Page 23 of Love Is a War Song

“How long have you known Bessie?” I asked as Lottie drove the truck. The bin of yarn rested between my feet as we bumped along the dirt road to get to Bessie’s house.

“Since I was born. Bessie is a pillar of our community. All my life she has been making food for anyone in need, visiting those who get sick, and is just about the best person in our Nation.”

“The whole country? That’s high praise.”

Lottie let out a big, disappointed breath. “The Muscogee Nation,” Lottie said as she took her eyes off the bumpy dirt road and leveled me a pointed glance.

“Right, sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry, just keep up.”

“Got it. So how are we helping Bessie today?”

We came up to a small robin’s-egg blue single-story house. It was cheerful with dozens of wind chimes and bird feeders hanging from the porch. Squirrels and birds took off as soon as the loud truck came to a stop.

“When you get in there, please refer to her as Grandmother.”

“Is she my grandmother too?” I was confused.

“No.” Lottie turned off the truck and shifted to me to give me her full attention. “How I was raised in our culture, we refer to our elders as Grandmother and Grandfather. Uncle and Auntie for younger elders, but for Bessie she is Grandmother or Púse.”

“Poozee?” I repeated the unfamiliar word. It sounded a little like another word I didn’t want to say.

“Pretty close. Maybe just stick to Grandmother until you are feeling more confident with the Mvskoke.”

“I just need more practice, but I’ll have you know that I played the part of Eliza Doolittle back in the day and the dialect coach told me my pronunciation was the best out of all of us on set.”

“I don’t know what in the Sam Hill you just said, but sure. Keep practicing. Now, come on. Grab the cooler from the back.”

I happily hopped out of Lucas’s truck that Lottie borrowed for errands. I decided that when I bought the ranch, I was going to gift them all another truck too. The thought made me smile.

I pulled out the faded blue cooler that I had packed full of chicken and dumpling soup Lottie showed me how to make last night and the slow cooker we left on all night to cook collard greens and bacon.

Bessie was going to eat good for a week with this food.

I had made extra biscuits (with the correct amount of salt), which were packed in a plastic bag that I had slung over my shoulder.

Lottie stood at the front door waiting for me.

When I made it next to her, Lottie opened the door without knocking.

Never in my life had I seen a person enter someone else’s home without knocking.

I never even did this with my friends back home.

I guess the likelihood of catching Bessie doing something indecent was extremely low, but it was another culture shock that the door was unlocked.

Where Mom and I lived for most of my life, you had to immediately lock the door behind you as soon as you walked in. Couldn’t trust anybody.

Broken Arrow continued to surprise me.

As we entered the cheerful house, I expected Lottie to do the thing that everyone does, saying Knock, knock without actually knocking on anything. But Lottie did not do that.

“Hensci, Bessie,” Lottie’s voice filled the house.

“Estonko?” a raspy voice called from the back of the house, followed by an intense coughing fit.

“She sounds worse than I thought,” Lottie mumbled. “Take these through there and heat a serving of everything up.”

“You sure this is okay for her to eat for breakfast?” I asked. It was barely after nine in the morning.

“Yes!” Bessie’s raspy voice boomed from the back. That answered that. The poor woman was hungry.

I nodded and took the tote bag from Lottie and carried the cooler into the cozy kitchen.

Thankfully, all the time I’d spent in Lottie’s kitchen had really paid off.

I could intuitively infer where the dishes were kept (in the upper cabinet above the dishwasher) and the microwave mounted above the stove made everything really easy.

Hot food in hand, I went in search of Lottie and Bessie. Passing through the dining room I noticed a cute little upright piano against the wall. My fingers twitched to tickle the keys and see if the instrument was in tune, but Bessie needed her food first.

I heard loud cackling followed by a concerning coughing fit. I let the sound guide me to the right room and I popped my head in. Lottie sat on the side of the bed, patting the back of an older woman who was tucked into the bed, with a knitted shawl around her shuddering shoulders.

“Easy, breathe slowly,” Lottie murmured. Finally, the coughing stopped. “That’s it.” Lottie helped settle Bessie against her pillows.

“Smells like bacon,” Bessie said in a raspy voice.

“We brought your favorite.” Lottie reached her arm out to me, waving me in.

I set the plate of food onto the bedside table.

“This Hattie’s girl?” Bessie asked, wordlessly asking for the plate with her gnarled hands. It looked like arthritis made it difficult for her to open them fully.

“Hmm hmm. Bessie, meet Avery. Avery, meet Bessie.”

Lottie took the plate into her hands and loaded a spoon with a small bite of chicken and dumplings and raised it to Bessie’s mouth like she was a little toddler trying solids for the first time. Bessie swatted her hand away.

“I can feed myself. The hell you doin’?” She took the plate and spoon from Lottie, using one hand to rest the plate against her chest and tucking the spoon between her thumb and palm.

I had to cover my mouth to hide my laughter, but it was too late, they heard. Lottie looked over her shoulder at me with such disapproval, but Bessie was chewing on her food in amusement.

“Sorry…Grandmother. I didn’t mean to laugh at you.” I didn’t want to trip over the unfamiliar word púse and embarrass myself.

“Hah!” She wiped her hand across her mouth. “You were laughing with me,” she said through a mouthful of mushed green beans. “There’s a difference.”

“Fair point,” I said through a smile, moving into the room and settling into the chair next to the bed. It was an old wooden farmhouse dining chair with a faded blue cushion.

“You’re the actress?” she asked before shoving another big bite of food into her mouth.

“I’m a musician.”

“You play the piano?”

“Yes.”

Bessie nodded, scraping the last of the broth into her spoon. I really thought she was considering licking the plate clean.

“Lottie.” Bessie handed her the empty plate. “Let’s heat up some more while Avery plays me a song.”

Bessie threw her covers back and Lottie placed her hand on her shoulder to still her movements. “I don’t know if that’s such a good idea. The doctor said you need rest.”

“The doctor is a hack. I need to eat. They practically starve you in the hospital.”

“They feed you three nutritious meals a day.”

“Paste without a pinch of salt.”

“Bessie.”

“Really, Lottie, I’m hungry.” Bessie batted her eyelashes and pursed her lips.

“Fine. Avery, come help me get her up.”

“Quit babying me. I can get up and walk to the bathroom just fine. I can go a few more feet to the living room. Muttering around like a worried hen.”

“We just don’t want you falling before you can get seconds of your lunch,” I said, trying to be helpful. It appeared it worked since Bessie nodded and wrapped her arm around Lottie’s waist and they hobbled out with me on their tails.

Lottie sat Bessie down in the rocking recliner with a direct view of the piano. I sat on the bench, looking for some sheet music.

“What do you like to play?” I asked. “I don’t see any practice books.”

“I never learned to read sheet music. I learned to play by ear.” That made me smile and I spun around on the wooden piano bench.

“I learned to play by ear too! I had to learn to read sheet music though, especially for musical auditions. So you like to play popular songs?” I turned back to the piano. Most popular songs were fairly simple to improvise; generally the same four chords could make up a million songs.

“I haven’t played that piano in well over a decade.”

I spun back around to look at Bessie. She was staring at her hands. “I’m so sorry. Do your hands cause you pain?”

“My hands, but mostly my heart. My daughter always asked me to play. She’s been gone for a long time now.”

“What was her favorite song that you would play?”

“Oh, she loved Elton John, but you’re too young to know any of his stuff.”

“I think I can come up with something.” I turned back to the keys, cracked my fingers, then let my hands move up and down the piano to get a feel for the sound.

It was a little out of tune, but truthfully, I had practiced on worse.

I was no Elton John, but I was a theater kid who did a lot of karaoke parties.

There was one song that everyone could sing along to and was fun to play.

I slammed the keys in the telltale BUM BUM BUM DO DO DO opening notes and started playing and singing Elton John’s “Bennie and the Jets.” It had been so long since I let myself go with a piece of music, it was like I was possessed with Sir Elton’s mojo.

I gave my all, and any notes I couldn’t quite remember were easy to ad-lib and put my own Avery spin on.

I didn’t play the full five minutes, but a condensed version with more repeats of the chorus than verses.

I let the notes trail off to end the song and turned around expecting to see happy faces.

What I saw was Bessie quietly sobbing in her chair and Lottie rushing to her with her new plate of food.

“What happened, Púse? Are you all right?” Lottie set the plate down on the floor.

Maybe I should have played something a lot more simple and mellow.

“I’m so sorry, Bessie. I just played the only Elton song I knew.”

Bessie looked up, wiping her tears on her shoulder. “It was wonderful. That was my Marie’s favorite song. I never played it quite so lively, but she would have loved it. I can feel her here. Thank you.” The sobbing and talking elicited another round of coughing.