Inspiration 68

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Proverbs 16:31

The hoary head is a crown of glory, if it be found in the way of righteousness.

One of the most influential characters in my Hillbilly Hijinks series is Grandma Newton. She is based in large part on my own grandmother, Mary Oseola Sanders Ishee (Ola)--a feisty, outspoken, firebrand. She said just what she thought, and if it hurt your feelings, well, too bad. How I wish I had listened to her about so much. 

Mac introduced her. "Grandma Newton, this is my wife, Felicia. Felicia, my actual great-great-grandmother, Miriam Newton. Listen to whatever she tells you, honey. She will never give you bad advice."

The old woman hugged Felicia who stiffly returned the hug.

"Relax, dear. I'm harmless," said the old woman.

"I'm just a little overwhelmed," admitted Felicia.

"Of course, you are. You a city girl. But you got a good man."

"It would seem so."

"Git yo wife to sing it with you."

"No," said Felicia firmly. "I probably don't know it anyway, and I'm not much of a singer."

"Humph! All you gotta do is make a joyful noise," scoffed Grandma Newton.

"No, Grandma. I don't feel comfortable with that."

"Suit yoself. Mac, I bet little Sunny knows it. Ask her. This might be the last time I ever git to hear it."

He shook his head and grinned at the guilt trip the old matriarch tried to pull. "Yes, ma'am."

Grandma Newton wants me to sing it, but my partner left these hills. Felicia doesn't know it and wouldn't sing if she did. Will you sing the high part with me? You know Grandma gets what she wants."

 "The Richters." Sunny nodded. "They're a breed apart, but, no, Mac isn't inbred. Leo told me Mac's mother's family came here from another town to start up the slaughterhouse. They were the Newtons from Lilo. They came six generations ago. Grandma Newton was a little girl. She's ancient, but very progressive. She never changed her name when she got married." Sunny lowered her voice. "Rumor is she never married, but had common-law relationships, all of whom died. That's why her offspring had the last name of Newton. She swears her longevity is due in part to 'a glass o' moonshine ever'day and satisfyin' six husbands.'"  Sunny affected a hillbilly accent to sound like Grandma Newton.

"Good morning, Felicia," greeted Grandma Newton.

"Good morning, Grandma Newton."

"Whatcha doin'?"

"Learning to make souse."

"Nothin' to it."

"It appears easy."

"Well, you won't have to do much of it. Folks'll make sure Mac's family gits fed."

"That's nice."

Grandma Newton scrutinized Felicia. "You don't think much o' us mountain folk, do ya, little miss high-falootin', Felicia?"

"Why would you say that?"

"You don't think we as good as you."

"Not so. It's just I grew up in the big city. This takes a lot of adjustment."

"I imagine it do, at that. Mac's a good man. He'll treat you right if you let 'im. Jest because he wants a simple life don't mean he don't love ya. Just remember that when ya git ready to pack yo bags and run off."

Grandma Newton moved on. Felicia looked at Sunny. "Sunny, she's just downright mean and nasty."

Sunny whispered, "You could've won her over if you had sung a chorus or two yesterday with Mac."

"I can't carry a tune in a bucket."

"It doesn't matter. Just do it. Then, when she tells you that you can't sing, agree and say, 'No, but I can make a joyful noise.' That'll get her goat, and she'll leave you alone." 

"We are about to knock Grandma Newton's socks off," laughed Sunny as she held up a violin. "Come on, Mrs. Reardon."

Sunny and Felicia jumped onto the little makeshift platform. Mac tried to speak, but no words found him. He was dumbstruck with shock.

"Time for a quartet," announced Sunny. She played a few bars of "Amazing Grace."

Mac nodded. "You got it." He gave a count in, and they played a stanza of the song with Mac on guitar, Tipper on banjo, Sunny on violin, and Felicia on flute. Then, Mac and Tipper harmonized perfectly as they sang the first stanza á cappella, with Tipper singing tenor and Mac baritone. When they started the second, Sunny and Felicia played softly through it and the third. They cranked up the volume for the fourth, and the men added instrument to voice. The mesmerized crowd exploded with applause.

Mac looked around. "It seems the party's over. Let's go home, too. Chambry!" Mac called his son.

Lauren informed him, "He went home with Papaw and Rush. They were all about to fall asleep."

"Me, too," admitted Mac. "Sunny, good night."

Mac took Felicia's hand. As they started away, Grandma Newton came up on her way home, too. "Good night, Grandma," said Mac, kissing her on the cheek.

"Good night, my boy. Good night, Felicia. Stick to tootin' that horn. It was real purty. Leave the singin' to Mac."

As they ate dinner again, Felicia thought when Grandma Newton came up to her: If this old bat doesn't say something totally positive to me, I'm going to hit her with my flute.

Grandma Newton asked, "Whatcha call that little whistle you blow?"

"A flute," answered Felicia.

"Well, you blow it real good. I bet it sounds real sweet if you play slow."

"Yes, it does."

"Well, next Sunday is my ninety-seventh birthday. Sunny plays her fiddle haunting like when she plays slow. I want you two girls to play me somethin' real purty, a duet, for my birthday."

"We'll do that, Grandma."

The old lady wandered on to speak to others.

"I heard," Sunny said as she cut a piece of apple pie. "What do you want to do?"

"Something very mellow and haunting. Something to make her cry."

First, a pic of my grandmother and then another of someone that could be Grandma Newton: