Almost Southern (excerpt the second)

Short note: Different place in the story. Not sequential. That's just how I write. Deal with it. And YES, I changed my blog. :)

"Granny, I've got to head out of town for a few days. I won't be gone long. I promise to be back by the weekend. I just wanted you to know that I won't be here. I've already told MaryLynn, and she's gonna stop in to check on you while I'm gone, ok?" Glory explained to Grace, as she was setting the table for Sunday dinner.

Sunday dinner was a Tradition at Granny Grace's house, and Traditions were something not to be taken lightly. As the only daughter of the only daughter of the new family matriarch, Glory was pretty sure that her Sunday dinner duties might soon be expanding. She had disturbing visions of future Sundays, where hoards of the Baker clan would descend upon the house and demand food. It had happened at Grandmother Rose's house until last week. They vultures would need a new place to eat. Glory had no problem believing that the small dinner between two, or oftentimes three, would soon become An Event.

"Well, Miss Glory, I s'pose I'd like to know where you're headin' off to this time. It's not like I don't have enough on my plate these days, what with my mother dyin' and not even knowin' how to get hold of your own momma. Now you're up and leavin' me too? That's just what I need right now, about as much as I need another hole in my head," Grace pointedly stated, before huffing into her seat at the head of the table.

"Oh Granny, don't be like that. I'll only be gone a few days. I have to go down to New Orleans to meet with a client. I'll call you three times a day while I'm gone, I promise. Besides, with MaryLynn around, you won't even know that I'm gone," Glory soothed.

"Oh peeshaw. MaryLynn. Like that silly girl is gonna be any help. She couldn't find her way out of a cardboard box, iffn the lid was left open. That gal's one rock shy of a full load, I'm tellin' you. Well, at least tell me you're takin' that young man of yours with you. And tell me you're maybe gettin' married while you're gone. That would be somethin' to lift my spirits," muttered Grace, around a mouthful of greens.

"Married? Granny Grace, how many times do I need to explain to you that I am not going to marry Pete Wilkes? Isn't it enough that we've been datin' for six years? Why would I want to ruin a perfectly good relationship with marriage? Besides, I love Pete, and I have no intention of lettin' the Baker Family Curse kill him," Glory replied, clearly exasperated with the turn the conversation had taken. It was a conversation that had been had many times in the past, and knowing Granny Grace, they'd be having it many more times in the future.

"Ruin your relationship? By gettin' married? Glory Bea Baker, you was raised better than that. And I don't want to hear any of your foolishness about killin' that poor man by marryin' him. What happened to your grandfather was a long time ago. It was the war that killed him, Glory. Not any curse. A bullet from a sniper caught him right in the neck and he drownt in his own blood. It had nothin' to do with marryin' me."

"Well, that may well be, but it doesn't explain my own Daddy, now does it. One dead man might be an accident, but two dead men married to Baker women clearly means a curse in my book. And I just don't want to take that chance. Not with Pete. He's the best man I know, Granny. I'd like to keep him alive, if it's all the same to you," Glory explained, for what felt like the hundredth time.

"Your Daddy was a fine man. And that was about as freak an accident as anyone's ever seen. And that preacher man dyin' on the way to the courthouse had nothin' to do with any curse either. You wanna know what I think? I think you're just tryin' to connect all of these random events to git you out of a big ol' Southern weddin'. That's what I think," Grace stated emphatically. "And you're breakin' your poor Granny's heart in the process," she added for good measure.

"A freak accident. A freak accident? Granny, he choked on a lemondrop the first morning of his honeymoon. Nobody chokes to death anymore. Clearly, that was a sign from God Himself that my parents were not supposed to have spent their lives together, don't you think? And then the preacher was killed when his car hit a gator on his way to file the papers after the wedding. Who in the world tries to drive over a six foot gator in Mississippi? No wonder my mother ran off up North to have me. I bet she thought she could get rid of The Curse as long as I wasn't born right here in Brimstone."

A deep voice broke into their conversation. "How are my two favorite ladies this afternoon? From the sounds of it all the way out on the sidewalk, y'all are havin' your typical Sunday Curse discussion. What did I miss," Pete asked, bending to kiss Granny Grace on the cheek and wink at Glory across the table.

"Well, young man, I was wondering when you were going to stop by. We missed you at the service for my mother the other day. Glory said you were out of town. Again. I'm hopin' all of these trips are going to stop when you finally make an honest woman of my granddaughter," Grace sighed, as she patted Pete's hand.

"Now Miss Grace, you know Glory is about as honest as they come. Besides, if I stop takin' trips, then how am I goin' to still be able to find you these?" Pulling the backpack off his shoulder, he extracted the ugliest ceramic chicken that had ever been made. It had an unusually long, skinny neck, short legs, and one eye was painted closed. One of its wings was ruffled, making it look like it had been chewed on by a fox. Setting it gently on the table next to Grace, Pete smiled across the table at Glory.

"I have no idea why you keep bringing her those God-awful things. Like she doesn't have enough crap in that living room to stock a rummage sale for nine years already, you bring her something new every time you stop by," Glory chided, almost under her breath.

"Well, since you refuse to marry this man, and that means that you're not going to be bringin' any babies into this house, I don't see why I can't have all of my pretties sittin' out wherever I happen to want them. Do you?" Grace pouted, clutching the hideous chicken gently in her hands like a Faberge egg. Not that she'd ever acually seen a Faberge egg. Grace had always thought it silly that people collected single eggs, when there were so many whole chickens out there to choose from.

At the mention of babies, Glory went silent. It wasn't often Grace brought up babies anymore. Usually it was a topic that they steered clear of, by mutual, though unspoken, agreement. Thinking of the children that would never run through the house, the giggles that would never be heard, was enough to dampen Glory's spirits.

Damn, and damn again, Glory thought. Damn the Baker Family Curse.