Mamma knew I was doing well, of course, and suggested that I should surprise Papa by learning how to read a Psalm', We practiced every night until I could pronounce all the words. Finally, one night at dinner, just before the end of the first school year, Mamma announced that I would open the meal by reading the Twenty-third Psalm.
Emily looked up surprised.
She didn't know how hard and how long Mamma and I had been working on it. Papa sat back and folded his hands on the table and waited. I opened the Bible and began.
" 'The Lord is my . . . shep . . . herd, I shall not want.' "
Every time I stumbled on a word, Emily smiled. "Papa," she interrupted, "we'll starve by the time she's finished."
"Quiet," he said gruffly. When I finally finished, I looked up and Papa nodded.
"That was very good, Lillian," he said. "I want you to practice it every day until you can do it twice as fast. Then you can read it again for us at dinner."
"That will be awhile," Emily muttered, but Mamma smiled as if I had done something even more wonderful than learn how to read as well as a second-grader in one year. She was always eager to show me off and took every opportunity to do so, especially during her famous barbecues. The first one of the new summer was just a few days away.
Grand barbecues had been part of the heritage of The Meadows for as long as anyone could remember. It was a traditional way to start the summer in these parts, and legend had it that no matter what day the Booths chose for their party, that day would be beautiful. The legend was upheld once again when the day of the barbecue arrived—a lovely June Saturday. It was as though Nature was at our beck and call.
The sky was azure and never more perfect with its tiny clouds dabbed here and there as if painted on by God Himself. Mockingbirds and jays flitted from magnolia tree branches playfully and excitedly, sensing the parade of guests that would soon begin to arrive. Every available laboring hand was busy per-forming last-minute cleaning, moving furniture, and preparing the great feast. The festive air absorbed each and every one of us.
Even the great house, sometimes dark and gloomy because of its vast rooms and high ceilings, was invaded and changed by the sparkling sunshine. Mamma insisted all the curtains be drawn apart and tied, the windows thrown open, and of course, the house itself made positively spotless the day before since it would fall under the inspection of every pair of eyes belonging to every member of every respectable and important family within reach of Mamma and Papa's beautifully engraved invitations.
The cream-colored walls glowed; the mahogany and hickory furniture gleamed. The washed and polished floors glistened like glass, and the rugs were scrubbed until they looked fresh and new. A warm breeze flowed unchecked throughout the house, bringing with it the fragrance of gardenias, jasmine and early roses.
I loved our festive barbecues because there wasn't a corner in or out of the house that didn't have conversation and laughter going on within it. The plantation had an opportunity to show itself off, to be what it could be. It was like a sleeping giant that came out of hibernation. Papa never looked as handsome and proud of his heritage.
Cooking preparations had all begun the night before when the barbecue pits had been lit. Now they all had beds of red embers with the meats spinning on pits and the juices dropping and hissing on the hot coals. Outside, the aromas of burning hickory logs and roasting pork and mutton filled everyone's nostrils. All of Papa's hound dogs and all the barn cats hovered around the perimeters of activity, longing for the moment when they would be tossed the leftovers and scraps.
Behind the barn, not far from Cotton's grave, there was a separate barbecue pit where the house servants and farm laborers would gather with the footmen and drivers of the guests to partake of their own feast of hoecakes, yams and chitterlings. They usually made their own music, too, and sometimes appeared to be having a better time than the well-dressed, well-to-do people who came up the drive in their fanciest carriages pulled by their best horses.
From the first light of day until the first guests began arriving, Mamma flew about the house and grounds dictating her commands and inspecting. She insisted that the long trestle picnic tables be covered with fresh linen and that softer chairs be taken from the house and placed about for those guests who didn't fancy hard benches.
When our guests began to arrive, they followed upon each other so quickly that in moments, the long driveway was lined with saddle horses and carriages of people calling greetings to each other. The children were out first, gathering on the front lawn to arrange for games of tag or hide and seek. Their squeals and laughter sent the barn swallows darting swiftly across the grounds in search of quieter sanctuary. Emily's job was to oversee the children and be sure none of them did anything improper or mischievous. Loudly and firmly, she announced what places on the plantation were off limits and then she proceeded to patrol the grounds like a policeman looking for violators.
As soon as the women stepped out of their carriages, they formed two distinct groups. The older women went into the house for as much protection from the sun and insects as possible while they exchanged pleasantries and gossip. The younger women gravitated toward the gazebo and benches where some were courted by young men and where others waited hopefully to be discovered in their pretty new dresses.
The older men were gathered in small clumps about the grounds discussing politics or business. Just before the food was served, Papa took a few men who had not been to The Meadows before and gave them a tour of the house, mainly to show them his collection of guns hanging on the wall in his library. He had dueling pistols and pocket derringers, as well as English rifles.
Mamma was everywhere, playing the grand hostess, exchanging laughter and words with the gentlemen as well as the ladies. A big party like this seemed to make her flourish. Her golden hair needed no jewel comb to make it glitter with its richness of color and quality, even though she wore one. Her eyes were full of excitement and life, and the sound of her laughter was musical.
The night before, as usual, she had moaned and groaned about her poor wardrobe and how much wider in the hips she had grown since last year's barbecue. Neither Papa nor Emily paid any attention. I was the only one who showed any interest, but only because I wondered why she complained. Mamma had closets and closets of clothes, despite Papa's refusal to take her shopping. She managed regularly to have something new made or something new bought, and was always up on the latest styles, whether it be of hair or clothes. She had boxes and boxes of shoes and drawers and drawers of jewelry, some of which she had brought with her when she married Papa and some of which she had acquired since.
I never thought of her as getting fat or ugly, but she insisted her hips had expanded until she looked like a hippopotamus in anything she put on. As always, Louella and Tottie were called in to help her find a solution, to choose clothes that would flatter her the most and hide her imperfections the best.
Tottie had brushed Mamma's hair for hours while Mamma sat before her vanity mirror and went on about the preparations. Her hair was long, nearly down to her waist, but she would have it combed and pinned in a chignon. Watching all these preparations and anticipating the coiffeurs, the clothes and new styles the women would wear, stimulated my own budding femininity. I spent most of the day before the barbecue with Eugenia, brushing her hair and letting her brush mine.
The barbecue was one of the few occasions when Mamma permitted Eugenia to mingle with other children and remain outside for hours and hours, as long as she rested in the shade and didn't run around. The joy and tumult, and especially the fresh air, brought a rosy tint to her cheeks and for a while at least, she didn't look like a sickly little girl. She was content and excited simply sitting there under a magnolia, watching the boys wrestle and show off, and the girls prance about imitating their mothers and sisters.
Late in the afternoon after everyone had been satiated with plenty of food and drink, the guests lounged around, some of the older people actually falling asleep in the shade. The young men played horseshoes and the children were shooed farther off so their screams and laughter wouldn't disturb the adults. At this point, Eugenia, protesting but visibly tired, was brought into the house for a nap.
Feeling sorry for her, I accompanied her and sat with her in her room until her eyelids couldn't resist the weight of sleep any longer and slowly shut. When her labored breathing became regular, I tiptoed out of her room, closing the door softly behind me. By now the other children were behind the house, eating slices of watermelon. I decided to go through the house and out one of the back doors.
As I hurried down the corridor and past Papa's library, I heard a ripple of feminine laughter that intrigued me, for it was immediately followed by the sound of someone speaking low. Once again, the young woman giggled. Papa would be very angry if someone went into his library without his knowing about it, I thought. I backtracked a few steps and listened again. The voices had become whispers. More curious than ever, I opened the library door a little farther and peered in to see the back of Darlene Scott's dress lift slowly as the man standing in front of her moved his hand in and under her skirt. I couldn't help but gasp. They heard me and when Darlene turned, I was able to see who the man was—Papa.
His face turned so fiery red I thought the skin would melt off it. Roughly, he pulled Darlene Scott aside and stepped toward me.
"What are you doing in the house?" he demanded, seizing my shoulders. He leaned down toward me. His breath on my face was strong with bourbon whiskey mingled with the faint fragrance of mint. "All the children were told to stay out of the house."
"Well?" he demanded, shaking my shoulders.