But then Mama's mind came back to the fact she had dinner guests. She called Queenie to bring the hot rolls.
Papa kept trying to keep the talk away from New York, I guess thinking it would hurt Mama to have to listen to it. The whole time we ate, he was telling Grandpa about our motor trips. Described every puncture, every hill, every rut and gully.
"What I want to know," Grandpa said finally, turning to me, "did you do any a-the drivin', son?"
"Yessir. Drove all the way home from Comer."
He looked proud. "Hit shore is a wonder how young folks ketch on. Miss Love, now, she thinks she could drive a car." He grinned. "But I don't know as I'd ride with her or any other lady." That got Miss Love's goat, I could tell.
When it was time for dessert, Miss Love got up to help Mama and them clear the table. But Mama said keep your seat. By not letting her help, she made it clear that Miss Love was comp'ny, not fam'ly.
Grandpa, noticing, got back at Mama right quick. "Why don't you tell what all we done in New York, Miss Love? I mean besides ride artermobiles."
Miss Love said sweetly (too sweetly), "Mary Willis, your daddy will try to say he didn't have a good time. But he had a real good time."
"I got to admit it, folks, it was a dang sight more fun with Miss Love than them times I went by myself."
"What all did you do?" asked Aunt Carrie. The flowers in her hair today were daisies.
Grandpa said, "You tell'm, Miss Love."
"Of course we were at the wholesale house most of the time. But we went to Coney Island one evening and walked on the beach. Another day we rode the ferry to Ellis Island, where they take in immigrants. And we visited a lot of churches and museums."
"I ain't talkin' bout them dang churches and museums when I say I had a good time, Miss Carrie," Grandpa said gaily. "What I liked was ridin' in them artermobiles and seein' them musical reviews and all like thet."
Miss Love shook her head at Grandpa like a mother trying to shush a child in public, but he chose not to notice. He didn't see the shocked looks that Mama and Papa exchanged, either.
Aunt Carrie said, "Did you hear that, Mary Willis? They went to a musical! How nice! Tell me, Rucker, did you see any theatricals? Any Shakespeare plays?"
"Naw, Miss Carrie, we didn't see no Shakespeare. But we seen a stage play. The main actress shore was a looker."
Aunt Loma came to life. "What was her name, Pa?"
"What was her name, Miss Love? Aw, it don't matter who she was. Well, and we went to a dance place. Miss Love, tell about us at thet dance place."
Miss Love, real flustered, said, "Why don't you tell about the big new department store we went in, Mr. Blakeslee?"
But Aunt Carrie was excited about the dance place. "Did you dance, Rucker?"
"You know I cain't dance, Miss Carrie." He laughed and slapped his knee. "I jest watched. Miss Love done the dancin'."
Aunt Loma looked interested. Mama's and Papa's faces turned fiery red. And Miss Love just about died as Aunt Carrie said, "Rucker, is it the style in New York these days for a lady to dance by herself?"
"Naw. At the dance hall they got extry men to dance with unescorted ladies. Miss Love kept astin' me to let's dance, so I give one a-them men a quarter to be her partner. She's a crackerjack dancer," Grandpa bragged. "I want her to learn me how."
Aunt Carrie didn't feel the chill in the air, and neither did Grandpa. "Did I ever tell you, Rucker," she asked him, "about the time another young lady and myself got caught dancing? It was when I was a student in Athens. We were just having fun, singing popular tunes, but the songs were not of the type approved by Madame Joubert. And then we started dancing. Of course somebody told on us and here came Madame. Oh, my, it was an awful scene. Papa gave Madame my mother's piano for her school and she let me stay, but I was restricted for the longest kind of time. The other young lady went home in disgrace and was turned out of her church. Oh, my, I don't like to remember all that. You were the smart one, Love. Always do your dancing out of town.... Thank you, Queenie," she said as the cook put dessert in front of her—coconut cake and fresh peaches.
Nobody said a word. Finally Aunt Carrie spoke again. "One should be allowed to dance if one wishes to. And read Greek poetry, and make use of human excrement for the beautification of God's earth." She spoke with a stiff dignity. It was the first time she'd ever let on that she knew Cold Sassy laughed at her behind her back, and that it bothered her.
I knew Mama and them were shocked at Aunt Carrie, but she made sense to me. Long as you didn't hurt anybody, why shouldn't you dance if you liked dancing, and marry again if you needed looking after, and go fishing or wear a flowerdy dress if it might lift your grief a little?
Yes, and hold and kiss a lonely mill girl.
37
AN UNEASY SILENCE followed Aunt Carrie's little speech. Then Grandpa yelled toward the kitchen, "Queenie? Queenie!"
She came to the dining room with a clean vegetable bowl in one hand and a drying cloth in the other. "Yassuh, Mr. Rucker?"
"This here's the best coconut cake you ever made." He took another bite. "I want you to give Miss Love the receipt."
"I ain't made dat cake, Mr. Rucker. Miss Mary Willis made dat cake."
"Well, it shore is good, Mary Willis. I want Miss Love to make me one."
Mama picked up her dessert spoon. Her voice iced over as she said, "It's Ma's receipt, Pa."
"Well, copy it down, hear?" Grandpa pulled a cigar out of his shirt pocket, bit it, and spat the tip on the floor.
Taking a sip of lemonade, Mama looked right at Miss Love. "It's in that old brown shoebox in the pantry with all Ma's other receipts. Unless you threw the box out."
I could tell that Miss Love didn't remember any brown shoebox. There was a silence while Grandpa struck a match on the sole of his shoe, put it to the cigar, and changed the subject. "Y'all ain't even noticed my see-gar. In New York, Miss Love kept tellin' me to try one. Said it's more modrun than plug tobacco and I'd like it better. I ain't smoked enough yet to know, but a see-gar shore is tasty to chew. One thang bout smokin', you don't have to spit so dang much." He looked over at Miss Love and winked. I mean, he actually winked!
Plain as day, there was something new between the two of them. Winking is not something an old man does at a lady who only keeps house for him. They were excited, almost like two children with a secret. I couldn't figure it out. I stole a glance at Mama and I could tell she noticed, too. I didn't know if she was wondering just how good a time they'd had in New York City or worrying what folks would say if Grandpa told it at the store about Miss Love dancing.
As usual, Papa finished his dessert first and tilted his chair back on its hind legs. When everybody else was through, he let the chair down and said, "Well, Camp, I reckon you and me better get on back to the store."
"Yessir."
Mama folded her napkin carefully. "Don't you think you'd better chauffeur our comp'ny home first, Hoyt?" I reckon she was too nervous to want them there all day.
Papa laughed. "Law, I forgot. Y'all ready, Mr. Blakeslee?"
"Let Will Tweedy drive us," said Grandpa. "I want to see is he any good at it."
Papa hesitated. He looked at Mama. I looked down at the peach juice in my empty compote.
"What's the matter?" asked Grandpa. "He ain't hit a horse or run th'ew somebody's parlor, is he?"
"Uh, no, sir, nothin' like that," said my daddy. Then he took a deep breath and told me to drive Grandpa home but then come straight back. "You hear? Straight back!"
"Yessir."
"He cain't come right straight back," said Grandpa. "I want him to hep us git our thangs in."
"Well, soon as you can, Will," Papa said sternly.
"Yessir."
Mary Toy wanted to go, too, but Mama said no. "With all the baggage, honey, there's not room. Now kiss Grandpa bye and thank him for your present."
She didn't tell her to thank Miss Love, I noticed, and I didn't much blame her. Grandpa had rubbed in
their good time a little too much.
Papa turned the crank for me. Just before the engine caught up, Miss Love leaned forward and whispered, "Will, your grandfather has saved the best surprise just for you!"
Grandpa opened his mouth to say something, but the motor drowned him out, so he shook Papa's hand and yelled above the racket, "I'll be down terreckly, Hoyt!"
"Mighty glad y'all are back, sir!" yelled Papa. "The store ain't the same with you gone!"
"Proud to hear it, Hoyt!" Grandpa yelled back. "Giddy-up now, son, let's see does it know gee from haw with you a-holdin' the reins. Hit run fine for yore daddy."
Soon as I shut off the motor in front of their house, Miss Love spoke up in an excited whisper. "Tell Will what you've done, Mr. B.!"
Like he was about to bust from holding back the news, Grandpa's whispered, "I done bought me a dang artermobile, Will Tweedy! A Pierce!" Blue eyes dancing, he reached in his vest pocket and pulled out an advertising leaflet, covered with drawings of cars, and pointed to a black open sedan.
With him waving the paper about, I couldn't get a good look. But I saw good enough to be flabbergasted. "Boy howdy, Grandpa!"
"Sh-h-h, don't holler." Smoothing his thin mustache with thumb and forefinger, Grandpa grinned big. "Hit's a secret. Ain't tellin' nobody but you till it comes in on the train." Stepping to the ground, he opened the car door for Miss Love and reached for his grip, which was beside her on the back seat.
"Boy howdy, Grandpa!" I whispered, coming around the car.
He put the grip down and handed me the advertising leaflet. "See it? Thet'n right there. Thet's the one I bought. They sendin' it in a few weeks. When it's on the way, they go'n telegraph me which train to meet."
Grandpa and Miss Love stood there watching me read what it said under the picture: "pierce, 8 h.p., Geo. N. Pierce Co., Buffalo, N.Y. Price $900, without top; seats 4 persons, doors in back only; single, water-cooled cylinder; jump spark ignition, planetary transmission, 3 speeds; wt. 1,250 pounds."
Gosh, Grandpa had spent $900?
"We seen a Ford thet was jest half as much," he whispered. "Thet's the one I wanted. But it was a two-seater, and Miss Love said we got to have room to take folks to ride or we ain't go'n sell any. I saved by not buyin' one a-them canvas tops—hit costs extry—and they give me a dealer's discount, besides."
Seeing my puzzlement, Miss Love whispered, "Your grandfather's got his name on two dealerships: Pierce and Cadillac! What do you think of that?"
"You mean we go'n sell cars?"
Miss Love shushed me.
"Thet's jest what she means," whispered Grandpa. "We go'n sell artermobiles. Come on, y'all, let's go in the house. Talkin' like this is a-gittin' me hoarse."
"We go'n get rich or go broke, Grandpa?" I whispered.
"Get rich!" Miss Love said as we marched up the walk, her carrying hatboxes and us loaded with grips.
"No tellin'," Grandpa admitted. "One or th'other, for shore.... Howdy, Miss Effie Belle!" he called to what looked like a shadow just inside the Tates' front door.
"Howdy, Rucker," she called back, but didn't speak to Miss Love and didn't ask if they'd had a good time.
Soon as we were inside the house I said it'd be a miracle if we could sell more than one or two cars in Cold Sassy.
Grandpa laughed. "Thet's jest exackly what I told Miss Love, son. I said, 'How many folks is a-go'n shell out for a artermobile when they got a horse and buggy in the barn?' But Miss Love thinks she's figgered out the receipt for success in the motorcar business. And by dang, maybe she has!"
"Tell him what all you plan, Mr. B." We were still standing there in the front hall, so excited we hadn't even set down the boxes and grips. Miss Love was looking up at Grandpa like he was just the smartest man in the world.
"Well, I'm go'n keep my Pierce parked in front a-the store, and I want yore daddy to bring the Caddy-lac down there. Hit might not sell no cars, but it'll git folks here from Ila and Lula, and Pocatellago and Comer and Homer and Pendergrass. And after they git th'ew lookin' at them cars, they go'n come on in the store and buy fertilizer spreaders and chewin' tobacco and thangs."
"But it's the cars they'll go home talking about," said Miss Love. "Then first one and then another will buy one!"
They were chock full of ideas. Miss Love was planning a window display of linen dusters, dust veils, and driving caps with goggles. She'd already ordered some of those. Soon as they sold some cars, she was going to order sirens, hill holders, auto robes—"wind, water, dust, and oil proof"—and chain pulls for getting out of mud or sand.
"We'll let people sit out front in the cars all they want to," said Miss Love. Then she looked at me. "Uh, you haven't said much, Will. What do you think?"
I didn't think Papa would be all that glad to have folks pulling out the choke and flooding his engine, or turning the switch key on and off and using up his battery, or blowing his horn from morning to night. Not to mention how dusty the Cadillac would get, sitting out there on North Main.
But I didn't say all that. Because what could Papa do about it if Grandpa said to?
I had the feeling that displaying the automobiles was Miss Love's idea, not Grandpa's. No woman would understand how easy a machine can get out of fix. Well, for that matter, neither would my grandfather. He never did have any sense about machinery. Hitching up Big Jack to the buggy was about his limit. He hadn't the faintest idea how a motor worked. Didn't even understand a bicycle.
"What we standin' here holdin' all these grips for?" Grandpa said all of a sudden, laughing. "Let's unload first and talk second."
I followed Miss Love into the company room, set down her baggage, and went out to bring in the rest of it. As I came in again, she called to me from Grandpa's room. "We're back here, Will."
"Yeah, come on back, son," he echoed. "We ain't half th'ew talkin'."
"I need to get on home," I called, but after I put the grips down I went back there like he said to.
Miss Love was sitting on the blanket chest that Granny's angels had come out of. Grandpa had taken the cane-back rocking chair by Granny's side of the bed. "What we expect to do," said Miss Love, taking off her hat and fanning herself with it, "is make people want what they don't know they want. You call that salesmanship, Will."
"I call it hocus-pocus," said Grandpa, laughing at her.
"You'll see, sir." Getting up, she rumpled his hair so familiar it made me uncomfortable. "One way we'll make everybody want a car, Will, we're going places. And we'll take anybody out riding who wants to go. I'm sure Cold Sassy is already jealous as can be about your family taking all those nice trips. When Mr. Blakeslee's car arrives, they just won't be able to stand not having one."
Grandpa leaned forward in the rocking chair. "Thet's where you come in, Will Tweedy."
Granny's clock on the mantelpiece struck the hour. "Can I talk about it later, Grandpa? I got to get home like Papa said."
He didn't even hear me. "Son, when my black se-dan comes in at the depot, you go'n be the one to drive it to the store!"
"Me?"
"Besides that," said Miss Love, "you're going to teach us how to drive!"
"Me? Y'all?"
"That's right. If Mr. Blakeslee and I learn to drive, between us and you and your daddy there'll always be somebody around to demonstrate." She looked over at Grandpa. "Mr. Blakeslee, I just thought of something else! Let's offer free driving lessons! Once a man gets his hands on a steering wheel, he'd sell his wife and children, if need be, to get up the money to buy one!"
Just barely listening, I could feel my punishment for kissing Lightfoot closing in on me. I didn't think Papa would let me out of it, not even to please Grandpa. And I knew he wouldn't want any and everybody monkeying with his car or learning how to drive on it. "Giving lessons sounds good, Miss Love," I said finally. "But it ain't go'n work."
"Why not? The man in New York said it takes only a few minutes. You just show a person this and that and let him drive a few miles and
then teach him how to patch an inner tube. That's all there is to it."
"Yes'm, but if you offer free lessons, every boy in town is go'n be sittin' around the store waitin' his turn, not to mention every man. And school's go'n start up again in a few weeks, Miss Love. I won't be at the store like I am now."
She thought for a minute. "Well, we could just have a drawing once a week. Yes, we'll have one every Saturday! Whoever gets drawn, we'll teach him to drive. Man or boy."
"Not ladies?" I grinned.
She looked surprised. "Yes, of course. Men, boys, ladies, girls." I didn't say so, but I had my doubts about any lady being able to crank an engine or change a tire. If Miss Love managed to learn, I didn't think any gentleman customer would ride with her for a demonstration. I mean, for one thing she was a woman, and for another she was a woman who had married a widower when his wife wasn't hardly cold in the grave, got caught kissing another man, made a scene in public—and then dog if she hadn't gone off to New York City unchaperoned with a husband whose name she wouldn't use and whose bed she claimed not to be sleeping in. No man in Cold Sassy would dare ride in a car with Miss Love Simpson.
But nothing like that was worrying the two of them right then, and Grandpa had just about as many plans in his head as she did. Lowering his voice, he said, "Now, Will Tweedy, you ain't to tell a soul bout all this."
"Not even Papa?"
"Naw, not even him. I'm go'n tell him and everbody thet they's something big comin' in on the train in two-three weeks. And I'm go'n ast the town band and the Negro band both to come to the depot thet mornin', ready to play for a parade. But I ain't a-go'n say why. And don't you, either."
"Sir, what if somebody asts me?"
"Say you shore wisht you knew."
"What if nobody comes to the depot, Grandpa?"
"Soon as they telegraph me from New York, we go'n drape a big banner acrost the front of the store, tellin' what train to meet. And I gar'ntee you, Will Tweedy, everbody in Cold Sassy's go'n come, outer pure curiosity. And they go'n foller thet Pierce artermobile down to the store so they can see it up close. They mightn't sign up to buy one thet day, but like Miss Love says, they'll start to wantin' one. Now what you think a-all thet, son?"