Fried Green Tomatoes at the Whistle Stop Cafe (34 page)

 Mrs. Hartman shouted at him again, "No honey, this isn't her daughter! This is her friend Mrs. Couch, from Birmingham . . .”

Ocie kept grinning and smiling at her.

Mrs. Hartman was rooting around in the cold drink box and pulled out a strawberry soda. "Look! Here you are."

Evelyn tried to pay for it, but Ocie kept saying something to her that she still could not understand.

"He says put your money away, Mrs. Couch. He wants you to have that cold drink on him."

Evelyn was flustered, but thanked Ocie, and he followed them out to the car, still talking and grinning.

Mrs. Hartman shouted, "BYE-BYE!" She turned to Evelyn. "He's as deaf as a post."

"I figured that. I just can't get over him hugging me like that."

"Well, you know, he thought the world of Mrs. Threadgoode. He's been knowing her since he was a little boy."

They drove back over the tracks, and Mrs. Hartman said, "Honey, if you take a right on the next street, I’ll show you where the old Threadgoode place is."

The minute they turned the corner, she saw it: a big, two-story white wooden house with the front porch that went all around. She recognized it from the pictures.

Evelyn pulled up in front, and they got out.

The windows were mostly broken and boarded up, and the wood on the front porch was caved in and rotten, so they couldn't go up. It looked like the whole house was ready to fall down. They walked around to the back.

Evelyn said, "What a shame they let this place go. I'll bet it was beautiful at one time."

Mrs. Hartman agreed. "At one time, this was the prettiest house in Whistle Stop. But all the Threadgoodes are gone now, so I guess they're just gonna tear it down one of these days."

When they got to the backyard, Evelyn and Mrs. Hartman were surprised at what they saw. The old trellis, leaning on the back of the house, was entirely covered with thousands of little pink sweetheart roses, blooming like they had no idea that the people inside had left long ago.

Evelyn peeked in the broken window and saw a cracked, white enamel table. She wondered how many biscuits had been cut on that table throughout the years.

When she took Mrs. Hartman home, she thanked her for going along.

"Oh, my pleasure, we almost never get anybody out here to visit anymore, not since the trains stopped running. I’m sorry that we had to meet under such sad circumstances, but I've enjoyed meeting you so much, and please come back just anytime you want to."

Although it was late, Evelyn decided to drive by the old house one more time. It was just getting dark, and as she came down the street, her lights hit the windows in such a way that it looked to her like there were people inside, moving around . . . and all of a sudden, she could have sworn that she heard Essie Rue pounding away at the old piano in the parlor . . .

"Buffalo gals, won't you come out tonight, come out tonight . .  .”

Evelyn stopped the car and sat there, sobbing like her heart would break, wondering why people had to get old and die.

JUNE 25, 1969

Hard to Say Goodbye

I am sorry to report that this will be the last issue. Ever since I took my other half to south Alabama for a vacation, he has been having a fit to live there. We found ourselves a place right on the bay, so we are going to move down in a couple of weeks. Now the old coot can fish night and day if he wants to. I know I spoil him, but with all his ornreriness, he's still a pretty good old guy. Don't know what to say about leaving, so I won't say much. Both of us were raised right here in Whistle Stop, and had so many wonderful times and friends. But most of them have gone somewhere else. The place doesn't seem the same, and now, with all these new super highways they got, you can hardly tell where Birmingham ends and Whistle Stop begins.

Now that I look back, it seems to me that after the cafe closed, the heart of the town just stopped beating. Funny how a little knockabout place like that brought so many people together.

At least we all have our memories, and I've still got my old sweetheart with me.

. . . Dot Weems . . .

P.S. If any of you ever get to Fairhope, Alabama, look us up. I'll be the one sitting on the back porch, cleaning all the fish.

APRIL 19, 1988

The second Easter after Mrs. Threadgoode died, Evelyn was determined to make it to the cemetery. She bought a beautiful spray of white Easter lilies and drove out in her new pink Cadillac, wearing her fourteen-karat studded bumblebee pin with the emerald eyes, another award.

Earlier today, she'd been to brunch with her Mary Kay group, so it was late afternoon. Most of the people had been there and gone already, but the cemetery was filled with spectacular Easter arrangements of every color.

Evelyn had to drive around for a while before she finally found the Threadgoode family plot. The first grave she found was Ruth Jamison's. She walked on down the row and found the big double headstone with the angel:

WILLIAM JAMES          ALICE LEE CLOUD

THREADGOODE         THREADGOODE

1850-1929        1856-1932

BELOVED PARENTS

NOT LOST

BUT GONE BEFORE

WHERE WE SHALL MEET AGAIN

Next to them was:

JAMES LEE (BUDDY) THREADGOODE

1898-1919

A YOUTH CUT DOWN BEFORE HIS TIME

WHO LIVES ON IN OUR HEARTS

She found Edward's, Cleo's, and Mildred's graves; but she couldn't find her friend's, and she began to panic. Where was Mrs. Threadgoode?

Finally, one row down on the right, she saw:

ALBERT THREADGOODE

1930-1978

OUR ANGEL ON THIS EARTH

SAFE AT LAST IN THE ARMS OF JESUS

She looked beside Albert's grave, and there it was:

MRS. VIRGINIA (NINNY) THREADGOODE

1899-1986

GONE HOME

The memory and sweetness of the old woman flooded back in an instant, and she realized just how much she missed her. Tears ran down her face while she placed the flowers, and then she went about the business of pulling up all the little weeds that had grown up around the tombstone. She consoled herself by thinking that one thing was for sure; if there really was a heaven, Mrs. Threadgoode was certainly there. She wondered if there would ever be a pure, untouched soul like her on this earth again. . . . She doubted it.

It's funny, Evelyn thought. Because of knowing Mrs. Threadgoode, she was not as scared of getting old or dying as she had once been, and death did not seem all that far away. Even today, it was as if Mrs. Threadgoode was just standing behind a door.

Evelyn began quietly speaking to her friend. "I'm sorry I haven't gotten out here sooner, Mrs. Threadgoode. You'll never know how many times I've thought about you and wished I could speak to you. I felt so bad I didn't get to see you before you died. I just never dreamed in a million years that I would never see you again. I never did get a chance to thank you. If it hadn't been for you talking to me like you did every week, I don't know what I would have done."

She paused for a moment, and then went on, "I got that pink Cadillac for us, Mrs. Threadgoode. I thought it would make me happy, but you know, it didn't mean half as much without you to go for a ride in it with me. I've often wished I could come and pick you up and we could go on a Sunday drive, or over to Ollie's for some barbecue."

She moved to the other side of the headstone and continued pulling the weeds and talking. "I've been asked to do some work with the mental health group, over at the university hospital . . . and I might do it." She laughed. "I told Ed, I might as well work for a disease I've had."

"And you're not going to believe this, Mrs. Threadgoode, but I'm a grandmother now. Twice. Janice had twin girls. And you remember Ed's mother, Big Momma? Well, we put her over at Meadowlark Manor, and she likes it much better, and I was just as glad. . . . I hated going out to Rose Terrace after you died. The last time I went, Geneene told me that Vesta Adcock is crazy as ever, still upset over Mr. Dunaway leaving.

"Everybody misses you: Geneene, your neighbors the Hartmans . . . I went out there and got the things you left me, and I use those recipes all the time. Oh, by the way, I've lost forty-three pounds since the last time you saw me. I still have five more to go.

"And, let's see, your friend Ocie died last month, but then, I guess you know that. Oh, I knew there was another thing I had to tell you:

"Remember that picture of you in the blue polka-dotted dress, you made down at Loveman's? I have it framed and sitting on my occasional table in the living room, and when one of my customers saw it, she said, 'Evelyn, you look exactly like your mother! . . . Isn't that something, Mrs. Threadgoode?"

Evelyn told her friend everything she could think of that had happened in the last year, and she didn't leave until she felt sure in her heart that Mrs. Threadgoode knew she was really okay.

Evelyn was smiling and happy as she walked back to the car; but as she passed Ruth's grave, she stopped.

Something was there that hadn't been there before. Sitting on the headstone was a glass jar filled with freshly cut little pink sweetheart roses. Beside the jar was an envelope addressed in thin, scratchy handwriting:

FOR RUTH JAMISON

Surprised, Evelyn picked up the envelope. Inside was an old-fashioned Easter card, with a picture of a little girl holding a basket of multicolored eggs. She opened the card:

FOR A SPECIAL PERSON AS NICE AS YOU,

WHO'S KIND AND CONSIDERATE IN ALL YOU DO,

THE FAIREST, THE SQUAREST,

MOST LOVING AND TRUE,

THAT ALL ADDS UP TO

WONDERFUL YOU!

And the card was signed:

I'll always remember.

Your friend.

Evelyn stood with the card in her hand and looked all around the cemetery; but no one was there.

MARCH 17, 1988

Elderly Woman Reported Missing

Mrs. Vesta Adcock, an 83-year-old resident of the Rose Terrace Nursing Home, apparently walked off the premises yesterday, after announcing that she needed a breath of fresh air, and has not returned.

When last seen, she was wearing a pink chenille robe with fox furs, royal-blue fuzzy-type slippers, and may have been wearing a red stocking cap and carrying a black beaded purse.

A bus driver remembered someone answering to that description getting on his bus near the home late yesterday and asking for a transfer.

If you have seen anyone fitting that description, you are asked to call Mrs. Virginia Mae Schmitt, director of the nursing home, at 555-7760.

The woman's son, Mr. Earl Adcock, Jr., of New Orleans, said that his mother may have become disoriented.

Elderly Woman Found in Love Nest

MARCH 20, 1988

Mrs. Vesta Adcock, an 83-year-old woman who had been reported missing from the Rose Terrace Nursing Home four days ago, has been found residing at the Bama Motel in East Lake. Her male companion, Mr. Walter Dunaway, 80, of Birmingham, suffered a mild stroke and was admitted to the university hospital for observation early today.

Mrs. Adcock asked to be returned to the nursing home and was very despondent, because, as she said, "Walter is not the man I thought he was."

Mr. Dunaway is listed in satisfactory condition.

MARIANNA, FLORIDA

MAY 22, 1988

Bill and Marion Neal and their eight-year-old daughter Patsy had been driving all day when they passed the roadside stand that advertised: FRESH EGGS, HONEY, FRESH FRUIT AND VEGETABLES, FRESH CATFISH, COLD DRINKS.

They were thirsty, so Bill turned around and went back. When they got out, nobody was there; but they saw two old men in overalls sitting under a huge water oak tree, out behind the stand. One of the men got up and started walking toward them.

"Hi there, folks. What can I do for you today?"

When she heard the voice, Marion realized it was not an old man but an old woman with snow-white hair and brown, weatherbeaten skin. "We'd like three Coca-Colas, please."

Patsy was staring at the jars of honey lined up on the shelf.

While the old woman was opening the three frosty Cokes, Patsy pointed to one of the jars of honey and asked, "What's in that jar?"

"Why, that's honeycomb, right out of the hive. Haven't you ever seen that before?"

Patsy was fascinated. "No ma'am."

"Where are you folks from?"

Marion said, "Birmingham."

"Well, I'll be. I used to live in a little town just on the other side. You've probably never heard of it: little place called Whistle Stop."

Bill said, "Oh sure. Where the railroad yards used to be. They had a barbecue joint out there, as I remember."

The old woman smiled. "That's right."

Bill pointed to her sign. "Didn't know you got catfish down this far."

"Sure we do, saltwater cat, but I don't have any today."

She looked at the little blond girl to see if she was listening. "Last week I caught one, but it was so big we couldn't pull it out of the water."

Patsy said, "
Really
?"

The old woman's blue eyes sparkled. "Oh, yes indeed. As a matter of fact, that catfish was so big, we took a picture of it, and the picture alone weighed forty pounds."

The little girl cocked her head to one side, trying to figure it out. "
Are you sure?”

"Sure I'm sure. But if you don't believe me . . ." She turned around and called up to the old man in the yard, "Hey, Julian! Go in the house and bring me that picture of the catfish we caught last week."

He called back lazily, "Cain't do it . . . it's too heavy for me to carry. Might hurt my back . . ."