The Party Line

Chapter Seventeen

M y mind flitted from one memory of Aunt Gracie to another, and among them all, I couldn’t recollect a single bad one. She’d always showered me with love. Maybe all the reminiscences about the good times we had was what kept me from demanding answers from God as to why He took her away from me. I so wanted her to live to be a hundred, or maybe even more. I wanted her to rock my babies like we did the dolls in her bedroom when I was a little girl, and to hear her sing to them.

Among all the other memories, I remembered attending a funeral with Mama and Aunt Gracie when I was about five years old. The preacher had said that we were all born with an expiration date, and Miz Loretta Garrison had found hers and was now in the arms of Jesus. I wondered if the elderly lady with gray hair up there in that white casket with pink roses on the top of it wanted to be hugged up with Jesus forever and ever. Seemed like when there were streets of gold to be wandering up and down, and old friends to catch up with, that she might like for Jesus to let her go so she could go check out the rest of the place.

Afterward, we had gone to a family dinner at the church. The parents of my friends hadn’t brought them to the funeral. We had talked about the funeral the next day at Sunday school, and they’d had dozens of questions that I tried to answer. I told them about the preacher talking about an expiration date, and we all checked to see if we could find one somewhere on our bodies. I even looked at the bottom of my feet, but none of us could find anything. I figured that would be a good thing to know if I could find it.

Gina Lou broke into my thoughts. “I’ll clean up while you take your bath.”

“Okay, and thank you.” I wondered if that preacher had been right after all, and if so, then shouldn’t I live my life in a way that brought me happiness? I wasn’t going to die until a date that was written somewhere in the universe or maybe in invisible ink on my birth certificate—seemed only fitting since the birth date was there that my expiration would be on the same paper.

“What are you thinking about?” Gina Lou asked. “Did I do something wrong?”

“Oh, no.” I laid my hand on her arm to reassure her. “You’ve already proven that hiring you was the smartest move I could ever make. What do you say that we go see that basement?”

Gina Lou and I pushed back our chairs and stood up at the same time. “What were you thinking about so hard?” she asked. “One minute, you were smiling, and then your expression turned like you were trying to get someone to answer a question.”

“Thinking about Aunt Gracie, for the most part.” I opened the squeaky door, and a heavy musty odor slapped me in the face.

“She was a great lady,” Gina Lou said.

“Yes, she was,” I agreed, shaking my head to dispel the fumes.

“This place smells like Miz Josie’s old cellar, where we go when the tornado siren blows,” Gina Lou said with an identical shake. “I can’t find the light switch, Lila.”

“There isn’t one. Like the rest of the house, you have to pull the string.” I found the thread spool and lit up the place—dim as it was. “There’s a cellar on Mama’s property, and it smells like this but not as bad. I figure it’s all the clothing or mothballs in those boxes that makes it so strong.”

As we descended the stairs, the air got heavier and heavier, as if there wasn’t quite enough of it. I thought I should bring a fan from upstairs to at least keep things stirred up a little.

Gina Lou grimaced. “This place is a mess. You sure you want to make wine down here?”

“Not make it; just store it. Once we have it all cleaned out, I don’t think it will be so stinky.”

I thought of the old barn that a tornado had destroyed, the place where Aunt Gracie and the boys had gotten drunk on their own homemade wine. Maybe I could have one built at the edge of my twenty acres and, with a little persuasion, get Mama and Annie, and maybe even Gina Lou’s mama, to help me in the wine-making process. That would be a part-time job for Mama and Annie, and they could still travel.

Gina Lou made her way through the maze of wooden and cardboard boxes over to the shelves lining three walls and wiped the dust off a quart jar. “If this is the newest of the lot, then we should get rid of all of them. This one is dated 1974. But that’s your decision. I’ve been here less than a day ...”

I held up a palm and shook my head. “I’m always open to suggestions, and you might know more about some of this stuff than I do. Let’s leave the shelves alone until we get everything else cleared out. Then we won’t be stumbling over boxes while we’re taking jars upstairs to clean them out.”

Gina Lou twisted her blonde hair up into a messy bun and held it there with a clamp she had had attached to the bottom of her T-shirt. “Where do we start? Back or front?”

“Let’s start closest to the stairs. We can each take a load up to sort.” I picked up the first two to carry them to the foyer. “I feel like I’m suffocating down here.” I wasn’t sure if it was the smell or if it was psychosomatic from all the ghosts I imagined hiding inside the boxes.

Gina Lou came right behind me with one in her arms. “Me too. This box is pretty light, and it’s not marked like the ones you are taking up. I wonder what’s in it.”

I set my two on the floor and brushed the dust off the tops. One said “Clarence’s coats.” The other said “Betty’s clothing.”

“Why didn’t they get rid of these things years ago?” I wondered out loud, then remembered the outfits in Aunt Gracie’s closet. She had had her reasons for keeping those things, so maybe her parents had theirs.

“Maybe whoever worked here back then packed them all up and stored them in the basement. Miz Gracie might not have even realized what was down there,” Gina Lou answered. “Hey, if the red panties aren’t the big secret, we might find a clue tucked away in all this stuff. Looks like someone in the family wore long oat-colored underwear, but I’d say this is all trash since there’s holes and patches on every single one.”

“According to what Aunt Gracie told me, for a long time after the Depression years, no one ever threw away anything, not even a foot-long piece of thread.” I pulled out a long gray coat with a plaid scarf still tucked around the collar. Both were dotted with moth holes. I wondered why whoever had packed them away didn’t at least throw in a handful of mothballs. Then I remembered that passage in Aunt Gracie’s diary about being so angry with her father.

She had never told me that the bedroom Gina Lou was using had once belonged to her father and mother, but it made sense. The closets and dresser had been cleaned out, and since she hadn’t forgiven him for whatever he did, then she wouldn’t have cared if his things were well preserved or not.

“Looks like what’s in this one goes to the trash, too. I’m glad we’ve got a big dumpster and not one of those little poly-cart things,” I said as I shoved the box to one side and opened the next one to find the same thing: woolen skirts and vests with holes eaten in them. “Let’s just carry these outside and bring up one more load. I’m tired and already feeling downright grimy from pulling weeds most of the day. I’m in desperate need of a long bubble bath.”

“I’m not as tired, but I am looking forward to sinking down in that big old claw-foot tub near my room and then climbing into that heavenly bed with a book.” Gina Lou headed out the back door with her box in her arms. “Do you think that this is what we’ll probably find in most of what’s down there? Not much of a treasure trove, is it?”

“Nope,” I agreed.

“What are y’all doin’?” Jasper asked.

“Throwin’ out stuff that should’ve been tossed years ago,” I replied.

“How are you feelin’?” Gina Lou asked.

“Better than yesterday at this time. What’s in them boxes?” he asked.

“Moth-eaten coats and long-handled underwear with holes and patches,” I told him. “And there’ll most likely be more of the same. We are cleaning out the basement.”

“Why?” Jasper asked.

I kept walking toward the gate. “I’m going into the strawberry business, and I’m going to store my strawberry wine down there.”

“Can I come live in the basement?” he teased.

“No, but I might bring you a bottle for your hundredth birthday.”

“Then I guess I’m going to have to live a while longer,” he said with a big grin. “I wouldn’t want to miss out on that. Did I tell you about the time me and Gracie and Davis made wine?”

“You did.” I was suddenly worried about his memory. I could never put Jasper in a nursing home, but I wasn’t sure I could care for him if he had dementia.

“Well, remind me to tell you again sometime. I like to remember them days,” he said. “When I tell them stories, it’s like Gracie and Davis are still with me and we are having fun.”

“You haven’t told me,” Gina Lou said, “so I’ll remind you later.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” Jasper told her.

The next boxes we brought up were filled with clothing that seemed to be even older than the first three and in even worse condition. Jasper was still on his porch even though it was beginning to get dark.

“What’s in those?” he asked.

“Looks like stuff from long before Aunt Gracie was born. There’s long dresses with ruffles everywhere.”

“Her grandparents built this place back in the late 1800s. Clarence was born in that house, and so was Gracie. And they both died there,” he said with a long sigh. “It’s stood up to a lot of stuff, with arguing and lovin’ on the inside and bad weather on the outside.”

I stopped and said, “Tell me those stories.”

“That’s something for another day. Right now I’m going inside to watch my shows. Y’all don’t work too hard.” He stood up and disappeared into his house.

“So, is that it for this day?” Gina Lou asked.

“My muscles and body are telling me to go get into a nice warm bath,” I moaned. “So yes, this is it for today. And the car keys are hanging on a rack inside the back door if you want to take the SUV to church tomorrow morning. I plan to sleep late.”

She held the door open for me. “Don’t forget Jasper’s last dose of medicine for today.”

“Thanks for the reminder.” I made my way up the stairs and into the bathroom, where I adjusted the water in the tub and peeled out of my sweaty clothing. I poured in both bubble bath and salts and sank down into the warm water with a groan. Thank goodness tomorrow was Sunday.

“Why didn’t they just wait to start the work until Monday?”

I was half-asleep when a squeaky step about halfway up the stairs warned me that someone was on the way. Figuring it was Gina Lou, I adjusted the rolled-up towel at the back of my neck and closed my eyes.

“Lila, are you up here?”

The sound of Mama’s voice startled me so badly that my eyes popped wide open and I sat up. The towel at my neck fell over the back of the tub, and I couldn’t reach it even with my long arms.

“Mama?” Surely I was imagining things. She didn’t come into the house unless it was absolutely necessary. At best, she would make it into the kitchen, and even then she couldn’t wait to get back outside. After spending a while in the basement, I wasn’t so sure anymore that she wasn’t right.

She opened the door, peeked inside, and then came on into the bathroom. “What is this I hear about you going to be a strawberry farmer?” She picked up my towel from the ladder-back chair sitting beside the tub, laid it on the edge of the sink, and sat down.

“Who told you?” I sank down so that bubbles covered me all the way to my neck.

“I called to ask Jasper how he was feeling, and he said you pulled weeds all day and then came home and started cleaning out the basement so you’d have a place to store wine. What has gotten into you, girl? You’ve got a good education. If you think you need a job, you can find one at a bank or at a firm in San Antonio. The commute isn’t bad, and—”

I pulled a hand up out of the water in a gesture to shush her and then butted in before she could really get riled up on a rant. “Mama, you know I’ve never done a single impulsive thing in my life.”

“Except quitting your job on a whim to help me,” Mama said. “And don’t you shush me with an arm that looks like it’s been dipped in meringue. Your steadfastness is one of the things I’ve always admired about you.”

“I got that from you, Mama—and I can use my education to manage the estate that Aunt Gracie left me, but I’m not sure I want to spend every waking day behind a desk again. I’m tired tonight, but it’s a good tired. My muscles ache, and the sun probably produced another hundred freckles on my face. People can take me or leave me when it comes to my looks or my choice of jobs. I sweated off all my makeup, and the weeds didn’t care. Connor and the work crew were sweating as much as me, so they didn’t care, either.” I finally stopped for a breath.

She eyed me and set her mouth in that firm line she always did just before I got a heavy lecture about life. Then her whole expression changed, and she giggled. “I guess I did teach you to fight for what you want. But be honest with me: Is this because you are seriously thinking of not renewing Everett’s lease in January or because you want to spend time with Connor?”

“Maybe some of both, but, Mama ...” I threw a handful of bubbles at her. “I feel free tonight, as if a weight has been lifted from my shoulders. I figured out something today. You know those old black party line phones that are still in the house?”

She brushed the bubbles off her shirt with the side of her hand. “What about them?”

“They are obsolete, and I’m getting rid of them, but I thought of them today. In their day, folks listened in on gossip and then spread it all over town—over backyard fences, behind those church fans with Jesus holding a baby lamb on one side and an advertisement for a funeral home on the other, or in hushed whispers in aisle three in the grocery store.”

“Why aisle three?” she asked.

“That’s where the feminine products are kept. No man would ever be caught there, so they couldn’t accuse their wives of spreading rumors,” I explained.

That made her giggle. “And what’s so different today?”

“We have cell phones, and a few folks still have landlines, like what’s in this house. But party lines are a thing of the past. Today, social media takes the place of party lines, and that’s the way that gossip gets spread all over town.”

“What has that got to do with Connor, or with anything else?” she asked.

“The things that were heard by eavesdroppers on the party lines in their day are probably most likely the same as what creates a good gossip session today. Only now it’s spread over social media for a day or two, and then something better comes along to take its place.”

“I’m still confused,” Mama scowled.

“What I’m trying to say is that I don’t care what people think or gossip about. I’m going to make myself happy.” I took a deep breath. “If getting into a relationship with Connor Thurman makes me happy, then that’s what I’m going to do.”

“I love that,” Mama said with a smile, “but I still can’t figure out what party lines have to do with it.”

“Probably nothing, but I believe that this ‘big secret’ thing started when Aunt Gracie overheard something on one of them,” I replied. “I don’t want to let anything other people think—even if it turns out to be something that’s whispered about for decades—keep me from living my life.”

“Okay, then,” she said. “I was also wondering if you’re stirring up other trouble. What’s this I hear about Gracie’s red panties?”

Not even sucking on a lemon could have kept the smile off my face. “Don’t you think those panties are a big enough thing to keep the few folks here in Ditto talking for a few weeks? Which reminds me ... When you took her clothing to the funeral home—”

“Yes, I took red silk panties and a red pantsuit and told the funeral director not to put shoes on her. She loved the feel of the green grass on her feet. I bet that sorry sucker started the rumor.” She narrowed her eyes and set her mouth in a firm line.

“Nope, Gina Lou did the honors when she told her mother,” I told her. “I don’t think there’s a funeral home–confidentiality thing like with lawyers and doctors, but he probably just gasped and did what you told him to do. You told me that she died right here at home. I was so shaken up and so busy I didn’t ask questions. Tell me more about that evening.”

“Jasper called me.” Mama shivered. “I was here when the ambulance arrived. They took her to the hospital, but it was too late. She’d been diagnosed a month before with congestive heart failure, and the doctor said she probably had a year to live. I wanted her to turn the downstairs office into a bedroom.”

“Why? Had it become hard for her to go up and down the stairs?” I asked.

“Yes, it had, but she was as stubborn as ...” She narrowed her eyes and shot a look over my way. “As stubborn as you are.”

“I’ve heard that before.”

“Anyway, the doctor at the hospital ruled that she died of a heart attack,” Mama said.

No wonder Mama felt like there were ghosts in the house. Something akin to a cold chill chased down my spine.

She stood up and placed the towel back on the chair. “I’m going now. I’m trying really hard not to let the eerie feeling in this place keep me from coming to see you, but I’ve got to admit, I’m glad I’m leaving on Monday. This is all I can handle for a while. Will you come help me pack tomorrow?”

“Why don’t we go for burgers at the Dairy Queen and then spend the afternoon together?” I suggested.

“I’d like that,” she said. “Are we going to church?”

“Let’s play hooky. Jasper won’t feel like getting out yet. I’ll pick you up at eleven thirty so we can beat the church crowd to the café.”

“I’ll be ready,” she said and hurried out the door.

I could hear her footsteps practically jogging down the stairs.

“Bless her heart,” I whispered and ducked my head under the water.

I came up for air, washed my hair, and rinsed it. Then I stayed in the tub until the water was stone cold and the bubbles had gone flat. When I pulled the plug and stepped out onto the rug beside the tub, my skin was almost as wrinkled as Aunt Gracie’s had been when I saw her the last time. I wrapped a towel around my head turban-style and another one around my body and padded barefoot to my bedroom.

I thought about Aunt Gracie drawing her first breath in the room a few feet across the wide hallway from my bedroom and then taking her last one in that same room. I pulled on a pair of pink bikini underwear and a nightshirt that had been worn so much that it was soft and comfortable.

I heard the bathroom door open and then close, and then Gina began to sing. I’ve never been musical, either in playing an instrument or in singing, so I couldn’t be a good judge, but she sure sounded like Miranda Lambert of the Pistol Annies when she belted out “Hell On Heels.”

“Yep, we are hell on heels, and even though we might not be looking for a sugar daddy like the song says, we aren’t going to let anyone else tell us what to do or how to live our lives,” I said, then headed downstairs for a glass of sweet tea.

I forgot all about what I was doing when I passed by the door to the basement. Before I knew it, I was turning on the light and easing down the rough wood steps in my bare feet. When I got to the bottom, I glanced around the room and my eyes landed on a shoebox sitting over to my left on one of the shelves. “Gracie’s Stuff” was written on the end. How could I have overlooked that when we were down there earlier?

Without even thinking about the dust on the floor or my bare feet, I walked across the room and picked it up. Not wanting to share the contents with Gina Lou, I hurried back up to my bedroom and wiped my feet on the damp towel I’d wrapped around my head. Then I used the other one to clean the outside of the box before I crawled up in the middle of my bed and set it down in front of me.

Rather than being taped, the box was tied with a faded-red satin ribbon. I pulled on the string, and the bow let go. I eased the top off and found at least a dozen dried roses covering an old wine bottle with a note stuffed inside. I tried to shake it out. That didn’t work, but I didn’t give up. Tweezers from the manicure set Aunt Gracie gave me for my birthday was what finally rescued the piece of paper.

I carefully unrolled it and read: These are the roses that Davis gave me for my birthday, and this is one of the wine bottles that we used to make our own strawberry wine. I don’t ever want to forget the days we had. It seemed that we only had a minute together before he was killed, but it was a precious one. I loved him, and he was taken from me.

I sighed as I put the lid back on the box. Her red panties weren’t the secret at all, but her love for Davis. I wondered why they couldn’t be together. Had her parents forbidden it because he was the help? Had her father paid his mother—what was her name?

“Rita!” I snapped my fingers. “That was her name. Did Gracie’s daddy pay her to break up a budding young romance? Why didn’t they rebel when they graduated from high school? Had he been made to believe that he wasn’t good enough for her?”

The answers to my questions were at the cemetery with Gracie. That was probably where they belonged because, as Jasper had said many times, “If she had wanted you to know, she would have told you.”