Welcome to Hamage, AL. This little town has one major selling point: There’s more land than people. Seriously, I think there’s only one real estate agent (that everyone uses because she’s been in the choir of Green Pastures Fellowship Church since she got voice lessons from King David himself), and she’d have long since gone to the poor house, if not for work in the wider county.
Sure, every generation sees a couple siblings move away, since not everyone can inherit the land, but even then, there are brothers and sisters that stay around, if someone’s nice enough to share. So, in places, you can find whole families spread out over the same acreage.
One such spot recently received a name, “Hamage Estates.” It’s just the cutest assembly of three houses at the end of a dirt road, and yet a person only needs one turn off the main road to get there.
Now, don’t get me wrong: It’s not a short drive off the main road. Mr. McGinty liked his privacy, so he stuck the old farmhouse almost in the middle of his property.
This turned out to be a good move. Because, when they put Main Road (it has some county highway designation, but I can’t ever remember that) through this section, McGinty managed to keep a good two miles between himself and the road.
If, then – you’re coming down Main Road, it starts this deep dive, and Hamage Estates is there on your right. It sits on a plateau between two hollers, but you’d have to walk aways from the now three houses to use those valleys as hollers.
Pine and cypress mingle with oak and willow as you bump down the road. Kudzu hasn’t made it this far yet, but bamboo throws a few early shoots, and Fall’s last dandelions dot the leaf-covered floor. The trees are old, yet they can show themselves off well enough in their pre-winter colors, like grandma at the town hall for square-dance night.
At long last, the trees vanish from around you, and you’re in this huge clearing where the road ends in a cul-de-sac. That was Wilbur’s idea, but more on him in a moment. Cause the first thing you’ll notice is, what locals call, the “Eyesore.”
The Eyesore is this supposed monstrosity of a modern farmhouse. It was Ethel’s idea after she married Patrick, the oldest brother. (You see: The family had to get out of the tobacco business while the brothers were still in elementary school, before McGinty died. After the passing of mom and dad – and what with starting their own families – the brothers decided to pull down the farmhouse and make their own.)
With that, let me get back to Ethel. She grew up around here but got shipped off to the Big School in the city (a whole three-quarters of an hour away). There, she got a bunch of new ideas about stuff, and Patrick (being something of the showboat himself) agreed with her.
As a result, their home is all glass with metal supports. They used this reportedly “smart glass,” and that stuff keeps the windows blacked out at night, if you can believe it. Hardwood floors were in the plans, so that looks nice, but the three loft bedrooms became a real chore once Rufus was born. Although, all three of them are still real good people, but bless their hearts for that house.
On this night, Patrick and Ethel walk out their front door and take a right after both check their phones for the setting the security system. Ethel’s quicker, so Patrick disarms it as soon as Ethel can get it going.
She shakes her head, like he’d only put one scoop of coffee in the filter for her three cups of water. “I just turned that on; what are you doing?”
“The same thing,” says Patrick as he rearms the system without a glance up from his phone. He notices the time before putting away his phone. A long look at the cottage down the road precedes him saying, “Well, it’s twenty minutes until seven; you reckon Gertrude and Charlie will have their party ready?”
Ethel takes his hand, as she does in Rufus’ classroom when report cards are due. It’s a comforting gesture of “we all know what’s coming.” Ethel gives a little giggle and says, “Oh, you mean like they were ready for Christmas last year?”
“Oh, boy,” Patrick says, giving a squeeze to her hand. He’s one part confirming she’s still there with a dash of gratitude for her presence. He says, “I’m so glad we’re hosting Christmas this year.”
Before they reach Charlie’s house, they must pass Wilbur’s stone cabin. Some might call the home a hut, but it is a good deal larger than that. Wilbur hadn’t met Delilah yet when he built his two-bedroom cabin with stones gathered from the creek beds in the valleys below. The biggest idea here is an open living area that immediately turns old-school through a doorway at the back of the eating area. The doorway leads to a hallway that connects the two bedrooms with a bathroom between them.
Patrick counts the number of lights still on in the cabin. “Looks like Wilbur and them haven’t left yet.”
Ethel shrugs as if that’s the most unquestionable thing she’s heard all day. She says, “Wilbur probably hasn’t made his requisite four U-turns to find his pants yet.”
Patrick’s laugh bubbles up from his stomach and explodes into an echo between the three homes. It’s the kind of laugh that only comes from being caught completely off guard while seeing the exactly what Ethel’s talking about. Patrick slaps his hand over his mouth, surprised by his own amusement. “That was a good one,” he whispers to Ethel.
They reach Charlie’s gravel driveway by this point. Charlie thought Wilbur’s idea of using local rocks was brilliant, so Charlie had the crew bring up some pebbles to use for his driveway. It looks great with all those colors gently glowing in the fading sunset.
Now, Patrick and Ethel start by going to the front door (as you might well expect), but they find a note stuck to it that informs them that the get-together is around back.
Blessedly, Charlie created some walking paths around his house with the leftover gravel from the driveway, so they don’t have to trod through Charlie’s thick grass. Plus this way, it’s a pretty walk too. In fact, they only make the first corner before Ethel exclaims, “Would you look at those mums! Gertrude has them growing up the wall.”
Patrick looks at his smart watch, a Christmas gift from Ethel, before glancing at the flowers. “They do look full,” Patrick comments with the same enthusiasm as looking at a well-stocked grocery store shelf. He says, “Gertrude picked some fine colors, and Charlie did an actually decent job on the elevated boxes. I didn’t think Charlie had it in him, but we are right on time, so let’s keep moving.”
“Oh, what’s the rush?” Ethel says after her feet solidify in front of the flowers. She says, “You and I both know they ain’t ready yet, so let’s stop and enjoy the flowers for a second.”
While Patrick moves down the path, their hands separate, and he says over his shoulder, “We’ve had our second, so let’s keep moving. We don’t want to be late.”
The only thing louder than Ethel’s eyeroll is her sigh, but she only says, “Fine.”
Ethel catches up to Patrick because he stopped to look at an archway before entering the backyard. “This archway is handmade, so Charlie had to do it. He’s been holding out on me.”
Two iron bands loop across the walkway with ivy weaving over and around little wooden slats connecting the iron bands. It’s a delightfully fairy-looking entrance to the backyard. Ethel walks through it, saying: “That’s nice, dear, but remember that we wouldn’t want to be late. Come on, now.” (There may or may not have been a grin from Ethel, but you can guess).
Only one person arrived in the backyard before Patrick and Ethel, and that would be Charlie. Charlie puts down the last seat at three copper tables before he turns to see what’s crunching the leaves. He waves an arm over his head, like he needs someone else to take the kettle off the stove, and says, “Hey there, Big Brother. Glad y’all could make it.”
While Charlie lights the mosquito torches around the tables, Ethel (on account of her head start from the archway) reaches Charlie first with a side-hug. Ethel says, “We wouldn’t miss it and did our best to get here by seven – cause your message definitely said seven, but where’s Gertrude?”
“Well, y’all are a minute or two early, I’d suspect,” Charlie says while shaking Patrick’s hand. “Wilbur and Delilah haven’t made it yet, so we’ll have to wait a bit anyway.”
Charlie turns around to the tables and steps to the smaller one nearest him. “Y’all will be here. I remembered Ethel saying she liked the sunset in the woods, so you get to look at that.”
No one sits yet, but Patrick nods at his chair, like a kid that received a second-place metal (after seeing the big one in the middle). He says, “That’ll do, I reckon. But, where’s Gertrude?”
Charlie turns to face his home, a two-level cottage built with wood-plastic composite walls and exposed wooden beams. The white walls glow red in the sunset. Charlie confesses: “She’s still in yonder. We seem to be doing better, than we thought, with chickens. She got larger cuts than she expected, so it’s taking longer than she planned.”
Ethel says with a gasp, “We’re eating your chickens tonight?”
“Well, yeah,” Charlie says with a chuckle of Ethel missing the obvious. “Did you think we’d keep those things for pets?”
Ethel shrugs in a motion that admits never before had she considered their purpose.
Charlie laughs even harder at reality sinking in for Ethel. Charlie turns the group in the direction of the hen house. He says, “To be fair, we started out just wanting some eggs, but we quickly realized that we’d have way too many, so we got a rooster. Now, we let some of those eggs hatch, keep the chickens for a year or two, and cook them.”
“Oh, that rooster,” Patrick says, “we all know your rooster, since it goes off about fifteen minutes before our alarms every morning.”
Charlie cuts his eyes to lock with his brother’s and says, “Well, I’m glad to know my rooster is on time.”
As Patrick takes half a step to loom over Charlie, a quiet “hello, dears” diffuses the situation from the backdoor of the cottage. Gertrude pushes a metal cart with enough food on it to feed half the county. Her green cotton skirt grows up from the grass to her yellow t-shirt. In the middle of the shirt, there’s a sun, which looks like the brand picture from an organic coffee company launched in 1969, and it sits under a grinning rainbow.
In nearly the same moment, a “hello, brothers” resounds from the archway on the other side of the house. Wilbur says, “Charlie, I’d of been here sooner, but I was just admiring your archway over here. How’d you get those trees to grow together like that?”
After Charlie turns his back to Patrick, he begins an exposition on pruning trees to anticipate their growth. Wilbur looks much the contrast to Gertrude in his jeans and the polo shirt from the local community college. (They have a decent prep program for students who couldn’t make D-I after high school.)
While Charlie continues his lecture on growing trees from the foundling stage, Wilbur offers to help Gertrude. Gertrude abandons the cart with a skip toward Delilah and gives her the same, exact hug that you might give a friend whom you haven’t seen in five years.
Wilbur pushes the cart, and the girls chat about the spectacular colors of the leaves this year. Delilah looks like Gertrude’s older sister in her black denim pants and purple blouse, despite Gertrude’s five years on Delilah.
The newcomers reach the larger table in the middle of the two smaller ones. Wilbur abandons the cart at this point to drape his arms over the shoulders of his brothers. “Well, I don’t know about y’all, but looks like Gertrude outdid herself tonight.”
Patrick brushes Wilbur’s arm off his red and black flannel shirt and says, “Thanks for bringing Delilah with you. It’s about time you showed up.”
Wilbur cackles as though he’s been corrected by his head coach for running the wrong route. He says, “Oh, lighten up. We got to the backyard at seven, even after I bored Delilah about that archway. We’re good, Patrick.”
Patrick’s mouth falls open while he cuts his eyes at Ethel, who only giggles on her way to help Gertrude. Delilah moves over to Wilbur before wrapping one arm around his; she says, “I’d help unload that cart, but I’m afraid I wouldn’t leave any food for you boys. It all smells wonderful, like it was made with love for everyone that would eat it.”
While Gertrude swishes the plates to every place around the tables, Ethel can only shimmy in her black pencil skirt as she places the serving dishes at the back of the larger center table. Blessedly, that division of labor keeps these ladies out of each other’s hair. The plates and cutlery spin from Getrude’s hands, like discarded dance partners, and Ethel places the serving dishes as if she’s arranged interviews for the latest breaking story on the news – with the chicken as far from her as possible.
After Gertrude rearranges the chicken so it’s front and center, she announces (the sound reminds me of the squeak from a mouse to let her buddies know where the traps are), “Let’s eat.”
Patrick and Ethel might as well dive into their seats, like the music got turned off during musical chairs, and Wilbur escorts Delilah around to their table; he even pulls out her chair. Charlie stands next to Gertrude in his khaki pants and solid green button-down shirt.
He takes a step behind Gertrude, who says: “Welcome, y’all. Thank you so much for coming to our little fall get-together. Just so you know, everything from the chickens to the pumpkins and carrots came from right here. Our dear, Charlie, got it all to grow by himself.”
Charlie dashes forward at this point; his face redder than the planet Mars on a clear night. He says faster than an auctioneer on foreclosure day, “Don’t get this wrong, y’all. I only provided the ingredients. Gertrude, here, made the fabulous meal after much hard work and adaptation to my failures as a part time farmer.”
Gertrude puts a hand on the small of Charlie’s back and smiles at him as though he remembered their anniversary on the right day. Without looking away from him, she says, “All right, let’s eat.”
There’s an “aww” from the wives while Wilbur makes a vomit sound, which draws a laugh from Patrick. Gertrude hands the pumpkin casserole to Ethel, and Charlie passes the carrots to Wilbur, before the hosts help themselves to the chicken. Every dish makes its way around the tables until everyone has enough for their first round.
Surrounded by the clank of silverware, silence descends on our scene. Everyone tries each dish; then they bounce between the dishes, guessing which piece they like the best.
“Gertrude.” It’s Wilbur, the youngest brother, who breaks the silence. “This is fantastic. It’s better than the time that the owners of the European Automobile Emporium took us to dinner. The bake on this chicken blows my mind.”
Ethel chimes in that the meal is most certainly worth the wait.
But, Patrick’s eyebrows gather toward his nose. (He looks as someone installed a deadbolt backward.) Patrick says, “Hold on there, Wilbur, you’ve had dinner with the Salvatores?”
Wilbur looks across his round copper table at Patrick’s balding head and says, “Yeah, Mr. Salvatore is one of my most consistent foreign parts customers. I deliver to him at least a couple times a week. Now, it almost took me a week to find the place. It’s apparently a family restaurant, but ….” Just then, Delilah kicks him under the table, so he finishes with an awkward, “Yeah, why?”
“As a matter of fact,” Patrick says with the same tone like he guessed word for word the comments from a news interview, “Mr. Salvatore is a customer of mine too. I tell you what: His daughter and her friends can destroy plumbing on sleepover night.”
After everyone has a solid laugh, Charlie inquires about Rufus still helping Patrick on some handyman jobs. Patrick notes that Rufus’ help is confined to the weekends, because of school, and Charlie mentions school as a real complication for help. Charlie says, “Seamus and Elizabeth’s help with the chickens decreased notably after school started back.”
At the other table, Delilah rocks back in her chair; one hand sits next to her plate, while the other dances a fork through the remains of her casserole. (I think you’d call it a deflated look, since she’s completely pulled back from the conversation.) The pumpkin casserole becomes a tight mound on her plate, before she starts inserting carrots like sticks in a snowman.
The motion on her plate snatches Wilbur’s attention from the conversation. He sees his wife’s look at the plate, though he knows she’s not really seeing it. Wilbur places his hand over hers. He interlaced their fingers and gives her hand a squeeze.
Delilah’s head jerks her eyes to his, and Wilbur smiles with a wink. There’s an acknowledgement in that wink of understanding, and Delilah grins back with gratitude.
About that time, Gertrude’s voice commands attention from everyone. She says, “Oh sure, Patrick, it’s your crew’s fault the job went sideways. Truly, spoken like a man who’s never had to explain a policy that he didn’t create.”
Patrick leans over the crumbs on his plate. (If I had a guess, in the very same motion he took when telling his crew about the problem. He’s the boss, ya know.) He says, “Look, Gertrude, these policies are for you. I worked many years before any crews, so I know what my customers’ problems are. I didn’t invent the taking pictures after clean-up policy for my own sake. I did it, so I could have a leg to stand on when the complaints came straight to me.”
“Hey, Patrick,” Charlie says – leaning slightly toward Gertrude. “I get it, man. I hired another tutor to help me this semester, and it’s taken me three quarters of the semester to convince him to save class-time work for just that reason – protecting him from complaints that are certainly coming.”
After all that, Charlie’s leaning over so far that his and Gertrude’s shoulders touch. Charlie continues, “But, maybe Gertrude’s saying there’s another way to go about explaining things. Like I’ve got this kid, Eduardo; and he’s in his sixth year of high school, since he struggles with punctuation. So, I had to try three different teaching styles, but I think he’s getting there.”
Patrick swats away the comment with the back of his hand; he puts one arm on the table (to help him lean forward a little farther). He says, “Have you seen my schedule? No, you haven’t. I’ve got jobs booked to next month from replacing electrical outlets to repainting a whole house. I don’t have time for all that; my guys can either do the job or not. That’s all I’m concerned with.”
Delilah releases her fork, so she can put that hand on her chest (while still holding Wilbur’s hand) as she laughs. “All right, Coach,” Delilah says, “But you can’t expect your linebacker to play free safety. My boss at Corn Basket is always scheduling the same people who melt during a dinner rush, yet he gets the same red face that you’ve got when they mess it up – again. Learn your team and take your role in all this, especially given the same problem.”
“Y’all, I get it.” Ethel says as she places her hand on Patrick’s leg (a gesture hidden by the table). “Managers are lost without us. I spent three hours in the file room today because Hainsworth went looking for recent case settlements on an insurance suit.” She pauses to pat Patrick’s thigh before saying: “But, it’s our job to do, so let’s just get to work. As we’ve all pointed out, we’re great, so you know: We ain’t going anywhere.”
Wilbur shrugs. He’s confused by the whole conversation; he hears a bunch of folks circling the same address without finding the destination. He squeezes Delilah’s hand one more time and says, “I don’t know. My drivers, and I know there’s only three of us – including myself – so we aren’t the biggest group, but we do have to find some pretty strange places, especially for guys running their shops out of their houses.”
Wilbur places his hand in the middle of the table. (I reckon to give everyone a focus point.) Then, he explains, “Sure, I’ve got policies for getting lost, which one, in particular, refuses to follow. Still, he’s mostly solid, so for him specifically, but also for my superstar, I try never to have a complaint discussion without at least fifteen minutes between hearing and talking. So, and this is just a maybe: We’re all in this together?”
That question hangs in the air like a cooling rain on a hillside. The wives look at one another with raised eyebrows, like they’ve just seen a platypus for the first time. Meanwhile, Patrick and Charlie shake their heads at each other in wonder that little brother’s business has survived this long.
Charlie’s eyes dart from Patrick to Wilbur in a “hold on a second” move. “Javier’s not still having problems, is he?” Charlie asks.
Wilbur says, “Oh, Javier’s doing a much better job after last semester, Charlie. Thanks again for helping him with his conversation skills.”
While Charlie takes the ego-stroke, Patrick wraps an arm around Ethel’s waist. (Another gesture hidden by the table) Patrick reminds her about the kid staying with grandparents. Ethel pushes his arm away (weakly) with a wink.
Ethel shoves back from the table, while Patrick collects their dishes in the middle of the table. Patrick says, “Well, Ethel has the earliest start tomorrow, so we best be getting back.”
“Uh huh, a likely story,” says Wilbur. “Y’all enjoy the grandparents’ night.”
Ethel blushes and refuses Patrick’s attempt to take her hand. She says good night to Delilah and thanks Gertrude for a lovely evening. For his part, Patrick rolls his eyes at Wilbur, giving him the briefest of handshakes. Though, he does take a moment to thank Charlie.
Ethel and Patrick walk through the archway out of sight, but the appearance of a flashlight twinkles for a solid moment – just before the couple turns into the front yard. Ethel might have mentioned: “These look like flowering leaves with the colors of Fall.” Though, no one’s around to hear but Patrick – and he’s not saying anything.
Charlie watches Patrick to the archway before staring hard at Wilbur, like Charlie’s weighing every word about to come out of his mouth. “Well, all things considered,” Charlie says, “I don’t think I’ve seen them that happy in a while.”
“I think you might be right.” Wilbur says after taking another look at the archway. “I worry about those two on occasion.” Wilbur turns his chair, so he’s looking past Delilah at Charles and Gertrude.
“I worry about us all, Wilbur,” says Charlie as he leans back in his chair crossing one leg over the other, like Dick Van Dyke. “But, yeah – especially the match made in perfection.”
Delilah and Gertrude let their boys chat for a moment about the family. Charlie and Wilbur exchange updates on business and speculations about all their siblings. It’s like watching a game of Apples to Apples. One’ll throw out an observation on this or that, and the other matches with his first intuition on the subject. Sometimes the connections are obvious to anyone, who might know these two like a wife (let’s say). More often, no one could guess what’s going on, but the two brothers seem to get it.
The ladies pull their chairs away from the table and sit off a couple steps. At first, they exchange failed guesses as to what they were getting themselves into. Not that anyone truly does on their wedding night. Even if you’ve guessed correctly, the encounter with reality can still jar, like learning the real lyrics to your favorite song.
Quickly though, Hamage’s rumor mill comes to the front; both Gertrude and Delilah clarify based on what they know of the people invoked, while trying to defend the ones grossly misrepresented. They discuss mutual customers, and Delilah enjoys her reports on seeing Gertrude’s merchandise at her restaurant.
Gertrude looks at Charlie, who’s introducing a recently watched war movie. She flutters her eyelashes (it’s a move to hide an eyeroll). “You know?” Gertrude says only to Delilah, “Patrick’s child is not the only one who’s gone all night.”
Delilah gives only one slow rod in response, while Charlie finishes his negative review of the historical facts in the movie. Before Wilbur can return his two cents about even the battle strategies not lining up, Delilah says, “Wilbur, do you think you and I can move the conversation to our house?”
Wilbur glances between Delilah and Gertrude, who peaks at Charlie. “Of course, Delilah.” Wilbur says after slapping his forehead with his palm. “Thank you, Dear.”
Wilbur shakes hands with Charlie while thanking him for the evening. Delilah gives Wilbur a hug before taking his hand – to lead him though the archway on the other side.
Charlie thanks his wife for letting them talk, and Gertrude says, “Then, you won’t mind helping me clean up.”
“Well, I’d planned to do that anyway,” Charlie says with a smirk. He adds, “Though, I think I’ll leave the tables out tonight,” after they reach for the same plate.
Soon, all the dishes find their place on the cart; the torches go out, and they wipe the tables down. (Much to the disappointment of the raccoon population.) Then, Charlie pushes the cart back to the house, while Gertrude walks by his side in step.
Silence falls over their backyard, until a single puff of breeze, like a sigh from the world, floats across the tables. The cicadas and crickets take this as their cue for a round of dueling banjos, and with that cacophony, I think I’ll take my cue to go back up the dirt road.
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