Whistlin' Dixie in a Nor'easter Read Online Free

fingers through His rich soil keeps me in touch with who’s truly in control.
    I could already feel my mind shifting into gear when I picked up the shovel and slammed my foot down onto the foot ledge, hearing that first crunching sound of the ground breaking. He must be out of his mind for considering a move to the North.
    Never in my wildest dreams would I have ever believed that I’d have to decide whether or not to leave Memphis, Tennessee. Heck, no one left Memphis by choice. Almost everyone I knew was born in Memphis, just as I was. Virginia, Mary Jule, Alice, and I were even born in the same hospital, we started kindergarten together on the same day, and I bet we’ve gabbed on the phone almost every day since. I couldn’t imagine ever moving away from them. We were closer than sisters.
    We watched our childhoods fly into adolescence and our teens revolve into our twenties. From double-seat panties and ponytails to pimples and pom-poms, these girls and I were joined together at the hip. If our parents only knew how many times we snuck out in the middle of the night together. There’s not a one of us who can’t recall the exact boy who gave each of us our first French kiss. Our daddies strutted us down the aisle at the country club debutante ball, the winter of our freshman year in college. All of us share the same collection of taffeta bridesmaid’s dresses and dyed-to-match pumps. When every one of our babies was born, we took over the waiting room at Baptist Hospital and held a hen party for as long as it took the new arrival to show up. You couldn’t give me one million dollars for the trunk of memories we share.
    I’m convinced going to an all-girls school for thirteen straight years is the reason we’re so thick. According to a certain group of people it was the finest all-girls school in town. It had been around since the late 1800s and generations of old-money families filled the pages of the yearbooks. Miss Jamison’s School for Young Ladies. That was actually the name of the school when it started way back in 1882. I don’t think they changed it until 1970. Then, to keep up with the evolving times, the name was shortened to The Jamison School. We had to wear short white gloves whenever we went on a field trip, and curtsy to the teachers when they walked in the room. Chewing gum meant an automatic Saturday School, and if you were caught sitting on a desktop you might as well start marching yourself straight to our principal’s office, where Mrs. Carrington would remind you that Miss Jamison’s young ladies did not sit on desktops.
    Virginia and I roomed together every year at Ole Miss. We both pledged Chi O, and when we got to move into the sorority house our bunks were right next to each other. Once we graduated and moved back home, we found a house to rent and Alice moved in with us. Mary Jule was already engaged. Al Barton stole her heart in college and they were married the June after graduation. She was also the first to have a baby and we all made over that child like Fred and Ethel did over Little Ricky. Now she’s got three more babies and I wouldn’t be surprised if she went for a fifth.
    The grinding of the city garbage truck distracted me from my thoughts. I had planted twenty-five lilies and mulched nearly all of them, losing all track of time. It was noon already. I dashed inside the house, stripping my clothes as soon as I hit the door, and dropped them in little piles all the way to the tub. There was hardly enough time for a bath. But I was hot and dirty and Daddy would have had my hide if I ever showed up at the Memphis Country Club looking like a filthy ragamuffin. Daddy never left the house unless he was impeccably dressed in a beautiful suit tailored especially for him, a monogrammed shirt of the finest Egyptian cotton, and matching overcoat and hat.
    If Daddy were still living, Baker would have never brought up this loony idea in the first place. Daddy was very protective of