was worth anything. Even though it's on the water, it sits lower than lots of local land. It's a bit swampy in the summertime.”
“Most black folks couldn’t afford to buy a house back then,” Marcus said, “but my Pearl was good with money, and we both had steady work. We were blessed. Nowadays, the tenants can’t afford this land, so they keep on renting. We don’t believe people should lose their houses over that. They ought to be able to work something out with Major and his partners.”
As though wrapping up their presentation, Mrs. Taylor stood up and smiled. “I think I hear Kevin now. We’ll have some supper, but I just want to say we hope the paper will support our position on the development. I know the McCullers are partners in it, but that doesn’t make it right.”
Another new piece of information. The Big Boys were investors in this. I wondered if they also were involved in Mossy Bend.
Marcus Taylor stood up, too. “God has given us this beauty, and we must be good stewards of it. And we must take care of the poor. That's what the Bible says.”
Just then the front door opened and a striking young woman walked in wearing a white lab coat and carrying a pretty leather purse. “Oh, Daddy,” the woman said, laughing and walking over to hug Mr. Taylor. “Are you preaching again?”
Her father returned the hug warmly, and her mother stepped up for an embrace of her own. For a moment they were a tight circle, and I was moved by their affection for one another, moved and isolated.
“You must be Lois,” the woman said. “I’m Kevin Taylor, lucky enough to be the daughter of this pair.” She winked. “And a de facto member of the Lakeside Neighborhood Association. I don’t contribute much to their group, but I sure get some good suppers out of the deal. I would shake your hand but I need to wash my hands before I pass on any more germs.”
Kevin Taylor? Kevin Taylor? Where had I heard that name? My mind went into its computer search mode, hoping the “find” function came up with something quickly. She wore a lab coat. She carried an expensive handbag. She was affiliated with the Lakeside group.
Aha! Alex had mentioned her, something about her wanting to build a house and getting turned down. Now I remembered.
“Our baby girl made a doctor and came home to Green to look after us,” her father said proudly. “We told her she should stay down in Houston or move to Atlanta or Dallas where there are more opportunities, but she insisted on coming home.”
It was clear that having his daughter home made his world immensely better, and I wished I had spent more time with my mother before she died—and that I could better remember my own father. Kidney failure killed him when I was only seven.
When Kevin surfaced, she smelled of Dove soap, had combed her hair, and shed the jacket. She was an extremely attractive woman in her late twenties or early thirties and one of the warmest people I had ever met, a woman who seemed comfortable in her own skin.
Our supper will stand forever on my list of memorable meals. We had roast beef and gravy, cooked all day in a Crock-Pot, rice, some peas Mrs. Taylor had put up last summer, and a tomato mix called “chowchow.” She had made that, too, and the bread-and-butter pickles and the biscuits.
It had been weeks since I had a home-cooked meal, and I hoped I was not making pig noises.
We opened with a lengthy blessing by Mr. Taylor, praying for everyone from the world's leaders in their quest for peace to schoolteachers and students and brotherly love. He made special mention of Kevin and her healing ministry and his two other girls and their families and then prayed that I might have wisdom as I sojourned in Green. It was a very moving prayer, although I did seriously consider sneaking a bite of biscuit to tide me over.
As we ate, Mrs. Taylor told me to call her Pearl and to call her
“Most black folks couldn’t afford to buy a house back then,” Marcus said, “but my Pearl was good with money, and we both had steady work. We were blessed. Nowadays, the tenants can’t afford this land, so they keep on renting. We don’t believe people should lose their houses over that. They ought to be able to work something out with Major and his partners.”
As though wrapping up their presentation, Mrs. Taylor stood up and smiled. “I think I hear Kevin now. We’ll have some supper, but I just want to say we hope the paper will support our position on the development. I know the McCullers are partners in it, but that doesn’t make it right.”
Another new piece of information. The Big Boys were investors in this. I wondered if they also were involved in Mossy Bend.
Marcus Taylor stood up, too. “God has given us this beauty, and we must be good stewards of it. And we must take care of the poor. That's what the Bible says.”
Just then the front door opened and a striking young woman walked in wearing a white lab coat and carrying a pretty leather purse. “Oh, Daddy,” the woman said, laughing and walking over to hug Mr. Taylor. “Are you preaching again?”
Her father returned the hug warmly, and her mother stepped up for an embrace of her own. For a moment they were a tight circle, and I was moved by their affection for one another, moved and isolated.
“You must be Lois,” the woman said. “I’m Kevin Taylor, lucky enough to be the daughter of this pair.” She winked. “And a de facto member of the Lakeside Neighborhood Association. I don’t contribute much to their group, but I sure get some good suppers out of the deal. I would shake your hand but I need to wash my hands before I pass on any more germs.”
Kevin Taylor? Kevin Taylor? Where had I heard that name? My mind went into its computer search mode, hoping the “find” function came up with something quickly. She wore a lab coat. She carried an expensive handbag. She was affiliated with the Lakeside group.
Aha! Alex had mentioned her, something about her wanting to build a house and getting turned down. Now I remembered.
“Our baby girl made a doctor and came home to Green to look after us,” her father said proudly. “We told her she should stay down in Houston or move to Atlanta or Dallas where there are more opportunities, but she insisted on coming home.”
It was clear that having his daughter home made his world immensely better, and I wished I had spent more time with my mother before she died—and that I could better remember my own father. Kidney failure killed him when I was only seven.
When Kevin surfaced, she smelled of Dove soap, had combed her hair, and shed the jacket. She was an extremely attractive woman in her late twenties or early thirties and one of the warmest people I had ever met, a woman who seemed comfortable in her own skin.
Our supper will stand forever on my list of memorable meals. We had roast beef and gravy, cooked all day in a Crock-Pot, rice, some peas Mrs. Taylor had put up last summer, and a tomato mix called “chowchow.” She had made that, too, and the bread-and-butter pickles and the biscuits.
It had been weeks since I had a home-cooked meal, and I hoped I was not making pig noises.
We opened with a lengthy blessing by Mr. Taylor, praying for everyone from the world's leaders in their quest for peace to schoolteachers and students and brotherly love. He made special mention of Kevin and her healing ministry and his two other girls and their families and then prayed that I might have wisdom as I sojourned in Green. It was a very moving prayer, although I did seriously consider sneaking a bite of biscuit to tide me over.
As we ate, Mrs. Taylor told me to call her Pearl and to call her
Similar Books
