The Improper Life of Bezillia Grove by Susan Gregg Gilmore Page A

feeling heavy and awkward in my hands. I had never been served lemonade or tea or anything for that matter in a Mason jar. Maizelle said it wouldn’t be proper.
    My little sister jumped up as I walked down the front steps. She wiped the hair out of her face with her dirty hand, leaving her cheek streaked with mud, Baby Stella dangling as usual by her side. It was as if the two of them had been hand-dipped in a vat of melted chocolate. Adelaide was whining, wanting me to come and admire her mud pies. But my arms were already aching, and I was afraid the tray might spill from my hands before I got to the barn. I told her to run up ahead and let Samuel know I was bringing him and his father some lemonade. But Samuel didn’t run to help me like he had Maizelle, and by the time I got to the barn, my arms were shaking.
    “Well, lookie here! Look who’s come and paid us a visit, Samuel. And she’s bringing refreshments. I always knew you were my favorite, Miss Bezellia.” Nathaniel laughed, winking at Adelaide. She winked back as if they had already agreed that she was his true favorite. I spied a worktable a few feet in front of me, but my legs grew suddenly stiff, no longer willing to listen to my head. And the pitcher of lemonade began to slide toward the edge of the tray.
    “Son, grab that before she drops it!”
    Samuel threw down his hammer and ran toward me. He steadied the tray in his own hands and then nodded his head, reassuring me that I could let go.
    “Shoo. That was a close one, Miss Bezellia. Sure would hate to lose Maizelle’s lemonade before even getting a sip. Don’t think she’d make me any more if it wound up on the ground.” Nathaniel laughed, now seeing that the tray was safely in his son’s hands. “Bezellia,” he continued, scratching his head as he talked, “you ever met my son before this week? I just can’t remember you two ever meeting. Samuel and I were talking about it on the way home last night. I’ve talked about each of you to the other for so long, I just assumed that you had.”
    “No, I don’t think so,” I said, my arms falling heavy and tired at my sides. “But it was nice finally getting to meet you,” I told Samuel, and then crossed my arms in front of my waist to keep them steady.
    “I’ve always kind of wondered what a Bezellia looks like,” Samuel said, barely even bothering to really look at me.
    “Samuel,” Nathaniel snapped in a surprised but serious tone. “You know he’s going to be playing football at Pearl this year. Straight A’s too. I guess he’s gotten a little big for his britches and done forgotten his manners, Miss Bezellia.”
    “I didn’t mean no harm. It’s just that, like Daddy said, I’ve been hearing about you all my life, and to be honest, I’ve never heard of anybody with a name quite like yours.”
    “It’s definitely different, no denying that,” I said. It even sounded a little funny to me as I listened to it roll off the tongue of a stranger. It was almost as if I was hearing it for the first time. But I liked the way it sounded. I liked the way he said it. “Well, you’ll never forget me. My name, that is.”
    “I guess we’ll see about that, won’t we.” Samuel laughed so warm and easy, as if he already knew something he wasn’t quite ready to share.
    Nathaniel tossed his hammer down next to Samuel’s and then reached for the pitcher and poured two glasses of lemonade. “Bezellia, I think if your sister don’t get down to that creek soon, she’s going to dry hard as a nut, and we might have to crack her open like a pecan growing on one of those trees back behind the house.”
    Adelaide immediately started crying and jumping up and down. And even though she did need to be soaked and scrubbed, I couldn’t help but wonder if Nathaniel had done that on purpose. I wondered if he could tell that I liked it when his son said my name. I wondered if he could tell that I liked it when his son looked at me. I wondered if he