Gran and Aunt V -- Flash Fiction

Moon Flowers

“That was a nice service, Justine.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“One thing about your Gran, she never killed anybody that didn’t need killin’.”

Aunt V was a little hard of hearing, so she talked loud. But everyone at the grave site knew Aunt V, and Gran always said for us to pay her no mind.

Aunt V never did really like Gran. Anytime anything unfortunate happened to someone, Aunt V told everyone who’d listen that Gran used Voodoo on them.

I think Aunt V never did accept that Papaw married a Louisiana Catholic. Though why she would hold that against my Gran I don’t know. We all live in the Delta less than fifty miles north of the Arkansas-Louisiana Line. Which isn’t much different than being in Louisiana. And we’re Episcopalians which just isn’t that much different either when you come down to it. My cousin Mary Elizabeth says we’re Catholic Light, but not when her momma’s in hearing distance.

“Justine, you just think about it. When your dear momma died of the appendicitis after that fool emergency room doctor sent her home, sayin’ there was nothing wrong. Maybe a little gas.” She nodded her head and jabbed her cane at the sidewalk to emphasize what she was saying.

I’d heard this story so many times before, it didn’t hurt anymore.

“That no-count Toliver boy up at the hospital in Dumas. He was one of those Tolivers from over in Greenville. Went up north somewhere.” She waited until Mary Elizabeth caught up with us. “I think it was Tennessee.”

“What was Momma?”

“Where that Toliver boy got his doctor’s degree.”

Mary Elizabeth sighed. “Yes, Momma. It was Tennessee. Vanderbilt.”

“That’s right. That’s right.” Aunt V smiled and walked on.

 Gran was a nurse, so she’d explained to me that when my momma died, the hospital was small and they didn’t have equipment like they do at big hospitals. She said momma’s white blood cell count was within normal limits and she didn’t have a fever and her pain was generalized, so anyone could have missed it even if they hadn’t been drinking. And that we shouldn’t hold it against Doc Toliver. We should leave him to God.

Doc Toliver died that weekend after Momma did. He slipped and hit his head in the bathtub.

We all got in the limousine to go back to Gran’s house.

“Doesn’t the cemetery look nice?” Aunt V asked as we drove out through the west gate.

“Yes, ma’am. It does.” It was probably the prettiest cemetery in the Ark-La-Miss.

Aunt V gazed out across the green grass, all decorated with flowers and mementos and headstones. Some more ornate than others, but all proud and clean and beautiful. “Why, I’ve been to cemeteries out in Texas. Even went to one up in Kansas. Lord that is forsaken country. Broad, open land. Hardly a tree in sight. And brown. That country would make you weep for want of something green.”

I had no idea where this was going. I don’t think she’d ever talked about Kansas before.

“They don’t decorate their graves except on decoration day.” She clucked her tongue at the sorrowful disrespect of it all.

There wasn’t anything for us to say to that.

“And that Toliver boy, he wasn’t the first Miss Adelia used Voodoo on. There was that school teacher, ‘cause he messed with your little friend Donnette.”

“Momma!” Mary Elizabeth didn’t want to hear anymore. “Mr. Van Zandt died of a heart attack. He was old.”

“Not that old.” Aunt V said, her mouth pursed so tight her lips almost disappeared in a tiny little O. “There were prob’ly others. Little boys, too,” she said.

They drove us up to the front porch at Gran’s. The driveway had a large patch of Moon Flowers on either side. Gran said it was called Jimson Weed. She told us that the old folks where she came from used to grind it into a powder then mix it with sulfur and honey and pour it in a glass. Then you rub it against a black cat and drink it slowly. And it’ll cure all your ills. But she said for us to leave it alone because it was poison.

The house was two stories with high ceilings and a wrap-around covered porch. Mary Elizabeth and I and Donnette, too. We’d play jacks on the east porch by the hour, getting all the way to Around the World sometimes. And Gran would bring out lemonade and home-made sponge cake with fresh strawberries or sliced peaches.

The ladies from Gran’s church brought in food for everyone coming by the house.

Aunt V took a pecan tassie, holding it delicately between her thumb and middle finger she said, “And my first husband, Richard. He was downright mean. People always say that so-and-so was as nice as could be until he’d had a few. But Richard, he was lots nicer with a snoot full. Trouble was I just couldn’t get him to drink enough.” She giggled at her own wit.

“Justine’s Gran told me I had to get rid of him ‘cause, he was going to hit me one too many times and ….” She nodded at me. “And Justine’s Papaw was gonna kill him and then he’d end up in prison or executed.”

She dabbed her lips with a napkin, leaving an orange smear on the white damask cloth. “He died a bloody death all right, Richard did. Hog huntin’ and a big old boar hog got him in the groin. Bled out before they could get him outta the woods.”

“I’m sorry. I’ve got a splitting headache,” I said and excused myself from the room.

Upstairs in Gran’s room, it was quiet. It didn’t feel empty. Not like Gran was gone and would never come back again. The bed was made and the windows were open. Filmy sheers waved in front of the big south windows. Gran had a little altar set up in the corner next to her writing table. Someone had kindly lit the candles at Our Lady’s feet. Between the candles was a leather pouch.

Nothing was different, except that Gran was gone now. She’d never let me touch the pouch. She said it was very old and it held all her sorrows. Inside I found a dried Moon Flower and two small vials, one with amber liquid and the other with yellow powder. And there was a rolled parchment tied with a black ribbon.

There were names on the parchment – Richard Clement, Dean Van Zandt, Carl Toliver.