Contemporary Women's Fiction: Agnes Hopper Shakes Up Sweetbriar (Humorous Women's Fiction) (19 page)

Smiley glanced around for a split second before turning his attention back to Alice. He was shaking his head, and I could hear him chuckling. It was a welcomed sound.

The nurse stood over me, looking ten feet tall. “That’s it. You’re gone.” She flung her arm toward the door.

There was no point in arguing, and she meant Lil too, letting the “dear sweet man” stay. I did manage to put the box on Lil’s lap before we left.

Outside in the hall we met William. He placed the torn carton from Copton’s Department Store onto the dolly and wheeled it to my room. We pulled Pearl away from where she sat in the middle of her floor, surrounded by faces of strangers she now saw as friends.

The four of us went to eat Sunday dinner. Thank goodness Prissy wasn’t around to know we were late. If she had seen William pick up his name card and bring it over to our table, where he proceeded to sit
beside me in Smiley’s place, she probably would’ve had heart failure.

Funny thing was, William directed his charms to Lil instead of me. He secured his cigar behind his ear, took both her hands in his, and said, “Ma’am, would you mind if I dine with you today? You are a mighty fine-looking woman. Has anyone ever told you that?”

The woman remained so flustered she hardly ate anything. Her eyes danced about and a flush moved up her neck, turning her face a rosy pink. She looked ten years younger.

“Isn’t love grand, Charlie?” That made me miss him something terrible. The pain shot into my heart as sharp as the day he died. A big lump formed in my throat, and Shirley’s fried chicken, yeast rolls, and fresh corn might as well have been sawdust.

After a while, I decided to go back to Alice’s room. Bossy nurse or not, I would bring Smiley to the dining room and make him eat something. And so I did. While Shirley cleared the tables, most of the residents rested, and Lil allowed William to push her to her favorite spot in the garden, I went straight to the phone in the front hallway and called my daughter to let her know our meeting to decide my future had been postponed.

“Miss Johnson called already. And I’m so sorry to hear about Alice. But Henry, Miss Margaret, and I will still come to visit this afternoon as we planned.”

“No, don’t come today. I’m going to be busy cleaning out Alice’s room. She asked me to do it and I promised. Wait until Monday or Tuesday.”

I ignored what was in the back of my mind, and I guessed she was thinking the same thing. The need for any visit was probably unnecessary because, most likely, we would move me to … to where? Some unknown destination.

My daughter prattled on as I held the phone away from my ear. “You don’t think I’m going to drive that pig in my practically new Buick by myself without Henry along to hold it, do you? We’re coming this afternoon, though we can’t stay long. I’m chairing the bazaar this year, and the first Saturday in October will be here before you know it. Besides, I can call the Salvation Army. They’ll be glad to take whatever’s in Alice’s room. It couldn’t be much—”

I heard the wheels thud over the entrance’s threshold and the clatter of an empty gurney as it headed down the hall. Prissy ran after it, shielding the antique table in the foyer and its vase full of yellow glads.

“Mother, are you there? What is all that noise?”

“I have to go. If you come today, I’ll probably be in room number seven.”

When they lifted Alice, she groaned softly but never opened her eyes. The nurse fussed at the burly men for being too rough. I wanted to hug her.

Somehow, everyone seemed to know a beloved friend was leaving. We also knew she would not return. People came from all directions and followed behind her. The whole thing looked rehearsed. We stood along the porch railing and watched. The sound of the gurney going down the wheelchair ramp was as loud as an army marching across wooden planks. The ambulance doors slammed, the motor roared, and the vehicle pulled into the street.

We remained on the porch long after Alice had gone. The siren’s pulsing wail became fainter and fainter until it disappeared altogether. We stood in little groups to talk, but
someone
clucked her tongue and said it was too hot on the porch and “you
people
need to come inside.”

Somehow, I didn’t want to leave. I grieved for Alice. Not for her death, but that she would probably die alone—totally alone. No one would be there to hold her hand until Jesus led her to the other side.

That’s when I noticed Smiley was nowhere around. He hadn’t come to the porch with everyone else. “Charlie, now where has that man gone off to?”

After checking his room and finding it empty, I hurried to Alice’s. At first I thought he wasn’t there either, but then I saw a slight movement. There he was—seersucker pants, shiny black shoes, and all—curled up in her bed, arms clutching her pillow. His eyes were closed, but the muscles in his body were so tight, he trembled.

Not knowing what else to do, I pulled up the covers, rested my hand a moment on his fine white hair, then left him there to have some time alone.

L
ate Sunday afternoon, Miss Margaret ran squealing up the wheelchair ramp, her red leash trailing between her legs.

“Come back here, you stupid pig!” Betty Jo yelled, grabbing for the leash as she stumbled behind.

I sat on the porch steps, arms out wide, and that precious little thing leapt into my lap. She wiggled and twisted and squirmed until I thought she was going to come right out of her skin. And you’ve never in all your life heard so much snorting and carrying on. Then she jumped down and raced the whole length of the porch—several times.

Prissy flew out the front door. “What’s going on out here? Sounds like a herd of—”

Her high-pitched shouts, I suppose, got Miss Margaret even more worked up. She ran over, stopped right in front of the scowling woman, and let go of a stream like she’d been holding it for days. The black high heels barely escaped the widening puddle, even after some backward tap dancing.

With her bladder now empty, my sweet little pig ran back and forth between me and the offended director, who stood there with her mouth hanging open. The pee followed a groove in the porch and gathered around a pot of purple petunias.

“Mrs. Hopper!” she shouted above the noise of clattering hoofs. “Get this mess cleaned up this instant. And don’t think for a minute we won’t discuss yet another violation of our rules. You are in big trouble.” She slammed the door, and glass panes shook long after she was gone.

Henry, bless his heart, carried a can of water from a front yard
spigot. He poured water onto the porch and rinsed away Miss Margaret’s uncivilized behavior.

Betty Jo followed behind Henry, every step he took, and pointed to his mistakes. “You missed a spot. And you think you’re going to take this animal to work with you? You’re making it worse. Look, it’s running everywhere.”

With an empty bucket, Henry faced his wife. “If you and Mother Hopper would take Miss Margaret and go visit under that shade tree out there, I’d get done a whole lot faster.”

After all the excitement had died down, my daughter and my dear son-in-law sat on the porch and rocked. Henry looked as fresh as when they’d come, but Betty Jo looked worn flat-out. She had kicked off her high heels, and her stockings had slipped into folds around her ankles. Her blue silk blouse—that now had sweat rings underneath the arms—hung loose from her skirt. She leaned back, closed her eyes, and sighed with exasperation while a very patient Henry patted her arm.

I stayed in the yard and played with Miss Margaret. She settled down enough to roll over on her back and let me rub her soft belly. She made giggling sounds, her little fat legs moving in the air as if she were running a race.

Betty Jo was right; they didn’t stay long. When Henry tried to coax Miss Margaret to the car with a firm grip on her leash, I felt a great sadness and almost wished they hadn’t come at all.

“Charlie, I’m not doing so good. Why can’t things ever stay the same?”

My options were disappearing before my very eyes. This place was run by a shrew and the people were virtual strangers—not family. And even if I decided to stay and follow the rules, Prissy was apparently ready to toss me out with a swift kick to the backside. Maybe it would be best to go ahead and pack my belongings just in case
.

Lord, what in the world am I supposed to do?

My thoughts immediately turned to Smiley and I went inside to check on him. He was sound asleep in Alice’s bed, snoring softly. I returned to my room and spotted the unopened Copton’s Department Store box resting on my bed, right where William had placed it before lunch. After clipping through a dozen or more pieces of tape and twine pulled tight and tied in knots, I raised the lid.

A cloud of fumes brought on a sneezing fit. Mothballs. I peered under layers of tissue paper and found, of all things, baby clothes.

Most of them had the tiny, irregular stitching of handmade garments. The first item was a long white gown with delicate tucks and gathers. There was a matching outfit in blue—tiny shirt, short pants, and cap with appliqués of ducks and sailboats—along with a pair of leather baby shoes, yellowed with age. On the bottom was a soft blue crocheted blanket.

An envelope peeked out from under the blanket, with
John Howard Chandler
written across the front in Alice’s flowing script. Inside was a lock of light brown hair, a tiny gold ring, a blue beaded bracelet spelling the name
Chandler,
and five bills, one hundred dollars each.

“My word, Charlie, what am I going to do with all this? I didn’t know Alice had been married, much less a mother. Maybe she gave him up for adoption. Or he died.”

Then a new idea hit me. That nephew in Arizona … was he really her nephew? Maybe Smiley would know.

There were dozens of questions with no answers, but one thing was certain: Alice couldn’t possibly want this box to end up in a thrift shop. I replaced the cover and slid it under my bed, all the while wondering if I should keep these secrets to myself or ask Smiley if he knew anything about her former life.

I remembered a conversation on the porch after supper, just two evenings ago. Lil told about a man watching his daughter get married. He didn’t give her away because she thought, as most people did, he was an older brother. No one knew he had allowed his mother to adopt this child, and they had agreed never to tell her the truth.

Then Lil said, “Every family’s got secrets—skeletons hiding in the closet. Things we hope nobody will ever find out. Am I right?”

“Not me,” I said. “If I had a skeleton in my closet, I’d take it out and dance with it.”

“Oh, sure you would,” she said. “I suppose you don’t keep anyone else’s secrets either. Remind me never to confide in you.”

“If someone says what they’re telling me is between us, my lips are sealed forever. I can keep secrets if I’m asked. But my life’s an open book. I have nothing to hide.”

“I simply can’t believe that.”

She had then turned to Alice, who took two little white pills from her pocket and swallowed them. I’d seen her do that a lot lately, but pretended not to notice because I didn’t want her to get in trouble.

“What do you think, Alice?” She slapped down the king of hearts
onto her tray—a habit, along with her knife-pointing at the dining table, that was infuriating. “Don’t you think we all have something in our past we don’t want anyone to know about?” Another slap.

After a long pause, Alice said, “It’s more than that. We hide our secrets from ourselves. If we deny them long enough, they didn’t really happen in the first place.”

“Good grief,” I said, gathering my knitting and purse to go inside. “The two of you are talking in circles. I’ve got better things to do with my time.”

Now, pondering Alice’s words, I wondered if they had anything to do with the contents of the pink box. I returned to her room and was surprised to find Smiley up and busy. He handed me a big hatbox, far too heavy for hats.

“Take this to your room. Alice said you would find a way to get rid of what’s in there under the hats. Now the hats? She must’ve worn them in another life. Look like they belonged to a floozy. She said you might enjoy them.”

“She did? Well, my goodness, she may be right. I do like fancy hats. What on earth’s in here besides hats?”

“Surely you noticed Alice liked a drink in the evenings.”