The basket making tradition is a family affair. It was the custom for men and boys to gather the materials while women and girls sewed the baskets. Though this tradition continues, nowadays all members of the family gather materials and make the baskets.
SUNDAY DINNER HAD LONG been a tradition for the Blakely family, as it was for many Southern families. Nan recalled Sunday dinner beginning in the early afternoon, soon after their return from church. Nona used to cover the dining room’s long mahogany table with the old damask tablecloth while Mama June set flowers from her garden in sparkling crystal vases. The Blakely silver would be set, polished to a burnished gleam, as well as the graceful candelabra that had come from the Clarks and had been promised to Nan.
She had taken for granted those days when the table was overflowing with uncles, aunts, cousins and friends. On those occasions when the extended family came, the children were sent, grumbling, to the kiddie table in the kitchen. But when it was just the immediate family, the children always sat at the dining room table and were expected to be on their best behavior. On Monday night, they ate on everyday china. On Tuesday night, Hamlin might slouch in his chair. On Wednesday, Morgan might rest an elbow on the table. On Thursday, Daddy might remain silent, engrossed in his thoughts. On Friday, Nan might stir her peas on her plate or laugh with her mouth full at something Hamlin said. On these nights, Mama June looked the other way.
But on Sunday in the dining room, Mama June’s eyes were sharp and everyone was on their best behavior. Linen napkins were on the laps, no one left the table without being excused, Daddy was attentive to conversation, and each child was expected to know which fork to use.
The Sunday dinner tradition had fallen to the wayside after Hamlin’s death, when Mama June couldn’t summon the effort. It wasn’t decided upon; the tradition just silently slipped away.
To Nan’s mind, the end of Sunday dinners marked a sad turning point in the family’s history. The sense of collective purpose, the ready conversation, dissipated as silent months turned into years. In time, Nan married and left home, followed by Morgan’s angry departure to points west. Yet, even now, when she thought of her family, Nan thought of those precious years of joy when the family was strong and united together for Sunday dinner.
They arrived at Sweetgrass a little late. Chas and Harry had dragged their heels in a teenage sulk at having to get dressed up and spend a perfectly good day inside, bored to death. Hank seemed eager that they all attend the family dinner and had nagged at the boys to hurry. Nan looked into the rearview mirror. The boys sat sullen and resigned in the leather back seat of the sedan.
“Adele’s already here,” Hank said tersely as they pulled up to the house. Hank worked closely with Adele on development deals, thus Adele was not only a relative, but an employer.
Nan chewed her lip and checked her watch. “We’re only a half hour late. I doubt we’ve even been missed. Boys,” she called as her sons launched from the car. “Be on your best manners.”
They climbed the stairs to the front veranda where Mama June’s planters were filled with cheery yellow-and-purple pansies and all the brass was polished. Nan stood at the front door in her peach linen dress flanked by the tall, handsome men in her life. Beside her, Hank straightened his tie before ringing the bell. Nan picked a bit of lint from his shoulder and, alert to his tension, wondered why he seemed nervous about this gathering. Had he really been made to feel so much an outsider over the years? she wondered. She moved her hand to his arm and squeezed it reassuringly. He turned his head and looked at her with a quizzical expression.
The door swung wide. To her surprise, it was Aunt Adele who welcomed them in a sensational blouse of creamy raw silk, looking every bit the lady of the house.
“Here you are!” she exclaimed, her dark eyes brightening.
Preston’s sister was a tall, proud woman, as fierce a competitor in golf and tennis as in the real estate development business she’d built. Her salt-and-pepper hair was neatly trimmed away from her face, accentuating her trim, athletic good looks.
Nan began her litany of excuses, but Adele blithely waved them aside.
“Oh, none of that matters. Come in, come in! And you two,” she said, opening her arms to the boys. “Where have you been hiding? Come here this minute and give me a proper hug.”
Shuffling their feet, they obliged, but Nan didn’t miss the real affection between them. Adele was the godmother for both of her children. Never having married or had any children of her own, Adele doted on the boys and spoiled them with gifts. Mama June felt a little jealous that the boys spent more time at Adele’s spacious home on Sullivan’s Island, with her boats and pool and fridge filled with snacks, than at Sweetgrass. Adele was a wealthy woman who always had a spare dollar or three to hand out, while Mama June and Preston always had to pinch pennies.
Adele stood back to look at the boys. “My, my, don’t you look handsome.”
Chas rubbed his finger between his collar and neck. “Mama made us dress up.”
“Dress up? Honey, in my day, you boys would be in a jacket and tie. Without air-conditioning, mind you. So count your blessings.” She turned to Harry. “I thought you’d be out on the golf course this afternoon.”
He grimaced. “I should be. I’m playing in a tournament next week.”
“Your daddy told me. Say, I saw a new titanium putter at the club that’s as light as a feather and sure to help your game.”
“Yeah?” Harry exclaimed. “But I’ll bet it costs an arm and a leg.”
“Maybe not all that much.” She winked. “Be good today and we’ll talk.”
“Now, Aunt Adele…” Nan interjected, not wanting the boys to always feel they needed a reward for good behavior.
“We’d better join the others before they wonder where we are,” Adele interrupted, expertly steering the family into the living room.
The moment they stepped in, the room exploded with hoots and hollers. Morgan rushed out of his chair and wrapped Nan in a bear hug. The affection and banter flowed freely between brother and sister, spreading throughout the room.
Mama June wrapped her arms around herself, hearing the merriment as a string of firecrackers celebrating the family’s reunion. Hank smoothly stepped forward to act as bartender, serving the ladies mimosas.
“Morgan, what’s your poison?”
“Bourbon on the rocks, thanks.”
“A man after my own heart.”
“That sounds good to me, too, Dad,” Harry called out.
“There’re Cokes in the fridge,” Mama June replied. “Help yourself. But first, come say hello to your uncle.”
“I doubt they much remember you, Morgan,” Adele said.
Mama June thought the comment unkind, but Morgan sauntered over, extending his hand with a lopsided grin.
“I’ll bet you haven’t forgotten that boar hunt, huh?” he asked.
Harry, who adored hunting, shook his head and readily took Morgan’s hand. “No, sir!”
“What
