Sullivans Island-Lowcountry 1 (17 page)

love each other. How did you get so grown up?”

She kissed me on both cheeks and pulled me into a moth-

erly embrace that I’ve never forgotten.

I was always thinking about everything. My parents’ rela-

tionship was rocky. I knew that in spite of her reassurances.The

day after they’d fight, Momma would spend the morning cry-

ing. I tried to stay with my brothers and Maggie. I wasn’t afraid

of my mother, only my mother’s sorrow.

We entered the tiny portal and Miss Fanny looked up from

her ledger to greet us.

“Marie Catherine Hamilton! How’re you doing? And Miss

Susan? You’re growing so big and pretty!”

Miss Fanny slid open the cooler and reached down for two

Coca-Colas, popping off their caps on the opener permanently

fixed to the cooler’s side. They clinked to the bottom of the

receptacle and Fanny smiled as she handed us our drinks. I could

see all her fillings.

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The very fact that Miss Fanny thought I was pretty was a

thrill.After all, I was Maggie’s sister, and Maggie was homecom-

ing beautiful. Maggie and Henry had blond hair, thick and shin-

ing; Timmy and I had brown hair with the revolting curse of

natural kinks and curls in all the wrong places.

“So, Mrs. Hamilton! Tell me everything!” said Miss Fanny.

“What’s happening at your house?”

Miss Fanny and Momma launched into a fevered hen ses-

sion, leaving me to wander the shelves and racks. My fingers

found their way to the spools of ribbons that hung on nails

behind the counter. I knew I was unworthy of the embroidered

flowers of the yellow and gold ribbon.

“So, here comes Marilyn Ames right into Stella Maris

Church with her hair dyed, God knows, some kind of horrible

color pink and old Mrs. Dorsey is in the back pew with her

ancient sister, Ida, both of them without their hearing aids on.”

“Oh, no! Don’t tell me!”

“Oh, yes! Old Mrs. Dorsey leans over to Ida and says at the

top of her lungs, ‘Do, Jesus! I didn’t know hair came in that

color!’ Well, the whole church started to snicker and Miss Fancy

Pants Ames got her comeuppance!”

“Oh! I wish I’d been there!”

“I laughed so hard I thought they were going to have to

take me to St. Francis.”

I drained my Coke and crawled further behind the tall

counter that housed the row upon row of boxes of Mary Janes,

Squirrel Nuts, Sugar Daddies and so on, happily smelling all

the sugar. Smelling it was almost satisfaction enough, as my

family seldom had money to spend on nonnecessities. My

mouth watered.

Unknown to me, all the while Miss Fanny’d had me in the

corner of her hawklike shopkeeper eye.

“You like the ribbons, don’t ya, honey?”

“Yes’m,” I replied, embarrassed.

“Well, now, let’s just cut you some.”

S u l l i v a n ’ s I s l a n d

105

Miss Fanny reached for her long, black-handled shears and

removed four spools, placing them on the counter next to the

nailed-in-place yardstick. I held my breath as she measured out

a length of the red and navy plaid ribbon shot with gold.

“You can wear this one to school,” she said to me, then

turned her attention back to Momma. “Hey, are you and Hank

coming to the oyster roast?”

“Gosh, it’s next weekend, isn’t it? I have to ask Hank.”

“You gotta ask him if you can walk ten blocks and eat oys-

ters with all your friends?”

“You know how he is, Fanny.”

“Y’all come on down and bring the children. Do y’all some

good!”

I watched Miss Fanny cut the green and yellow flowered rib-

bon, the blue watermarked satin and finally the white velvet. Miss

Fanny rolled them around her rough hands, shaking her head and

sucking her teeth over my daddy and his horrible ways. She

dropped the ribbons in a small brown paper sack, adding a Her-

shey’s bar and a Sugar Daddy at the last moment. She leaned over

the counter and handed it to me with a wink and a warning.

“Here, this is for you from your Aunt Fanny. Now, don’t you

be running around telling all your little friends what I gave you.

I don’t need all them Geechee brats coming round ’eah looking

for something for nothing, you ’eah me, girl?”

“Yes’m.” I took the bag in disbelief.

Momma, who had been immersed in the social possibilities

of the oyster roast, realized what had just transpired and high-

dived into action.

“My word, Fanny! That’s so nice of you! What do you say,

Susan?”

“Thanks, Aunt Fanny, really!”

I u n ro l l e d t h e frayed blue ribbon and flattened it out with my

hands against the journal. That had been a sweet day, my

mother’s arm around my shoulder, Miss Fanny’s generosity.

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D o r o t h e a B e n t o n F r a n k

I didn’t know what was the matter with me, why I couldn’t

be like Maggie, Timmy and the other people on the Island.

Except that they all craved sameness, and I craved adventure.

That was the big difference. Maggie wanted to go to Palmer

College and become a secretary. She’d get married to some

good old boy and drink beer every Saturday night for the rest of

her life. My brothers would probably go to the Citadel and

wind up teaching school or working at the Navy Yard, married

to some nice girls with frosted hair.

“I wish I could want what they want, but it would be like

wearing somebody else’s skin,” I wrote. “God, life would be so

easy if I could feel like them.”

Don’t misunderstand me. My life wasn’t complete misery.

I really liked school.Writing was fun and math was like solving

little puzzles—a game. But Island society and the kids in school

thought I was weird. They said behind my back that my brain

was too big and it was a shame to waste it on a girl.And they said

my mouth would someday be the death of me.Well, bump them.

I had my secret writing life and that had kept me sane.

Every major incident in the Hamilton history was recorded in

those pages, linked with one of my doodles depicting the scene.

I consoled myself that someday I’d have my own life to live and

I’d be all right.

Number two pencil in my hand, I curled up on my quilt

and wrote.

“Someday, I’m getting the hell off this dinky island and

moving to Paris to learn all about men. I’m gonna change my

name to Simone. I’m gonna speak lousy French with a Gullah

accent. I’ll live in a tiny apartment with lots of personality, only

wear black clothes, smoke cigarettes and drink whiskey as I write

great books. Maybe I’ll take Livvie with me. I’ll bet she can handle

anything
.”

I drew a picture of us in berets and sunglasses and giggled.

I heard Daddy’s car door slam. A minute later I heard the

screaming start. Daddy had hit Timmy.The back door slammed.

S u l l i v a n ’ s I s l a n d

107

A second later I looked out and saw Henry running across the

backyard—knowing him, he was running away from the belt.

Good move, Henry, I thought.Then I heard Livvie’ s voice. She

was every inch as loud as the old man.

“Stop this right now! Ain’t no man gone raise a hand to a

child in my care, I don’t care who he is!”

“Are you pretending to tell me how to raise my children?

Just who in the hell do you think you are?” Daddy hollered.

“Move out of here, Timmy!” Livvie commanded. “Now!

Move when I tell you to move, boy!”

I could hear Timmy running for the front porch and, on my

tiptoes, I moved down the steps to listen in the hall.

“I ain’t
pretending
nothing! I’m
telling
you. Let me tell you

something, Mr. Hamilton. This is just who I am! I’m Livvie

Singleton, the one who cleaned your house today, fed your chil-

dren, washed your clothes and gave your mother-in-law a bath

that she ain’t had since Gawd knows when! And iffin you think

you can find somebody else to put up with your fool, you gone

right on and do him ’cause I’m a God-fearing and righteous

woman and I don’t need no trash from you!”

“Is that so?” he said.“Why, I ought to . . .”

“You touch one hair on this head and you is a dead white

man, you ’eah me?”

Was Daddy going to hit her? Was he completely crazy?

Then things got quiet and in a few seconds I heard my father

laughing. He was laughing like a damn fool and I used the occa-

sion to sneak down the steps to the porch.Timmy was lying in

the hammock.

“You okay?” I asked quietly.

“Yeah, I’m okay. He just hit me in the side of my head.”

“Let me see.”

It was all red on the side of his face.

“Susan? That Livvie is unbelievable.”

“Yeah,” I agreed.“You want a cold cloth?”

“Nah, I’ll live.”

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We heard Daddy’s car start and leave the backyard with a

screech. A few seconds later the screen door opened and Livvie

came out.

“Timmy, let me see your face, son.”

Timmy sat up and showed it to her. She placed her hand on

the slap mark and began to hum an old song.

“Sing the words, Livvie,” I asked,“please?”

She smiled and sang low in her rich voice:

“No more shall they in bondage toil,

Let them come out with Egypt’s spoil,

Let my people go!”

She sang and hummed for a few more minutes, holding

Timmy’s face in her beautiful, long, dark brown hands. She

looked at Timmy’s face again and the red mark was gone.

“Now, son, feel better?” she asked.

“Yeah,” he said.“Where’s Daddy? Is he still mad?”

“You don’t trouble yourself about your daddy. He ain’t mad.

In fact, he give me a raise. He gone up to your uncle Louis’s

house to invite them to come over ’eah tonight. Now, don’t you

be worrying about him doing this no more. Ain’t gone happen,

all right?”

“He gave you a raise?” I said, completely shocked.

“Humph.Told him I put the
plat eye
on him iffin he try any

more fool with me and then he start to laughing. I tell him, ‘I

quit,’ and he say,‘Don’t go,’ and I say,‘Give me five dollars more

a week and we’ll see.’ ”

“What’s the
plat eye?
” I asked.

“Humph. Mother Nature cure for evil, that’s what,” she said.

I started giggling and couldn’t stop, then Timmy joined in

and next Livvie started laughing so hard I could see her tonsils.

She slapped her legs, bending over and straightening up and

bending over again.We were a sight, carrying on, celebrating her

victory.

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109

“Don’t ever leave us, Livvie,” I said.

“Ain’t got no plans to go nowhere except back to that

kitchen and get ready for company. Y’all want to help Livvie?

And, Mr.Timmy?”

He looked at her, knowing some advice was coming.

“Next time you ’eah your daddy’s car in the yard, run out

and see iffin you can help him, all right? Makes him mad to have

to ask.You understand?”

“Yeah, I get it.”

“That’s my boy,” she said.

We started back to the kitchen together, Livvie and I, but

she stopped in the living room, looking at the big mirror at the

end of the room. It was as tall as the windows and filled the

space between them.The gilded frame glimmered in the semi-

darkness. I always thought that our living room looked like a

funeral home. It was always dark in there and the mirror was so

big it was spooky. When I was really little I wouldn’t go in the

room by myself.

“What?” I said.

“Nothing.Where’d you get that mirror?”

“Um, Grandpa Tipa got it. It came from the Planters Hotel,

an old hotel that used to be on the Island. Used to be flipped

horizontal and it hung behind a bar.Why?”

“Ain’t no good. Big mirrors ain’t no good. No, sir. They

hold the spirit.The spirit come out and then you got the devil

to get him out of your house. No. Ain’t no good.”

“Livvie! What in the world are you talking about?”

“Huh? Oh, chile, don’t pay Livvie no never mind. Come,

we got work to do.”

W h e n au n t c a ro l and Uncle Louis pulled up in front of the

house that evening, I was on the front porch with Livvie arrang-

ing little bowls of nuts and pretzels with paper cocktail napkins

while she arranged glasses and an ice bucket on the card table

she had covered with a white cloth.An official bar on our porch

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D o r o t h e a B e n t o n F r a n k

was a new feature and when I asked her why she was setting it

she said, “Because I got better things to do with my time than

run back and forth like a puppy dog fetching them drinks all

night, that’s why.” It made good sense to me.

When Uncle Louis opened her car door, Aunt Carol

emerged from the car one leg at a time. She was in love with her

own legs and so was every man on the Island who could frost a

mirror. So here they came, one by one. Long, tanned and perfect.

Her toenails and fingernails were a pale frosted pink and she

wore a pastel pink shell sweater with a matching cardigan over