The night Alice came back

By Gary Carden

Gary Carden

Sometimes my grandmother would be there, and we would all socialize, perhaps making ice cream in one of those crank ice cream buckets. Walter's family - a wife and two daughters - would gossip with my grandparents, and since Walter, like my grandfather, came from Macon County, there was a lot of "do you remember when..." stories. Sometimes, Walter would talk about his childhood in Leatherman Gap, and my grandfather would tease him about a childhood sweetheart.

"I wonder where Alice is now?" Grandpa would say.

"Oh, she married some guy and moved to Texas," said Walter.

"That's not the way I remember it," said Walter.

One night when we came home from the Potts' house, Grandpa sat on the porch for a long time and hummed old songs in the dark. Every now and then, he would laugh.

"What is so funny?" said my grandmother. Grandpa just shook his head and kept humming.

I knew right then he was up to something. The last time he laughed like that, he brought a live skunk home, gift-wrapped it, and left it an the porch at John Shepherd's, one of his cow-swapping cronies over in East Sylva. Then, there was the "shocking machine" - made from an A-model coil that he wired to the metal bench down at Lewis Esso and then made a dozen loafers rise from their seats with more energy than they had displayed in years. Yeah, my grandfather was a practical joker. His schemes were rare, but memorable.

"What you gonna do to Walter?" I said.

"Just you never mind," he said.

It was about a week later when he came home with the big flowered hat with the veil and a sack full of stuff he had bought at the Kress "Five and Dime." He spent a long time in the bedroom whispering to my grandmother. Now and then my grandmother would laugh, and I knew that he had recruited her to assist in his latest plot. Each time she came out of the bedroom, she was laughing harder. When I tried to go in the bedroom, she stopped me.

"Don't you go in there yet," she said. "Wait until I tell you."

When I finally got into the bedroom, I was immediately speechless. In fact, my jaw unhinged and hung open. I hadn't seen anything like this since the Indian Fair! There stood my grandfather with a dress on! My grandmother was adding some "improvements" to his attire, including an impressive chest that threatened to escape from my grandmother's "church and funeral" dress.

"You need to shave your legs," she advised.

"That is going a bit too far," said Grandpa.

"The shoes don't look right either."

"Never mind. It will be too dark to see my feet."

"You've smeared your lipstick! Keep your hands off of your makeup!

"Well, all right. Other than that, how do I look?"

Grandma adjusted the hat and added some more rouge (which she never wore herself). Then, she did a 360-degree turn around my grandfather.

"Well, actually, you look pretty good."

Grandpa grinned and laughed. Then, he grabbed his handbag and walked out on the porch. I still hadn't said a word. He gave me a mean look. "YOU stay here."

"Ahhhhhh, Grandpaaaaa," I whined.

"You'll just mess it up. If they see you, they will figure it out."

"I'll stay up in the pasture. Nobody will see me." I gave him my most winning smile and wiggled my eyebrows. He sighed.

"All right, I guess. But you be quiet." Then, he winked at me. He did look pretty good... sort of like Marjorie Main that played Ma Kettle in the movies.

When I got to the big poplars on the hillside above the Potts house, I was breathing pretty hard. The whole family was on the front porch and the night was filled with the sound of crickets and frogs. Sara, Walter's wife, and the two girls were stringing beans. There was a full moon and WNOX was playing gospel quartet music.

Walter was rocking and reading "The Grit."

I could see Grandpa stumbling along the little trail that dead-ended at the Potts house, his bare legs flickering like scissor blades. He had to stop once and roll his pants legs up under the flowered dress. When he got into the front yard, he stopped and spoke. Well, actually, he sort of sung.

"Waaaalter!"

Everybody on the porch froze. Walter stopped rocking, and the ladies stopped stringing.

"Waaaaaalter, it is me..... Alice."

It was a high falsetto voice, and it sounded more like a 5-year-old than a woman. Everybody on the porch stood and came to the banisters where they stared down at the figure in the yard.

"Waaaaalter, I come all the way from Texas, just to see you."

Walter cleared his throat. "I think you got the wrong house."

"No, Walter, honey. I got the right house. Come down here, you sweet thing."

"Go away!" said Walter.

Sara set her dishpan on the banisters and hiked down the steps. "You better move on, hussy."

"I came to see Walter," said Grandpa/Alice.

Sara picked up something from the ground and threw it at Grandpa. I later learned that it was a green walnut.

"Oh," said Grandpa. Sara threw a few more. She was a good shot, but despite some painful bruises, he stayed "in character." Under a rain of green walnuts, he finally retreated down the road. Sara knocked his hat off, and while he was trying to pick it up, she got him three or four more times. She was out in the trail now.

"Wait there a minute, you shameless slut! I want a few words with you."

"I must go!" screeched Grandpa. "Walter, I will see you later." Grandpa turned and fled.

"You won't be seeing anybody," said Sara.

"Now, Sara," said Walter. "Come on back here."

"You got some explaining to do," said Sara.

When I got back to the porch, Grandpa had shucked the dress and was rolling his pants legs down. He had a black eye and a couple of swollen knots on his head, and he had left the hat with the veil somewhere out on the trail. Grandma was dabbing iodine on his face while he winced and laughed.

"Got more than you bargained for, didn't you?"

"Well, I guess. Sara ought to pitch for one of them big city ball teams."

The next morning, Walter just happened to "drop by." He had the flowered hat and veil in his hand and laid it carefully on the porch. He looked at Grandpa's black eye and assorted bruises, and shook his head.

"What happened to you, Arthur!

"Fell down the steps in the barn," said Grandpa.

"Well, Alice, we knew it was you all the time."

"Did not!" said Grandpa. "I had you buffaloed."

"No, we just figured that since you had gone to so much trouble, we didn't want to disappoint you, so we pretended to think you were... some woman."

"Nooooo," said Grandpa. "I had you snowed." Then, Grandpa did a pretty good imitation of Walter saying "Go away, you got the wrong house!"

"All right," said Walter. "At first, you did have me fooled. But when Sara beaned you with that walnut and you yelped, I knew who you were."

"Maybe," conceded Grandpa.

"Why don't you put that garb on and come back tonight? Sara would like to get to know you better."

"I guess not," said Grandpa.

The night that Alice came for a visit was a night in August some 50 years ago, back before the trail became a paved road. The Potts house is gone along with Walter, Sara and my grandparents. Last night, I was sitting on the front porch watching moonlight and fog drift through the cove when I remembered Alice standing in that trail above the house. In my mind's eye, I see her still, her voice lifted in a high sing-song.

"Waaaaalter, honey! It's Alice, come all the way from Texas."

Recently, I met one of the Potts daughters. I was a little worried since I have been known to "embroidery" facts, and I didn't know how to start.

"I want to ask you if you remember something," I said.

She laughed. "You mean the night that Mr. Carden came to our house... in disguise?"

"Yes, " I said, relieved that I hadn't made the whole thing up.

"So it really happened?"

She smiled and nodded but added that she was sure when I told the story, it would be "embellished" somewhat.

Yes, I guess so. I mean, the past needs all the help it can get.

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