Sisterhood of Blackberry Corner

Chapter One Canaan Creek, 1985 From the back porch, Bonnie watched Thora Dean in the flowery bramble behind the house. In a wide straw hat, Thora plucked blackberries, each the size of a silver dollar, and set them in her basket. Over the years, the bramble had become one of Thora's favorite places. At the height of the season, the area was peaceful, fragrant, and the prickly shrubs that extended well into the woods were overcome with plump, dark berries. "Thora," Bonnie called. "I'm fixin' to set breakfast on the table." "I'll be along," she yelled back. Bonnie could smell the impending rain. Like most quick showers during a South Carolina summer, the coming storm might be just enough to cool the day off. Bonnie entered the house and the screen door slapped shut behind her. She used a moist paper towel, tucked in the pocket of her housedress, to dab beads of sweat from her face. Sometimes she couldn't tell if it was the actual heat that made her stop and take a breath, or her own "private summer." Perhaps a bit of both. She lifted a platter of pancakes from the stove and lay it on the table, set for two. Then Bonnie glanced at the wall clock above the sink. She decided to place an extra plate and coffee cup. Most mornings, Tally, the mailman, stopped in for a quick cup before he ended his run. "Thora," Bonnie yelled out of the screen door. "Damn it to hell," Thora hollered as she made her way across the back lawn. "I say I'm on my way, then I'm on my way!" She hooked the basket of berries on her forearm and took the porch steps one at a time. Her large chest, once the highlight of a voluptuous body, now seemed to drag her down, and when she entered the kitchen, she was slightly winded. "You made the pancakes already?" she asked. "That's what I been tryin' to say," Bonnie replied. "I told you that." "I told you so, I told you so! Girl, you startin' to sound like an old woman." "That's 'cause Iaman old woman . . . and I hate to tell you, dear . . ." Bonnie let the rest of her sentence dangle conspicuously in the air. Thora hung her hat on the hook beside the door. A thin, black ponytail trailed down her back and a few silvery hairs sprung from her temples. Thora's dark face was misted with sweat but her lipstick remained perfect. Even working in the bramble on a hot summer morning, Thora Dean refused to leave the house without at least applying a subtle coat of Positively Plum. Thora quickly rinsed the berries in a colander, then dried her purple-stained hands on the dish towel. The two women sat, clasped hands across the table and bowed their heads while Thora said grace. Her mumbled devotion sounded like a familiar song, ending with ". . . our dear Father, amen." "Wildflowers 'bout to take over the bushes out there," Thora said, pulling two pancakes onto her plate. "I can think of worser things growing." Thora stirred a bit of cream into her coffee. "Weeds, weeds, and mo' weeds," she grumbled. "Them damn Johnny Jump-ups fin to choke the life outta the blackberry roots." "Why you so contrary this mo'nin'? You up again last night?" Thora nodded. "Horace come to me." Bonnie stopped pouring maple syrup and looked at her old friend. "Somewhere 'round two a.m. there he was a-standing in the bathroom door. Standing there jes' like any other mo'nin'. He was holdin' one them big ole pipe wrenches and wearin' his smock like he was headin' fo' a job. All he said this time was, 'Need to lay that copper pipin', honey. Can't skimp on this one.' Then he left." Bonnie looked at Thora curiously. "What in the world that mean?" "Smith, Andrea is the author of 'Sisterhood of Blackberry Corner ', published 2006 under ISBN 9780385336239 and ISBN 0385336233.