Honeysuckle Season

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Honeysuckle Season Page 10

by Mary Ellen Taylor


  “More thoughts to keep to yourself.”

  The Carter family roots went back over two hundred years, and it was said the first Carter was a Scottish nobleman born a second son. He had made a fortune growing wheat, and his son had continued to build the family farm and had also managed to skirt real trouble during the Revolutionary War.

  However, the last couple of generations of Carters had turned to medicine. The latest heir, Edward Carter, had done the same. Like his daddy before him, Edward had a general practice and one day a week donated his skills to the Lynchburg hospital and the poor.

  Johnny climbed the side porch steps first and knocked on the door. The kitchen door opened to a tall sturdy woman with red hair and a complexion that was as white as a summer cloud. Mrs. Fritz always wore her hair back in a tight bun, and her dresses, stockings, and shoes were black.

  Sadie had seen Mrs. Fritz at church often enough and once or twice had been tempted to ask if her underdrawers were black too. But she had held her tongue, fearing, as her mother often said, her questions were “too well acquainted.”

  “Evening, Mrs. Fritz,” Johnny said.

  Sadie rubbed her fingers together, wishing her gloves were thicker. “We have the Christmas order for the Carters.”

  A thick red brow rose. “Come on inside. You and Sadie can set your bottles on the counter.”

  In the original house, the kitchen had been a separate building located a hundred feet from the house. That kept the risk of kitchen fire spreading low, but it also made for a lot of running back and forth for the help. Dr. Edward Carter’s daddy had converted the west side of the house into a modern kitchen complete with a white enamel oven that could heat four pots and roast a turkey in the firebox all at the same time. He had also installed large porcelain farmhouse sinks and built enough counter space to make food for two dozen guests.

  Johnny nodded for Sadie to go first, and she gratefully stepped into the warm kitchen. The soft scents of freshly baked biscuits and lemon cake enveloped her. Sugar was too expensive for wasting on baked goods and needed to be saved for money-making mash. However, at Christmas her mother often skimmed a little extra sugar off the top and baked a buttermilk pie. Sadie’s stomach grumbled as she thought about that warm pie waiting for her. “Where would you like us to put it?”

  “Right on the counter,” Mrs. Fritz said.

  Johnny set his crate beside Sadie’s and pulled off his hat. “We appreciate the business, Mrs. Fritz.”

  “You never let us down. The dearly departed Dr. Carter always thought highly of you and your father.” Mrs. Fritz reached in her skirt pocket and pulled out several bills neatly folded over each other. “Mr. Carter said I owe you five dollars.”

  As she held out the money, Johnny frowned. He was too polite to remind her the price was six dollars.

  Sadie, however, was not the least bit shy about pointing out the error. “Mrs. Fritz, we always get six dollars at Christmas.”

  Color rose in Johnny’s cheeks. “My sister is right about that.”

  “That’s not what Edward Carter told me,” Mrs. Fritz said.

  Johnny’s jaw pulsed, and Sadie could see he was swallowing a good bit of anger right now. He was worried more about hanging on to the bird in the hand than going after the one in the bush. He shook his head and reached for the money. “It’s okay, Sadie.”

  “But Dr. Carter Sr. always paid us six dollars if we had his delivery by Christmas Eve.” Sadie smiled, hoping it took some of the bite out of her tone. “I know the Lord called him home this past spring, but the order was placed last Christmas.”

  A door down the hallway opened, and music from a phonograph tangled around male and female laughter as it drifted toward the kitchen. Hurried footsteps raced down the tiled hallway seconds before the door opened.

  Standing in the doorway was a young woman barely out of her teens. She had dark hair that curled gently around her heart-shaped face and down over her slim shoulders. Full lips painted a bright red looked vibrant against ivory skin. Her dress was an emerald green with a hem that fluttered just below the knee and drew attention to silk-stocking legs and shiny patent leather heels.

  For the first time in her life, Sadie was fully aware of her own appearance. She knew her overalls did not fit her right, and her coat was one of Danny’s old ones. Her scuffed boots had come from the church poor box.

  When she saw the fancy women in the magazines, she did not feel so plain and, well, country poor. But now she felt every bit of both. She brushed a stray curl from her face and then, noticing her coat’s threadbare cuff, dropped her hands to her side. She curled her fingers into a fist to hide her dirty nails and calloused palms.

  Standing behind the woman were two young men. She recognized one of the two as Edward Carter. He had always been a fixture at the county fair when his mother and father had been alive. Girls in town whispered that he was as handsome as Cary Grant, but she reckoned Carter was better looking. He had been in England studying medicine when his father died last spring. Folks were still talking about him missing his father’s funeral, as if he could have crossed an ocean just like that.

  The man beside Dr. Carter was a little shorter and his frame softer and rounder. And if she had to say he looked like an actor, it would be along the lines of Mickey Rooney. Not handsome but right pleasant to look at.

  Each man had waxed-back short hair and sported fine dark suits, white shirts, and bow ties fit for a movie premiere.

  The trio stared at Sadie and Johnny, but it was Edward who thrust out his hand first. “Johnny, you made it. I was worried you’d not be here by the holidays. Father always loved the honeysuckle moonshine, and we were all hoping to raise a toast to him in his memory tonight.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Johnny said.

  Sadie smiled, speaking quickly before Johnny could shush her. “Mr. Carter, sir, that seems like a real fitting tribute. I will say, sir, that your dearly departed daddy always paid Johnny six dollars for a Christmas delivery.” She thought the addition of sir was a deferential touch. “Mrs. Fritz isn’t sure of the price.”

  Mrs. Fritz squared her shoulders. “You gave me five dollars, Dr. Carter.”

  “That’s the going rate in the summer,” Dr. Carter said.

  “It is, sir,” Johnny said. “But your daddy always paid six dollars at Christmas.”

  “An extra dollar?” Dr. Carter said.

  “Yes, sir.” Johnny had a way of speaking that did not stoke tempers. Sadie, on the other hand, had a tone that riled up folks no matter how much she smiled or how many sirs she sprinkled around.

  “Well, if that is what my father agreed to, then, Mrs. Fritz, please give them an extra dollar,” Dr. Carter exclaimed.

  Mrs. Fritz turned toward a cookie jar shaped like an apple and, after lifting the lid, rooted around inside until she had a crisp dollar bill. She handed it to Johnny.

  Her brother’s face was a shade or two redder, and Sadie could not tell if he was embarrassed or relieved. “Appreciate it.”

  Dr. Carter pressed his hand to the woman’s back. “This is my wife, Olivia.”

  Johnny nodded. “We heard you had married. Our best wishes.”

  “Thank you, Johnny,” Dr. Carter said. “We’ve been married a full three months now.”

  Miss Olivia smiled sweetly but did not extend her hand. “It’s a pleasure.”

  Her voice was soft and had a different kind of sound that Sadie supposed was the way it was back in England.

  “This is my cousin, Malcolm Carter,” Dr. Carter said. “He’s spending the holidays with us and celebrating our nuptials.”

  When Malcolm grinned, it made him all the more like Mickey Rooney. “Pleasure.”

  “Again, our congratulations to you, Dr. and Mrs. Carter,” Johnny said. “We’re happy for you both; isn’t that right, Sadie?”

  “Yes, sir. Real happy.” Sadie noted the woman was looking at her. The polite thing to do was to drop her gaze, but Sadie was not feeling so poli
te right now. They had almost been shortchanged on Christmas Eve of all days.

  “Johnny’s family has lived in the area for as long as the Carters,” Dr. Carter said to Malcolm and Olivia. “What is it you do, Johnny, now that the soapstone plant closed?”

  Sadie wanted to point out that the plant had closed nine years ago and that Johnny had never worked there. But her brother’s warnings of staying silent kept the words bottled up.

  “Working in the machine shop in Waynesboro when I can get the work. But I’ll be leaving in a couple of weeks. I’ve enlisted in the army.”

  “Army?” Dr. Carter said. “My wife, Olivia, and I experienced the war firsthand when we were in London. The Blitz was a terrible thing.”

  “What’s a blitz?” Sadie asked.

  “They are bombing raids,” Dr. Carter explained. “The city endured nightly bombing raids for eleven straight weeks. My wife was nearly killed in one of the explosions last summer.” He rubbed his hand over his leg. “I would be signing up for military service if I hadn’t also been injured in one of those raids. My leg will never be the same.”

  Miss Olivia did not speak, but her brow knotted, as if the dark memory was not far away. “You be very careful, Johnny,” she said. “We will pray for you.”

  “Thank you, ma’am,” Johnny said.

  “If I had my way,” Sadie said, “I would follow my two brothers into the army and maybe find me a job driving trucks. Heck, I’d be willing to work in a mess hall peeling potatoes if it meant I could go.”

  Johnny shot her a glance that told her to stay silent. “My sister will be staying put in Bluestone.”

  “Sadie, can you really drive?” Dr. Carter asked.

  “Yes, sir,” she said with pride. “Been driving since I was twelve.”

  “How old are you?” he asked.

  “Almost sixteen.” She was five months from her sixteenth birthday but close enough.

  “Is she a safe driver, Johnny?” Dr. Carter asked.

  Her brother did not spare her a glance. “Yes, sir. She knows the roads in the county as well as I do.”

  “Hey there, I have an idea,” Dr. Carter said. “Olivia is going to be on her own much of the days while I work in my office. I often have long hours, and I know she is going to need help getting around. Perhaps your Sadie could assist us, Johnny.”

  Sadie straightened her back, trying to look a little taller. Her own smile felt as tense as Miss Olivia’s hoity-toity face looked.

  “She’s been driving a good three years,” Johnny said. “No one knows these roads better other than my brother and me.”

  “You still drive that jalopy of a truck?” Dr. Carter asked.

  “Yes, sir,” Johnny said. “It runs well enough. Never left me on the side of the road, and I’ll be leaving it behind with Sadie.”

  “I can’t have Sadie driving Olivia around in your truck,” Dr. Carter said. “No offense, Johnny, but it’s too rough for her.”

  “Perhaps not the vehicle for a lady,” Johnny said.

  “I can drive any kind of car,” Sadie said. “Give me a minute or two to figure it out, and I’ll have the wheels rolling.”

  Miss Olivia laid her hand on her husband’s forearm. “I don’t want to impose on Sadie.”

  “It won’t be an imposition if I’m paying her,” Dr. Carter said. “And we both know you can’t drive yourself. Without Sadie, your trips into town will be limited to my rare visits.”

  Sadie knew the cost of ingredients for mash and how much the final product was worth, but she had no idea what the pay for driving would be. “How much would you be willing to pay?”

  Dr. Carter smiled at her as if she were a young child. “How does a dollar a day sound?”

  Johnny nodded and, before she could toss out a reply, said, “That sounds fair. When would you like her to start?”

  “The first of February?” Dr. Carter said.

  “That sounds just fine, sir,” Johnny said.

  “Sadie, can you find your way back up here?” Dr. Carter asked.

  “Of course,” she said, doing her best not to laugh.

  The money Sadie could earn as a driver would go to her mother, but she figured she could shave off a nickel or two and add it to her savings stashed under the floorboards of her room.

  Miss Olivia’s grip on her husband’s arm was barely perceptible but Sadie saw it. It felt like a subtle slight, and that annoyed her. She never cared what rich folks thought about her, but having this woman look down her nose at her stung.

  “That’s okay,” Sadie said. “If Miss Olivia’s afraid, it’s best not to push her.” She tried to sound as sweet as she could, but when Johnny shifted his stance and tossed her a sideways glance, she knew he had seen right through her.

  Malcolm’s lips twitched with a small smile, and Dr. Carter was nodding as if he agreed with Sadie. “I say, Olivia, I think Miss Sadie has thrown down the gauntlet.” Dr. Carter glanced over at his wife. “Darling, if this arrangement doesn’t suit, then of course, you don’t have to accept.”

  Miss Olivia’s red bow lips pursed. There was a flash of challenge in her blue eyes as she stared at Sadie, suggesting she was not as cotton candy soft as she first seemed. She had more going for her than just a pretty face.

  “On the contrary,” Miss Olivia said, “I’m not the least bit concerned. I simply did not want to trouble the young lady.”

  “I doubt Sadie would be bothered by a job,” Dr. Carter said. “The Thompson clan is known for being hardworking.”

  “In that case, I would be more than grateful if Sadie is available to drive me.” Miss Olivia still did not extend her hand, but that might have been the way in England.

  Sadie was already wondering how fast a dollar a day would add up. Hell, she might earn enough to buy herself a magazine or, better yet, a nice dress.

  CHAPTER NINE

  MARGARET

  Monday, June 8, 2020

  Outside of Bluestone

  As Margaret drove off, she waved to Elaine, who was standing on Woodmont’s porch, a thick shawl wrapped around her thinning shoulders. The evening air was not cool enough for a shawl, and Margaret worried that Elaine was again feeling poorly.

  The dinner had gone as well as could be expected, though Margaret found it awkward to have Libby seated at the table. Everyone was on their best behavior, and the boys’ antics had actually helped ease the tension and worry Elaine was carrying.

  She drove down the long driveway and then made a left at the road. Seven miles down the road, she turned into the much-shorter driveway of her home. It was a white clapboard house with a front porch big enough for a couple of rockers. The yard was neatly cut, and the azaleas planted by Colton and the boys always made her smile.

  Her knees ached as she stepped out of the car. Carefully, she rolled her head from side to side before she crossed the lawn.

  Her grandmother had raised her in this house, and after GeeMom had passed, Margaret had stayed on here. Miss Olivia had hired her when she had turned eighteen, so there had always been money to be earned. She had been thirty-one when she had married Woodmont’s new gardener. He had moved in with her, and together they had raised Ginger and Colton here.

  Ginger had tried to get Margaret to move to Charlottesville and into a one-level house close to her, but the city was too bustling for her taste and too far for a twenty-five-mile daily commute to Woodmont. She did not know what she would do if she could not see her boys every day.

  This old house was barely twelve hundred square feet and had only three tiny bedrooms. Over the years, there must have been several coats of off-white paint added to the walls, but in the evening light, it looked faded and a little tired. She had been meaning to change the color to something brighter. Yellow, maybe. She had told herself there was too much work at Woodmont, and now that Elaine was getting over her sickness, taking time to change a paint color seemed silly.

  She walked over to the dining room table, piled high with magazines and ch
ina she had still not put away from her own Easter supper with Colton, Ginger, and the boys.

  After flipping on the lights in the kitchen, she walked past an unfinished one-thousand-piece puzzle she had been working on for five years. She crossed the small room to the electric teakettle that Elaine had given her last Christmas and filled it with water. A push of the button, and it was heating.

  As she waited, she looked at the puzzle, disappointed by her limited progress. She had finished the border but had done little to finish the image featuring an enormous basket of sleepy golden retriever puppies. She should just give up and dismantle it, but her grandmother had always complained that no one saw anything through. Margaret’s own mother had not stayed around to raise her, so she had decided years ago she would style herself like her grandmother and never quit anything. So the puzzle stayed.

  When the kettle whistled, she fished a tea bag from the cabinet and dropped it into a favorite mug covered in honeysuckle flowers. It had belonged to her grandmother, and though the rim was slightly chipped, she was willing to avoid the rough edge for the sake of the memories.

  She poured hot water over the bag, swirling it gently and watching as the water darkened.

  Her old phone rang, and she crossed to the wall and picked up the receiver. “Hello.”

  “It’s me, Mom,” Colton said. “Just making sure you got home.”

  “Alive and well.”

  “Dinner was fun.”

  “It was nice.”

  “What did you think of Libby?” he asked.

  “I like her. She’s a strong young woman.”

  “What’s her deal with Elaine?”

  “I don’t know,” she lied. “Best ask Elaine.”

  He chuckled. “Fine, don’t tell me. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  “Sure thing, son.”

  “See ya.”

  She hung up the phone and picked up her cup, running her finger over the chipped edge. She sipped tea and walked over to the puzzle, fingering a few pieces before she lost interest and walked out onto the back porch.

  Margaret sat on the vinyl-covered cushions nestled in the porch rocker seat. Gently, she swayed back and forth, sipping her tea and staring up into the cloudless night sky at the bright pinpoints of starlight.

 

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