A Piedmont Lantern Story
Oh lord, Beulah Mae had been waiting on this.
There she was, sat at Pearl Albea’s kitchen table with her coffee cooling untouched, hands folded so tight in her lap you’d think she was holding something alive. Pearl noticed it. Pearl always noticed. She took a slow sip, set her cup down gentle onto the delft blue saucer, and said nothing at all.
Silence, when properly applied, is a lever.
“Well,” Beulah Mae finally said, drawing the word out like a thread she wasn’t ready to cut yet, “I don’t normally repeat things. You know I ain’t the one to gossip.”
Pearl nodded. “Of course not.”
“But,” Beulah Mae continued, eyes flicking once toward the window as if Piedmont itself might be listening, “when something happens in broad daylight, and right where anybody could see, I reckon it stops belongin’ to any one person.”
Pearl stirred her coffee, though it didn’t need it. “Who we talkin’ about?”
Beulah Mae leaned in, voice dropping. “Maude Baker.”
Pearl’s eyebrows rose, just a touch. “Maude don’t do anything in daylight.”
“That’s what makes it so blamed notable,” Beulah Mae said, pleased despite herself.
She took a breath, the kind you take before stepping off a curb without looking.
“I was drivin’ past the back of the Piggly Wiggly yesterday afternoon,” she said. “Not snoopin’, mind you. Just mindin’ my own business, same as always.”
“Of course,” Pearl said again.
“And I saw Maude Baker,” Beulah Mae went on, “standin’ by Bernice Studdard’s car.”
Pearl froze. Not dramatically. Just enough to signal the importance of what was being handled.
“Together?” she asked.
“Close enough to count,” Beulah Mae said. “And Pearl… Bernice had her hand on Maude’s arm.”
Pearl inhaled slowly. “Now, just hold on a minute.”
“Oh, I held on,” Beulah Mae said. “I watched.”
She described it then, every careful detail. How Maude wasn’t bristlin’ like she usually did when people got within arm’s reach. How Bernice leaned in and said something that made Maude laugh. “She laughed, Pearl!” That soft, surprised sound like she wasn’t used to bein’ amused no more. How Maude reached up, just briefly, and tucked a curl behind Bernice’s ear like it had wandered there by mistake.
Pearl sat back in her chair. “Well, I’ll be a monkey’s uncle.”
“And before you ask,” Beulah Mae added, “no, it wasn’t sisterly. And it sure wasn’t accidental.”
They sat with that for a while. The coffee cooled further. Somewhere down the street, a screen door slammed.
Pearl broke the silence. “You reckon they know people’ll talk?”
Beulah Mae shrugged. “Maude’s spent her whole life pretendin’ she don’t care what folks say. Bernice makes out like she does.”
Pearl smiled, small and thoughtful. “Yeah, I reckon that sounds about right.”
Beulah Mae lifted her cup at last and took a triumphant sip. “I’m not sayin’ another word. And, you didn’t hear it from me.”
Pearl nodded solemnly. “Lord no, of course not.”
And by suppertime, half of Piedmont was not sayin’ a word about Maude Baker and Bernice Studdard. Well, except to the one person they trusted most to keep it quiet.
Which is how gossip, bless its heart, continues to thrive.
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