Catfish Alley Read Free Page A

proceeded to tell the committee how she thought that someone
should research the important African-American historical landmarks in and around
Clarksville. And since I'm director of the Pilgrimage Committee, that someone
ended up being me. I was so mad I could spit. This was the last thing I needed
right now. But I smiled — more charm — and volunteered to interview Grace
Clark. I try to remind myself that if I can just get this tour started, the
Humboldts will most likely hire me to restore Riverview.
    I
can feel that nervous twitch starting in my foot. I hope we can get right to
the point. I need Grace to be a consultant for this tour, but I just cannot
bear her droning on and on about slavery and civil rights and all of that.
That's the biggest drawback to planning this African-American tour, all of that
unpleasantness. I much prefer to focus on the finer aspects of Southern
culture.
    What
could possibly be interesting about the black community in Clarksville? As far
as I can tell, there were no black people with homes or businesses of any
distinction. I'm sure Miss Clark will have some ideas. I'm certainly not going
to present a proposal to the committee, especially the Humboldts, without
something noteworthy to say.
    Finally.
Here she comes. She's walking slowly and carrying a tray. Are those cookies?
There goes my diet. There's nothing worse than a fat woman in a hoopskirt. I've
spent years trying to make sure I don't end up looking like Aunt Pittypat.
    "Here,
Miss Clark, let me help you with that." I move quickly to carry the tray
for her.
    "Thank
you, Mrs. Reeves. I appreciate it. Seems like things are heavier than they used
to be."
    "Please,
call me Roxanne."
    "Come
on and sit over here, Roxanne. We'll put this on the table and we can sit and
visit."
    "Yes,
ma'am." I place the tray on the table between two wingback chairs.
    "Mrs.
Reeves, if this involves putting Pecan Cottage on your house tour, I'm still
not interested."
    Although
I would love for this house to be on the tour, I have sent letters to this
woman for at least the last five years and she will not budge. I still don't
understand why. It is one of the best-preserved houses in the county. But I
have already decided not to push that anymore.
    "No,
Miss Clark, I'm not here about that. Although I would love to have your house
on our tour, I accept your choice not to include it. I'm here for an entirely
different reason. It's been suggested that we add an African-American
historical tour to the events we host every year. I was thinking that since
you've been in this community for so long and, well ... since you live here at
Pecan Cottage, you'd have a lot of knowledge about the history of this area. We
thought you might be willing to suggest places we could put on the tour and
give us some information about them."
    Grace
nods at me, then just stares across the room. When I turn to see what she's
looking at, she seems to be staring at the portrait of Davis and Marjory
Calhoun.
    "What
kind of history are you interested in?" she asks.
    I
take a cookie and put it on a napkin in my lap. "I'm not exactly sure. I
was hoping you could make some suggestions. My specialty is restoring
antebellum homes. I, um ... I..."
    "Don't
know much about black folk?" she offers.
    I
just hate being put in this position. How am I supposed to answer this woman
gracefully? After all, I don't want to be rude.
    "No,
not really. Not the local history, anyway. I mean, I know the usual about the
slave trade here, and then, after the War, there was Reconstruction and no more
slavery. I know that black people had their businesses and churches mostly over
near
    Catfish
Alley and that kind of thing. But I don't know about the places that black
people ... um ... I mean African-Americans would call
historical around here."
    It
feels like this woman is watching me like a chicken hawk. What if I say the
wrong thing and offend her? I'm not even sure whether to say "black"
or "African-American."