Making Waves (14 page)

I couldn't think of a thing to say to that. Then, bless Pete if Maudie didn't turn to me with a funny expression on her face and say, “If there is a heaven, I just don't believe it's going to be like that at all.”

“Why, Maudie Ferguson!”

“I don't want a mansion or a palace, Della. I want a schoolroom, filled with little children, with readers and crayons and paints and chalk. Little children, all big-eyed and eager to learn. And I'd want a big library. The biggest library you've ever seen. One that's opened all the time, not just half days. That's what I hope heaven's like.”

Oh, I hope so too, Maudie, dear, dear friend. I hope and pray that's where you are right now, in some big heavenly library, reading to your heart's content.

It was hard to get myself going this morning. I've got to get my mind off Maudie and her funeral today and go on with what needs to be done. It's so hard for me to do anything anymore. It takes me so long to drag around in this cumbersome old walker—I pure hate it. But I can't walk without it. That really scares me sometimes. I always think about what Papa said to me not too long before he went to be with Jesus.

“Della,” Papa said, “you return to the earth the way you came into it, a helpless little baby again. No teeth, no hair, and somebody else having to take care of everything for you, even your bodily functions. When you get to where you can't walk, your time is coming. You are about ready to go back to where you came from.”

I sure hope Taylor is feeling better today, bless his little heart. He was about sick yesterday, moping around, not talking. I told him that I believe it's the heat that's got to him. I know that this is one of the hottest summers that I can remember.

Cousin Carrie, however, declares that the summers have been hotter for the past twenty years. She says ever since we put a man on the moon it's been happening, that the summers and winters both are getting hotter. She thinks the Lord will take men up into the heavens when He's good and ready for them, and not before. Just think about the Tower of Babel, she says. Some things the Lord don't intend for us to mess with. She may be right.

If it's the heat that's got Taylor feeling so bad, I guess I ought to get a window unit put in his room, though I don't really believe in them myself. But I could call old Pleese Davis and get him to come out here and put one of those units in—it ain't the money. It's that every single Sunday since we air-conditioned the church, I've come home with a headache. It didn't use to be that way. When Papa was still with me, we about died, it was so hot at church, and everybody fanned and sweated the whole time. But everybody was there regardless, never missing a single service. Now the air-conditioning is going full blast and you about freeze to death in the sanctuary. Then you walk out the doors and the heat hits you. Nowadays you have to beg folks to go to church, like the church needed them instead of the other way around. So I know part of the problem with people today—it's air-conditioning.

I can't help but worry about poor little Taylor. I kind of hope it
is
the heat instead of him being upset to be back here. Yesterday morning I got up early and fixed pancake batter. Rufus always declared that my pancakes were so light they could float across the room. But Taylor slept until dinner time, so I had to dump the batter down the sink. It's just not any good when it sits out like that; that's what makes pancakes heavy.

I figured rightly that he hadn't eaten a thing over at Harris's the night before because Frances Martha can't cook worth a hoot. It used to worry Mama to death. Main reason Frances Martha never half learned to cook ain't because she's not right. Everybody knows Maylene Hendricks is slower than Frances Martha, yet she wins prizes at the Fair every year with her cakes. No, Frances Martha just would
not
listen to Mama. Instead, she got it in her head to use a cookbook instead, because she loves to look at the pretty pictures of the food in them.

Frances Martha only finished the eighth grade, but she took Home Ec that year and got her a Betty Crocker cookbook that she's been using ever since. For some reason, her doing that like to have tickled Papa to death, but me and Mama didn't think it was so funny. What does a Yankee like Betty Crocker know about cooking purple-hulls, I asked Frances Martha. But she didn't care; all she liked was the pretty pictures in there, and sending Papa to the A & P all the time for Bisquick.

Guess Frances Martha is happy now that she's got someone else like her at Harris's house. Annie Lou told Eula now that Sonny's new bride Miss Ellis is there, she makes them try all kinds of fancy recipes from them
Southern Living
magazines. Annie Lou's like me, she's got no respect for a woman who has to read a book in order to put a meal on the table. Besides, Annie Lou can't even read! She's about ready to up and quit and I don't blame her, even though she's been with Harris for years. She don't like Miss Priss Ellis one bit, not any better than I do. I know them Rountrees and how good-for-nothing they are and so does Annie Lou. The coloreds know these things. Taylor told me about the supper they fixed him and how it wasn't fit to eat. Must have really made him sick because he wouldn't even talk about his visit. I'll bet you anything that Harris was ugly to him. And Sonny—he's always tormented Taylor, calling him a sissy and making fun of him. Sonny can't understand anybody being as tenderhearted and sensitive as Taylor is.

Sonny's as mean as a snake, just like his mama. That Opal Hamilton made her bed well when she married Harris Jr., that's for sure. Harris Jr. was a good boy, God rest his soul. He was like his mama, too. Seems boys tend to be like their mamas, and girls more like their papas. Harris Jr.'s mama, Mary Nell Pate, was as good a woman as ever drew a breath. I never could see what she saw in my brother Harris. At least Harris Jr. took after her. I believe if he'd not gotten himself killed like he did, Sonny would have turned out better, too. Opal spoiled him rotten after that.

I reckon I'll wait till Taylor gets up this morning before I mix up any more pancake batter. Guess I'll put on some vegetables for dinner since we'll have to go to the funeral right afterwards. Lord, I haven't even seen Maudie yet! Taylor felt so bad last night that I couldn't bring myself to remind him that he'd promised to take me to the funeral home. Mary Frances called me to see why I hadn't gone, and I told her I wasn't able to. Didn't figure anything else was any of her business. She means well, I know, but me and her have never been close. There's just too much difference in our ages, for one thing. Anyhow, she had to tell me about how Essie Kennedy's niece Donnette fixed Maudie up so nice, and how natural Maudie looked all laid out.

Lord have mercy! I clean forgot what else she called about. Mary Frances made the arrangements, and Frances Martha is going to pick me up at nine o'clock this morning. We're going over to Essie's to get our hair done for the funeral. I usually don't set no store in going to the beauty parlor, but I can't go to Maudie's funeral looking like this. Oh, goodness! Well, I'll just have to fry some bacon and eggs for breakfast and forget about the pancake batter. I don't have the time to fool with it now.

Taylor came into the kitchen just about the time I got through fixing breakfast. The smell of bacon frying must have woke him up, like it used to on school mornings. He was rubbing his eyes all sleepy-like, looking the world like a little boy. I see that he looks a little better this morning, too.

“Good morning, Aunt Della.” He smiled sleepily at me, giving me a hug and a kiss on the cheek. He's the sweetest thing in the whole world; I can't understand why some folks never have liked him. Lord, he sure does need a haircut, though. Maybe he'll go with us this morning and get it cut. No, guess he couldn't do that, not with Donnette there. She's never got over what happened, blaming and talking awful about Taylor, though everyone else knows he didn't go to hurt Tim. Looks like she'd have sense enough to realize that if it hadn't happened like it did, Tim wouldn't be with her now. Probably wouldn't have married her either, once he got away from here and had lots more choices. Well. All that's in the past now.

“I'm so glad you're up early, honey,” I said to Taylor instead of bringing up the subject of the haircut. “We got a busy day today.” I put the bacon and eggs on the table and sat down.

“What time's Miss Maudie's funeral?” Taylor yawned and stretched. I'd have to get him to put something on besides his undershorts before Frances Martha got here. It would embarrass her to death, him being half-naked.

“It's at two.” I started in on my eggs since I had to hurry. “Honey, you remember Maudie's great-niece Sarah Jean?”

Taylor thought for a minute as he chewed on a piece of bacon. I always get the thick-sliced kind when he's home.

“Yes, ma'am, I believe I do now. She teaches at Florida State, doesn't she? Good-looking for an old lady—great legs.”

“She's about the only family Maudie has left. Anyhow, she called me yesterday afternoon and wants us to come over after the funeral and eat supper with her. Says there's the most food over there you've ever seen, and no one but her. And she really wants to see you, too. She and your mama are good friends.”

“I can't say that endears me to her, but the part about all that food sounds good.” Taylor finished off his breakfast by wiping the plate with his toast. Papa would be tickled to death—he said you can tell a person's attitude toward life by their attitude toward food.

We finished our breakfast, and I figured I might as well go ahead and tell Taylor that I had to go to the beauty parlor. Maybe I won't even mention Donnette Sullivan. Probably he doesn't know that Essie died, and he'll think Essie's going to do it. I know that's called lying by omission but I believe the Lord will understand. He sure knows all the heartache Taylor's had these last two years without me bringing up any of it again.

“Listen, sugar,” I told him, “in a few minutes Frances Martha is coming to pick me up, and we're going to the beauty parlor to get our hair fixed for Maudie's funeral.”

Now I didn't see a blame thing funny about that, but Taylor did. That boy could laugh at some of the strangest things!

“Aunt Della, you look fine just the way you are,” he said, smiling at me. “I mean it. Don't let Miss Essie fix your hair like Aunt Frances Martha's—it looks like cotton candy.” Taylor then jumped up to help me as I pulled myself up on my walker. Before I could drag myself over to the sink, he grabbed the breakfast dishes and started scraping them.

“You leave these dishes alone. I'm going to do them while you get ready, okay?” He made a pan of dishwater before I could protest. “Go on, Aunt Della. I'll take care of this.”

“No, sugar, you get out of my way. I've got to fix us some vegetables for dinner.”

“Now, Aunt Della, didn't you just tell me that we were going over to Miss Maudie's this afternoon to eat? There's no point in your fixing lunch—let's eat a tomato sandwich. Quit fussing over me and go get dressed for the beauty parlor, okay?” And Taylor practically pushed me out the kitchen door, walker and all. It tickled me because it proves he's feeling better this morning and back to his old self again. I gave in with a smile.

I no sooner got my housecoat off and my teeth washed out when I heard Frances Martha pull up in the driveway and blow the car horn. I hurried and buttoned on my dress, because Frances Martha will sit out there blowing that horn until I come, and Lonnie next door will about break her neck trying to see what's going on.

Frances Martha surprised everyone by learning how to drive the car. I never learned myself and neither did Mary Frances; most girls in our day didn't. So it was even more of a surprise for Frances Martha to learn, since she's not able to do many other things. But one day she just up and went outside and cranked Papa's Oldsmobile, then backed it in and out of the driveway. Mama like to have had a conniption, but Papa decided it was a good idea. He helped her learn until she got her license. When Papa died, I tried to get her to trade his old Oldsmobile in and get herself a nice car. By that time, she'd moved in with Harris and Mary Nell. See, me and Frances Martha just can't quit fussing when we get around each other. I can't help it; she gets on my nerves so bad. Since she's always thought Harris hung the moon, she decided to live with them instead of me. She never really cared for Rufus, either. Since he worked over at the university a lot of people in town, including my own family, thought he was stuck up. But really he was just shy. Frances Martha didn't like him, though, and me and her fussed all the time, so she moved in with Harris. It tickled me because Harris refused to let her drive his car. She carried on so and got everybody in town feeling sorry for her, and talking about Harris, so naturally he gave in. Ever since then, she's been driving Harris's big fancy cars all over the place. I'm about the only person in town who's not scared to ride with her, and she takes me to visit and to the grocery store and the doctor. It don't bother me none. She sure drives better than she cooks.

It took me forever to get out of Harris's car, unfold my walker, and walk up the steps to Essie's old beauty parlor. Frances Martha made it that much harder on me by trying to be helpful. She almost tripped me just as we got to the top of the steps, on Essie's front porch.