The Braxtons of Miracle Springs by Michael Phillips Read Free Book Online Page A

it.”
    â€œYou want me to write a restaurant column?” I said, laughing.
    â€œSomething kind of like that.”
    â€œBut you’ve got reporters who do that all the time. I don’t know anything about food.”
    â€œYou know what you like.”
    â€œI reckon so, but—”
    â€œAnd you do have one thing none of my other writers have.”
    â€œWhat’s that?”
    â€œThe name Corrie Hollister . You’ll write about Mammy Pleasant’s boardinghouse in a way none of my men could. People will read it, too. I haven’t had a word from you in so long that just sight of your byline will grab interest.”
    â€œMr. Kemble!”
    â€œOn my honor, I mean every word. Mammy Pleasant knows that, too. That’s why she agreed to let us come. Just write it like you were writing about your Aunt Katie and her seedlings from Virginia. Mammy Pleasant’s an interesting person. But she’s never been written about the way you’ll do it. You have a special way of observing things in situations that most people can’t see. And you have a talent for putting what you see onto the printed page in a most unusual way. That’s what makes you a good writer, Corrie.”
    â€œAre you trying to flatter me, Mr. Kemble?” I asked, smiling again.
    â€œI’m not above such a ploy from time to time.”
    â€œIf you keep it up, it may just work!” put in Christopher from the other side of me where he was sitting. “I can tell that Corrie’s defenses are weakening.”
    â€œExactly what I hoped to accomplish!” rejoined Mr. Kemble. “I’ve been trying to get Corrie writing again and back on my staff ever since she returned from the East. I have to tell you, Braxton, your coming along when you did has thrown some complications into my plans for your dear wife.”
    Christopher laughed.
    â€œI meant every word of what I said, Corrie. You are a skilled writer with a unique way of probing into the insides of what you write about. I hope—now that you are married and that you and this fine husband of yours will be settling down together, and after writing this brief piece about Mammy Pleasant’s place—as I said, I hope you will reconsider my former offer.”
    â€œI will think and pray about it, Mr. Kemble,” I answered.
    â€œWe will, however, have to give some thought about what to do concerning your byline. Dropping the Hollister may lose some readers.”
    â€œI will think about that too.”
    â€œThat is all I ask. In the meantime, if you are uncomfortable with the arrangement about tonight, I’m sure I can—”
    â€œNo,” I said. “I’ll agree to be a restaurant columnist for one evening. After all you’ve told us about this place, I don’t think anyone would forgive me if I made us turn around now!”

Chapter 11 A Dinner to Remember
    Mr. Kemble had not exaggerated about the food nor about Mammy Pleasant herself.
    The boardinghouse was a big two-story building. I don’t know how many rooms it had or how many people there were living under its roof, but the dining room was full and bustling when we walked in about fifteen minutes before six o’clock.
    Mammy Pleasant greeted us at the door. She was a stately-looking Negro woman, beautiful, and dressed very expensively.
    â€œI’m happy to meet you, Mrs. Braxton,” she said, shaking my hand up and down in hers. “Mr. Kemble speaks so highly of your writing that I am honored for you to do an article about my home. I certainly hope you find the dinner to your satisfaction.”
    â€œThank you,” I replied. “I’m sure we will.”
    She offered her hand to Christopher. He took it, smiled, but said nothing.
    Mammy Pleasant showed us to a table at the far end of the dining room. We sat down and presently two young Negro women began to serve us our dinner.
    I wasn’t sure I liked the