Waking Up in Dixie

by Haywood Smith

  Elizabeth refilled the tumbler from the fresh-brewed pitcher of tea lightly sweetened with real sugar, just the way Patricia and Howe liked it, then prodded him back to the matter at hand with, “So what did you tell her?”

  He drained half the glass. “I told her she wasn’t a prisoner, but she’d have to do it without the car or any help from us. So she said she’d move in with Mama. When I said that wasn’t going to happen, she called Mama.”

  “Who told her she could move in, I’m sure,” Elizabeth said.

  “No.” He sank to a stool. “God bless her and her wig, Mama said she wasn’t going to get in the middle.”

  Miracle of miracles. Never underestimate the power of blackmail, especially when it involved an old woman’s vanity. “And?”

  “And Patti went ballistic for about thirty miles, accusing us of turning her grandmother against her, then cried for another twenty over how cruel and heartless we were.” He looked at Elizabeth with fresh assessment. “Is that how she’s been with you all these years?”

  “Only since she could talk,” she replied evenly. “And only when you weren’t around, of course.” She got out the heirloom silverware she’d used for everyday since they’d moved in, a small act of defiance on her part.

  Howe shook his head. “Whew. I had no idea.” He got that tortured guilt look. “I should have known. Should have defended you. I’m amazed you can even speak to me.”

  She pulled three linen napkins from the drawer. “I loved you,” she said, her use of the past tense sending a brief flicker of affront across his features.

  “God, Lizzie, I’m so sorry I let her treat you that way.”

  Why did he always have to use that wretched name when he said something nice?

  “So what happened next?” she asked, moving to set the breakfast table.

  “I told her she could stay at home and work at the bank and go to school till she passed a quarter. Then she could have the car back, and her charge cards, as long as she used them responsibly.”

  “I’m sure that went over well,” Elizabeth observed as she laid out their places. She’d even used Patricia’s favorite peach-colored roses for the centerpiece.

  “You can imagine,” Howe said. “She called Charles and announced she was moving in with him.” He shot her a brief sidelong glance. “I hadn’t thought of that one. But thank goodness, Charles had the sense to turn her down.” A smile flickered at the corners of his mouth. “I think he enjoyed that almost as much I did.”

  “Good for him.” Elizabeth crossed to start taking out the food. Like most men, Howe couldn’t keep his hands off the deviled eggs, but she’d made plenty and offered them up as consolation. “Here.” She set the egg-shaped tray in front of him. “Have a couple of these to tide you over.”

  That brightened his mood considerably. “Don’t mind if I do.”

  Elizabeth removed the clean kitchen towel that covered the platter of chicken with the same flourish her own mother had used when she was little.

  Howe eyed the chicken, then her, with equal hunger.

  “I missed you last night,” she said quietly. Her bed had seemed too big and too empty without him.

  “And honey, did I miss you. Patricia snores a lot louder than you do,” he joked, but the desire in his eyes made her own insides do a flip. Especially when she flashed on seeing his lean body naked in the shower that night.

  Everything was so mixed up. Because of P.J., she felt as if she were cheating to think of her husband that way.

  Elizabeth headed for the back stair and called, “Patti! Supper! I made your favorites.”

  A muffled, “I’m not hungry,” came down from the room above them.

  Elizabeth’s disappointment must have showed, because Howe got up with a firm, “I’ll get her.”

  Elizabeth looked at the intimate table setting and the island laden with comfort food. “Wait. Do you have to?”

  Howe laughed, a sound she was getting used to, and gave her an impulsive peck on the cheek. “Not if you don’t want me to.”

  She didn’t mind the kiss. Her hand caressed it into her skin. “I don’t.”

  He looked at the ample spread. “It’s a shame to waste any of this. Why don’t we call the Harrises and see if they can come over?”

  An impromptu dinner party? The old Howe would never have considered it. Neither would Elizabeth, but they did have all that food . . . It was barely six. “Okay. I’ll call Faith.”

  Elizabeth picked up the cordless phone and pressed the button for a dial tone. But instead of the tone, Patricia’s voice leapt from the receiver. “Ohmygod, jail!” she emoted. “Me, in filthy, horrible jail, and it was all my parents’ fault.”

  “How horrible was it?” her best friend Melanie asked in awe.

  “Horrible. It smelled like pee, and people were so skanky. I was afraid I’d get an STD if I sat down. I called Gamma, but Daddy—”

  “Patricia,” Elizabeth interrupted, “please tell Melanie you’ll call her back on your cell phone. I need to use this one.”

  Patti responded with an icy, “I can’t. The battery went completely dead while I was in jail, and now it won’t charge.”

  Elizabeth’s frown prompted Howe to take the receiver.

  “Patti, hang up at once. I’ll let you know when the line’s free.”

  He listened for a second, then pressed the button and handed the phone to Elizabeth with a clear dial tone. “There you are, my dear.”

  Elizabeth had to admit, it felt awfully good to have Howe buffer her from Patti’s contempt.

  The Harrises were not only free, but seemed delighted to accept. When they rang the bell twenty minutes later, Elizabeth opened it to find them beaming over a basket of tomatoes.

  “Hi,” Faith said, suddenly shy. “We brought you some homegrown tomatoes.”

  “Thanks.” Elizabeth accepted them with genuine appreciation. “Wow. These are gorgeous. The heat got mine, and now they’re all watery and freckled.”

  Faith struggled for words. “It’s so little, after all you’ve both done.”

  Eyes welling, Robert shook Howe’s hand with both of his. “We don’t know how to thank you both. I—”

  “You don’t have to.” Howe clapped Robert’s shoulder with his free hand. “I owe this town a lot of amends.” Guiding them toward the kitchen, he shifted the subject to, “The guys at the bank tell me you’re doing a great job with our rehabs.”

  Robert beamed. “Thanks. It’s good to be working.”

  Howe grinned. “Speak for yourself.” He leaned in closer for, “Frankly, I’m enjoying not working for a while.”

  “I love what you’re doing with the house,” Faith admired. “There’s so much light in the living room and dining room, now. Painting the wainscoting made such a fabulous difference.”

  “Thanks.” The dining room was the only one finished so far. “I hope y’all don’t mind,” she said as she led them past the twelve-foot-long banquet table toward the kitchen, where the breakfast nook was now set for four. “But we’re eating in here tonight.” It was the first time she’d ever served anyone but family there.

  “Good,” Faith said. “Frankly, your dining room has always intimidated me.”

  “Faith,” Robert scolded.

  Howe came to her defense. “Now that I think of it, that big old table is pretty pretentious.” He lifted his brows for a wry, “Almost as pretentious as I was, isn’t it?”

  “You don’t have to answer that,” Elizabeth told their guests, with a brief warning glance at her husband.

  Robert shifted his attention to the food. “I don’t care where we eat,” he said, “as long as I get to share some of this. What a spread. You’ve got all my favorites, and it smells great.”

  Elizabeth handed them their plates. “Good. Help yourselves.” She thought about Patricia’s refusal to come down and eat. “And have seconds. I don’t want any leftovers.”

  Her daughter would be in for a surprise if she hoped t
o sneak any in the night.

  Three hours and a pleasant evening of conversation later, the food and company were gone, and Elizabeth turned out the bedside table light, then climbed in opposite Howe with a satisfied sigh. “That was fun. We ought to do it more often.”

  “They’re really nice people,” he mused, as if he was realizing it for the first time.

  “Yes, they are. Faith’s always been adorable. And it’s nice to get to know Robert better.” In the past, they’d only seen the couple at big parties. Elizabeth reached across the distance between them to pat Howe’s arm. “You did very well tonight.”

  “I did, didn’t I?” He yawned, then slid to the middle of the bed, reaching for her. “How about a congratulatory hug?”

  Hugs were nice. As long as that was all he tried. Elizabeth risked having to rebuff him and slid over to nestle alongside him, her arm across his chest. It felt good to be held, to fit her head to the shallow indentation of his shoulder.

  “I hardly cussed at all tonight,” he bragged.

  “Hardly at all,” she agreed. He’d even managed to avoid the topic of Patricia by talking about sports and the upcoming local referenda.

  “And I only cried that once,” he reminded her.

  “That was okay,” she said. “Robert did, too.”

  Robert had told them about a news interview with the father of a slain soldier. The grieving father had begged the press not to release graphic pictures of his dying son, but they’d published the photos, anyway. In the interview, the father said he wanted his son—whose military call sign was Holy Man—to be remembered for loving Christ more than anything, not for those horrendous photos.

  Robert had said it was an example of how a person of faith can bring light into even the darkest trials of life.

  Hearing it, Elizabeth had choked up, herself.

  “That story puts things in perspective, doesn’t it?” Howe said. “About Patricia.”

  Elizabeth nodded, feeling warm and protected there beside him. Their family was alive and safe. That was all that really mattered.

  Howe yawned hugely, then settled to quiet, even breathing. Just as she was drifting off to sleep, he muttered, “Oh, don’t let me forget: there’s a vestry meeting tomorrow morning, same time as your Altar Guild. We can ride together.”

  Elizabeth’s eyes flew open, her body tensing. “Vestry? Are you sure you’re ready for that? You know how heated those meetings can be.” The church had split into two camps: those who wanted to keep the minister till he could retire (Augusta and her little band of cronies), and those who wanted to let him go for the good of the congregation (everybody else). “I don’t really think it’s a good idea to—”

  “I need to go,” Howe said firmly.

  Uh-oh.

  She closed her own eyes. “More instructions from God?”

  He chuckled, followed by a crisp, “Um-hm.”

  “Oh, Lord. What now?”

  He gave her shoulders a quick squeeze. “You’ll see.”

  Elizabeth sat up, putting space between them. “What does that mean?”

  A smug smile crossed his face in the dim light from the bathroom. “You’ll see.” Then he rolled over to his side of the bed, putting his back to her.

  Sliding down to her pillow, Elizabeth said a heartfelt prayer that Howe would get a Holy Ghost dose of self-control. And divine wisdom. If he started talking about getting instructions from God . . . “Maybe I ought to stay home, then.”

  “Oh, I think you’ll want to be there,” he said lightly.

  “You’re not going to tell me, are you?” she asked with dread.

  A cheery, “Nope,” was her only answer. “G’night, Lizzie.”

  Again with the damned Lizzie. It always spelled trouble.

  It wasn’t easy getting to sleep after that, her mind spinning with what might happen at the vestry meeting, but eventually, Elizabeth wore herself out and slept. Till Patti woke them both up at two, slamming her door—on the way back from the kitchen, no doubt.

  Howe and Elizabeth both chuckled from their respective sides of the bed.

  If it wasn’t for that vestry meeting in the morning, Elizabeth would have slept like a baby after that, but as it was, she tossed and turned, dreaming she was naked at Garden Club.

  Chapter 15

  Elizabeth stopped short of the fellowship hall and straightened the curled collar of Howe’s golf shirt. As far as she could remember, he’d never come to church so casually dressed, but she’d lost track of all the changes in this new version of her husband. “Remember what we talked about,” she murmured. Well, she’d talked about on the way over. “Try not to make anybody uncomfortable. It’s common courtesy.”

  He cocked a brow, clearly unmoved by her lecture on propriety. “People need to be made uncomfortable,” he responded, “when they’re not doing what they should be. Jesus did it all the time, especially to the religious types.” He smoothed his placket. “The vestry needs to get a few things straight. To put our priorities where they belong.”

  Elizabeth frowned with worry and whispered a tight, “And you’re the one to do it?” She looked right and left to make sure nobody could overhear them. “What about God? Isn’t He the one who’s supposed to set things straight? Or don’t you think He’s capable of doing that without your personal assistance?”

  Howe smiled. “Of course He can. But I asked Him to use me, and He gave me this job. Among others.”

  Oh, Lord. Had megalomania been one of the side effects on that treatment disclaimer she’d signed at the hospital? She couldn’t remember. There had been so many.

  “At least let me go with you to the meeting,” she pressed yet again.

  “No,” he said, visibly annoyed by her refusal to accept his previous three refusals. “You need to go to your meeting,” he repeated.

  “Why do you keep saying that?” she asked. “Your mother can manage the Altar Guild perfectly well without me. She has for the last fifty years.”

  Howe rolled his eyes. “I know I’ve said this at least three times; I could hear my voice.” He met her stubborn gaze with one of his own. “You’re supposed to be at Altar Guild. I’ll be fine. Go.”

  The side door opened and Sean Welch, treasurer of the vestry, came in. “Hey, there, Elizabeth. Howe,” he said with forced amiability. “Good to have you back.”

  “Good to be back!” Howe responded. He started toward the fellowship hall as Sean passed them, but Elizabeth grabbed his shirt. “Wait,” she said.

  Howe’s eyes narrowed as he removed her hands from his shirt. “I’m going to my meeting now. See you later.”

  Damn. He wasn’t going to budge. If she insisted, he’d probably make a scene. Ditto, if she followed him in.

  She sighed. “This is against my better judgment, but okay. Have it your way.” Maybe she could sneak out of Altar Guild later and check on him. She took a step toward the classroom where they met, then turned. “But I’ll be there if you need me.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “And try not to cuss. Or cry.”

  He made a face, replying with a sarcastic, “Yes, mother.”

  Elizabeth’s lips clamped flat at the one comment guaranteed to get her goat, then turned and strode away. Let him cook in his own juices, then.

  She walked in, last of the twelve guild members present. A stickler for punctuality, Augusta greeted her with a grim smile and a frosty, “Good morning, Elizabeth. How nice of you to join us.”

  Faith patted the empty chair beside her. “Sit by me.” Looking like something was definitely up, Anne and Elaine waved to her in welcome.

  What was that about?

  Augusta sniffed, glancing at the handwritten agenda in her lap as if she hadn’t followed the same agenda at the very same meetings for five decades. “We have a lot to accomplish today,” the queen decreed. “But let us begin with a prayer. Sarah, would you please present our devotional?”

  Elizabeth tried without success to focus when Sarah read a brief story from Gu
ideposts, then led them in the Lord’s Prayer, but all she could do was wonder what kind of trouble Howe was brewing.

  “Amen.” Augusta lifted her chin and called for the minutes of the last meeting, which her cohort and guild secretary Emily Bates was almost too blind to read.

  Then eighty-eight-year-old Jane Hilliard gave the treasurer’s report in her high, thready voice. “Last month, we had a balance of seven hundred thirty-six dollars and eighty-three cents in the active account, with an expenditure of fifty-one dollars to Jack’s Cleaners for the altar cloths, and ninety-six dollars and twelve cents to Ames Church Supply for candles, bringing the balance to five hundred eighty-nine dollars and seventy-one cents.”

  She paused briefly to rest, then went on. “And in the Pipe Organ Fund”—Augusta’s pet project—“we started the month with one hundred eighty-four thousand, nine hundred, sixty-seven dollars, and forty-one cents in the money market account, and accrued interest of nine hundred fifty-three dollars and seven cents, for a balance of one hundred eighty-five thousand, nine hundred twenty dollars, and forty-eight cents.”

  It wasn’t enough that their small stone church had to have a new pipe organ, though the old one sounded fine to Elizabeth. Augusta insisted they have one to rival Spivey Hall’s. Christ would probably come again before they got enough money for that, but nobody dared challenge the old bat.

  “Is there any old business?” Augusta asked, prompting an odd outbreak of exchanged glances from Elizabeth’s friends and the younger members of the guild. When no one answered, Augusta proceeded with, “Then we’ll move on to new business, our annual elections.”

  Before Julia could raise her hand to nominate Augusta as she always did, Faith stood with unprecedented boldness and blurted out, “Augusta, you have dedicated yourself to many years of good and selfless service to this guild, for which we can’t adequately express our gratitude. Because you have served so long and so faithfully, I and several other guild members think you have earned a rest. So I nominate Elizabeth as president.”

  Elizabeth tucked her chin as Emily scribbled away, recording the nomination, and everyone else looked to Augusta, who sat rigid, so taken aback she was speechless.