Pivotals
A Story of Small Town America
By C L Miller
Author of
A Long Way From Home:
A Trucker's Life Through A Woman's Eye
This book is
Respectfully Dedicated
to those special folks who keep small towns alive.
Thank you.
* * * * *
PUBLISHED BY:
Copyright © 2015 by CL Miller
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
Author's note:
As truck drivers we travel the freeways, highways, and byways of our country. One day, in March 2010, we found ourselves in a small town. The economy was suffering everywhere that year, but it was particularly tragic to see the boarded-up buildings and closed businesses as we drove along Main Street.
I made a brief note of it in my journal, but I couldn't get the picture out of my head. A couple weeks later I found myself "hearing" the stories, and I knew they needed to be written.
It took less than a week to record all these words, then I put it aside. Every few months I would take it out and read it again, but I rarely did more than change a word here or there.
It was finished and no one had any more to say.
Three years later I finally showed it to a few friends and they all suggested it needed to be published.
I hope you enjoy the read.
Prologue
If it hadn't been for that traffic light this story might never have been told.
I write adventure novels. My heroes get into a variety of perils and always triumph. Even I had to suspend disbelief to write them, but they sold well and allowed me to take trips like this one.
I prefer to use recognizable locales to help my readers identify with the characters, so once or twice a year I go on a road trip. This time I was off the interstate, traveling along rural highways and through small town USA.
And for what felt like the tenth time that day, I was waiting for the town traffic signal to turn green.
Suddenly my nose picked up a delicious aroma that caused my stomach to remind me it had been too many hours since the coffee and stale bagel that passed for breakfast at last night's motel. I noticed an empty parking spot to my right, and figured I'd be done eating before the light changed anyway.
I don't know how Joe's Diner did it, but I could smell each separate offering -- meat loaf, spaghetti sauce, pork chops -- as I pushed the door open. The place was nearly empty at two o'clock except for a few old-timers sitting at a front table and the man I assumed was Joe.
He greeted me as if I was a regular and handed me a clean menu, indicating with a wave that I could sit anywhere I chose. It wasn't easy to decide what to eat, but I went with the meat loaf and a glass of iced tea.
The old-timers were talking and I had the happy impulse to turn on my pocket tape recorder.
"She won't do it today!"
"Why not?"
"She's got that family reunion Saturday. She's got to be up to her eyebrows."
"Hey, she did it the day Olivia was born. Apologized for not baking it, then asked him to drive her to the hospital because she was in labor!"
"I don't remember that . . . "
At that point Joe brought my meal, then said, "You were at your daddy's funeral. I remember watching her walk by, the pie in one hand, the other hand holding her belly."
The men chuckled.
Joe continued. "The way Naomi tells it, she walked in the door and handed her the pie. Naomi took the towel off and saw that it wasn't baked. She started to tease Charlotte about it, then nearly dropped the whole plate. Fred put a note on the door and they all took off for the hospital, the whole time with Charlotte explaining she was afraid it wouldn't get baked in time."
"Hey, here she goes."
I looked up to see a woman about my age, striding along the sidewalk with what was obviously a pie plate in her hands.
"Pay up, Harvey!"
Harvey grumbled good-naturedly and muttered something about being a sucker. "You'd think I'd know better than to make book on that one after -- what? -- ten years without a miss."
“Boys,” Joe said. "Vernetta."
I looked again and saw a young woman saunter past the diner. There was a moment of silence as she walked by, tinkling a little wave at Joe and the old-timers, which they all returned.
The men smiled.
Then almost in one movement they pushed back their chairs and stood up.
"Tomorrow, Joe."
"See ya, Joe."
"Tell Dolores I'll be in tomorrow."
"Will do, Harvey. I'll tell her to go easy on you since you're a bit short on cash."
Then it was just Joe and me.
"What was that all about? The pie thing?" I didn't think I needed the Vernetta thing explained.
"Oh, about ten years ago the druggist, Fred, saved Charlie Wheeler's life and ever since, Charlie's wife, Charlotte, bakes Fred an apple pie on the first Tuesday of every month to commemorate."
"Oh, yeah?" My writer's mind began to click. "Is there any way I could talk to them. That seems like an interesting story."
Joe looked me up and down. "There are a lot of stories here. Tell you what, you come back tomorrow night about eight o'clock. I'll see what I can do."
I paid for my meal and went to my car thinking, did I have time to stay here another day and listen to a bunch of Podunk stories?
I stayed a week. The first time.
Part 1
Joe Brennan
I moved to town just after my sister married Jay Wheeler. I’d learned to cook in the Army, so when my tour was up I followed Marie out here and went to work at Joe’s Diner.
About the time David Baker moved to town, old Joe Thompson -- his twin brother John was the town druggist back then -- married Miss May and moved out to her place. He kept the deed to the diner for a few years, then had David Baker work up a sale and I became the owner.
I like this town. It’s been good to Dolores and me -- she works at the Glamour Stop -- and we have been real happy.
David Baker
It's funny in a way. Everyone here calls me David Baker. Maybe it's because I am David Baker & Associates: Insurance, Real Estate, and Legal.
I met Nathalie when she consulted my uncle after her parents were killed in a plane crash. They left her the entire estate, and they were very well-to-do. She wanted to sell the house and invest the inheritance money so she would have a comfortable income for the rest of her life. I was impressed with her practical mind, not to mention her elegant beauty, and we were married within a year. I had been looking for a small town where I could be useful to my neighbors, and Nathalie was completely supportive of my plans. Frankly, her money has allowed us to weather some tight times, but most of it is still in the trust fund.
We had been married almost ten years when Fred was born. Nathalie had s
everal miscarriages, and our sweet Gracie who only lived a few days. But Fred was a healthy baby from the very first and has made us both proud.
I hired Vernetta to be my assistant on a whim. She came into my office one day looking for a position as a secretary. She had all the skills, but I didn't think I needed any help. I soon began to wonder how I had got along without her.
Vernetta. If I were a drinking man, I could describe her as a tall glass of the finest Kentucky bourbon. That might be misleading in some ways, as she is actually blonde. But she is tall. And smooth. What is that phrase -- a figure that would stop traffic.
She told me she was looking for a quiet place to settle and had stopped in to talk to me on impulse. She said she saw me give an older woman a hug on the sidewalk in front of my office, and it seemed I was the kind of gentle man she wanted to work for. At that point I laughed out loud and told Vernetta I was comforting Mrs Smith because her cat had died. Then Vernetta laughed too, and somehow I knew we would work well together. I called Nathalie to come to the office, and she liked Vernetta immediately. She had been suggesting for quite some time that I hire help, but in a small town it can be difficult to maintain confidentiality when a client is your best friend from elementary school. Vernetta was a clean slate. It was perfect.
Vernetta
My name is Vernetta McClune Hollister. My mother shot and killed my father one week after my sixteenth birthday.
My father hurt my mother. Sometimes he would just grab her shoulder; other times he would shove her; a few times he hit her. I heard her talking to her mother one time. Gramma told her to get over it, that her husband was a good provider and didn't drink away his paycheck.
I didn't know she'd bought a gun. I guess she was waiting.
For my sixteenth birthday party she made me a beautiful pink dress. She did my hair up, and even let me use some makeup. I had invited a lot of kids, boys and girls, and I was so excited I started getting ready way too early. Mama was so happy for me, and was nearly as excited as I was. I went downstairs to show Daddy my dress. He walked up close to me and pulled the skirt out, like you do when you are going to curtsey. Then he pulled down so hard that he ripped the skirt completely off the bodice. He let it fall in a pile at my feet while I stood there in my slip, holding the rest of my dress up to my shoulder.
"Let that be a lesson to you," he told me. "This is my house, and nobody does nothing without me saying it's okay." Then he looked at my mother and said, "Seems she's going be a tramp like her mother."
It's funny how the mind works. My first thought was to point out the double negative. Then I saw my new party dress lying on the floor at my feet and I started to cry. My mother stepped to my side and said, "Don't worry. I can fix this." Later I wondered what exactly she meant to fix.
But she did fix the dress. My mother is an excellent seamstress as well as a good beautician, so by the time my guests arrived I was fully repaired, at least on the outside.
A few days later I was sharing how much my friends were talking about the party. Normally my father insisted on a quiet meal -- "I work all day with a bunch of jabbering females" -- but I was too full of it to care. So I babbled on and on until my father picked up his dinner plate and threw it against the wall. Then he stepped to my chair and grabbed me by the arm, jerking me to my feet.
"Shut your mouth! Just shut up!" And then he shoved me so that I lost my balance, and if my mother hadn't caught me I would have fallen.
"Go to your room," she told me. Her voice was cold and quiet, so I left the dining room and shut myself up in my bedroom.
A few minutes later I heard an explosion. I ran downstairs but Mama was standing in the door to the dining room.
"Go get Mr. Millins." she said quietly.
"Mama . . . ?"
"Just go."
I ran to the front door and yanked it open, only to find Mr Millins on the doorstep. He gestured over his shoulder at Mrs Millins, standing in our yard. She beckoned to me, and as I stepped away I heard him just say "Loretta". I heard Mama say "Officer Millins" and I remember being puzzled, because she always called him "Mike". Then the door closed and I was walking away with Mrs Millins.
***
Marie Wheeler
I met Nathalie Baker in the hospital when our sons were born. Charlie was my fifth child and third boy. His daddy started making jokes about him being the fifth Wheeler, and my oldest boy already planned to call the baby Wheelie. Jason's always been the clown of the family, just like his daddy.
Anyway, Nathalie and I shared a room at the hospital. Freddie was born late one afternoon and my Charlie arrived early the next morning, before daybreak. We got talking and found out her boy was named Frederick Charles and mine was Charles Frederick, both after our grandpas. We figured the boys were destined to be friends and we were right. They've been nearly inseparable for almost forty years now.
She told me about her little girl that died, and how happy she was to have Freddie. But she wasn't all maudlin about Grace, not all pity-me. Just told me and then moved on. So I could talk about my brood and not feel bad about having them all healthy. I liked Nathalie from the very first.
We're farmers and she's a townie but we never felt like that was between us. David Baker is a good man. He helps everyone as best he can and he's always fair to both sides. Sometimes he gets involved in family disputes over land or inheritance, but usually when he's done talking to them everybody's happy.
When Charlie was born I was working at the church in charge of the nursery school. It started way back when Jason was on the way and I was the church secretary. After he came, I asked them if I could bring Jason with me and let him be in the church nursery where I could keep an eye on him. When the other babies came along and the older ones weren't in school yet, I started teaching them their letters and basic stuff. Well, the church board asked around and found out there was a lot of folks that would use the "nursery school" and suddenly I had a new job. Then we put on an addition and let the older kids come by after school and do homework. We bought a set of encyclopedias and I'd get books from the library -- and Nathalie and some other town moms joined us. One time some folks from the state board of education stopped by and said they were taking our model to other communities. And all that because I didn't want to quit my job to stay home with Jason.
Charlie Wheeler
Fred Baker has been my best friend for as long as I can remember. The funny thing is we are so different. Freddie wanted to be a doctor since he was about two -- well maybe not, but for a long time. And he was a straight-A student. He did okay at sports -- in a small school anyone who can walk is recruited for the teams -- but he preferred to study. I got good grades but I like athletics. I played everything. One time Freddie joked that we could be a two-man baseball team: he'd play right field and I'd take the other eight positions. That was another reason our friendship has lasted so long: there's no jealousy; no one trying to be on top of the other.
When we got to high school we never fought over girls, mainly because the ones that appealed to me didn't interest him and vice versa. Anyway, Fred was Mr Practical. He knew he'd have years and years of college and medical school and didn't want to have any distractions. We usually went out on double dates, and between us I think we dated every girl in two counties. But both our mamas had told us to always be gentlemen, and we knew we'd be flayed then roasted alive if either of them heard otherwise, so the double-dating kept us on the straight.
One of the rules in both houses was that after we had dated a girl more than three or four times she was invited to supper with the family. Sometimes the girl would get edgy about what to wear, but I'd tell her that she'd probably end up going for a walk across the farm, maybe dipping her toes in the creek -- so make it comfy. At our house all the food is put in big bowls in the center of the table so shy girls don't eat much. My dad is a great guy and my mom's terrific, but having supper with seven farmers can be noisy.
One girl, Carolyn, who I dated in
my senior year, came over when my middle brother Kevin was home from college. They took to each other like nothing I've ever seen. To this day I joke with my sister-in-law that she owes me big time. She named her first boy Charlie.
Fred Baker
I became the town pharmacist by accident. I was in the drug store one afternoon, my sophomore year in high school. Two things happened at the same moment: a friend came in and waved, and the pharmacist, Mr Thompson, opened the door to the storage room and asked someone to help him move some boxes. I waved at my friend; Mr Thompson thought I was volunteering. It was like that scene in North By Northwest when Cary Grant gets mistaken for the agent when he signals to send a telegram. It turned out to be a wild adventure for Roger Thornhill, and it turned out to be a turning point in my life.
I got interested in medicine because of my mother. When I got older she told me about my "big sister, Grace". I spent a lot of time with Charlie's family and one day I asked my mother why there were five Wheelers but only one me. She explained it so that a seven-year-old could understand, but we talked about it many more times as I got older and it put a desire in my head to understand the human body and all its intricate workings. I read books, and later went to laboratories with my science class. I wasn't sure exactly what I wanted to do but I knew it would be with medicine.