I had no doubt something cruel and catastrophic was about to unfold. It was the third time since the spring thaw that the neighbor living along the south pasture had used our property as his personal burial ground. This time it was an unborn calf; matted fur and soft, barely formed hooves rest next to where the bloody barbed wire lay twisted on the ground. Before that, it was Jo-Jo, his mamma dog, split open gut-side. By the time I found her, the maggots had been dining on her soft underbelly. It sored my eyes to see her so. I assumed it was probably a birthing gone bad and a way to save her pups, but I never did see or hear about any pups after finding her, so now I wonder. Anyway, whatever the reason, animals that die under ownership oughta’ be buried proper. Being farm or ranchin' folk and accustomed to animal death, certainly doesn’t mean we need to be unfeeling about it. That ol’ Tom Haggerty is an evil and Godless man. And I should know, as I’m no angel myself; only praying that folks leave me alone, but that Tom Haggerty is a drunk and acts like the devil himself.

            Life’s hard for all of us out here. Tom Haggerty certainly isn’t the only one ‘round here to have problems. H-m-m-m, what’s with that fool? I remember a time way back, when mamma would talk about him as if he was the neighborly sort. I’m thinkin’ his wife Annette must have still been living then; God rest her soul. Now that’s a story I don’t think on often. Ms. Suse probably the only one left living that knows about old Tom Haggerty’s skeletons. I might just ask her out for sweet tea and cakes one day. Yeah, that might be just the temptation to get her out here, although talking scandal is probably enough persuasion for her anyway.

________________________________________________________________________

 

            “What a nice surprise, you invitin’ me to tea and all Miss Gloriana Maye,” said Ms. Suse as she steps into the front entry. “Ah, you look just like yur mammy with that long, golden maize hair and ya’ got that same strong chin as hers.”

“Welcome and thank you for that compliment, but please, call me Glory. Come on in and thank you for accepting my invitation.” Ms. Suse steps a full stride into the foray, hunches her scrawny shoulders a bit, lurches forward and with her squinty eyes, moves her head almost in full circle, taking in the sights and sounds of the old house. 

“You know I used to come out this way all the time when yur mammy was alive. We’d sit for hours on that ol’ porch just a flappen our gums to the cool breeze in them days. You weren’t much higher then a grasshopper I spect.”

“I was hoping you’d enjoy coming out and seeing the place again, but you know it wasn’t sent out without a catch. I’m sure you heard about my problem lately?”  

            “Well Miss Glory, sadly to say I have… and I’ve been stewin’ on it a bit.” I usher Ms. Suse into the large front parlor. The parlor’s a warm, inviting room where political debates were decided between neat bourbons and screens of heavy cigar smoke. At the turn of the century, Maye House was the center of grandeur for the city of Clever, a small rural community just 40 miles north of Columbia, South Carolina’s capitol. But that was a thousand sunrises ago and now the room was faded like rose petals crushed in an old spinster’s memory book. The once beautiful, deep brocade on the walls matched what was now the sagging, dull, thread bare furniture. The heavy velvet drapes had long ago lost their passion for life as dust from the road out front accumulated like drifting snow, dulling their original luxurious quality. The room itself still held a regal quality as the woodwork and cornices were obviously crafted by a master, in an era when quality woodwork meant real money. The mantle capping the width of the fireplace still held momma’s achievements. Her trophies and ribbons cluttered the mantle, leaving most to witness her dedication to the sport of Dressage; only a few recognized how it represented the underlying chaos in her life. Like cobwebs, memories lingered in the corners from a grander time and Ms. Suse soaked it up, perhaps remembering her own easier times.

            “June Berry, will you bring in the tea?” I hollered without the sophistication the room deserved. June Berry sauntered in with the tray; all set with Grandma’s fine bone china, seldom used anymore, and tea cakes seldom made anymore. She set it on the fine burled wood table in front of where Ms. Suse and I were seated.  

            “That all Ms. Glory?” asks June Berry in her slow almost Southern drawl, as she looks away hoping she can go back to doing nothing; the one thing she does rather well and knows it.

Looking up, I think about June for just a minute, as I seldom do anymore. She’s just a slip of a woman, not much older then me, but looks of another generation, donned in a simple, dowdy, cotton shift as she scuffles along in tattered old slippers. I smile to myself for just a second as I think how she has always insisted on being called June Berry, although Berry isn’t June’s last name. I suppose it reminds her of her mamma and the story she’d tell June about her daddy. As a young girl, she’d tell the story over and over, about how she was conceived amongst the June berries on a hot summer day. Her daddy was a most handsome soldier; a fighter pilot her momma would say. But later the rumor was he was just a seed salesman passing through on his way to Virginia. June Berry said she wasn’t going believe such gossip; anyway, it had become such a long time habit callin’ June, June Berry, I didn’t mind and knew it reminded her of who she is or would like to be, I suppose.

“That’s fine, June Berry. Thank you very much. Let me pour tea Ms. Suse and get right to the point.” (There was no mincing words or meanings with Ms. Suse; she was a wise old owl and nothing much got by her anyway.) “I want you to tell me what you remember about the Haggerty family out there behind us. Sugar, Ms. Suse?” 

“Six suga’s please.” She smiled a toothless droopy grin. Her knobby and bent fingers fumbled as she stirred her tea and hot caramel liquid splashed from the dainty teacup. “Well yes, yur right I’m bout the only one still livin’ that lived this far out with ol’ Tom and his family, now that your mammy and Sam Cartwright’s gone. Let me stew a minute and decide whur’ to start?” She sits back savoring her sugary tea. Her eyes close and transport her to another time.

As if propelled by gunfire, suddenly Ms. Suse bolts upright against the uncomfortable old Victorian sofa and begins, “Annette Cartwright Haggerty was a fine gal, fresh as garden flowers and lovin’ like a real angel on Earth. You know, after her and Tom hitched they was inseparable. You’d see ‘em both at the Bijou or Calhoun’s havin’ a suga’ cone every Saturday afternoon, when there weren’t no harvest of course, but for sure every Sunday, harvest or not, they’d always be in line shakin’ hands with Father Paul at ol’ St. Mary’s.”

            “Was that when St. Mary’s was on Main Street next to the old library?” I interrupted searching for the same mental picture.

            “Yup, that’s right Ms. Glory. Matter of fact, now that I’m thinkin’ on it, as tough as life was after the Depression, life was pretty good for Tom and his kin back in them early days. I remember he’d come by with Annette’s county-fair winnin’ homemade bread every week or so and fresh fruit jam, or sugary bottled tomatoes crushed and sieved so fine they called it catsup. Tom would tower on my little porch, almost having to slunk his shoulders down under that ol’ rain roof at my front door. He’d knock with his elbow, as his arms would be full of grocery goods to share out with me. Then he’d come in all polite-like, walk right back to the little rickety table set up near my cook top, turn and say, “Annette overdone it again Suse, so she got me totin’ over what we can’t use up, ya’ know.” He’d hang his head down and that mop of brown hair would fall across his brow. Then he’d suddenly become all somber like, trying to act as if I was doin’ them the favor. But me knowing Tom liked I did, and knowing him to always being something like a rodeo clown, knewd it was just an act. He knew’d right out, that I wasn’t partial to acceptin’ no charity, but he also knew’d I couldn’t refuse home made goods and still be neighborly, so I was always gettin’ my cupboards chocked up with Haggerty groceries, and them was good groceries.”

            “I had no idea that things were so hard for you in those days, Ms. Suse.”

            “Oh that Depression took us all down one way or d’another. Your folks had it a little easier then some, on ‘ccount your grandpa’s cattle and horses, and your pappy havin’ that little card game in the back of his store and all didn’t hurt none either. I know your remember some of ‘dem days, eh Miss Glory?”

            I smiled. It seemed forever ago that my dad would sit me on the grocery counter and treat me to an ice cream. Yes, I thought, we did have it easier then most.

            “Ol’ Tom Haggerty was a hard worker and runned a good little farm back then. Annette was the best cook in the county and their little boy was the cutest pup you ever did see. Oh yes, that little Edger was always with Annette no matter wherd’ she’d go, like a littl’ shadow ya know.” Ms. Suse held her big smile and sipped her sugary tea again. Her eyes savored the memories. “Anyway, one day that all changed for Tom and Annette, sudden like when thars a hard freeze just after the Quince already bloomed and it kills all the living beautiful tings. I ‘member the last time I saw ol’ Tom at my door, like it was yesterday. But, to think on it, it was some forty years or more ago, matter of fact, almost forty three years. Yup, 1936 to be exact.   Tom comed a slunkin’ up on my porch but he weren’t a totin’ nothin’. I opened dat door and that big ol’ man a crumbled right on my threshold. He begun a cryin’, liked I never did see a growd man cry. I set ‘em down on my little ol’ setee and he went on a sobbin’. Without a second ‘tought, I turned ‘round to me cook room and opened up the door in the floor’n, I marched down to my little cellar and grabbed up my jug, somethin’ I never done with company before. Closin’ the floor door behind me, I stepped back across to my cook top and poured him out some coffee still hot on the fire from my early mornin’ breakfast. I just let that coffee have a lick of that jug. I took that coffee comfort right out to Tom.” Ms. Suse stopped and placed her tea cup on the low table in front of us. Her eyes pooled and magnified the steely blue.

            “Ms. Suse, can I get you something?” I feebly handed her my handkerchief.

            “No, lit me just sit a spell.”

            Before I could say anymore…her chest puffed up and she went on, “I said, Tom Haggerty, you sip on that hot coffee right now, it goin’ calm you down. You just gotta’ git quiet.” She stopped again and shaking her head started out, “You know I’d never spoked to any man like that before. I look back now and don’t know where I got the gumption, but this man needed the firm hand of God. But all he got was me.”   Again Ms. Suse stopped. She rubbed her tattered sleeve across her nose, wiping dry her face, then eyed the little cakes. Gently she leaned in and helped herself to two. Crumbs fell from the drooping side of her mouth.

She swallowed her cake, washing it down with her sugary tea, then started up again, this time in a woeful voice, “Suse… she’s gooone. My ….my little A…nnie’s gone. Ol’ Tom was bellowing and still cryin’ a mountain, this poor ol’ man. It was hard for me to understand what he’d said.”

““Whose gone Tom, who?”" I asked him.

Between great sobs he bellowed, “My Annie’s gone, my little Annie’s gone!””

“Tom, what’s happened? Annette? You mean somethin’s happened to Annette? I was confused. I told ‘em, Tom, you gots to calm down and drink that coffee I give ya’. I cupped his mighty hands into my litte’ ones, as they was a shakin’, and bringed that cup up to his lips. He drinked that coffee I git ‘em. He took a second drink, then a third, his hands quita’ shakin. His sobbin’ quieted. Slowly he finished the warm liquid in the mug, thend’ puts it down. He grabs out a big hanky and goes to cleanin’ his face.”

Ms. Suse let out a big sigh, just as if she might have on that day in 1936, then carried on with her story about what Tom was saying. ““Suse, Annette went into labor or something’ like that early this morning. Doc Pete, said he was goin’ have to take that baby early and it weren’t gonin’ survive. Doc Pete said it was the only way to save my Annie and that she was in a bad way. We called Father Paul from St. Mary’s right up to join us in prayer. Suse, Father Paul gits there and then goes to tell us that we cin’t take that baby, even if it kills Annie. He says that a sin for a Catholic.””   

Ms. Suse’s voice changed. She slowed. I heard the sound of defeat.       

“Well, Miss Glory that news from Father Paul weren’t right. Father Paul was their friend and Tom Haggerty needed a friend, not a damned priest!” Ms. Suse let out an indignant huff. “But the Lord thinks of mighty cruel tricks to play on folks sometimes and ‘dis was one of them times. Father Paul said Annette would have to die if that was the Lord’s biddin.” Ms. Suse shook her head in disappointment or disgust, I wasn’t sure which. She squinted then pursed her lips, reliving that moment, thinking back hard on that day. Then with new breath, she went on, “Tom told me he just kindly thanked Father Paul, then turned right back ‘round to ol’ Doc Pete and told him to take that sick youngin’ out of good wife and get on the with healin’ of Annette.” Ms. Suse stopped again and breathed a heavy sigh.

I didn’t dare interrupt or break her concentration, but she seemed to age right in front of me. No tears, no regrets, just remembering the harshness of the past. I sat very still, Ms. Suse sat very still. Her gaze was one of sadness.

“It was all over town for months that Doc Pete took that baby, but it did’t matter none, Ms Annette died the next night anyways. Doc Pete got blamed for it all and practically runnd out of town.”

“So, you’re telling me that Annette Haggerty died in child birth?” I blurted out.

“Yup, but that wasn’t the sorest spot for ol’ Tom. Instead of workin’ on healin’ this broken man, Tom Haggerty founded himself and his little boy excommunicated from that ol’ damn Catholic Church that Father Paul was so proud of. It made me sick they had to go an’ do that to Ol Tom, he was troubled enough already. He couldn’t no longer look at that little boy of theirs either. I took that lil’ Edger for a spell, but he was a tyrant without his mammy and nothin’ soothed that lil’ soul of his. I dudn’t know what happened to him, ya know. I’m a thinkin’ that Tom ended up puttin’ him in the Columbia orphanage for a spell. Yup, now that I’m a thinkin’ on it, that’s what happened. That poor wretched family. No good came after that day in 1936 to any of em’. “

“So that’s why he drinks all these years? Just alone and miserable. But that doesn’t explain why suddenly in the last month he’s acting like a devil and killing’ those poor animals and then tossing them on my property.”

“No. ‘cause usually he just wants to be on his own, just alone; him with his brother Misery. But when you asked me up, I started to ask ‘round and did find out he gots a new hand out there with him. How he affordin’ it, I dunno’ but he gots someone to ‘hep him on his ol’ place.”

“Anyone from town?”

“Nope, not that I hears about. It don’t seem that anyone knows who he’s got out thar.”

“H-m-m-m, well, I’m going’ find out and put a stop to him throwing his carcasses on my property,” I snorted. “More tea Ms. Suse?”