Sweetgrass

He grimaced. “I should be. I’m playing in a tournament next week.”

“Your daddy told me. Say, I saw a new titanium putter at the club that’s as light as a feather and sure to help your game.”

“Yeah?” Harry exclaimed. “But I’ll bet it costs an arm and a leg.”

“Maybe not all that much.” She winked. “Be good today and we’ll talk.”

“Now, Aunt Adele…” Nan interjected, not wanting the boys to always feel they needed a reward for good behavior.

“We’d better join the others before they wonder where we are,” Adele interrupted, expertly steering the family into the living room.

The moment they stepped in, the room exploded with hoots and hollers. Morgan rushed out of his chair and wrapped Nan in a bear hug. The affection and banter flowed freely between brother and sister, spreading throughout the room.

Mama June wrapped her arms around herself, hearing the merriment as a string of firecrackers celebrating the family’s reunion. Hank smoothly stepped forward to act as bartender, serving the ladies mimosas.

“Morgan, what’s your poison?”

“Bourbon on the rocks, thanks.”

“A man after my own heart.”

“That sounds good to me, too, Dad,” Harry called out.

“There’re Cokes in the fridge,” Mama June replied. “Help yourself. But first, come say hello to your uncle.”

“I doubt they much remember you, Morgan,” Adele said.

Mama June thought the comment unkind, but Morgan sauntered over, extending his hand with a lopsided grin.

“I’ll bet you haven’t forgotten that boar hunt, huh?” he asked.

Harry, who adored hunting, shook his head and readily took Morgan’s hand. “No, sir!”

“What boar hunt?” Chas immediately wanted to know.

Harry launched into the tale, eliciting guffaws from Hank and Morgan. Mama June listened, attuned to the gift of storytelling that her grandson had inherited from his grandfather Blakely, along with Preston’s throaty laugh. Seeing the genetic imprint carry on from generation to generation was, for her, a blessing of growing older. Her attention was distracted, however, by Adele. She meandered about the room perusing the colonial-era furniture with a proprietary air. She stopped before an empire bookcase that held several pieces of family silver.

“Well, I’ll be….” She reached into the cabinet and lifted out a small engraved silver cup. “You found my porridge cup!”

Mama June came directly to her side. “Yes! After all these years we found it when we moved furniture in the dining room. It was wedged between the breakfront and the wall. Don’t ask me how it got there.”

“It was probably Press or Tripp that hid it there, just to rile me.” Adele tenderly turned the burnished silver cup in her hands. “I never thought I’d see this again.”

“Why don’t you keep it? Take it home with you,” Mama June offered.

Adele’s gaze shot up. “How nice of you to offer me my own porridge cup,” she said with sharp sarcasm that put Mama June’s teeth on edge.

From the corner of her eye she caught Morgan’s swift turn of head at the tone, his eyes searching.

Despite Mama June’s protests, Adele put the porridge cup back on the shelf with a great show.

Mama June was sensitive to the fact that it was difficult for her sister-in-law to be a guest in the house she’d grown up in. Though she’d never said so openly, it was clearly understood by both women that even though Mama June owned Sweetgrass, she wasn’t from Sweetgrass. And that fact was a major burr under Adele’s seat.

Letting the comment slide, she smiled and announced it was time for dinner.

The large meal that Mama June had slaved over was consumed with relish and compliments. She beamed as she watched her grandsons help themselves to seconds of the chicken with Madeira sauce from an old family recipe. The cocktails had loosened their tongues and they talked amiably as they ate. For a while she felt transported in time to when such gatherings were commonplace at Sweetgrass. Morgan, never much of a talker, spoke openly about his life in Montana, and the boys ate up his stories and peppered him with questions. They liked him, she thought with delight. And the feeling was mutual. Too soon, it was time to clear the dishes, and Nan helped her serve the pecan pie and ice cream that was a universal favorite.

She was pouring coffee when a subtle mood shift indicated they all sensed the chitchat was over and it was time to talk business. Their radars finely honed to such nuances, the boys asked to be excused from the table and dashed for the exit. Mama June sought Morgan’s eyes and they shared a commiserating look.

He cleared his throat and all heads turned toward him. She had purposefully set him in Preston’s seat at the head of the table, a gesture she knew had not gone unnoticed by Adele at his right. Nan sat to his left and Hank to Mama June’s right at the table’s other end.

“I wish my homecoming had been under happier circumstances,” he began.

“Lord knows we all waited long enough, bless your heart,” Adele said.

“Yes. A long time,” he replied.

How extraordinary, Mama June thought. How coolly her son dealt with Adele’s niggling.

“Well, you’re home now,” Nan said, springing to his defense. “That’s what’s important.”

Mama June smiled gratefully at her daughter.

“Anyway,” Morgan continued, “Mama June has asked me to stay on for a while. And I’ve agreed.”

Adele’s brows rose as she exchanged a quick glance with Hank, who frowned.

“That’s wonderful,” exclaimed Nan. “I’d hoped you would, what with Daddy in the hospital.”

That was her opening. Mama June set her cup down in the saucer and straightened her shoulders. She looked around the table then settled on the supportive, bolstering stare of Morgan.

“I have good news. We are bringing Preston home!” she announced. “To Sweetgrass.”

There was a sudden hush over the table, as though a bomb had been dropped.

“You can’t be serious!” Adele blurted out.

“Why not?” Morgan asked. “It makes perfect sense to bring him home. It’s even recommended by the doctors.”

Hank threw his napkin on the table and leaned back in his chair in exasperation. “I should think it’s obvious why not,” he said. “The man can’t speak. He can hardly move!”

“Hank!” interjected Nan, horrified.

Mama June’s head swung toward him, speechless with disbelief.

“Why are you surprised?” Hank argued. “It may not be pretty, but it’s the truth. We can’t be romantic about this.”

“But we can be civil,” Mama June retorted.

“Mary June,” Adele said. “I thought we’d talked about this.”

“That doesn’t mean it is what I decided,” she replied. She could feel her back stiffening against the chair.

“This is ridiculous. I don’t mean to offend,” Adele said in that testy manner that informed she was about to do just that, “but everyone knows that Preston shielded you from financial decisions. You preferred it that way. Frankly, you can’t afford to bring him home. There’ll be medical costs, a decrease in family income and a rise in all of your fixed expenditures. You have to face the facts. You must consolidate and sell your assets.”

“You mean,” Morgan said flatly, “sell Sweetgrass.”

Adele turned from Mama June to look at her nephew, her brow raised at the fact that he’d entered the fray. Their eyes met and held for a long moment.

“Yes,” she replied succinctly. “Sweetgrass is your mother’s greatest asset. And it’s actually a very good time to sell.”

“How lucky for us he decided to have his stroke now,” Morgan replied.

Adele bristled.

“Adele,” Mama June said in an appeal for understanding. “This isn’t just about selling property. This is the family heritage. Preston has devoted his life to preserving it. Once Sweetgrass is gone, what will happen to us, to the family?”

Adele’s face hardened. “The family will simply have to move on.”

Mama June drew back. Her voice trembled with emotion. “I could never sell it out from under him. If the stroke didn’t kill him, that surely would.”

“Hank is right. You’re being romantic. I’m very worried about you and Preston,” Adele replied. “And disappointed in this decision.” She turned again to her nephew. “I think it’s plain irresponsible of Morgan to come home and interfere in what had already been decided by the family.”

Morgan folded his hands on the table, but did not rise to the bait.

Adele’s face tightened. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”

“Mama June, is it so horrible to consider selling?” Nan asked. Her soft voice broke the escalating tension. “You and Daddy have worked hard all your lives. You never spend a penny on yourselves and I can’t remember when you’ve ever taken a vacation. Every dime you earn you put right back into this place. If you sell Sweetgrass, you’ll finally have a chance to take it easy. Really, Mama, won’t you have enough to worry about now just with Daddy? Why do you want to worry about trying to hang on to all this land, too? Let it go. Enjoy life a little.”

Mama June looked into her daughter’s large blue eyes, so much like her own, and felt her resolve slip. The thought of letting go of the burdens of Sweetgrass, of simply moving on to someplace easier, of not pinching pennies and worrying about money, was seductive.

Yet the guilt of letting go of the family land that Preston loved more than anything else weighed heavily on her mind.

“Won’t you miss Sweetgrass if it’s sold?” Morgan asked Nan.

Nan’s expression shifted as a soft smile reluctantly eased across her face. “Yes, sure,” she conceded. “I guess I will.”

“We all will,” Adele interjected, casting an impatient glance at her niece. “That’s not the point. We mustn’t slip into nostalgia or we’ll never be able to deal with what’s on our plate today. Besides,” she said as an aside to Morgan, “I thought you made your opinion perfectly clear years ago when you left. I believe it had something to do with dynamite and sending the whole place to hell.”

“He was angry,” Mama June quickly said. Making excuses for Morgan came readily to her.

“That was more about what was between me and my father than about the land,” he replied, the first hint of steel entering in his voice. “And to that point, this decision is between my mother and my father.”

He paused, meeting the challenge in Hank’s glare. Then, spreading his palms against the table, he said in a controlled voice that brooked no further discussion, “Mama June has listened to all of our opinions and weighed them. She’s made her decision.” He looked directly at his aunt. “I’m sure if she wants you to know something more, she’ll contact you.”

Mama June felt a tightness in her stomach as Morgan’s defense became offense. She glanced quickly at Adele. Her jaw worked at what she certainly viewed as impudence. Adele Blakely was not accustomed to such treatment and Mama June knew she’d hear no end of it.

“Well, I know when I’ve been asked to leave,” Adele said, springing to her feet.

“Adele, don’t go,” implored Mama June. Adele often felt pique and walked off in a huff, expecting others to make amends.

“I can’t say that I’m happy with this decision, but you obviously don’t want my opinion.” She shot a glance at Hank.

Hank rose and gave the let’s-go look to Nan. She promptly followed suit. Adele walked swiftly out, followed closely by Hank. Nan shrugged helplessly then followed her husband from the room. Mama June heard her calling up the stairs for the boys to hurry up, they were leaving.

Mama June sighed and pulled herself from her chair.

“Let them go, Mama,” Morgan said.

She was sorely tempted. She’d worked tirelessly for days to prepare this dinner and felt utterly spent. A mountain of dishes awaited her in the kitchen. She didn’t care at that moment if Adele agreed with her decision or not, nor whether she stormed off, not to be heard from for months, as she’d done in the past. Nonetheless, her upbringing dragged her to her feet.

“It goes against my grain to let a guest, much less my sister-in-law, leave my home upset.”

So she hurried after her, her heels clicking loudly on the polished hardwood floors. Nan was already at her car having a heated exchange with Hank. On the porch, Mama June placed her hand on Adele’s sleeve, arresting her hasty departure.

“Let’s not argue,” she said to Adele.

“I’m very upset.”

“I know. I’m sorry. But, dear, we need to come together now. For Preston’s sake. He needs us all.”

In a spontaneous rush, Adele stepped forward to hug her, tight and fierce. Mama June was swept back to long ago when they were best friends.

Adele pulled back and urged her with her dark eyes blazing, “Think again, Mary June. Before it’s too late.”

Then Adele released her and walked swiftly down the stairs to her car. Blackjack barked madly from his den beneath the porch.

Mama June heard the screen door slam behind her and felt her son’s arm slide around her shoulder. She sighed and leaned into him, relishing his kiss upon the top of her head.

They watched until Adele’s sleek Jaguar, followed by Nan’s Lexus, disappeared down the drive, then stood side by side for several minutes longer. Each relished the peace of the family’s departure. Each was going over in their mind the comments that had been made, dissecting the words and analyzing the intent.

“This storm will blow over,” he said to her.

“Yes, I suppose so,” she replied, though she didn’t really feel so. Old scabs had been reopened that would take time to heal. “Perhaps I put too much store in all going well today. I so wanted their cooperation.”

“And you’ll have it. They just had to blow off steam.”

“I’m not so certain. Adele can be rigid, and Nan’s a dear but she follows Hank’s lead.”

“She’s a sweet kid, but she has no backbone.”

Mama June didn’t respond, fearing that the same might have been said about herself over the years.

“Adele pinched the cup, you know,” Morgan said with amusement in his voice.

“What? The porridge cup?”

He nodded, his lips twisted in disgust.

Mama June shook her head. “It was hers, anyway.”

“You’re not going to say anything?”

“No, let it go. I offered it to her, after all. Besides, it’s not the first thing she’s pinched, as you call it.”

“You’re kidding.”

“It’s never something of great value, at least monetarily. But over the years I’ve noticed a photograph missing, or a piece of family silver, or a painting from her old bedroom. All things that I’m sure she’s rationalized belong to her. For whatever reasons, she needs them. I’ve found it best just not to say anything.”

Movement caught her attention, and turning her head, she saw a thick-set woman in a blue floral dress and a purple slicker coming up the sidewalk from around back.

“Nona!” she called out with a quick wave.

Nona’s face rose toward the stairs and broke into a quick grin. “’Afternoon, Mary June.”

“Nona!” Morgan exclaimed, dashing down the stairs. He swooped Nona in his arms and they hugged warmly, instantly nanny and child again. Morgan held her at arm’s length. “Let me look at you. I swear, you never change. Make a pact with the devil to look so good at your age? And it’s no use lying. I know exactly how old you are.”

“Just living the good life,” Nona quipped. “More than I can say for you! What’s all this long, shaggy hair? And buttons missing from your shirt? You used to be such a fine dresser. Remember those white bucks? Lord, you were like a peacock in those days. You need some caring after, that’s for certain. Don’t they have women where you been living? You can’t find yourself a wife?”

“Come in, come in,” Mama June exclaimed, gesturing with her hand toward the house.

“I can’t stay long. I came along with Elmore. He’s out yonder checking on the sweetgrass,” she said, indicating the direction of the fields with a jerk of her chin. “The first pulling of the season will be here before we know it. Speaking of which…” She lifted her arms to Mama June to offer a beautiful sweetgrass basket with a curved handle.

“Elmore and I, we were sorry to hear Mr. Preston took sick and wanted to bring something. From our house to yours.”

Mama June was more touched by the sentiment than she could express. She took hold of the intricately sewn bread basket made of coiled sweetgrass, rush and pine needles with the same reverence she would an olive branch. Inside the basket, tucked neatly in a blue-checked napkin, were Nona’s homemade buttermilk biscuits.

She felt her heart shift and pump with age-old affection. “Nona, this is so kind of you. It’s been a long time since I’ve tasted one of your biscuits. Morgan was saying how he longed for them. Please, won’t you come in? We just had dinner, but I have pecan pie. And coffee.” She grinned wide. Nona’s love for coffee was well known.

“Maybe just for a coffee. It’ll give me a chance to catch up with that wild boy of yours.”

Later, after coffee and pie were finished and Morgan had gone off to tend to Blackjack, Mama June spoke in confidential tones to Nona about what had transpired that afternoon.

“Good riddance,” Nona said, her lip curled in disgust. “That woman is a real pain in the you-know-where. Always has been.”

“What have I done?” Mama June asked, staring out with dismay.

“You showed some backbone, that’s what you’ve done. Praise Lord!”

Mary June placed her fingers to her brow. “A lot of good it did me. I’ve alienated my family. Now I’m alone.”

Nona pursed her lips, then said, “No, you’re not. You have me.”

Mama June dropped her hand. “But…”

“I realized I was no kind of friend to let you go through this alone. Not after all we’ve been through together. Now, I can’t do all I used to—and neither can you. But together we’ll manage. I’ll come by to make sure the house is running smoothly and make certain you’re not starving while you tend to your husband. And I’ll lend an ear when you need it. It’s the least any friend could do.”

Mama June’s hands squeezed around Nona’s. “I can’t thank you enough. Just knowing you’re here…”

“Let’s not get all weepy. Lord knows, we’ve got our work cut out for us!”

6

Skill, craftsmanship and long hours of work are involved in making sweetgrass baskets. A simple design can take as long as twelve hours. A larger, more complex design can take as long as two to three months.

NONA SIGHED HEAVILY as she brought her van to a stop at Sweetgrass. She looked through the shaded windshield at the handsome white house. It sure was a picture, she thought, cloaked as it was in the pink light of early morning. She’d spent the better part of her life working in this old house and a part of her was happy to come back to it. Maize couldn’t understand such feelings—and that was okay. Nona prided herself on the choices she’d made in her own life and didn’t care to change her ways now. The wind did blow when Maize heard she’d decided to come back to work at Sweetgrass, but it was up to Maize to accept what was.

Nona pulled herself out from the shiny white van, stretching a bit after landing in the soft gravel. She’d bought the car after years of saving her basket money, and every time she looked at it, a ripple of pride coursed through her. Usually it was stuffed to the brim with her baskets, but she’d removed the treasures to store safely in her house until things were settled here at Sweetgrass. She pulled from the van a large canvas bag filled with grass, palmetto fronds and her tools. Every spare minute, her fingers sewed the baskets.

Blackjack greeted her in his usual manner, a grayed muzzle at her thigh and his tail waving behind like a tom-tom drum.

“Hello, you ol’ hound dog,” she exclaimed with affection, bending to pat the fur.

Morgan’s voice caught her by surprise. “’Morning, Nona! You’re here early. What? You can’t stay away?”

His tall, lanky form came from around the side of the house. He was dressed in a faded old T-shirt that was torn at the neck, paint-splattered jeans and worn hiking boots caked with mud. His face was as yet unshaven, and his thick brown curls tumbled askew on his head. He looked like the eight-year-old boy she remembered running in from the field, blue eyes twinkling, to show her a robin’s egg or a snake skin or some other treasure he’d unearthed.

Nona clucked her tongue. “What you got in your hands there?” she asked, indicating the towel he was carrying. “A frog?”

He lifted a paintbrush from the towel. “I’m fixing up the kitchen house. Mama June wants the new aide to stay there. I’ve patched up a few leaks in the roof, put in a window air conditioner in the bedroom, new screens on the windows and now I’m finishing up a fresh coat of paint. You know,” he said, scratching his jaw, “it’s looking pretty good. I’m thinking maybe I should move in, instead.”

“Oh, no you don’t. That girl’s going to want her own space. So’s your mama. You just be a good boy and finish fixing that place up for Miss…what’s her name?”

“Kristina Hays.”

She acknowledged this with a nod. “Well, I’ve got things to get done before Miss Hays arrives, too.”

“I hope she works out.”

“You and me both.” She looked over to the house. “Seems quiet in there.”

“Mama’s sleeping now, or was last time I checked.”

Her brows rose. “Your mama’s still asleep?” She glanced quickly at her wristwatch. “She always rises with the sun. She’s not sick, is she?”

He shook his head. “Just exhausted. I didn’t bother her, and frankly, I’m glad she’s catching up. She’s been going non-stop.”

“That’s just her way. When she’s got herself a project, she gives one hundred percent. And given that this project is your daddy, she’s straining all her gears.”

“Yeah, but she’s sixty-six years old.”

“I’m sixty-eight! What’s your point?”

Morgan laughed. Nona was one of those people who was ageless. She seemed to him today to be the same woman she was when he was a boy. She still stood straight-backed and full-breasted, like some Wagnerian princess. Her hair still gleamed, too, though more like the black-and-white osprey’s wing than a raven’s. She wore it in much the same, short-curled style. Most of all, her spirit had not aged one whit.

One of his first memories of Nona was when he was three or four. Her finger was wagging and her eyes were flames as she scolded his older brother, Hamlin, within an inch of his life. Ham was much older, around thirteen. Yet there he was with his head bowed, filled with remorse. Up till that time, his big brother had seemed to him like a prince among men, a hero beyond reproach. Certainly his parents had never laid down the law like that. Morgan never figured out exactly what it was that Hamlin had done to rile Nona so, though he knew it had something to do with Hamlin taking Morgan out on the boat. Ham had taken him out lots of times without permission, but Morgan was too young to understand why Nona would be so upset about that. Only in retrospect did he see that it was an omen. Nonetheless, his earth had shifted that day as he witnessed her power over his brother.

Morgan put his hands up in mock surrender. “No point made.”

Her dark eyes gleamed in amused triumph. “She’ll get herself up before too long. You eat yet?” she asked him.

“Grabbed some orange juice and a Pop-Tart.”

Nona wrinkled her nose in disgust. “It’s no wonder you’re looking like a scarecrow. I’m amazed you managed to live so long all alone.”

“Who said I was alone?”

That caught her off guard and her face showed it. She quickly recouped, delivering a no-nonsense glare at his smirk. “Don’t you just wish. What woman is gonna hitch her star to someone as dog-ugly as you? Come back inside in about half an hour. I’m fixing to roll out some biscuits and fry up some bacon. And coffee,” she added, her body yearning for her beloved brew.

Morgan smiled as he watched Nona climb the stairs to the house. It wasn’t often he could render Nona speechless.