That had sure been easier than she’d thought it would be, but now she had to decide when to make the move. “I’ll be there every morning to help you cook, Betsy. I promise.”

Suddenly sadness filled her heart and soul. Sure, she was glad to be moving in with Sloan, but—why did there always have to be a but?—she’d miss the fun that she and the ladies had after supper each evening.

“You can’t leave until Doc says I can use my arm,” Betsy said. “Promise?”

“You’ve got my word.” Ginger felt good about the decision and sent up a silent prayer that living in the house with Sloan, she would never feel the way she had felt in that apartment with Lucas.

“Oh, I forgot to tell you about Gladys,” Flora laughed.

A waitress came to their table with a pad in her hand. “I’m so sorry y’all have had to wait. Can I start you off with something to drink or some appetizers? We’ve got fried green tomatoes, potato skins, fried okra, and mozzarella sticks.”

“Sweet tea,” Sloan said. “And please bring us an assortment of your appetizers.”

The rest of the group all ordered either water or tea, and the waitress hurried off to wait on another table.

“Now, what’s this about Gladys?” Sloan asked.

“Well, she got in on the brownies, too. Y’all ever heard that old song by Ray Stevens about the squirrel that got loose in the church down in Mississippi?”

Sloan chuckled. “Oh, yeah. When a bunch of soldiers from Oklahoma and Texas are stuck together over there in the sandbox, it don’t take much to entertain them. That was one of our favorite songs.”

“Well, honey, Gladys did not snore on the front pew. When James asked Mr. Raymond to deliver the benediction, she popped from her seat and declared in a loud voice that women could pray as good as a man, and she forevermore prayed. She asked God to forgive Edith for being a bitch, and then she lifted both her arms in the air and told God about all kinds of things. I half expected Ray Stevens to come in through the side door and start singing that song.”

The waitress brought their drinks and appetizers and took their orders, and then Flora went on. “Mary Lou Bastrom started to cry and called nine-one-one on her cell phone because she thought Edith had died. And before Gladys could say, ‘Amen,’ the paramedics came in and loaded her up.” She took a long drink of her tea. “James left the pulpit and went with them. The lights were flashing and the sirens were screaming and Gladys started praying again. Finally, her daughter and a friend got her by the arm, and they disappeared with her out a side door. Mary Lou’s son put his arm around his mama and led her out the front door. Too bad those brownies don’t affect my mama like that. It might be kind of amusing, but they just make her snore.”

“Good Lord, when the folks at the hospital figure out that Edith was stoned, they’ll come gunnin’ for us.” Kate dried her tears on a napkin. “I shouldn’t be laughing, but she was hateful about my mama.”

“I took what brownies weren’t eaten back home with me, so the evidence is gone,” Flora said. “But I don’t have any doubt that Edith will trace it all back to Betsy, and she’ll be furious.”

“I hope she does,” Betsy said. “She needs to know that she don’t mess with the Banty House women. When we get mad, we get even.”

“Are we going to grow up to be like them?” Ginger whispered to Sloan.

“I sure hope so. You reckon you can get Betsy to show you how to crossbreed weed? I’ll see if Kate will teach me how to make good moonshine,” Sloan answered.

“What are you two whispering about now?” Connie asked.

“We’re wondering what your vice is,” Sloan replied. “Kate’s got her shine, and Betsy grows pot. What do you do?”

“Honey, I deal in stones for healing and candles for revenge.” Connie tilted her chin up. “I light black candles if someone is mean to my sisters, and they never fail me. If you ever doubt that, just visualize Edith in her cute little suit, red lipstick runnin’ into the lines around her prune mouth, all curled up on the front pew snoring like she was this morning.”

The waitress brought out five plates of the Sunday special and set them around. Then she put a nice big basket of hot yeast rolls in the middle of the table. “Y’all enjoy, and when you’re done, I’ll bring out your blackberry cobbler. One check or separate ones?”

“Just one, and I’ll take it,” Sloan said.

“That’s awful sweet. Thank you,” Flora said. “Who’s going to say grace over this food before we eat it?”

“It’s my turn.” Betsy bowed her head. “Thank you, Lord, for this food, and bless Sloan for paying for it. If you’ve a mind to keep Edith in the hospital a couple of days, then tell them to give her a colonoscopy. That way Doc can get that corncob out of her butt, so that she don’t think she’s so high-and-mighty. Amen.” She raised her head and said, “Now let’s eat before this good food gets cold.”

“Holy crap!” Ginger muttered.

“At least she didn’t say ‘ass,’” Sloan said.

“Well, it is Sunday,” Ginger said.

Chapter Nineteen

Ginger kept an eye out for the mail all day. Most of the time the postwoman was there by midmorning, but that day, noon rolled around and she still hadn’t showed up. With Betsy’s supervision, Ginger had made a hot chicken casserole for dinner, but she was too nervous to eat much of it.

“What’s the matter with you, today?” Kate asked. “You’ve been like a worm in hot ashes all day, and now you’re not eating.”

“And last night you went up to bed early,” Betsy said. “Did we hurt your feelings at dinner yesterday when we said we were glad you were moving out?”

Before Ginger could answer, Connie said, “Sometimes we have Banty House meetings, but they are only for the shareholders, which is the three of us now that Mama is gone. We discuss things that pertain to finances and the upkeep on this place. Our CPA, Suzanne, is invited to the meetings four times a year. That’s when we have to pay our quarterly taxes.”

“Stop beatin’ around the bush, Connie. Next thing you know you’ll tell her that you checked those rocks in your room before we had our meeting,” Kate said.

“Well, for your information, I damn sure did,” Connie snapped at her older sister. “On Saturday evening, after you went to your room, we met in Kate’s room and decided that it would be better for you if we built a little guesthouse on the other side of the cornfield, so you could have some privacy. We all love you, but we want you to be the mother, and Betsy is controlling.”

“So that’s part of the reason why we were so excited to hear that you were moving in with Sloan,” Connie said. “I’ve burned candles and even rubbed an amethyst on the chair where he sits to eat with us so he would have healing in his body, mind, and spirit. He needs someone in his life. Even if y’all are just friends forever, it’ll be good for you to be with him.”

“I’m not controlling.” Betsy pouted. “It’s just that, well, I went to Woodstock when I was twenty-eight, and . . .” She told Ginger the whole story of how much she’d wanted to be a mother and had lost her baby. “I’m convinced that God sent you to me in my old age so I could have the family I always wanted.”

Tears ran down Ginger’s cheeks and dripped onto her T-shirt. She’d never thought of losing her baby, not one time, but she could feel the pain that Betsy suffered even fifty years after the miscarriage.

“Mama used to say that once a mother always a mother, no matter how old the children are.” Betsy hugged Ginger, mingling their tears together. “In my mind, a woman becomes a mother even before her child is born.”

Ginger picked up a napkin and dried Betsy’s cheeks first, then her own. “But you have had Sloan most of his life. He’s like a grandson.”

“Yes, he is and we love him.” Kate sniffled. “But he had a grandmother. You don’t. We just don’t want you to think we don’t want you in our lives because we were happy that you’re moving in with Sloan.”