Authors: Annie Jones
Dixie watched her, torn between a smile and exasperation.
“
Remember how I told you we were going to record your words for posterity? How I wanted to collect your thoughts and experiences as a sort of commemoration for your upcoming one hundredth birthday? Remember?
”
Dixie held open the cream-colored page filled with the swirls of blue ink, knowing full well that dear old Miss Lettie could not see well enough anymore to make out the words.
“
Well, that
’
s what I
’
ve done. I
’
ve taken what you told me and written it down here.
”
“
Go on with you.
”
Lettie
’
s dismissive wave was no less than regal.
“
It
’
s true.
”
“
Me? That came from me?
”
She threw back her head, as much as she could, and gave out a crackling laugh like an old hen having its scrawny neck wrung. Then she coughed, and as her rough tongue rasped against the almost invisible line of her lips, she jabbed a finger toward the journal.
“
Read that again.
”
Dixie spoke the words again with the dramatic conviction one might use to intone the constitution or the prose of Miss Margaret Mitchell.
Lettie tipped her rocking chair back, paused, then let the runners fall forward with a definitive creak.
“
You got all that from what I said?
”
“
W-well, yes. I admit I did embellish just a tad but it
’
s still the essence of your words.
”
Dixie closed the book, pulling it close to her chest.
“
You said—
”
“
I
said
…
”
Miss Lettie landed a look on Dixie that left no room for doubt that the elderly woman was still as sharp, as strong, and as unwilling to tolerate nonsense as ever…
“
What I
said
, Miss Dixie Belle Fulton-Leigh, was that since I came to Fulton
’
s Dominion, Mississippi, over seventy years ago, that I can
’
t recall a day when I didn
’
t sweat!
”
“
Well, I...
”
For several seconds the stillness of the old house her family had occupied since the town
’
s founding wrapped itself around the two of them.
Lettie
’
s milky-eyed gaze remained trained on the younger woman the whole time until she finally broke the silence.
“
You did hear me all right, didn
’
t you, Dixie Belle?
”
Dixie squirmed like a six-year-old. Very few people could humble her like that, and only one got away with calling her by the nickname
Dixie Belle
. This scrappy imp of a woman who had raised one generation after another of her family, including Dixie herself, had always been able to put Dixie in her place with no more than a look or a word.
The rocking chair groaned out a long, nerve-twisting reminder that Lettie was still waiting to hear Dixie
’
s concession.
She stiffened. The mantle clock in the main room where they sat tick-tick-ticked, commanding time itself to slow to its dull, plodding cadence. The house, in its seeming state of perpetual midday, always in the golden light of sun through yellowed window shades, offered little in the way of something to change the subject.
No. Change was not the way of this house or its owners. In fact, Dixie noted as she glanced around, nothing much in this house had changed in the last forty years. Not easily anyhow—with the exception of the peeling of wallpaper and the loss of loved ones.
Daddy
. The reminder of her loss made her breath snag high in the back of her throat. Her heart felt like it had clamped up into a cold little lump. She knotted her arms around herself as if that could keep the worries of the world from closing in on her. Daddy
’
s death had changed things here...changed them drastically, dreadfully, and perhaps irreversibly, though no one but Dixie seemed even remotely aware of that fact.
“
Are you two done with your foray into the profundity of literary phantasm?
”
Aunt Sis flounced into the room. The woman was the widow of Dixie
’
s only uncle. Her legal name was June Cunningham though absolutely no one had called her anything but
Sis
or
Aunt Sis
or even Miss Sis in years.
She popped through the swinging door that led from the kitchen, bounded through the large dining area, and flounced into the formal receiving room where Dixie and Lettie sat. Aunt Sis pretty much flounced everywhere she went, except on the rare occasion when she skulked about or swooped in on unsuspecting people making what she liked to call her
“
entrance
.
”
“
We
’
re just getting to our first writing session, Aunt Sis. I was held up late at work because we have some major—
”
“
Oh, I know all about getting held up with crucial matters, sugar.
”
She whipped a lace hankie from inside her oversized straw purse and began fanning her neck and face.
The action sent a veritable cloud of perfume wafting over Dixie and Lettie.
“
You would not
believe
the ballyhoo that went on today at the Every-Other-Thursday-Afternoon Arts and Culture Society. Accusations. Fault finding. Name calling! A bigger pack of whining, miserable, mean-spirited, back-stabbing busybodies I
never
saw. If they weren
’
t all my very best friends in the world, I would resign as the club
’
s patron on the spot.
”
Dixie bit her lip to keep from snickering.
Lettie did not even try to hide her amusement at Sis
’
s nonexistent dilemma. She snorted out a laugh.
Aunt Sis tipped her nose up at them both then put her hand to her painted coral lips.
“
Peachie Too! Where
’
s my little princess puppy-toes? Peachie Too?
”
“
Grandpa has taken her for a walk.
”
Dixie tried to return her attention to the journal in her lap.
“
A walk? Oh, dear!
”
Sis clutched at her throat and looked toward the nearest window.
“
Did he put her sweater on? The
lamb
’
s wool one with the faux fur collar?
”
Dixie shut her eyes, trying to sound light and pleasant as she sighed and answered.
“
He put something on her, yes. We all know better than to let that...to let Peachie Too outdoors unless she is properly dressed.
”
Sis let her purse slide down to the floor with such a thud that Dixie had to look up to make sure her aunt hadn
’
t suddenly fainted from the stress of knowing her dog might be wearing the wrong outfit.
“
Peachie Too will be fine, I
’
m sure.
”
Sis heaved a sigh and moved to the window.
“
I know you think I
’
m a foolish old woman.
”
“
I don
’
t think you
’
re all that
old
.
”
Lettie gave Dixie a grin that showed all four of the one-hundred-year-old stinker
’
s missing teeth.
Dixie laughed.
Sis sniffed.
“
Tease if you will, but I just know the Judge did not put the right thing on my darling doggie.
”
Sis laid a hand along her cheek.
“
In this weather she really has to have the lamb
’
s wool. Knowing that Smilin
’
Bob Cunningham, he has dressed her in something totally inappropriate.
”
“
It
’
s a shame she doesn
’
t use the same care dressing herself as she does that rat she calls a toy poodle,
”
Lettie grumbled under her breath. She let the rocker bring her closer as she kept her voice low enough that only Dixie could hear her.
“
What has she got herself up in today?
”
Dixie made a quick survey of the layers of sheer fabric over some kind of polyester knit dress.
“
It
’
s her own design. She thinks it makes her look like a fairy.
”
“
You mean a boat?
”
“
No, not
a ferry
.
”
Dixie glanced at the way the awful creation made her aunt look broad as a barge in some places.
“
Well, maybe that
is
what she meant.
”
Sis
’
s sigh was full of deep dramatic effect.
“
I just know your grandfather has my punkin in that black leather jacket and her red beret. Red! It isn
’
t even her color.
”
“
That
’
s because she
’
s pink She
’
s a
pink
dog is what she is.
”
Lettie went back to rocking.
“
The color of her coat is apricot.
”
Sis peered out the window and twisted her hankie in her hands.
“
And I find it a most appealing hue.
”
“
You would, dear.
”
Lettie kept on rocking while she used one crooked, dark-skinned finger to point to her head, then at Sis.
Dixie followed the gesture with interest. A sharp gasp escaped her lips, which she quickly covered with her hand pretending to have something caught in her throat.
She kept her hand over her mouth and shared a silent giggle with Lettie as she realized for the first time that Aunt Sis
’
s latest hair shade was an exact match for her precious apricot toy poodle.
Sis seemed oblivious.
“
A black jacket and a red beret. Think of it.
”
Sis lifted her head and paused for a moment as if she were doing that very thing.
“
You know, the Judge favors that outfit because he says it looks jaunty. He doesn
’
t care one bit that the whole style is passe or that it totally conflicts with Peachy Too
’
s personality
”
“
You want to dress that thing for its personality, Miss Sis? Get her something in alligator skin,
”
Lettie called out, traces of her old New Orleans accent coming out on a word here and there.
Sis ignored the fashion advice and kept right on fluttering her hankie.
“
Well, now I am going to be distressed until they return.
”
“
Could you please be distressed on the front porch or at least in Grandpa
’
s office?
”
Dixie pointed her pen toward the big French doors off the foyer leading to the converted sitting room where her grandfather kept regular
“
office hours.
”
“
We just got started on Miss Lettie
’
s life story, and I
’
d like to go on with it.
”
With a wounded sniff, Aunt Sis displayed her agitation at being thrown out in her hour of woe, but she did as she was asked. Dixie was head of the household now, and she was well aware that in this family
that
carried a great deal of weight. Which only served to bear down on her shoulders at this very moment.
“
Now, where were we?
”
Dixie opened the journal again and lifted her pen.
“
We were trying to tell
my
life
’
s story. We just hadn
’
t quite decided on whose version we were going to set down on paper.
”
Lettie rocked back and forth.