19
“If I saw a beautiful sunrise or sunset or moonrise, I would stop to enjoy it: or the lovely lilt or a bird would make me stop or I would pick a beautiful flower. And why not?”
I FOUND MY GRANDMOTHER’S MISSION-style kitchen table in a storage area underneath the outdoor pool. It was laced with spiderwebs and had not been used for twenty-five years. My heart leaped when I spied it, the familiar blue trim barely visible after half a century of use. These same slabs of oak had served up my earliest memories of tangerine juice and history lessons. Jack and I hoisted it onto a wheelbarrow and brought it inside to the kitchen, where I began writing this book. As I sat every morning in the darkness, hours before dawn, I could almost see Dofry across from me, guiding me through her story.
From this point on, remembering her will be easier than the seventeen years I spent trying to interpret her words and thoughts. She was a deeply loving woman, intensely passionate and unable to resist the attentions from men. She was also a risk taker, a life sampler, and in the end she discovered that by loving herself, she was capable of profound love for others. This perhaps was her greatest lesson.
As an older woman, my grandmother became self-assured. She often spoke of a woman’s struggle, reminding me that peace only comes with age. “I didn’t even know there was anything attractive or likeable or even acceptable until I was over forty,” she once wrote to me.
In July 1946, still officially separated from Don, Dorothy turned fifty-eight. Although they had corresponded for a while, “his letters are impersonal and no pleasure to receive,” she wrote in her diary. “He’s been pretty lousy to ‘duck out’ the way he did. And he intends to remain west. So be it!” She had been alone for five years and had grown to believe that she was fully capable of (and had a right to) enjoying a complete life without the male partner she once believed essential. However, the years of hardship and self-disco very had not been wasted.
In 1947, she decided to travel to Central America, one of her favorite destinations, with her good friend Ruth Yonge. The trip was being organized by the Fort Pierce Garden Club, and as its president for the past sixteen years, Dorothy would be a lecturer for the group of two hundred women. The day before she left, she received news from a family friend of the whereabouts of Frank Upton. “Funny after years of silence and mystery Red Ramsay brings word of Frank M. Upton. He’s at Cardiff [Wales]—land job of Marine Cargo, etc., and doing well.”
Waiting for Ruth one morning, a few days before their departure, Dorothy swung easily in the cotton hammock on her screened loggia. It was her favorite spot to await visitors as she watched for them to turn into the narrow, sandy drive. Her steady, clear whistling filled the air and on this still day she could hear her songbirds respond. Following Dorothy’s familiar notes, Ruth Yonge made her way up the outside stairs. So often the two had begun or ended their days with a swim, walking down from the loggia, taking the narrow, bamboo-lined path to the pool. The friends were excited about the trip to Guatemala, and Ruth was her favorite traveling companion.
They arrived in Guatemala City on February 14, where the organized tour offered the group an opportunity to study exotic private gardens as well as the seldom-visited hinterland. “Guatemala. ‘Onour own’ shops and passport photos. Banquet. Flower arrangements! Whoops —Flop. But adore this country. Textiles.”
Before leaving home she had prepared well, and knew that her assignment as featured speaker would be demanding. But Dorothy was confident on her feet. She had not anticipated any other challenges, and the last thing on her mind was the thought of falling in love with another man.
FEBRUARY 24, 1947 Guatemala City: Sightseeing, Palace, Cathedral, Residential, gardens, etc. Walk alter dinner. Fine meals (29 gals in town). Met Lew Palmer.
Far from his birthplace in Denver, Colorado, Lewis Hamilton Palmer had settled in Guatemala after a tour of duty with the Royal Air Force. Now managing a large coffee plantation in the Sierra Madre Mountains on the outskirts of Guatemala City, he was a dark-haired, ruggedly handsome figure. With his bold, sunburned cheekbones, he could have been a native. He was rather small, but strong and fit, with powerful hands. Earlier in his life Palmer had been a barnstorming pilot; now, at fifty-one, he was flying machine parts to mountain farmers who were cut off from roadways. During Dorothy’s visit, he was also lecturing on the country’s history and coffee production at the Sierra Madre plantation.
Dorothy brought her group to the plantation and was instantly infatuated with the kind-hearted flyer who served as their tour guide. In turn, he was impressed with this soft-spoken, inquisitive woman, who stood out from the rest of the crowd. Lew knew nothing of her background or wealth; she was direct and confident and it did not take long for a relationship to blossom. He accompanied them on the remainder of their trip. “Off for Antigua. Stopped at Lake. Lunch. Alcazar, shops, park, etc. and sightseeing. Lew Palmer with Ruth and me. Marimba and danced with our guide.”
Lew Palmer was not the sort of man my grandmother would have been attracted to earlier on. He was uncomplicated, simple in his tastes, and a relief after the years of emotional chaos. “Atitlan: boat across lake to Indian village Sandiego. (Lew P.) Left Cantenta after fine lunch, for Guatemala City—8 in car! (L.H.P. to our room.)”
I was not surprised when I read that Lew Palmer had become infatuated with my grandmother. Though she was approaching her sixtieth birthday, she was still a seductive woman and her charm and intelligence were irresistible.
Two weeks after returning to Fort Pierce, she received a telegram from Lew accepting her invitation to visit Immokolee. “A wire from Lew, he’ll be here on the 19th. Nilla, Rene and the four boys out for lunch and a short visit. They are such dears!” She could hardly wait for Lew to arrive, but she worried whether Immokolee would intimidate him.
APRIL 19, 1947 Town to meet Lew. He’s nicer than ever and so easily “fits in to the picture” here. Most Helpful and very efficient.
Lew’s total dedication to his hostess came as no surprise. “I’m happy and life is full of joy and for the future too.” Roaming about the eighty acres, Lew easily assumed the role of grove manager. “Lew is ‘taking over’ on grove work. A big relief to me.” He painted and plowed, and carried flowers and morning coffee to her bedside. “I’m trying to think why I deserve so much joy and happiness after all the turmoil in my life so far! But I love it!”
In Lew, my grandmother had discovered those qualities she had always desired, and had wished for ever since 1928, when she wrote in her diary: “I should have married a farmer—lived on a big ranch and had 6 children! How different it all might be….”
Fascinated by him, the Putnam grandchildren could not stay away. To all of us, he was the big-hearted man who bounced us through the woods on the back of his motor scooter and made us squeal with laughter. His skin was silky-smooth, and I recall seeing little hair on his strong, tanned arms. His eyes squinted naturally; his square jaw reminded me of a Native American, determined and focused. He was a thoughtful man and always invited the grandchildren to drive with him to town to collect the mail. Often, I saw my grandmother and Lew kneeling in the garden together planting flowers. From the rear, they appeared the same size, shoulder to shoulder.
In June 1947, Dorothy’s divorce from Don was granted, and it was obvious to David and George that their mother was in love with Lew, still a guest at Immokolee after two months. At first, they were concerned that he might be taking advantage of her generosity; but after spending several weeks getting to know him, they were reassured. Marriage was being mentioned. After three failures, my grandmother was torn. “I wonder, do I dare to try again for personal happiness after three failures? It’a question, yet I’m strongly tempted!”
At the time, there was a waiting period in Florida for licenses, but none in Georgia. A steady stream of nervous brides and grooms made the drive north to cross the state line, in search of an accommodating justice of the peace. On July 21, 1947, Dorothy’s heavy blue Lincoln crept slowly by the still pond in the early morning darkness. Hearing the crunch of tires in the driveway, the bullfrogs launched into their morning chorus, which startled the eloping couple. “Off at 5 a.m. with Lew. Drove all day. Lunch at Folkston. Married Lew today and find happiness and completeness at long last. Overnight Silver Springs and delish dinner. New moon.”
Two weeks later, my sister Binney and I tossed our bags into the trunk of Dofry’s car. We had no idea that our grandmother and her “boyfriend” were taking us with them on their honeymoon to New York and Old Greenwich. “Lew, Binney and Sally off in Lincoln to New York and Old Greenwich for two weeks. En route; gorgeous mountain drive, but overcast and in the clouds. Natural Bridge. Log cabin for night. Skyline Trail to Endless Caverns.”
At the age of fifty-nine, a bride again, my grandmother was a stunning and provocative woman. Her eyes, weary with a telling sadness, were still as crystal clear and blue as a pool of bright water. Her languid stride, though a bit slower, was deliberate and confident.
I remember this time of her life as a tranquil one. She and Lew shared a quiet affection for one another, and I knew that she not only relied on him but respected him. Here at last was the partner she had always needed, and she was thrilled at having met such a man, she once told me, “before I was sixty!” My grandmother seemed ageless, and with Lew at her side she returned to Immokolee with a heightened sense of purpose.
Sharing her “home place” was her fondest wish. “Weather is ideal and each day very lovely. I don’t deserve to be so contented and happy. Lew is a darling, always.”
My grandmother had always wanted a “Spanish” walled garden in her yard to protect her flowers and vegetables from ground-grubbing intruders. Wasting no time, she and Lew designed a two-tiered fountain with a constant flow of warm water for the birds and for irrigating the plants. Lew hoped to find tiles with giraffes and zebras to decorate the back splash when he and Dorothy traveled to Africa the following year.
“Still grateful for Lew and his really deep love and concern about me. Each day so much real happiness.” She was content. “I’ve never known before what perfect companionship and congeniality meant over a whole year! Thank God for it! Yes: I was right, a thousand times. We are congenial and happy and very much in love.”
As 1949 ended, my grandmother’s diaries express her complete fulfillment: “The miracle continues! Only finer and deeper than ever. We are increasingly closer and love is deeper.” They dined casually whenever the mood struck, either on the back terrace seated on the cobalt blue Venetian fountain, or at the old Mission table, and called these their “in time” meals. There were also early suppers at the beach, and I recall them lingering on a blanket over dinner after a cool ocean dip.
To an old friend, Dorothy wrote of her marriage and new life: “We grow oranges on an eighty acre grove: We fish and garden as hobbies. Last summer we spent five lovely and thrilling months circumnavigating Africa on a Dutch freighter. We saw lions and rhinos and hippos, elephants, etc. to last a lifetime. And we’ve written a small book on the subject, too!”
African Overtones is a collection of several newspaper articles woven together into a single essay. Written with my grandmother’s usual flair for dramatic narrative and vivid imagery, the booklet gives a colorful account of her trip; more important were her opinions on the rights of the people of Africa:
Lew and I agreed that probably the most terrifying thrill of all Africa was seeing a huge bull elephant, one that stood ten feet in his stocking feet, and carried eighty pounds or so of precious ivory in each gleaming tusk. And all of this tonnage not more than seventy feet from our lorry.…
As we sailed out at night, a full moon, the stars, the soft swish of the sea all combined to make one think rather deeply. One wonders why any place so utterly enchanting and lovely could be called the pest hole or the cesspool of the world? The world today with its airplanes and quick service grows smaller and smaller. We in this part of the globe feel one should have his own ideas and mode of life and live it according to his own ideas and ideals. Perhaps those ebony blacks of Africa and the white-robed Mohammedans of far-off Arabia or the coastal islands of Africa should have a right to their way of thinking, too.