Isle of Palms (20 page)

I could have sworn she was crying or had been crying or at the very least was emotional about something. I would find out, I told myself, but wasn’t sure I really wanted to. I followed her to the kitchen, where Miss Angel was turning out chicken onto paper towels spread across the counter.

“Well, well! Look who’s ’eah! Miss Anna! Let me look at you!”

She put down her tongs, wiped her hands on the skirt of her apron, and came to stand right in front of me.

“Miss Angel,” I said. “Isn’t life strange?”

“No, life is
wonderful,
’eah?” She stood back from me with her hands on my upper arms and her eyes went from my head to my toes. “This does me so much good to lay my old eyes on you.” She sighed deeply and shook her head.

Miss Mavis, watching Miss Angel’s lips said, “Mine too, mine too.”

“It’s
good
to see you, Anna.”

“It’s so good to see y’all too,” I said. I meant it.

“I mean to say that it’s so good to see you on this ’eah island, because this is where you
belong.”

“Thanks.” I stopped for a moment and, looking at her dead on, I said, “I think so too. It’s like coming full circle or something.”

“What?”

“Don’t holler so, Angel! Well, you poor thing, you probably have a mortgage that could kill you,” Miss Mavis said.

“It’s not too bad. But things have changed around here a lot. What do y’all think about the new shopping center in Mount Pleasant?”

“What? What was that? I missed it,” Miss Mavis said.

“Oh. Well, I’m too old for some of those crazy stores, but it’s nice to have a Belk’s.”

“I had actually looked at a house over there before I saw this one.”

“What? Are you crazy, girl? You’re an old island Geechee, just like us. And that traffic! Mercy! Drive you right out of your mind, ’eah?”

“Let’s get this ’eah meal going, girls,” Miss Angel said. “This chicken gave up he ghost for y’all.”

“And, you too!” Miss Mavis said, turning to me, whispering. “She can be so
bossy
sometimes!”

“I hear you!” Miss Angel said from the kitchen.

Miss Mavis’s expression was like the skipping line of a heart monitor before it went flat—the disease had been diagnosed but there was still some fight in the patient, and without an end in sight.

Their little bickering act improved my mood and I helped them take the food to the table.

The platter of fried chicken was the centerpiece, and I’d like to take a moment to discuss its attributes. It was golden brown and not in the least bit greasy. Miss Angel had a batter recipe that would send the Colonel off a tall building in shame. It was the kind of magazine photograph chicken that made you want to pick off chunks of crunchy batter when no one was looking.

There was also a covered dish of red rice, another one of string beans boiled with onions and ham, a plate of deviled eggs, and finally, a basket of steaming hot biscuits, and no doubt the basket had been woven by Miss Angel. Miss Mavis had set the table with her best china and silver and I knew that this was something of an occasion for them. I was very pleased that I’d brightened up my attitude. They may not have had tons of company to help them pass their Sunday afternoons, but I’ll tell you this. If anyone knew how Miss Angel’s chicken melted in your mouth, they’d have a single-file line from their front door to Shem Creek every single weekend.

“Let’s say the blessing,” Miss Mavis said, and we bowed our heads. “Dear Lord, please bless this food, forgive my mouth for what I am about to tell this young woman, and thank you for teaching Angel how to fry chicken that doesn’t make us too fat. Amen.” She raised her head and looked at me. “I forgot something.”

“That’s alright, Mavis, you just go on and say it.”

She cut her eye at Miss Angel and bowed her head again. “Lord? You still there? Well, today is very special for us because one of our own has come home. I hope that when the time comes for me and Angel to come home that somebody in heaven might be half as excited as we are. Thank you, Lord. Amen.” She opened her eyes and looked at Miss Angel, adding, “If the Lord lets you in, that is.”

“Humph,” Miss Angel said.

Well, that was it. I felt the pain of my entire life coming up my throat.

My eyes burned and I felt ashamed for having dragged Daddy’s story through the years, never once thinking or asking if there had been another side. Worse, I had forgotten about the sense of belonging the island had always given me. Loving it was one thing but it was marvelous to actually belong someplace. How many years had I spent feeling that I didn’t belong anywhere that I was? How many people never felt that they belonged in the space they inhabited?

Taking some chicken, a large breast and a hefty second joint, I cleared my throat so that I wouldn’t get weepy, already knowing that I
would
eventually cry like a pig. I wanted Miss Mavis and Miss Angel to hurry up with the story. Impatience and anxiety were eating me alive.

Miss Mavis heaped a mound of red rice on my plate and two spoonfuls of snap beans. I took three deviled eggs. Miss Angel offered me a biscuit; I grabbed two and slathered them with butter. I couldn’t wait to get the hot dripping things in my mouth.

“Angel can fry some chicken, ’eah?”

“She always could! I can’t wait to taste it! See if she lost her touch.”

“Humph. Lost my touch? When’s the last time you
ate,
girl?” Miss Angel said.

“Miss Angel? You are
still
so, so bad!”

We laughed and Miss Mavis said, “What’d she say?”

“Deaf as a doornail,” Miss Angel said to me under her breath and then loudly to Miss Mavis, “I said,
She seems mighty hungry!
”

“Don’t pay her any mind,” Miss Mavis said, “she’s just an old woman. Would you care for tea? And you! Quit yelling at me, you old coot.”

We began to eat and the standard pleasantries were exchanged. I told them that Daddy had never remarried, that I worked at a salon in Charleston, and that I was divorced. I told them all about Emily and how wonderful she was. Miss Mavis bragged on Miss Angel and how her baskets had won a grant from the National Endowment for the Arts. Miss Mavis went on to say that Fritz (a.k.a. Thurmond) was up for a part in
The West Wing
and that he was doing well, determined not to ever need rehab again. I didn’t ask what had taken him to rehab to begin with and, cross-checking all my mental gauges, I decided that I was acting well enough.

We all admitted that the men in our lives were scarce but that had been all right since we were always too busy to worry about it anyway. But mostly, we talked about how much I had wanted to come back to the Isle of Palms and that’s when Miss Mavis took a deep breath and began to talk.

“It’s important and right that you came back, Anna.”

“Yeah, I dreamed about it for years.”

“There’s very little more important in this world than knowing where you belong.”

“Why is that? I mean, coming back to the Isle of Palms has always mattered to me so much. I’m just not sure why.”

“Anna,” Miss Angel said, “you know you’re in the right place when you can feel it under your feet. Now maybe that sounds crazy, but when I stand on this island, it ain’t even close to how I feel when I stand on the sidewalks of Charleston.”

“Not weird at all,” I said. “On top of that I think my heart rate lowers here. I mean, I really feel different. Relaxed. You know?”

“We’ve always thought so,” Miss Mavis said, looking at her fork of rice and then putting it back on her plate. “Did your daddy ever tell you about his brother?”

“Daddy doesn’t have a brother,” I said, thinking that she was a little addled with age.

“Well, he did. His name was John. Johnny. He died when he was two years old. Terrible. But those were terrible times for your grandparents and for your father too.”

“I had an uncle? Why have I never heard this story?”

Miss Angel pushed back from the table. “I’m gonna get us some more ice for the tea. Anybody want lemon?”

No one answered her and she went to the kitchen without another word. Maybe she didn’t condone all that Miss Mavis had planned to tell me.

“Probably because it was so horrible to talk about. He caught the measles and there was no medicine. Well, there was, but they weren’t handing it out to displaced persons working in an underground airplane factory. That’s for sure. He died in your grandmother’s arms. The poor woman! Lord, have mercy!”

“Oh, my God! That’s horrible! And, it might explain why she was so heartless.”

“She wasn’t really, Anna. I think there’s only so much a person can take and then something in them can’t feel anything anymore. You know? I can tell you that if I lost one of mine, I’d lose my mind! But, you ask your daddy. He’ll tell you if you ask him.”

“Are you kidding? Daddy has always avoided talking about those years other than to say they were awful. Life began for him when Grandfather bought the peach farm in Estill. I knew they had lived in Warsaw and Grandmother’s family was from there. But I could never figure out how they wound up in Germany.”

“What?”

“I said,
How did they wind up in Germany anyway?”

“I’m sorry, Anna, I don’t hear so well anymore.”

“Humph,” Miss Angel said, dropping cubes of ice in our glasses, “You can say that again.”

Miss Mavis narrowed her eyes at Miss Angel, I smiled at both of them, and Miss Mavis said, “To work to get money to live, for heaven’s sake. Besides, Warsaw was all blown up and there wasn’t even electricity all the time. Food was scarce. There was no work and they never knew when a Russian soldier might put a bullet through their heads.”

“It must have been terrible.”

“Yes, I imagine so. After the Russians occupied Warsaw during the war, and the Germans were forced out, your grandparents went to Augsburg, where they lived in housing for displaced persons. They were crammed on a train with all kinds of people for one week, in a cattle car. Your grandfather’s socks dissolved in his shoes! I can’t even fathom such a thing! When they finally arrived, your grandfather worked in the munitions plant and your grandmother had a small job as a bookkeeper. Would you believe she used an abacus? She showed it to me once and she told me all sorts of things.”

“That’s why she kept it! My God! Wait! Were they, could they have been Nazis?”

“Great God! No! They were Prussian! Didn’t anyone ever tell you about your family’s history?”

“No, I guess not. I mean, I know they immigrated and all that. What—I mean, how do you know all this?”

“Your mother told me, of course. And your grandmother. How else would I know? Did you know that your father and his family can trace their roots back to the time of Charlemagne? Their ancestors were buried in full armor! Warriors for centuries!”

I shook my head.

“Well, they can. I can see you don’t know your European history very well.”

“Probably not.”

“You see, Poland has belonged to everybody under the sun at one time or another. The Germans, Austrians, and Russians haggled over it for centuries. But, hell’s bells, they’re all crazy anyhow. I don’t know what’s the matter with people, always fighting.”

“You want some tea, Mavis?”

“What?”

Miss Angel, annoyed each time she had to repeat herself but resigned to it also, passed the biscuits around again.

“Your grandparents worked for their government the same way all these people in Charleston worked at our Navy Yard for years. War or no war. Some people were civilians but they were employed by the government. When the front of the war got pushed back from Warsaw by the Russians, they wound up in Germany. Let me tell you something, Anna. Your grandparents didn’t give one fig about politics. It was war! They were just trying to stay alive.”

“Good grief,” I said, “I can’t imagine . . .”

“Well, think about this. They were young, had just been married, and the war broke out. One day in September, I think she said September. Wait! Yes, September 1939. Well, your grandmother was a young girl still and she walked outside her house and there was a huge blasting noise. Sirens started to wail and, oh, Lord! She said she was almost frightened to death. I would have been, I can tell you that.”

Miss Mavis seemed to drift away. She began eating again as though she had said everything there was to say. Miss Angel looked at me, tightened up the side of her mouth, and shook her head.

“Mavis!” she said. “Go on and finish up your story!”

“Oh!” Miss Mavis said. “Where was I?”

“You were telling us about the bombs in Warsaw, Miss Mavis,” I said, “and how my grandparents went on the train to Germany.”

“Do you want some more red rice?” Miss Angel said, holding the covered dish. “Or another biscuit?”

“No, thanks, but it’s delicious,” I said. “Miss Mavis? Were they terrified of the Nazis?”

“Of course! I mean, I’m sure they
must
have been! Your grandmother never said that directly that I remember, but gracious! Who wouldn’t be?”

“Daddy would know.”

“Yes, and you should ask him about all the war business. You know, the point, Anna, of me telling you all of this is that war changes people. It really does. Sometimes it’s for the better and sometimes you are wounded so badly in your mind that you stay afraid for the rest of your life. Every little thing is a potential catastrophe.”

“And you think that’s why my grandmother was such a witch?”

She just stared at me.

“She all but drove your mother out of her mind. And whatever was left of her got chewed up by Douglas. Let me tell you, anyone who really, really knew your mother and father never blamed your mother for what happened. Let’s help Angel clear the table. I want some ice cream. And one of your cookies. You know, I always have one cookie with my ice cream.” She pushed back from the table and followed Miss Angel to the kitchen with her plate.