The Magnolia League

2





Magnolia League Meeting, Number 417

Mrs. Lee presiding

Refreshments: Mrs. Buchanan


“So? What do we know about her?”

“Well, she looks just like her mother.”

“That’s a good start. Louisa was a lovely girl.”

“But there’s something wrong with her hair.”

The Magnolia League meeting room is dark and cool, despite the scorching August heat outside. The League occupies a trim brick building on Habersham Street. It was built in 1826 by Isaiah Davenport, and in 1864—when General Sherman attempted to make it the headquarters of his godless occupation—he was met on the front steps by eighty-five-year-old Matilda “Marmy” Davenport, who said, “I just washed my floors, and no damn Yankee is going to scuff them up unless it’s over my dead body.” After that she took out a gun and shot herself. (Her pistol still hangs in the front hall as a testament to the decisiveness of Savannah women.)

As is the custom for the monthly meeting of the officers of the Magnolia League, the ladies, save Miss Lee, have arrived promptly at four o’clock. After handing their bags and parcels to the caretaker, Lucius, they gather around the long, carved mahogany table. A pitcher of sweet tea sits on the sideboard next to a large red velvet cake prepared by Mrs. Julie Buchanan. No one understands exactly why she attempted to make something as complicated as a red velvet cake, but a Magnolia Leaguer would rather die than bad-mouth a sister’s cooking. There is plenty of tea to wash it down and, really, at least she didn’t try to pass off store-bought as her own.

Lucius is as old as Methuselah. He can no longer cope with some of the heavier packages, and Lord help him if anything falls on the floor. But he is trusted, and that is worth its weight in gold, flexibility be damned. The monthly meeting of the Magnolia League is the tent-pole event around which Savannah’s most influential women organize their calendars. All of Savannah’s business and politics pass through there, whether officially or not, and while the Savannah Morning News would never dream of being so tacky as to ask after the meetings, that free weekly paper once tried to send a well-dressed spy to infiltrate. Lucius doused her with pepper spray that he kept on hand for vicious dogs, and to this day, six years later, he still brags proudly that the Savannah police hadn’t dared to arrest him.

The League is tiny and exclusive, a fortress of etiquette and calm in the hectic modern world, and its ramparts are manned by the Senior Four: Dorothy Lee, the president and founder; Sybil McPhillips, the League vice president and wife of the Honorable Tom McPhillips, Georgia state senator; Mary Oglethorpe, treasurer; and Khaki Pettit, who, despite having a wide variety of opinions on all subjects, has never had any interest in an office and therefore does not hold one. These are the key members of the League, and their places at the table are marked with name cards. The other members—the daughters and granddaughters of the Senior Four who have already “come out” into society at debutante balls—sit wherever they can. Despite the fact that outside this building they are business owners, doctors, wives of bank presidents, and well-known philanthropists, on Habersham Street they are nothing more, or less, than Magnolias. Within that context, first there are the Senior Four, and then there is everyone else.

Before Mrs. Dorothy Lee arrives, the gossip is a free-for-all. Today’s topic: Alexandria Lee.

“It’s matted.”

“No, it’s locked.”

“Her hair is locked?”

“Dreadlocked. That’s what Hayes calls it.”

“Deadlocked?”

“Lucy, darling, are you deaf?”

“Well, it does look like something died in there.”

“And have you seen her clothes? All that girl’s taste is in her mouth.”

“Bless her heart, she’s young.”

“So is Hayes, and—”

“They can’t all look like your granddaughter, Sybil.”

Sybil’s granddaughter, Hayes, was generally accepted as the very model of a modern junior Magnolia League member, and her grandmother couldn’t help agreeing. Hayes is practically perfect in every way except for a slight overbite, and Sybil plans on having that fixed for the girl’s graduation present, or maybe even her Sweet Seventeen. The only serious problem with Hayes, as far as Sybil is concerned, is her gratuitous boyfriend, whom Sybil refers to only as “That One.”

“Bless her heart, she is chubby.”

“That can be fixed. Is she on the up-and-up?”

“She smokes hashish.”

“It’s marijuana, honey.”

“That’s how they do in California.”

“Well, it’s not how we do down hee-ah.”

“Not unless you’re one of those scags on River Street, anyway.”

Just then there is the sound of expensive heels pattering the hard oak floor. The ladies immediately hush as Miss Lee sweeps into the room. She regards them briefly, pours herself a large glass of sweet tea, and sits at the head of the table.

“Hello, Miss Lee,” the ladies say in a chorus.

“Good afternoon, girls.” Miss Lee regards them for a moment and smiles. She removes her purple silk jacket, stretches her thin, pale arm forward, and takes a tiny key off her charm bracelet. As the other Magnolia League members watch carefully, she uses it to open the ornate box in front of her, and then lifts from it a gold necklace with a dangling ivory pendant that is intricately carved in the shape of a magnolia. A sigh of envy fills the room as Dorothy grandly places it around her slender neck.

“Meeting to order.”

“Order!” the ladies chorus enthusiastically.

“Now, what were y’all talking about in here?”

“Your granddaughter,” Sybil says flatly.

Miss Lee raises her eyebrows. “Well, don’t let me stop you.”

“Dorothy, she is such a healthy, healthy girl, bless her heart, but do you really think we can get her ready in time for the Christmas Ball?” Mary Oglethorpe asks.

“Whatever do you mean, Mary?”

“We don’t want to offend you, Dorothy,” Sybil chimes in. “But the girl is a wild child, and we can’t have her tarnishing the image that our young people, and my Hayes in particular, have worked so hard to maintain.”

Miss Lee’s eyes wrinkle at the corners as if she is about to laugh.

“Sybil, honey. Don’t be daft, now. She’s a little rough around the edges, but that’s what sisterhood is all about. I’m sure Madison and Hayes will have her polished up in no time.”

“This isn’t a game, Dorothy. If she doesn’t take, there are consequences.”

“I’m well aware of the consequences,” Miss Lee snaps. “I don’t need you reminding me. My daughter was a victim of those consequences, and if you think I’ve forgotten what happened to her, then you’re a damn fool.”

Silence falls over the room.

“Does she even want to be a Magnolia?” Mary asks.

“Good Lord almighty, Mary, she is sixteen years old. She doesn’t know what she wants,” Miss Lee says. “But it’s not a matter of want. She is a Magnolia, and she will sit next to me at this table come hell or high water.”

As a practiced politician herself, Sybil is able to keep her expression as pleasant and serene as a day on the lake. But underneath the table, she clenches her fists so hard that her knuckles turn white and her nails dig into her palms.

“Believe you me,” Miss Lee continues, “as her grandmother, I’d like nothing more than to let Alexandria go right on back to California. The girl rides a bicycle all over town, her hair is ugly enough to haunt a nine-room house, and she’d argue with a wall. But you know as well as I do, ladies, that Alexandria Lee doesn’t have a choice. We all made our bed decades ago. And now, just like the rest of us, she’s got to lie in it.”