nice gold and brown drapes that go. Then after that I got my hair done.
Sunday afternoon Charles goes to the Winn Dixie for groceries and comes back with a bottle of wine. He didn't even ask me — just brought it in as bright as day with the groceries, and I found it while I was unpacking.
"Charles, what's this for?"
"The TEA meeting."
"I'd rather not have wine in this house."
"Raney, some of the people coming to the meeting will be bringing wine. I'd like also to have some available — for my own mother, anyway."
"Charles. Why do you need wine at a meeting?"
"To drink."
I didn't say anything else, partly because it involved Charles and his own mother and partly because it won't champagne, which evidently does something to Charles's brain, and partly, I suppose, because I thought of Madora. She drinks wine at meals, like the French, and she poured me some one afternoon a couple of weeks ago — by mistake: she knows I don't drink. I took a sip, though, to see what all the fuss was about.
Madora's as fine a Christian as you'll find — judging from what all she does for people, and how good she is to her mama and daddy. I drunk only one sip. I told her it was better than champagne. She said champagne was wine, which surprised me because they don't taste the same at all.
We picked up Millie at the airport at about one o'clock Monday afternoon. She was wearing dark green slacks and a blouse she seemed too old for, and she brought me a present — some of those little knitted soap holders I never use.
We waited for her bags forever. She had two great big brown leather suitcases and one little one. Lord knows what all she had in there — for just one week.
To get from the airport to Listre you have to go through Bethel, so on the way home we stopped in at Mama's for a few minutes. Mama had insisted, and I thought it was a good idea.
Mama and Aunt Naomi were there, sitting in the living room, talking. They had been to a sale at Belks.
Everybody said hello to everybody and we all sat down and Mama said something about the sale. She got a navy blue bedspread for forty percent off and Aunt Naomi got a throw rug and two lamp shades for half price. Then they mentioned that on the way back from the sale they'd stopped by the funeral home to see Hattie Rigsbee who had died of a stroke the day before.
"She looked so good," Mama said. "Her skin was clear, good color, no swelling."
"I've seen them awful swelled," says Aunt Naomi. "They say it happens worse when they have a heart attack and nobody gets there right away. I remember Wingate Bryant looked awful. They figured he died right after he went to bed, laid there all night and when Rose got up to go to work she figured he was still asleep, until she brought him a plate of spaghetti at lunch and there he was: still in bed. She worked at the school cafeteria," she said to Millie, "across the street, and would bring him a plate of whatever they had. He was retired. From the telephone company."
"I remember that," says Mama. "You know, I do believe Hattie Rigsbee, today, was about the best looking corpse I've ever seen." She looked straight at Millie, then at Charles, to get them in the conversation.
Charles stands up and walks to the kitchen. I could tell he was mad about something; but Lord knows, I didn't know what, and I hoped Mama and Aunt Naomi and Millie hadn't noticed.
"Let me put on some coffee," I said, "and see if I can rustle up some cookies." I followed Charles on back to the kitchen and whispered, "Charles, what in the world is the matter with you?"
"What's the matter?" he whispers, staring. "What's the matter? Did you hear what she said?"
"Who?" I whispered.
"Who? Who? Your mother."
"About what?"
"About what?" he whispers louder. "About the corpse looking good and all that."
"Well, I guess I did. I was sitting there, won't I? What in the world was wrong with that?"
"What's wrong with it? It's uncivilized — that's what's wrong with it. Raney, the
Sunday afternoon Charles goes to the Winn Dixie for groceries and comes back with a bottle of wine. He didn't even ask me — just brought it in as bright as day with the groceries, and I found it while I was unpacking.
"Charles, what's this for?"
"The TEA meeting."
"I'd rather not have wine in this house."
"Raney, some of the people coming to the meeting will be bringing wine. I'd like also to have some available — for my own mother, anyway."
"Charles. Why do you need wine at a meeting?"
"To drink."
I didn't say anything else, partly because it involved Charles and his own mother and partly because it won't champagne, which evidently does something to Charles's brain, and partly, I suppose, because I thought of Madora. She drinks wine at meals, like the French, and she poured me some one afternoon a couple of weeks ago — by mistake: she knows I don't drink. I took a sip, though, to see what all the fuss was about.
Madora's as fine a Christian as you'll find — judging from what all she does for people, and how good she is to her mama and daddy. I drunk only one sip. I told her it was better than champagne. She said champagne was wine, which surprised me because they don't taste the same at all.
We picked up Millie at the airport at about one o'clock Monday afternoon. She was wearing dark green slacks and a blouse she seemed too old for, and she brought me a present — some of those little knitted soap holders I never use.
We waited for her bags forever. She had two great big brown leather suitcases and one little one. Lord knows what all she had in there — for just one week.
To get from the airport to Listre you have to go through Bethel, so on the way home we stopped in at Mama's for a few minutes. Mama had insisted, and I thought it was a good idea.
Mama and Aunt Naomi were there, sitting in the living room, talking. They had been to a sale at Belks.
Everybody said hello to everybody and we all sat down and Mama said something about the sale. She got a navy blue bedspread for forty percent off and Aunt Naomi got a throw rug and two lamp shades for half price. Then they mentioned that on the way back from the sale they'd stopped by the funeral home to see Hattie Rigsbee who had died of a stroke the day before.
"She looked so good," Mama said. "Her skin was clear, good color, no swelling."
"I've seen them awful swelled," says Aunt Naomi. "They say it happens worse when they have a heart attack and nobody gets there right away. I remember Wingate Bryant looked awful. They figured he died right after he went to bed, laid there all night and when Rose got up to go to work she figured he was still asleep, until she brought him a plate of spaghetti at lunch and there he was: still in bed. She worked at the school cafeteria," she said to Millie, "across the street, and would bring him a plate of whatever they had. He was retired. From the telephone company."
"I remember that," says Mama. "You know, I do believe Hattie Rigsbee, today, was about the best looking corpse I've ever seen." She looked straight at Millie, then at Charles, to get them in the conversation.
Charles stands up and walks to the kitchen. I could tell he was mad about something; but Lord knows, I didn't know what, and I hoped Mama and Aunt Naomi and Millie hadn't noticed.
"Let me put on some coffee," I said, "and see if I can rustle up some cookies." I followed Charles on back to the kitchen and whispered, "Charles, what in the world is the matter with you?"
"What's the matter?" he whispers, staring. "What's the matter? Did you hear what she said?"
"Who?" I whispered.
"Who? Who? Your mother."
"About what?"
"About what?" he whispers louder. "About the corpse looking good and all that."
"Well, I guess I did. I was sitting there, won't I? What in the world was wrong with that?"
"What's wrong with it? It's uncivilized — that's what's wrong with it. Raney, the
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