there were very few crimes ever committed on the island anyway. The occasional speeding ticket. The occasional DUI. But robberies? Nope. I heard about somebody stealing tomatoes from their neighbor’s bushes, but that was probably kids, doing something stupid on a bet. I mean, Momma didn’t need to hide the silver like they did during the Civil War. Honestly.
I went in her closet, which had not been cleaned in a dozen or more years, and located the suitcase. Inside, just as she said, was a felt-lined box of silver flatware and serving pieces. It was blue with tarnish.
“Good Lord,” I said.
I didn’t have the time to polish it all by hand. And then I had a thought. There had to be a fast way to clean silver. I went online and found a solution that seemed too good to be true. But since I had nothing to lose, I tried it.
I took Momma’s biggest pot and filled it with water. Then I put it on to boil. Next, I crumpled aluminum foil—shiny side out—and dropped a few balls of it into the pot. Then I added about half a box of baking soda. When the water came to a boil, I carefully lowered in the silver and let it boil and bubble for about five minutes. I must say, the fragrance was that of rotten eggs, but if it worked, who cared? Momma, Leslie, and Suzanne stood there the whole time like a Greek chorus telling me this would never work. That the only way to polish silver was elbow grease.
“What’s that horrible smell?”
“You need that expensive pink stuff and a whole afternoon,” Momma said.
I removed each piece with tongs, and voilà, it was all as good as new.
“Really?” I said. “Apparently not.”
I laid it all out on dish towels and began drying it and buffing it with a soft cloth.
“I’ll be damned,” Suzanne said.
“Would you look at that?” Leslie said and picked up a cloth to help me.
Now the dining room tablecloth had something else to make it sparkle. And of course, Momma had wedding china that had not been used since her wedding, just sitting in the china cabinet, all stacked up, collecting dust. There was nothing wrong with it a little soap and water couldn’t cure. And besides, I only needed six place settings. That simple task took fifteen minutes with Leslie’s help.
“Should I put them on the table?” she asked.
“Why not? Sure!”
“Who’s coming to dinner with all this hurrah?” Momma said.
“Well, there is the queen to be considered,” Suzanne said.
“I just felt that with all the trouble Suzanne went to scrubbing that awful old grill of ours plus buying wine and steaks, and the fact that Archie and Ted are coming to dinner, that maybe we should put our best foot forward,” I said. “I think the table looks really beautiful. Come see!”
Momma followed me to the dining room and was speechless for a moment.
Then she said, “I don’t know why we don’t do this all the time! It’s so pretty! Nice job, girls!”
“Thank Holly,” Leslie said. “This was all her idea.”
“I don’t know. I sort of miss Catalog Mountain,” I said and laughed. “We’re missing one thing.”
“I can’t imagine what,” Momma said.
“I’ll be right back,” I said.
I went to my room and unplugged my portable turntable and brought it to the kitchen. We were going to have dinner with George Gershwin. I texted Ted, Bring your Ella vinyl! He texted back, You bet! I plugged it in and put an album on and dropped the needle in the first groove. “Rhapsody in Blue” began to play.
“May I have the pleasure of a dance, my dove?” Suzanne said.
“Of course!”
For the next five minutes or so, Suzanne waltzed Momma around the kitchen table. She was an amazing dancer—Suzanne, that is. Momma followed her lead the best she could, blushing and stammering while Suzanne nuzzled her neck and she blushed some more.
“Too precious,” Leslie said.
“Should we have cocktails in the kitchen or on the front porch?” I said.
“I vote for the kitchen, so I won’t miss any of the conversation while I’m grilling on the back porch,” Suzanne said.
“Yes, and I think it’s too hot on the front porch,” Momma said.
“And we have a ceiling fan in here,” Leslie said.
“Then the kitchen it is,” I said.
It was five o’clock. Ted and Archie were expected at six. I took the Jarlsberg out of the refrigerator, so it wouldn’t be as hard as a brick, and put it on a