I’d never been the man I could be . . .
‘Tommy’s having supper with us,’ she said. She liked it that her husband had a best friend, too.
Jack’s attention had turned to the kitchen clock. ‘Fourteen minutes till seven! I’m about starvin’!’
• • •
Floyd, Virgina,’ said Tommy, forking a slice of meatloaf. ‘Took th’ whole band, a two-hour gig. They know how to have a good time in Floyd.’ He looked at Beth. ‘Do you like to dance?’
‘Well, not the tango or anything.’
‘Flatfoot,’ said Tommy. ‘And a little swing. That’s as exotic as it gets in Floyd. We could all go up in th’ van.’
‘Or we could just go to the Crossroads,’ said Dooley. ‘It was great the other night. Thanks for sending your guys down.’
‘How much money for th’ shelter?’
‘Two hundred and thirty bucks.’
‘Dooley just delivered a baby,’ Lace told Tommy. ‘An emergency.’
‘Dad made a angel come out!’ said Jack.
‘Man. Were you scared?’
‘Shakin’,’ said Dooley, and passed the mashed potatoes.
Jack wrinkled his brow, puzzled. ‘But I don’t know where it come out from. Where did it come out from, Dad?’
Tommy looked at Dooley. Dooley looked at Lace.
‘Did it jist . . .’ Jack lifted his palms, struggled to find a word. ‘. . . appear?’
Lace stood up. ‘There’s no fancy dessert tonight, but we have ice cream!’
‘Manilla!’ said Jack, who liked whatever his dad liked.
‘I could sure use some cherry pie,’ said Dooley.
Tommy laughed. ‘Dude, you’ve been fixated on cherry pie since I first met you.’
Charley barking at the front door. ‘Somebody’s knockin’!’ Jack slid off the bench and was down the hall. Voices, farm dogs going berserk.
Teddy shot into the kitchen, followed by Jack, who was followed by Lucy.
‘Sorry to come in on you so late,’ said Lucy. ‘I was at Mama’s house all day, bakin’. Brought your cherry pie, Doc, I aim to keep ’im!’
All dogs barking; everyone stood to greet Lucy.
‘Dooley casually mentions cherry pie,’ said Tommy, ‘and here comes cherry pie. Just like that! Awesome.’
‘It’s an old trick,’ he said.
Dooley gave Lucy a kiss on the cheek.
• • •
Beth was heading downstairs.
‘So?’ she asked Beth.
‘So what?’
‘You know what.’
‘Just friends, Laceyface. Friends.’
‘What is he doing for Thanksgiving?’
‘On the road. Concerts in Asheville and Memphis.’
‘He likes you a lot.’
‘Do you really think so?’
‘I know so. Tommy can’t hide his feelings; they’re out there all over the place. And you sound great together. Truly.’
‘It’s too good. It’s too wonderful. I’m scared of wonderful.’
‘Get over it,’ said Lace. ‘I was scared of it, too.’
Beth started to say something, but changed her mind. ‘Sweet dreams,’ she said, flying down the stairs.
• • •
Dooley was sitting on the side of the bed in an old T-shirt, thoughtful.
‘That shirt is a hundred years old,’ she said, toweling her hair.
‘Don’t even think about throwin’ it out.’
‘I won’t. Lily can use it for rags.’
He gave her a look and she laughed.
‘I’m seeing that Jack is a pretty acquisitive little guy,’ he said. ‘Not sure that’s good for him.’
‘I think it comes from watching TV for four years; that was his reality. A lot of it was what his grandmother watched, which wouldn’t exactly set high standards. And besides, he’s a little boy who’s excited about everything. I think we need to just listen and don’t say much. Just don’t buy into it.
‘Did I tell you he wants forty books for Christmas? He has no idea what that number means and we can’t afford it, but honestly, I could sign off on that.’
‘Forty books.’ Dooley shook his head, grinned.
‘It’s a secret, so don’t tell him I told you. He thinks if something is kept secret, it comes true.’
‘How’s your work?’
‘Run up and see it tomorrow before dinner. Tomorrow is Choo-Choo’s day, I’ll be painting him into the lower right-hand corner. Big!’
‘You’re happy with what’s going on.’
‘I love it. I’m not scared to death anymore. It is what it is; I’m giving it my best. That’s all I can do.’
She wrapped her head with the damp towel, making a turban, and sat beside him.
‘Let me ask you something.’ He looked at his bare feet for a time, then looked at her. ‘What did I do to deserve you?’
• • •
She rubbed salve on the wicked bruise. Black, blue, yellow. A very colorful mark for a simple country cow.
Though it had been a day of surprises, she had saved the best for last.
‘There’s one more surprise, Doc. It’s so good, you will totally fall out. Guess what?’
‘No guessing.’ An inch or two to the left and that heifer would have turned him into a soprano.
She enjoyed a suspenseful pause. ‘Julie and Kenny are being transferred. She called this afternoon.’
‘Where? Ow. Easy.’
‘To North Carolina.’
‘You’re kidding!’
‘And soon. The end of November. Before Name Day. Can you believe it?’
This was beyond great. ‘Let me guess,’ he said. ‘Winston-Salem. That would be good. Just down the mountain.’
‘Not even close. Where do people need bridges? Clue: like, near water.’
‘The Outer Banks?’
‘You wish. Keep going.’
‘Tell me.’
‘Wilmington. They’re so excited.’
‘Wilmington!’ Five, maybe six hours’ drive time. Awesome. Kenny was coming home; their family was coming together. Little drops of water, little grains of sand, his dad used to say. And the cousins. Jack would have onboard cousins.
‘She said they’ll all come for Name Day. Her due date is December thirtieth, the doctor says it’s okay to travel that weekend.’
‘Jack will be over th’ moon.’
‘There.’ She put the cap on the salve. ‘Take an aspirin and call me in the morning.’
‘Guess how I’m goin’ to repay you for your nursing skills.’
‘Tell me.’
‘I’m goin’ to take you fishin’ Saturday. Jack and I’ll pack lunch and I’ll bait th’ hooks. Be there or be square.’
Kenny and Julie and Etta and Ethan. Coming home. The last time he’d been this happy was when Jack jumped down from the truck and everybody came to their wedding. He was drowsy as she recounted heads for their big day.
‘. . . Julie and Kenny and Etta and Ethan and Sammy and Pooh and Jessie . . . and Beth and Tommy and Father Brad and Mary Ellen and your parents and my parents and Pauline and Buck. Oh, and Lil who’s coming with a sister. Violet, I think . . . ’
A grill. He needed to buy a grill. Sammy was good on the grill, his dad could wrangle a grill . . .
‘With us, that’s nineteen!’ she said, brushing her hair. ‘Your dad is doing a ham and Lil thinks sixteen pounds for the turkey, which maybe is leftovers for sandwiches.’
She put the brush in the drawer. ‘Wait a minute. I forgot. The band! That makes twenty-three. Oh, and Willie and Harley, twenty-five. And Doc and Marge and Rebecca Jane, twenty-eight. Can you believe it? I guess there won’t be leftovers. Who have I left out?’
But Dooley was sleeping.
When she came to bed, she heard his snore. It was very low-key; she’d never heard it before. She loved everything about her husband, even this—it was new, and somehow . . . sort of fun.
She got in bed and pulled the blanket over his bare shoulders and did their two-spoons-in-a-drawer and gave thanks and was soon asleep.
15
MITFORD
THURSDAY, OCTOBER 29
He walked to the Local at first light.
Like him, Wilson was an early riser, and he managed to catch his doctor at seven A.M. While he knew bacterial pneumonia was dead serious, Wilson hammered that truth in somewhat colorful terms: ‘It’s like this, Tim. A strong immune system delivers heavy artillery to decimate pneumonia. No immune system and you’ve got an underfed guerrilla corps hiding in the woods with no ammo.’
Charlotte was employing antibiotics, oxygen, IV fluids, chest physiotherapy, and the alarming amenities of ICU. But there was no guarantee.
He flipped on the light switch in the back, checked yesterday’s receipts without concentration. For Avis to battle rapid heart rate, searing chest pain, depression, racking chills, and lungs filling with fluid, something more was needed.
Something radical.
He unrolled and cut a large portion of brown butcher paper, inscribed a message in all caps, took the poster to the front of the store, and taped it on the window facing Main.
• • •
As he dumped change into the cash drawer, he glanced up to see several people waiting for the store to open.
He’d never noticed anyone waiting for a Mitford store to open. He squinted at the small gathering, but nobody looked familiar.
It was truly amazing what a little Italian sausage could do!
He opened the door to a blast of frigid air.
‘Good morning! Good morning! Come in and get warm!’
‘Are you Rev’rend Kavanagh?’
‘I am, come in!’
‘I’d like you to meet Billy and Johnsie Pope, Pedro and María Sanchez, an’ me, Hank Griffin. We’re all from th’ Valley.’
A big fellow—big!—with a beard. Here was a mountain man in the classic sense, with a hand the size of a Valley ham. And here were a wizened elderly woman and her husband, and a younger couple in their forties, all seemingly thrilled to be standing on the sidewalk in freezing weather.
‘Step right in, let’s get this door closed.’
He shut the door as they gathered at the checkout counter.
Hank cleared his throat. He was nervous as a cat and wanted to get this speech done with. ‘Avis Packard is a good friend to us and we feel like we owe him somethin’. But not money. Nossir. More like somethin’ of ourselves.’
Nods all around.
‘We’d like to help out durin’ this hard time. No pay, no pay at all, just for a little while, if you’ll have us. Whatever y’all need done up here, we’ll be glad to do it. We’re not too proud to sweep, haul trash, whatever it takes.’
The Popes and Sanchezes nodded in agreement. Hank had done due diligence as spokesman and was visibly relieved.
‘Thank you, Hank. Thank all of you. My goodness, this is a wonderful surprise! I’ll have to think about it, of course. But take off your coats and make yourselves at home.’
They looked around the store with a kind of wonder.
‘Th’ Popes have never been up to Mitford,’ said Hank.
‘Never been to Mitford?’ He thought everybody had been to Mitford.
‘Not a single time,’ said Johnsie Pope. ‘It’s like another world, ain’t it, Billy?’
Billy removed his hat. ‘We always go out th’ Morganton way.’
Johnsie’s eyes appeared to have cataracts, but she was hungry to see. ‘Is it right here where our gourds is sellin’?’
‘This is the place!’ he said. ‘I’ll be putting a sign in the window tomorrow.’
‘We seen your sign in th’ winder about Avis. We do that ever’ night, don’t we, Billy?’
‘We do. Reg’lar as clockwork.’
María Sanchez raised her hand. ‘We, too.’
‘My wife, my mother, we come with green card twenty-four years ago,’ said Pedro. ‘Mr. Avis give us a pig, we breed our pig and sell six first year. I work on tree farm, María clean for my boss family. With sale of pigs we buy blueberry bushes, plant on land we rent. Mr. Avis buy all we raise, very big, sweet blueberries. Nineteen years we sell Mr. Avis blueberries for to eat in Mitford. With blueberry money, we buy chickens an’ sell eggs.’
‘An’ goats,’ said María.
‘An’ goats,’ said Pedro, ‘for cheese. Last year, we buy th’ land of our blueberries an’ build bigger house.’
‘For gran’children when they visit,’ said María, ‘Jésus, Miguel, Christina, José, an’ Juan.’
Pedro and María beaming.
‘Well done! I’m sure I’ve enjoyed your cheese and blueberries many times.’
‘We have a blessed life,’ said Pedro. ‘Whatever you an’ Mr. Avis need, we come every Saturday for November.’
He was verging on speechless. ‘He’ll be grateful, Pedro. Very grateful. Let’s get some coffee going. Right this way!’
In the corner of the break room, to the Popes’ uncommon delight, was the small sea of warty gourds, piled into a couple of wheelbarrows that would be stationed tomorrow at the front door.
Everyone sat, shy and overcome, using the room’s full supply of plastic chairs; the coffeemaker issued a steady aroma of Antiguan beans.
‘Me an’ Johnsie, we can come up with Hank most anytime,’ said Billy Pope.
‘I cook an’ clean,’ said Johnsie. ‘Billy rakes an’ mows.’
‘Very useful pursuits!’ he said, opening a bag of donuts.
‘Avis started us out with chickens ’way back,’ said Billy. ‘He give us two Rhode Island Reds and two Dominickers to start our flock.’
‘It’s our free-range eggs y’all been eatin’ up here in Mitford.’ Johnsie blinked, suddenly awed by this momentous truth. ‘I only raise gourds on th’ side.’
‘Every little bit counts,’ he said, pouring coffee.
‘I had a home improvement business,’ said Hank, ‘but like everything else, it’s took a good many knocks over th’ years. I said, Avis, all we’ve got is this little half-acre, what could we do with it to help us along? So Avis says plant dwarf trees that give a full-size apple. You’ll get more trees on less land an’ a sweet, big apple in th’ bargain! That was th’ start of it. He’s bought our apples for sixteen years, it sure helps us through th’ hard places. I’m retired now, I cleaned gutters, painted houses, met a lot of people. But it’s good to have a little time on my hands. Time is a wonderful thing to have on your hands, right, Rev’rend?’
He’d always been conflicted about that, but what could he say?
‘Have a donut!’
• • •
Otis and Lisa were running late because of roadwork through the Gap. They arrived as the Valley contingent pulled away from the curb in Hank’s van.
‘We just hired five people!’ He was dazed, dazzled, dumbfounded.
Otis blanched. ‘Nossir, we can’t do that. Oh, Lord, no!’
‘Free, Otis! They want to work free, as a favor to Avis. Anything we need done. As a tribute.’
‘Wow,’ said Lisa. ‘Free! Omigosh, th’ produce bins is needin’ a good cleanout an’ all that stuff out back, old crates an’ pallets an’ all, need to be hauled to th’ dump . . .’
Otis brightened. ‘An’ home delivery. We could go back to offerin’ home delivery.’ Otis was fond of home delivery, it made people smile. Usually.
As he worked on tomorrow’s poster, he whistled a bit of Mozart’s Magic Flute. The Valley had just proved that Mitford wasn’t the only place taking care of its own.
• • •
Abe from Village Shoes was coming in as Fancy Skinner was leaving.
‘Fancy Skinner!’ Abe rolled his eyes. ‘I was going to give her a mean look, but she already had one.
‘She was in my place yesterday lookin’ for dress shoes. Toe in, toe out, high heel, no heel, Velcro, no Velcro. After fifteen try-ons, no deal. Said everything was too expensive. Look, I said, I know where you can get a great pair of shoes for two bucks.’
‘Really!’ said Lisa. ‘Where at?’
‘Th’ Wesley bowlin’ alley!’
Otis didn’t care for Ms. Skinner, but he didn’t join in such talk. He would never speak disrespectfully of someone who just spent $43.79, cash money, at the Local.
‘So, Abe,’ said Father Tim, ‘you’re looking spiff.’ The owner of Main Street’s shoe store was a golf-shirt-and-khakis kind of guy. This was dark pants with a jacket.
‘Meeting of th’ Merchants Association this afternoon. I was goin’ to wear my camouflage shirt, but couldn’t find it.’
He gave Abe a good laugh, which was what his old buddy usually came in for.
‘Any tomatoes?’ said Abe.
‘Not that I can recommend,’ said Father Tim. ‘Tomatoes in October, no; in August, yes.’
‘Which brings to mind a question. If tomatoes are technically a fruit, is ketchup a smoothie?’
Lisa giggled.
‘Abe, Abe,’ he said. Every town needed an Abe.
• • •
Grace liked birthdays.
In January, when she was seven, she would spend her birthday with her dad at Hope House and with the old people who she liked very much. She would take the Jack Russells, too, even though they were retired.
She did not have grandparents of her own because on her dad’s side a grandmother and two grandfathers died at the same time in a huge car wreck and the other grandmother died of being old. On her mom’s side her grandmother died before her mom got the bookstore. There were lots of dead people in her family. But she got to have a grandmother, anyway.
She had picked Miss Louella at Hope House, who was maybe ninety-four or six. She liked to use the remote on Miss Louella’s chair when Miss Louella went on her walker to the bathroom. She liked to lean back in the big blue recliner and pretend to be very, very old. Sometimes the nurse would take her temperature and listen to her heart, mush, mush, mush.