“But you made a memory, right?” Ginger wanted her baby to have good memories, and most of all grow up knowing that it would never spend time in the system.
“Oh, yeah.” Connie laughed out loud. “I had mosquito bites that took a week to heal, but Mama read to me every night and put her special salve on them to keep the itch at a minimum.”
Betsy came from the kitchen with a big bowl of salad in her hands. “Is she tellin’ you tales about the time Mama took us camping? That was so much fun. I learned about cooking over an open fire. Me and Mama burned the chicken, but the inside wasn’t too bad. If the end of times renders us without electricity or runnin’ water, at least we know how to fend for ourselves.”
“You sound just like Mama did,” Connie told her.
“I’ll take that as a compliment. I hear Kate and Sloan comin’ in the back door. Y’all come on in here and help me get the meal on the table,” Betsy said.
“We’re starvin’,” Kate said as she came into the house. “I forget from one year to the next how much work is involved in the corn plantin’ business.”
“Well, I keep tellin’ you to buy the corn,” Connie argued.
“I might buy it another year just to shut you up about it,” Kate fussed.
“She gets like this when she’s tired,” Betsy whispered. “Lord only knows that she’s downright sassy when it comes to her moonshine. We never did know our father real good. Connie was just a baby when he died, but Mama had a picture of him up in her bedroom, and Kate’s like him. Tall and thin and stubborn as a cross-eyed Missouri mule.”
“I’m standin’ right here.” Kate glared at her.
“And I can see you plain and clear,” Connie said. “Go wash your hands.”
“Don’t boss me,” Kate threw over her shoulder.
Ginger had seen children act like that, but never adults. It was almost funny, but she was careful not to laugh. She picked up the serving bowls and hurried into the kitchen to help Betsy bring the food to the table.
After grace, Kate began to pass food around the table. First the platter of pot roast and then a bowl full of potatoes and carrots. Ginger wondered if fried chicken was always served on Friday and pot roast on Saturday. Betsy had told her already that she was planning to make the traditional Easter ham on Sunday.
You wanted memories, the little voice in the back of her head said loud and clear. No ocean or anything you could look at could provide memories like this. Fate led you to this place. Enjoy it while you can.
She caught Sloan staring at her just as she nodded in agreement with the pesky voice. She flashed a smile his way, and his head bobbed once, as if he had read her thoughts and knew exactly what she’d been thinking. She was more than a little intimidated by him. The way he looked at her made her feel like he could read her mind.
“I’ve got a question,” Ginger said. “So, was there a school here in Rooster at one time?”
“Oh, yes, honey,” Connie answered. “It wasn’t ever very big, and when we were in high school, there were only maybe thirty or forty white children that went to it, but we had our school.”
“When they finally shut it down about forty years ago, there were only six seniors. The next year, the Hondo school system ran buses out here to get the kids.” Kate sighed. “That was a sad fall for all of us. We lost the post office a few years later. Once those two things are gone from a community, it’s all but a ghost town.”
“If the majority of the kids were black, then why did you have trouble being a cheerleader?” Ginger placed her hand on her stomach. Lucas had come from Cajun folks down in Louisiana. He’d told her that his nanny when he was in preschool had been French. She should have realized then that he’d grown up in a different social world than she did.
“Honey”—Connie patted her on the arm—“if we’d been black we might have stood a better chance. Neither race, black nor white, really wanted us.”
“We’re sure glad that times have changed,” Betsy said.
An awkward silence followed her statement. Ginger thought about Lucas. If it hadn’t been that she was carrying his baby, things could have gone different for her. She might have found another waitress job when the café she’d been working at closed down, but no one wanted to hire a woman who was visibly pregnant.
Lucas had said that he loved her when he talked her into moving out of the shelter and into the ratty apartment with him, but his actions often hadn’t matched his words. He’d lose his temper if her tips were a few dollars less than they’d been the day before, and twice he’d slapped her. She couldn’t even find tears to cry when the police came to tell her that he was dead, because down deep, she’d been relieved that she was out of the relationship. She had never known that any of his relatives were alive, but his parents had claimed the body and taken it home with them for burial.
“So did y’all get the corn planted?” Connie changed the subject.
“About half of it. We’ll take care of the rest of it Monday afternoon. We’ve got other things to do when we’re finished eating,” Kate answered.
“I’m thinkin’ that Ginger can wear my dress from last year,” Connie said.
Kate cocked her head to one side and eyed Ginger. “It just might fit her at that. I’m glad this is my year to choose the Easter dress, so we don’t have to wear those flowing things you always choose.”
“Hey, just because you’re skinny and nothing binds up your waist don’t mean me and Betsy want to have to wear a girdle and a waist-length bra to look good for the picture,” Connie fussed.
“She’s right,” Betsy agreed. “Last year’s dress was so comfortable that I felt like I was wearing a nightgown.”
Ginger took a deep breath and let it out slowly. She didn’t want to offend them, but Lord have mercy—she sure didn’t want to wear one of their dresses if it looked like a nightgown, either. “I have something I can wear, but thank you for the offer.”
“If you change your mind, it’s a cute little pink linen with butterfly sleeves,” Connie said. “I’ll show it to you after we eat and you can decide.”
“That would be great.” Ginger managed a smile and decided that if the dress came close to fitting her, she’d wear it. So what if it made her look like Dumbo’s baby sister? Church services would only be for one hour, and if it made Connie happy, then it would be worth it.
A vision of the dresses from last year flashed through Sloan’s mind. He didn’t know a blessed thing about fashion, but in his mind those dresses sure didn’t look like something Ginger would wear. Both days that he’d been around her she’d worn tight-fitting britches and a faded knit top that hung almost to her knees.
Kate interrupted his thoughts when she passed the platter of biscuits to him. “Are you going to church with us tomorrow?” she asked.
“Now, Miz Kate, who’d hide the eggs if I went to church?” he asked.
“You could do that job while I get dinner on the table,” Betsy told him.
“Then you’d all be peeking out the windows trying to see where I put them.” He chuckled. “I know you, Miz Betsy, and how much that hundred-dollar prize means to you.”