Creola's Moonbeam

by McGraw Propst, Milam

  That night, over Creola’s fried chicken, the story we shared with Mother and Daddy was about Creola’s ninety-year old father and his new hat.

  As usual, I insisted on telling it.

  “Mother and Daddy, it goes like this. A dirty old hobo came by the Moons’ house. He was asking for a handout. So Creola’s mother gave the man a brand new hat, one with a bright, red feather. The trouble was that the hat belonged to Creola’s father. Worse, he’d only had it for a week! Later that evening, Creola’s father was sitting out on the front porch whittling on his wood pipe. Here came that old hobo man strutting down the middle of the street. He stopped and tipped his hat at Mr. Moon, proud as you please.

  “Creola’s father looked up. He kind of squinted and said, ‘Say, feller, where’d you get that fine hat?’”

  Mary Pearle started to giggle, and I could hardly get out the words, but I kept on with my telling.

  “The hobo said, ‘Don’t rightly know what to say, Mister. Reckon as you should ask your missus about my hat.’

  “The man just took off running. Creola’s father tossed down his whittling and stomped back inside the house.”

  I took a gulp of milk.

  “Best slow down, sweetheart,” urged Daddy. “We’ve got all evening to hear your story.”

  “Yes sir, I know.” I wiped my mouth with my napkin and kept going. “Creola says her father is scared to death of her mother because, because —” I was so tickled I could hardly say what came next —“because Mrs. Moon is two times bigger than Mr. Moon!” I was hysterical. “And so ...” I stood up in the seat of my chair for dramatic effect.

  “Be careful, Little Harriette!” Mother warned.

  “Yes, ma’am. Where was I? Oh, yes. Creola’s father took a long look at the frown on his big ol’ wife’s face, and he never once said another word about that hat!”

  Mother smiled and patted Daddy’s hand. “You see, darling, Creola has paid attention to us. She’s no longer filling our daughters’ heads full of those dreadful ghost stories.”

  With that, Mary Pearle and I slid under the table, laughing.

  Mother lifted the tablecloth. “Girls?”

  Daddy, who didn’t worry nearly as much about Creola’s ghost stories, changed the subject. “Dear, where did you put my favorite sweater? I can’t find that old thing anywhere.”

  Mother, likely more open-minded than she appeared to be, replied primly, “Well, sweetheart, perhaps you should look for that nasty, moth-eaten thing on the back of Creola’s hobo.”

  I counted the years since Mary Pearle and I lost our parents. Was it four, or five years? No, it was coming up on six. There were days when it felt still longer. Mother cared for Daddy with such dedication that she was worn to a frazzle by the time he passed away. She joined her beloved less than three months later.

  At Mother’s funeral, Creola engulfed me in her arms as if I were still a child.

  “Miss Moonbeam! My heart is all but cracked in two.”

  I hugged her tightly. “Oh, Crellie, I’m glad you’re here.” She looked so different, so much older. How long had it been? Even though we talked on the phone from time to time and always during the holidays, it had been at least a year since I’d seen Creola in person. How could life have become too busy for me to visit this dear woman?

  Even so, Creola judged me not. And on that mournful day, she comforted her Moonbeam as if I was no longer a grown woman, a wife or a mother. Because of Creola, I could briefly return to being a distressed little girl who was being reassured by someone who loved her dearly.

  “Mrs. Butlar was such a fine, fine lady. Lord above, how proud she was of you! I’ll miss her and miss your father every day the good Lord gives me to live. Even though I retired many years ago, your Mother still checked on me every week until she got so sick herself.”

  A pang of guilt hit me.

  Images of Mother and Creola talking at the kitchen table washed into my mind’s eye. In the end, Creola and Mother had become caregivers for one another.

  Stooped and aged markedly, Creola leaned heavily on me. “I’d have been there for Mr. Butlar’s service, but I was ailing on my own.”

  I took her arm. “Crellie, what’s wrong with you?”

  “Not one thing, Sugar. I’ve just had one of those short-time virus bugs. Bug or no, I had to be with you today. Now that your father and your mother have gone to Heaven, you need your Crellie all the more.”

  I could barely hold back my tears. “I’m not really an orphan, am I?”

  “Not as long as I have the strength to be here with you. Afterwards, I’ll watch over you from the closest cloud I can find. Or maybe I’ll fly down and perch on a tree branch.”

  “I do love you, Crellie.”

  “I love you, too, child.”

  “Let’s find us a quiet place to sit in this funeral-parlor crowd. There, Miss Moonbeam, I see one over in the corner.” The two of us settled comfortably onto a loveseat.

  “How’s Beau? How’s your children? But first, tell me about you. Lord, but it’s good to see Creola’s Moonbeam!”

  I obeyed her and did a tiny bit of bragging about my work. She beamed as I filled her in on her “grandbabies,” Mary Catherine and Butlar. She laughed about Beau’s latest antics on the golf course. From day one, Creola had liked my husband far more than she liked Mary Pearle’s. Fact was, she couldn’t stand Edgar from the day Mary Pearle brought him home to meet the family.

  Creola had a second sense about the fellow. Like a cat perceives an evil presence, she saw through him well before any of us did. She huffed and puffed and only begrudgingly put out some store-bought cookies for him. On a paper plate.

  When Beau came home from college with me the first time, Creola baked her exceptional lemon pound cake and winked at him as she served it, offering him as much as he could eat. She used Mother’s best china and sterling silver forks.

  At our wedding, Creola sat proudly in the first row with Mother and Daddy. But at Edgar and Mary Pearle’s she chose the back row of the church, where she positioned herself with arms folded, eyes cast downward. Her only expression was a judging scowl. Afterwards, she embraced her Priceless Pearlie and whispered gently and sincerely in her ear, “Remember darling child, you can always come home to your Crellie.”

  Sitting there at the funeral parlor with her, I sighed, remembering. “Crellie, I am feeling so old now that Mary Catherine and Butlar are rarely at home. They’re busy with their own lives. Beau and I get left in their dust. Before we can turn around, our children will be gone for good.”

  “As they should. You and your sister grew up too fast for me, too. Life sneaks up on us; it has a way of passing, fast as lightening.”

  “You told me that a long, long time ago. Remember when Beau was in Vietnam and you said ‘The days are long, but the years fly by’? These days, I certainly understand that gem of your advice.”

  Creola smiled. “It’s the truth. Before you know it, you have an empty nest.”

  “I don’t want an empty nest. Crellie, I really think this empty nest business is for the birds!”

  “Baby girl, you and Beau are still just children to me. You best be looking forward to many happy times in that pretty nest of yours.”

  I hugged her. “You’ve always known exactly what to say to me.”

  Creola, not one to enjoy a compliment, changed the subject. “I really liked your last book. You’re a funny lady, yes, you are. And, my gracious goodness, how you can tell a story!”

  “You must know who taught me, don’t you, Crellie?”

  “Who, Miss Moonbeam?”

  “You!”

  With that she squeezed my hands. “I’m pleased and proud you learned something good from me.”

  I stroked Creola’s gnarled fingers, fingers so badly crippled from arthritis. Years of hard work had taken a dreadful toll. I could only imagine the pain that continued to twist Creola’s bones. I also felt the softness of her hands. Like Creola herself, all the
pain she had endured was camouflaged in her smooth, velvety skin. “Crellie, let me help you —”

  “Help me do what? Hush, now. I best go hug Priceless Pearlie or she’ll be getting jealous of us two.”

  “Mary Pearle always insisted you liked me best.”

  “Lord have mercy! Do you think that’s true?”

  “Sure, I do.”

  “Ummm humm.”

  As Creola walked away, the sun caught her hair and turned her solid white curls into a bright and shining halo.

  Not long after, Creola moved into a retirement home. I went to see her. We visited a while, then she put both hands on her walker and stood. “I’m glad you came, my darling Moonbeam, but I must hug you and scoot. You see, I’m just like Mary Catherine and Butlar. I’m as busy as a bee. It’s time for my painting class!”

  I laughed. “Crellie, you’re never still!”

  “I got to keep my nest from getting empty. You do the same now, you hear?”

  As at Mother’s funeral, she passed a large window and the sun once again proclaimed Creola Moon’s sainthood. Not long after, she died.

  Chapter 6

  I sat in my beach chair, crying. I gathered my things and went back up to the condo. I called my sister. Her answer machine came on.

  “You’d better call me back soon, Priceless Pearlie. I’ve been thinking about the good old days and am about to dive into a box of animal crackers.”

  “My goodness, animal crackers, Honey? Your voice sounds strange. Now, ’fess up, little sister. You’re grazing on junk food, so I know good and well something’s wrong.”

  “Nothing’s wrong. I’m just bored, I guess. I started thinking about Mother and Daddy and about Crellie. She always loved to give us chocolate milk and animal crackers. I need a Priceless Pearlie fix, that’s all. You should jump on a plane. Cookies and milk will be waiting for you.”

  “Served in your little blue tea set?”

  “Nope, the tea set is in my china cabinet in Atlanta.”

  “Well, I’m not coming then! Seriously, I will be there soon. I do need to talk with you about something, something important.”

  “You do?”

  “Yes, but it can wait.”

  “Come on, it’s absolutely gorgeous down here. Besides, Beau’s not coming until next weekend.” With that, I held the phone over the deck’s rail so my sister could hear the waves.

  “Don’t tempt me, Harriette Ophelia, you know I’ve got Susan’s wedding coming up. I’ll see you then.”

  “Of course! I wouldn’t miss my own niece’s wedding. But don’t you need a little beach break before the wedding?”

  “Now, now, I’ll see you there, then we’ll go back to the beach, together. ”

  Mary Pearle and I talked for an hour or more. Through the years, we had become the closest, the dearest of friends. Even so, my sister remained evasive about the something she wanted to tell me. Naturally, all of her thoughts were revolving around her daughter’s wedding. Like the current trend in nuptial extravagances, the ceremony and reception to follow had taken on the details and the stress of the making of a major motion picture.

  “Enough about that,” said Mary Pearle. “Now, tell me about your creative self. Is that computer on fire?”

  My cell phone beeped. I checked the screen. “I’ll call you right back. It’s Mary Catherine.”

  “Tell her hello from her favorite aunt.”

  I chatted with my daughter, then called Mary Pearle back. “Mary Catherine was just checking in. My sweet daughter didn’t even ask for money, this time. I think she’s finally growing up. Oh, she said to tell Aunt Mary Pearle that the fitting for the bridesmaid dress went great. In fact, she actually likes the dress, and loves the champagne color. Okay, so let’s get back to that topic, the wedding, of course.”

  “Oh, I see. It seems you still aren’t writing. I can always tell when you are avoiding my encouragement.”

  “Et tu, Brute? Why can’t anyone understand that I’m simply not interested in working during my vacation?”

  “Whoops, I must have hit a nerve. Sorry, sister, case closed. So what else is going on?”

  I told her about Beatrice. “Can you stand it? I finally learned how to turn a cartwheel? Who said you can’t teach an old dog new tricks!”

  “I could have a field day with that remark,” threatened Mary Pearle. “Suffice to say, you can reward yourself with a glass of wine instead of a dog biscuit!”

  “Okay, okay, very funny. Seriously, there is something about Beatrice that reminds me of Mother and Crellie. It’s that look in the woman’s eyes. You remember, that look Mother or Crellie gave us when they knew something was going on but were waiting for us to confess?”

  “That look,” sighed Mary Pearle. “Oh, yes. I do miss them so much.”

  “I miss both our mothers. Sometimes, I used to think Mother was yours and Crellie was mine!”

  “Ah hah, so you finally admit that Creola was partial to you!”

  “You had Mother.”

  “Yes, but Creola was more fun.”

  “Well, nani nani, boo boo! You and I can’t even talk on the phone without arguing like children!”

  “Restores our youth, don’t you think? And that, sister dear, is a very good thing.”

  “Seriously, Mary Pearle, it was really Daddy I sometimes worry about. The poor man was the fifth wheel in a family of all females. He probably needed someone else around, another guy.”

  “Of course, he did, don’t you know that’s why he always encouraged us to choose male dogs as pets?” Mary Pearle laughed at her own wry comment, then her mood abruptly changed. “Honey, you know something? To this day, I will still pick up the phone to ask Mother a question.”

  “I know. I do the same thing. Thank goodness we can call each other.” As I often do when not wanting to deal with the sad things in life, I made light of the situation. I moaned dramatically, “My phone bill can surely attest to that!”

  “It’s only money. Speaking of our childhoods, Honey, you do understand that we two are the exception to the rule in this day of ‘dysfunction?’”

  “You’re right. Our growing-up years were perfect compared to most people’s. Maybe that’s why you’ve had such a hard time with your divorce? Seriously.”

  “Could be. I always assumed that my marriage would be as happy as our parents’. Miss ‘Formerly Perfect Pearlie’ certainly blew her mission.”

  “Lest we forget that our own Crellie warned you time and time again that Edgar was something of a tomcat?”

  “I should have paid attention to her. To Daddy’s opinion of him, too, for that matter.”

  “Maybe so, Mary Pearle, but who’s to know for sure? I remember how handsome Edgar was, and how romantic.”

  “Prince Charming lost his crown.”

  “I can tell you exactly what my former brother-in-law could do with that crown when he finds it!”

  “Now, now, Honey.”

  “Mary Pearle, from the very beginning, that sorry man was ninety-eight percent of the problem in your marriage. You did more than your part to keep things together. That observation, darling sister, is from my totally objective point of view.” My sister listened but made no comment. I continued, “Hey, lady, look on the bright side. You do have two wonderful daughters to show for your efforts.”

  “Thank you, Miss Moonbeam. You’ve always been the more positive of the Butlar girls. I love you for that.”

  “I love you, too, but listen, lady, Beau is going to give me his cell phone lecture if I stay on much longer. Tell you what, let’s talk on Sunday afternoon. Will you be home?”

  “We’ll be up to our elbows addressing the wedding invitations, and it would be lovely to have a break. Wait, I may be going out to dinner, so call me early.”

  “Out to dinner? With whom? Susan?”

  “Ask me no questions, I’ll tell you no lies! Bye, for now.”

  “Wait!”

  “Gotta go. Love you!”

&nb
sp; After my sister hung up her telephone, I stood holding mine and wondering what she was keeping from me. Curious, it wasn’t like her to be so evasive. I finally dismissed the thought. My sister was overwhelmed with Susan’s wedding and had a million things on her mind.

  Pouring a glass of wine, I went out on the condo’s balcony. Thus far, I’d made the most of my break. I’d enjoyed much-needed quiet time, alone. Meeting Beatrice had proven to be a blessing. What had she said? That creative people need to be fed? Beatrice was a stranger, yet intuitive about my needs, and she was right on target.

  My mind flipping about, I wished Beau were with me.

  Our favorite area restaurant is adjacent to the local marina. I’m not sure it has an actual name. Beau always calls it “The Hole in the Wharf.” A quaint, rickety-porched place filled with locals, it is legendary for shrimp and oysters. We always sat at an old, whitewashed picnic table topped with red and white checkered oilcloth, set with a candle that flickered in the water’s breeze. The two of us would talk and peel fresh, boiled shrimp as we watched fishing boats dock and unload their day’s catch.

  It was there I first spotted the pelican that looked like Beau. Once, when I went to the restaurant alone, the friendly bird paddled around and around the marina as if to make a promise to me: Just to let you know, Honey, I’ll be here to watch out for you while he’s back home in Georgia!

  Even when Beau couldn’t come to the beach with me, I felt comfortable and safe. I liked the condo, mostly because of its view. I delighted in the gorgeous vistas of water and the magnificent sunsets. I loved the sounds of waves crashing beneath the bedroom window. How gently the waves lulled me to sleep each night. I could even justify the scrumptious meals of seafood; almost guiltless was I because I could counter the calories with swims in the condo pool and long walks by the water.

  But it was time for me to get something accomplished. I decided to go to the grocery store. I was out of everything. I parked my car, grabbed a buggy, and began to gather fresh produce. I noticed a boy who looked oddly familiar to me. He was staring at me, just as I stared at him. How strange. I felt as if I’d known him from some place. It felt like an uncomfortable place. Get a grip, Honey, he’s just a kid.