out on the wide expanse of sparkling blue, no land in sight, and pretended our car was a ship, skimming the waves. I glanced at Mary. Her eyes were large in her solemn face.
At Uncle Taylorâs, Mama set the brakes and said, âThree thirty! We made good time. Grab something to carry, and be sure . . .â We scrambled from the car and ran up the front walk. Only Mama knew what she wanted us to be sure of.
Nobody answered the bell, and Mama went right on in. There was a note on the table in the shadowed foyer:
Pauly, weâre at the beach. Ring the brass bell on the back porch so weâll know youâre here.
Welcome!!!
Taylor
The Welcome was scrawled across the note. Beneath it, Uncle Taylor had signed his name in neat script. Puddin ran through the house to the back porch and rang the bell, which sounded like shipsâ bells Iâd heard in movies. âWeâre here!â she yelled. âWeâre here!â
I went back out for the luggage. A strong wind lifted my hair, smelling of salt and sun and far-off places across all that sparkling water, so much bluer than the Atlantic, the only other ocean Iâd ever seen. Ocean? No, not an ocean, I remembered from my geography lessons. The Gulf of Mexico.
I brought in Maryâs cloth carryall, Mamaâs vanity case, and the paper bags of stuff that wouldnât fit into our suitcases, piling everything in the front hall until Uncle Taylor could tell us where weâd be sleeping.
Was his house always so neat, or had he straightened up because we were coming? No toys, no books on the coffee table or newspapers on the sofa, none of what Mama called clutter. How would it feel to live in such a neat house?
Mama cleared her throat. âMary, please get me a glass of water. Iâm parched.â
Mary looked uncertain where to go, but she went.
In the living room, I sat in a sloping green chair with no arms, low and comfortable. The room was filled with angles and circles, blond wood and pastels. Had Aunt Lily decorated it from a picture from House Beautiful ? A beige sofa with a curved back was more inviting to lie on than Mamaâs burgundy velvet Sheraton. The end tables with slanted legs looked like robots, and a chrome floor lamp near Mama seemed to make her jittery. She walked back and forth with Davie on her hip, the vertical blinds moving in her wake.
I thought of our living room, the baby grand, the oriental rug and brocade drapes, the queen chair by the mantel.
Stell said, âThis is a delightful home.â Sheâd been talking that way ever since she got saved.
Mama shifted Davie from one hip to the other. âYou girls are going to have to mind your pâs and qâs. Taylor keeps things shipshape.â
Mary came back to the living room and handed Mama a glass of water. Mama took a long sip and wrinkled her nose. âBeach water, such a horrid taste. Iâll drink tea the whole time Iâm here.â
Puddin ran into the living room. âUncle Taylor and Sarah are coming up from the beach. That bell works great.â
Mama handed Davie to Stell and pushed at her hair, smoothed her skirt. âIâm going to fix my face.â
I hadnât noticed Mary going out, but I saw her through the blinds, walking in the front yard. âIâll get Mary.â
She was standing by the walk.
âWhat are you doing?â I asked.
âLooking at Florida. A strange place, seem to me. Almost no trees, just scrubby things bended down by the wind. And them,â she said, pointing at the palm trees that lined the street, âlooks like somebody took good trees and gave âem a shave.â
âThoseâre palm trees. You remember Palm Sunday, in the Bible?â
âCourse I do. Hosanna and praise Jesus. The hour has come to sing Hisââ She stopped. âYou mean like the palm branches they waved at Jesus?â
âSame thing.â
âWhat you say,â said