do with it. I told Mr. Wallis I'd probably caught my weight in trout, but I'd never seen it all brown and dried-out looking and costing six dollars and ninety-five cents a can. Mr. Wallis said it was a delicacy, and I should sell it with a smile. So I did. In fact, Mr. Wallis gave me a twenty-dollar bonus for selling more trout and jam and olives than any other sales clerk in our department.

  After work, Babs Young asked me if I wanted to drive out to the Varsity and get a hamburger or chilidog or something. Mr. Wallis had hired Babs the same day he hired me, but we had never done much of anything together except inventory the new shipment of marmalades that had come all the way from England. I told her that I had always wanted to go to the Varsity since I was a little girl and that I had asked Laura Lynn to take me but she was always too busy. Babs just waved at me to quit talking and follow her to the parking lot.

  Turns out her real name is Barbara, but she said she hated the way it made her sound like an old woman, so she called herself Babs instead. She grew up in Atlanta and after work she usually met up with some of her old high school friends. I didn't know where they were tonight, and I didn't care.

  The Varsity turned out to be the biggest hamburger stand I'd ever seen in my life, probably longer than a football field if I had to measure it. But the burgers and milkshakes weren't the best part. After we finished eating, we just drove around town, with the windows down, singing real loud with the radio. We were freezing, which only made us sing louder. People were looking and laughing. It was so much fun being with somebody my own age. But it left me missing Lolly something awful, left me missing somebody who knew my whole story. Sometimes, I was realizing, dreams left you feeling kind of lonely.

  December 1, 1975

  Dear Catherine Grace,

  God only knows how much Daddy and I missed you Thanksgiving Day. Daddy was really upset, not acting himself at all. But your not being here was not the only reason for his state of irritated distraction. I really don't know how to tell you this Catherine Grace, BUT, Miss Raines is pregnant. Yes, PREGNANT!

  She said she has known for several months but had been too afraid to mention it to anyone at Cedar Grove, seeing how she's not married yet. I thought she was putting on a little weight, but I never dreamed she was carrying a baby. And not only is she pregnant, but she's engaged, too. Her fiancé, I think his name is Donald Semple, lives down in Summerville. She said he's a manager at some feed store down there. They plan to marry by the first of the year, and then she's moving to Summerville to live with her beloved Donald. That's what she called him, her beloved Donald.

  She came over to the house the day before Thanksgiving. She said she wanted to tell Daddy in person. She was crying a lot, and her eyes were real red and swollen. But I swear I heard her tell Daddy that she would always love him, and she hoped he wasn't too disappointed in her.

  Daddy had no idea that I was listening from behind my bedroom door. I think the news stunned him so that he forgot I was in the house. Daddy's voice was so soft and low, it was hard to make out much of what he was saying. But I did hear him tell her that if she needed anything, anything at all, just to ask.

  He told me later that night that he had something very confidential he needed to tell me. He said he wanted me to hear the news from him and not from Emma Sue Huckstep. Miss Raines was going to have a baby, for sure. But it wasn't contagious, and he didn't want me treating her like she had the plague or something. She's already feeling awkward enough and doesn't need any disapproving stares from a teenaged girl.

  Daddy said she was afraid she might lose her teaching job, and even though she'd be moving soon, she needed to work as long as she could. He said he was going over to the school first thing in the morning and talk to the principal himself. He said he was a real understanding man with a forgiving heart, but the parents were already talking about her not being a good example for the chil
dren. He figured saving her job might take a little divine intervention.

  And, of course, there is plenty of talk already swirling about town. I'm almost surprised you haven't felt the meanness floating in the wind down in Atlanta. Emma Sue said her grandmother thinks Miss Raines was so upset over losing Daddy that she went positively wild and gave herself to the first man she met. She doesn't even think Miss Raines knows the baby's daddy's name and that she's just trying to figure out a way to save face.

  Honestly, Catherine Grace, it doesn't upset me that she's gone and gotten herself pregnant before she got herself married. Heck, this Donald Semple isn't married either but nobody's pointing a finger at him. But I thought she was still in love with Daddy. Gloria Jean said that a broken heart could make you do some pretty stupid things. I guess making this baby is one of those stupid things.

  I can't wait to see you. I miss you. I'm counting the days till Christmas.

  Love,

  Martha Ann

  December 7, 1975

  Dear Catherine Grace,

  Got your letter, and I don't think Miss Raines's condition is anything to joke about. And she certainly cannot explain the baby's conception on a felt board like you suggested. Very funny Catherine Grace.

  Listen to me, this is serious, and I don't think you really understand that, not being here and all. I mean things have settled down a bit. Parents have quit showing up at the school every day waiting in line to talk to the principal. And most of the kids have come back to her Sunday-school class.

  But Daddy is acting very strange, and Miss Raines has been coming by the house almost every day to talk to him. She told me the other night that she's sorry to keep bothering us but that she finds the company of her preacher particularly comforting right now at this very trying time. Trying. Not joyful. Trying.