The Crowning Glory of Calla Lily Ponder (31 page)

“Absolutely. We’ve had that rug rolled up ever since my sister passed. That was about the time you and Tucker started going together.”

I stopped for a minute and looked at her.

“Ohhh,” she said, “I haven’t forgotten those times. It sure is good to have you back in town.” Then she pulled a photo album off the bookcase.

“There are a bunch of memories of you and Tuck in here. I thought you might like to go through it after all these years.”

She opened the album and set it in my lap, leaving it to me to turn the pages. And there we were: me and Tuck when he first got to La Luna and I hated him, then the two of us after we got to be best friends, and finally as a couple during the summer when we fell in love.

By the time I got to the prom pages, my whole body was hot! I felt nauseated.

“Well,” I said, “it’s just been lovely to look at these pictures.” I closed the album. “Will you excuse me, please? I need to go to the bathroom.”

I went upstairs, because the Tuckers never did put in a bathroom downstairs in their old house. The bathroom was just as I remembered it, with its big old claw-foot tub. I grabbed one of the washcloths, and I wet it and put it on my forehead. “Don’t get mascara all down your face,” I told myself, “or else Miz Lizbeth will know something’s wrong.”

I squeezed my eyes tight. You can do that, you know—squeeze your eyes so tight that the tears don’t come. Then I looked in the mirror, took a deep breath, and walked back downstairs.

Luckily, Miz Lizbeth didn’t have a clue. “You know how well Tucker’s doing?” she said. “I mean, that law firm of his, it’s one of the finer ones in San Francisco. And Mimi, his wife, is so beautiful. Her father’s one of the founding partners in that firm, and Tuck is getting real close to being a full partner himself. Not because of the father-in-law, mind you. No, he’s earned it. He’s been working sixty to seventy hours a week since he started. Tuck’s come out just twice, and both times by himself. Well, he’s so busy at the law firm. And you know, she’s got all her charities and society parties and all. I probably shouldn’t be telling you this, but last time Tuck called, it sounded like they were having marital problems.”

Then Miz Lizbeth took a clean handkerchief from inside the cuff of her blouse and swiped a tear from her eyes. “It makes me so sad, Calla. I always dreamed that you and Tuck would be together.” She looked at me, and I looked away.

“Yes, ma’am,” I said, in a voice that wasn’t really mine. “Thank you so much for the rug, Miz Lizbeth.”

I mumbled an excuse and started to back toward the door.

“Anyway!” she said, “I’m so glad you came by, Calla. I’ll have that rug carried over to the Crowning Glory. And if there’s anything you need, you know you can call on us—we’re right next door. I’m an old lady, but you just call me, okay?”

“Thank you,” I said. Then I left, and I walked the path that Tuck and I had used hundreds of times, going back and forth through the pine trees. I could walk it in my sleep.

When I got back home, I called Sukey and told her I had just come back from the Tuckers’.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

“Well, nothing, really, except that—oh, Suke! I thought I didn’t care anything about Tuck anymore. It’s been so
long
, you know? I loved Sweet so much, and my heart is still so full of love for him. I don’t understand why I should be so upset when Miz Lizbeth talks about Tuck and how well he’s doing.” I paused. “You know, Suke, I think about our senior year in high school, when Renée and Eddie were already ahead of us, announcing their engagement. Tuck wouldn’t even look me in the eyes when they did. He knew then, didn’t he? He knew he wasn’t coming back. Why didn’t I know? Why was I so
stupid
?”

Sukey said, “Snap out of it, Calla. You’ve got a wonderful new life there in La Luna. You’re building a business, your Crowning Glory. Believe me, it’s going to be a place where everybody wants to be. You have fulfilled your dream, Calla. You wanted to come to New Orleans. You wanted to get trained. You wanted to become a really good beautician. And now you’re back in La Luna like you wanted to be. With your own shop.”

“Yeah,” I said. “Only I found what I wanted, and then I lost it.”

“I know,” Sukey said. “I think about Sweet, too, and about how funny he was. I mean, that Sweet could have you on the floor.”

That made me laugh, and then I started to cry while I was laughing.

“Calla,” Sukey said, “why don’t I come tomorrow and spend the night? We’ll eat pizza, and I’ll bring you some good beer from New Orleans. How does that sound?”

“No, Suke, no. You can’t—no—don’t bring beer!”

“Ha-ha-ha! Gotcha,” Sukey laughed. “You know I wouldn’t touch a beer with a ten-foot pole.”

“Okay, you got me,” I said, with a sigh of relief. “But really, I’m fine, Suke. You don’t need to come.”

“You promise?” Sukey asked.

“I promise.”

“Cross your heart and hope to die?”

“Yes, cross my heart and hope to die.”

“Stick a needle in your eye?”

I started laughing. “Stick a needle in my eye.”

“I love you,” Sukey said.

“I love you too, Suke. Love you like a cuke.”

I hung up the phone and just sat on the couch, stroking Fred Astaire in my lap. Sometimes, I can’t tell how long it is that I just sit. Quiet. Time just melts away.

T
he whole town had pitched in. It was like a Shaker barn-raising. So we were able to open the Crowning Glory in six months! Of course, everyone who had been involved in any way with the renovation wanted to put in their two cents’ worth about the grand opening. At first, the only thing everyone could agree on was that there should be a grand opening and that it should be a very big deal. I just listened and noted everyone’s suggestions. The one thing I knew was that I wanted to hold the opening on a night with a full moon. March’s full moon happened to fall on a Saturday night.

Joseph Moreau, my neighbor down the road, had volunteered to groom the grounds all around the salon. He pruned the trees and pulled old pecan branches and brambles out of the tall grass before cutting it. He even uncovered a forgotten fig tree. Our place was really beginning to shine again. One evening, I brought out a pitcher of lemonade and thanked him for all of his hard work. He just brushed it off, saying, “Y’all’s place always felt like a park to me when we were growing up. I was shy back then, and you and your mama were always kind to me. Fixing the grounds seemed the best way to honor her memory and welcome you back.”

I was thinking of how to respond when Joseph gave me a shy smile and got back to work. As I walked back to the house, it struck me—not for the first time—how many lives in this little community M’Dear had deeply touched and how many people cared that I’d returned.

Joseph’s family’s place was on the other side of Gum Swamp. It wasn’t a big farm, but being so close to the river, it had excellent soil. “Ice cream dirt” is what Pana called that kind of land. Joseph had badgered his daddy and brother into switching to organic farming. At first, the rest of the farmers in town shunned the Moreaus and made jokes about them, considering them to be somewhere between hippies and communists. But then they noticed that the Moreaus were getting a good price for their crops, while a lot of other small farms were going under. Any way you cut it, farming is hard work. Anybody who can make a go of it earns respect. Eventually all those farmers’ wives, along with the rest of the town, started showing up at the Moreaus’ roadside produce stand to buy honey and vegetables.

When Ricky and Steve moved me back to La Luna, I took them to the Moreaus’ stand to load up on goodies for the weekend’s meals. I was surprised by Ricky’s reaction to Joseph’s sign. It was bright yellow with thick hand-painted red letters: “Home-grown, Hand-picked, Fresh as You Can Get.”

Ricky just stared at it and then quietly said, “That is a poem. That is just a perfect Zen poem.”

Those words embodied what my life had become since I came home to La Luna: “Home-grown, Hand-picked, Fresh as You Can Get.”

One weekend Sukey came home to stay with Sally. Helping me paint a dining room chair that we’d made comfy with colorful pillows, she looked up from painting for a moment.

“Calla, I’m lonely for La Luna. I didn’t know it until I started coming home so frequently, watching how everyone cares about each other, how they all remember me so well. They don’t know how I lived my life in New Orleans, but even if they did, they’d still love me. Do you think I’m right?”

I put down the glue gun I’d been using on one of the cosmetic carts. “Yes,” I said to my friend, “you got it right.”

“Well, then,” she said, “I’m going to wrap up things in New Orleans, and move back to La Luna.”

I have to admit that my jaw dropped before I gave her a hug. I hadn’t known how lonely I was for Sukey. “Welcome home,” I said.

So Sukey moved back a couple months after I did. “Hey, there are alcoholics everywhere,” she said. “Especially in small towns. And then, of course, there’s Claiborne.”

On the afternoon of the Crowning Glory’s grand opening I happily walked the grounds. Everything was so beautiful that I spread my arms wide to the river and sky, inviting everything—birds, angels, lost souls, friends old and new, friends not yet met, babies not yet born—to join me in celebrating the Crowning Glory.

I was halfway up the path to the house when I ran into Ricky and Steve. Talk about boys who knew how to dress up for a party! Steve wore a vertical-striped vest with a pink satin bow tie, and Ricky was decked out in a light linen jacket over elegant pale gray, pleated gabardine slacks. I squealed when I saw them, and we hugged and kissed.

Then Ricky handed me a small parcel.

“Calla, this was left on the porch of the shop. There’s no name on it, but it has to be for you.”

“Oh, come on, you guys, I know you too well—”

“No, Calla, it isn’t from us,” Steve said firmly.

The parcel was wrapped in old-fashioned, shiny, brittle brown paper and tied with a length of brown string. I turned it over and shook it a few times before pulling the paper off. Soon I was looking at the back of an old, beautifully carved, Art Nouveau picture frame. When I flipped it over to see the front, I got a little chill. The frame held a faded but still quite beautiful picture of a Victorian woman in a flowing white gown sitting in the curve of a cutout moon. Her arms reached slightly downward toward a little painted hamlet beneath her bare feet.

“I have no idea who this is from,” I said, unable to take my eyes off the picture. I decided to think about it later.

Then I walked back to the salon alone and stood before a black-and-white photo of M’Dear, draped in a mist of silk gauze, with a group of young girls in leotards and tights (one of them was me).
M’Dear
—I smiled—
be with me tonight as we celebrate. And thank you.
Then I pressed my finger to my lips and kissed M’Dear’s image.

Outside, car doors were already slamming, so I walked out onto the porch. Folks started streaming in with casseroles and side dishes. Miz Lizbeth directed the flow as if she were a seasoned traffic cop. Ricky said, “Well, my protégée, I’d say the gala has begun.”

So many people hugged and kissed me as they arrived that I lost count after ten minutes. When the sun set, the children were finally allowed to light the luminaria lining the paths from the road to the house and to the pier. Sonny Boy and Will took charge of the lanterns they’d placed overhead in the trees. The heavenly smells of gumbo and barbecue—Louisiana ambrosia—wafted through the gathering crowd. Nelle was camped in a wicker chair, telling whoever was in earshot, “They all done a real fine job fixing up this place.” Everybody was amazed at how Sonny Boy’s crew had renovated the studio. Outside in the fading light, people happily mixing together in the patio were saying how it was magic that I had so many fireflies around when it was too early to find them everywhere else.

Then came the unmistakable ringing sound of a dinner knife hitting a glass, signaling that it was time for a toast. The crowd gradually quieted down, and in the warm center of the big room, Papa was saying, “I’d like to raise a glass to my Calla Lily. Where are you, sweetie?”

Everyone started to clap and holler as I made my way to Papa’s side. His eyes were wet, and he glanced up at the ceiling to try to keep the tears from rolling down his cheeks.

“I was gonna say,” Papa began, “that the only thing missing from this evening is our Lenora, Calla’s M’Dear. But you know what? I think she
is
here—all over this place, but mainly in my daughter, who has the hands, the healing touch, of her mother.” Then Papa gave me a hug, and said, “You want to say a few words, babe?”

I looked out at the gathering. “Thank you,” I said, “for welcoming me home—for your love and your labor in transforming the Swing ’N Sway into the Crowning Glory. I’m gonna wash, color, and cut your hair. I’m gonna massage your bodies—if you’ll let me! And all along, I’m going to try to make this place as much fun as it was when M’Dear danced with Papa. Now—
laissez les bons temps rouler
!”

Ned and Jolie, a local couple who played a guitar and fiddle, were providing the music. Two of their cousins from Evangeline Parish had joined them on the bass fiddle and squeeze-box accordion. The accordion player started out with a solo that led into a full-tilt boogie Cajun dance tune that got everyone up and moving, and the old folk tapping their feet. After a few tunes, Will and Papa and the La Lunatics sat in, too. I worked my way back through the crowd to the open French doors of the salon. I stepped out into the courtyard, where the night sky was so bright and the scent of jasmine from the garden was deliciously strong. I sat down on a garden bench and simply enjoyed the sweetness of this evening. Nelle snuck up behind me and, sitting down next to me, she asked, “So, Calla, sweetie, could you have hoped for better than this?”

“No,” I said. “This is just perfect. Thank you, Nelle. For your encouragement and support.”

“I told you, Calla Lily, didn’t I? You built yourself a career just like we talked about all those years ago. Now look at you! I love you—and don’t you forget it!”

We put our arms around each other, and I kissed her on the cheek. “I owe you most of this, Nelle.”

Nelle said, “Ha! We both know better. Your mama had a lot to do with this. And Ricky. But mainly you. Now, don’t stay up too late now, you hear me? You got to do my hair day after tomorrow.”

Almost all the older people were making their good-byes now, leaving the dancing to the younger folks. Will took me back out to the porch with a big bowl of gumbo and some warm French bread. “Hey, sis, you sit down now and eat. You been on your feet for hours.”

As I ate the good food, Sonny Boy and Papa came out to join us, and the four of us sat there in the light of the grand, full moon. Papa got up after a time and leaned down and kissed me on my forehead. He said in my ear, “You made your papa proud tonight. More than that, you made your papa happy. And your M’Dear, too. Love you up to the sky, daughter of mine.” I took out my hankie to wipe my tears and half-jokingly offered it to Papa. He looked at it and said, “Isn’t that M’Dear’s lavender hankie?”

All I could do was nod. He squeezed my hand, then he hugged my brothers and headed out to his truck, giving a wave over his shoulder. He paused for a moment in the shimmering moonlight, and waltzed a few steps as though his partner was fully there. He gave a little bow, then turned and walked back to his truck. In the glow of the moon, he looked like a much younger man, a man in love with someone he’d dance with forever.

Will offered me his arm and said, “Hey, sugar, care for a dance?”

“I’d love to, Will. Yes, I would. I am ready to dance!”

So I danced and I danced. I danced with JoAnn and I danced with Aunt Helen. I danced with Will, with Sonny—and then in a trio with Ricky and Steve. I even danced with Fred Astaire, who had appointed himself my mascot for the night. With the little handmade tuxedo Aunt Helen made for Mister Astaire, he was quite the canine gentleman.

A few minutes before midnight, the band wrapped up with a rousing swamp-pop number. Then Ricky announced that everyone was supposed to go down to the pier at twelve o’clock sharp. Folks looked at me to see what was going on. “I have no idea,” I told them. “This is news to me.”

There were only about twenty of us left, and we all wandered down the path toward the pier. Some of the luminaria had burned out, and a few others were flickering. But the bright moonlight helped us to make our way.

As we got to the pier, we could see lanterns being lit on a small boat drifting toward us, silhouetting two passengers. As the boat drew closer, we could see a man who was rowing and a woman wearing a large, loose-flowing dress that was falling off one shoulder. The woman took two long objects, one in each hand, and touched their tips to the six lanterns on the bow, setting off a shower of light on each. She then flung her arms out to her sides, which revealed the objects to be two large, pale fans, now fully open, with sparklers extending from the ribs. In the white light of the sputtering sparklers, we could see that the figure was Sukey, moving her fans in a slow dreamy dance.

Our small crowd stood silent as the sparklers burned out and the boat slipped back into the darkness. Then Renée broke the spell by whispering, “Oh, Sukey, you always did have—” Then we finished the sentence together: “
Jewels
in your purse!”

Renée called out, “The La Lunettes live eternal!”

Then we all let go with whoops and hollers. What a night! What a magical, overflowing night.

As I walked back to the house with Ricky and Steve, I asked them, “Y’all know a lot of painters down in New Orleans, don’t you?”

“Sure, we do,” Steve replied. “Why do you ask?”

“Well, I’d love to get someone to paint a scene of the moon over the river and Sukey in the boat. I want to hang it in a place of honor in the Crowning Glory. I want art all over the place. I want the whole place itself to be a work of art.”

When we reached the back door, I told Ricky and Steve, “Y’all go on in. I’ll join you in a minute.”

I looked up at the moon and I thought of something M’Dear told me on one of the afternoons when we talked about her dying: “Look up and throw me a kiss, baby, and I’ll send one back to you. Think about the stars, Calla, think about the moon.”

Through happy, teary eyes, I threw kiss after kiss after kiss up to M’Dear and the Moon Lady, and the friends who had helped carry me this far.