“Mr. Peltier,” Callie began to cry, “I do believe you’re ashamed of me. I was just standing on the street looking at the store windows when you showed up and talked me into having lunch with you at a boarding house, and now here we are in the back of a drug store well hidden like you were married or something.” She pursued, “Are you married?”
Peltier was sweating now. Here he was in the middle of a simple lunch break and Callie was so upset that she could begin yelling at any moment, and God only knows what she might yell! The sheriff might even come in to find out what the disturbance was all about.
Most of all, however, despite everything he was still captivated by this woman-child. She was the very reason for his assuming this absurd risk in the first place. Knowing that he was standing in the presence of death itself Jordan stood up and said, “Of course I’m not married, Callie. I just thank my lucky stars that I’m not so that I can chase after you. I keep doing these stupid things.” He reached out and took her hand and gently pulled her up from her seat at the table.
He said, “Come on I don’t care what happens. Let’s walk on over to the boarding house but slowly, very slowly this time.”
Within a fraction of a moment Callie’s sad little face brightened and she said, “All right, I’ll walk with you. I don’t know anybody here in town, but I’ll have you to introduce me if we meet anyone that you know.”
For once since this farce began this morning Jordan Peltier could tell the unmitigated truth. He said, “I just arrived here a month ago myself. Everybody in Clarke County knows me, but I have only met a few people. I will certainly introduce you to anyone that we meet and with whom I am acquainted by name.”
They were just leaving when the waitress arrived with glasses of ice water and two menus. She said, “Hi, Jordan did you change your minds?” “I’m afraid so this time, Blanche. The young lady just had to rest a moment, but now she is feeling a lot better. We will certainly come in for lunch or a soda soon.”
Callie stood aside waiting expectantly for Jordan to recognize and to introduce this person, the first citizen that Jordan had encountered with a name that he knew.
He suddenly realized this and quickly said, “Blanche, this is Callie Carpenter. She is visiting her uncle’s family here in Quitman briefly.”
Making conversation Blanche inquired, “Who is your uncle?”
Callie hesitated, “I am staying at my uncle Glen’s for a few days.”
Jordan startled, “You mean Glen Hailes?”
“No, no,” Callie answered nervously now beginning to know the feeling of her own entrapment. “My Uncle Glen Adams, on Travis Street. He works at the Coca-Cola plant. My first cousin is John Hal Adams, his son.”
Jordan, not yet familiar with the interweaving ties of family relationships in Quitman and the county accepted this information without any indication of suspicion. Callie looked away and closed her eyes gently exhaling and dispelling her apprehension.
At that moment Callie decided that this was becoming a dangerous little game. She might accidentally divulge the secrets to which she had been entrusted and compromise the entire plan creating a family disaster.
As they began to move toward the front street exit Callie reached out and grasped Peltier’s arm and said, “Jordan, I just remembered that I am going to have to go back to Uncle Glen’s right away. I had completely forgotten that I had promised to do a little chore for them this afternoon. Please forgive me. I would like to accept another offer real soon.”
He replied, “Of course, if you have an obligation to your uncle this afternoon.” The ambivalence welled up in him again, “I have to get back to the bank anyway, but I’ll be through around 5:30 this afternoon. If you like, we could meet about six or so and have dinner. We can eat at the “Fryer’s Club,” a little cafe on the edge of town. I can pick you up.”
She smiled again and extended her hand. “I don’t know what their plans are for this evening, but I’ll certainly let you know before the bank closes by 4:00 this afternoon.”
He watched her as she glided gracefully through the door, unfolding the parasol to shade her from the bright, warm and humid summer afternoon sunshine. He hoped with all his being that this wouldn’t be the last time that he would see her that day.
He would never see her again, or so she thought.
When Callie got back to Uncle Glen’s, a note was waiting for her on her bedroom vanity:
Dear Callie,
Everything is settled with J.P. I will come in a little while after it gets cooler. You have done a good thing.
Our Thanks and Love,
Papa
Her duty rendered, she took a piece of stationery from a drawer and quickly wrote,
“Jordan, I have learned that there has been an unusual development in my own family. They need my urgent return to Atlanta, and I must immediately leave for Meridian in order to catch the first available bus to New Orleans and on back home. You won’t need to worry about me or any of the consequences of our chance meeting the other night. I shall always remember the brief but wonderful moments that we shared both then and again this afternoon. I won’t forget you.”
Callie
Jordan didn’t notice that a slim little figure entered the bank much more conservatively dressed this time. She moved to a teller’s window and requested that an envelope be delivered to him containing the note then left as quickly and as quietly as she had entered.
Jordan watched as the large clock on the wall adjacent to his desk moved slowly but inexorably toward the terminus of his working day. He found himself glancing up repeatedly toward the door hoping to see that same bright, gay diminutive form sweep into the foyer stopping every heart in the room with her fluid, graceful feminine movements.
As the last customer turned from the teller’s cages, their business with the bank satisfied, Jordan thought that Callie still had not arrived to confirm their evening. Upset, but depressed even more, Jordan slowly stood up and removed his coat from the hanger on a hat-rack. He was just slipping his arm into the sleeve when one of the tellers walked to his desk and said, “Mr. Peltier, I was quite busy this afternoon and completely forgot to bring you this note. It was brought in by a young lady and was addressed to your attention.”
Furious, Jordan Peltier demanded, “What time did she bring it in to you?”
The teller could easily discern his agitation and that it were directed at her. “It must have been around 1:30 or so this afternoon.” She replied somewhat apprehensively.
“Did she ask to see or talk to me?” He demanded.
“No, not at all. She just asked me to give the note to you before the end of the day.
Jordan regained his composure and said, "Thank you for remembering to give it to me today. It is quite important to me." There was no note of sarcasm remaining in his voice now. He knew that she had neither chosen to see him nor to present the note to him personally. He was apprehensive and anxious to know the contents of the envelope but decided to refrain from opening it at that moment. Rather, he would read it in the quiet of his home. Much like his predecessor Gerald Thornton, he looked extremely tired and weary as he shuffled out of the bank that evening. He had a case of the blues. He had them real bad.
He felt the envelope in his left coat pocket; though he had no idea of the contents. He only knew that it contained sadness, but he didn’t know to what extent. He finally reached his porch and opened the screen door. The main door had not been closed as it was so hot. He went straight away to his bedroom, removed his coat and extracted the envelope from its interior pocket, then his shirt and trousers, and hung them in the closet. He hung the tie on the rack with the others, removed his shoes and placed them on the floor of the closet. He lighted the lamp wick again, replaced the funnel and climbed into bed holding the envelope containing the note, and leaned back to read the contents.
He read the lines. He read them again and again. If only he hadn’t been so selfish she might not have left so a
bruptly without any explanation. At least he had the good sense not to get drunk or to do anything equally as stupid. His first impulse was to go straight away to Glen Adam’s house to see if she might still be there. He reconsidered, however, as it would not be wise for a thirty-five year old respected banker to rush over there and reveal the depth of his feelings to her family members.
She was gone. He had to adjust to that fact. He continued to tell himself that same refrain throughout the night. As the new day’s light began to sweep yesterday away he said once more, “She is gone. I will adjust to it for now, but not forever. I want her back, and I will find and get her back to me, and I will never let her go again.” Still he wondered if Papa Hailes had had a hand in her departure possibly to save him as he had promised. Finally, he went to sleep only minutes before his alarm clock sounded a call to begin another business day, exhausted and sad as he might be from his loss.
Papa Hailes and Glen had returned to the Adam’s house again that day, just before 4:00 that afternoon. They had already gone by the small Greyhound bus depot in town and Papa had purchased her ticket to Meridian, then to New Orleans, and finally to Atlanta.
Papa climbed the porch steps and preceded Glen’s entry into the house.
Callie was standing in the entrance hallway and rushed to him flinging her arms about Papa’s neck and holding him close to her as she softly wept.
She then released him and grasped Uncle Glen, holding him tightly and close for several moments. He kissed her cheek, and then Papa said, “Well done.” He continued, “I know we have asked a great deal of you, but you did it so well and without any complaints or reservations. We haven’t even been able to have you out to the place so you could see your grandmother. She sends you much love and appreciation. We all want you to come back and have a real nice visit for a month or for as long as you want to stay with us when we get all of this behind us.”
Papa’s tone became more business-like, and he said, “Here are your tickets back to Atlanta. I know that this is very short notice, but I feel it would be best if you got everything packed and caught the next bus to Meridian. It will come through Quitman just before 5:00 this afternoon. I don’t think it would be a good idea for Jordan Peltier to be turning Quitman upside down looking for, or worse, finding you before you leave. You will be exhausted by the time you get home, but I’ll send Foster a telegram and advise him when you are supposed to get there so that he can be waiting for you as soon as you arrive.”
Papa then retrieved his wallet from his hip pocket and pulled out two twenties and two ten-dollar bills and pressed them into her hand. “This should get you home. In no way, however, can it ever approach expressing how much we love and thank you for all this inconvenience, discomfort, and even embarrassment you have undergone throughout this ordeal.” He continued, “Your other uncle Glen will be here in a few minutes to help you to get everything together and take your bags over to the bus station. I might suggest that you wait and have dinner in Meridian as you will have a two hour layover until the connecting bus leaves for New Orleans. Glen and I will remove ourselves now and get back to Mama Hailes.”
He picked up a small tin of cookies on the lamp stand that he had brought with them from home and presented it to her. “Mama felt that these would keep you company along the way.”
Her eyes were reddened and glistening with her tears. She whispered, “Please thank and kiss her for me. Tell her I will write just as soon as I get settled back in Atlanta.”
Papa held back his own tears. He turned and nodded to Glen then they walked out quickly into the waning light, moving away from the town. He prayed for her safe return back to Foster and home.
The bus arrived on time. Callie had presented her passenger ticket to the agent and her other Uncle, Glen Adams, had brought the bags into the station consigning them through Meridian, New Orleans, and on to Atlanta. The station was empty when the bus arrived. There were no passengers on the bus, either.
Callie wearily climbed aboard, presented her ticket to the driver and walked to the back of the vehicle. After a short wait the bus began to move, and soon all was replaced by the blessing of sleep, at least until the conveyance pulled into the depot in Meridian. She disembarked and went into the station restaurant. She ordered coffee, two sunny side eggs, bacon with toast, and sat alone as her breakfast was prepared and served. She ate slowly, because she had just over an hour before the Greyhound was to depart.
After finishing her meal, she picked up the check and proceeded to exit the cafe giving the cashier the bill and one of Papa’s ten dollar bills. She returned to her table and placed a quarter gratuity beside her plate and purchased a “Meridian Star” newspaper. She went out into the main lobby of the waiting area.
She read a few lines from the front page then set the paper aside thinking about the events that led to her presence in that foreign place at that particular moment. She turned her attention back to the newspaper article. A few minutes later the public address system interrupted her reverie announcing the imminent departure of the Greyhound trip from bay four, the next portion of her ride from Mississippi en route to Atlanta. She walked out to the loading dock and verified that her things were being placed in the luggage compartment of the connecting bus then took her place in the short line of passengers that were already gathered in preparation of departure. She was glad that the driver appeared fresh and rested for the rather lengthy ride ahead. He accepted her ticket and helped her to climb up into the cabin, and then she walked back to a seat that was similar to the one that she had occupied in the previous bus from Quitman.
The engine of the bus started, and the driver backed out of the bay then swung out onto Tenth Street heading south. Callie felt much better after her breakfast and was lulled into sleep.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
VITICULTURE TO VERAISON
Papa had awakened just at daybreak the following morning after Callie’s departure. He wondered where she might be at that time and knew she must be very tired and weary. He got out of bed, washed and dressed then went to the barn. He saddled the red horse and climbed up, then maintained a gliding canter back to Quitman to the telegraph office. He did not tarry long in Quitman. His message to Foster was brief and terse:
Dear Brother,
CC departed here Thursday, July 7, 8:00 p.m. for Atlanta, via Meridian and New Orleans. Greyhound bus number 1028 scheduled arrival Atlanta Saturday, July 9, 4:20 a.m. Please confirm arrival by return telegram. All well, thanks to CC and you. Will put CC on steady if available in the fall as is terrific.
Love,
Papa
He handed the copy to the telegraph agent realizing that it was just sufficiently cryptic to prevent any information from being transmitted locally regarding the name or gender of the enigmatic CC. He filled out a cover sheet of pertinent information regarding himself as sender and the name and location of the recipient. The agent calculated the cost of the telegram and Papa paid the fee. Thereupon, the operator turned immediately to the telegraph key and began sending the notice. Papa stood at the telegrapher's desk listening to the rapid staccato of clicks and pauses that represented the transmission of the message and to assure the confirmation of its reception at the destination in Atlanta. There was a sudden cessation of the clicking noise, then silence. Papa said, “Did they get it?”
The operator said, “We’ll have to wait a minute or two for them to send notice back to us that the complete message has been received.”
After half a minute the telegraph machine began clicking the expected response confirming that it was indeed completely transmitted and that Foster would be notified. Papa smiled with satisfaction as he left the telegraph office. He had but only one more stop before going home to his vineyard. He mounted Buck and rode directly from the telegraph office located in the train depot over to the town square to see the President of the Commercial Bank of Quitman.
Jordan saw Papa and motioned him to come through the gate to his desk.
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As Papa took his seat before him Jordan said, “I want to thank all of you for my ride out to your place, for the inspection of the farm and woods, but most of all for that wonderful dinner that we enjoyed together. Please thank Mrs. Hailes again for her hospitality and Glen for his efforts on my behalf.”
Papa replied, “It is nearly 11:00 a.m., I have a little more business to do here and I expect to leave town across the south bridge about noontime. I’ll rest up there a bit if you can come out that way.”
Jordan responded, “I will break for lunch in half an hour. I would appreciate it if you would go by the livery stable and ask Pearlie Burleson to saddle up Chicago by twelve noon.”
Papa answered, “I’ll go by there first, then I’ll go over and pick up some ribs, beans, and a couple of cokes at the ‘Barbecue Box.’ We’ll have lunch on the river.”
Jordan ended the conversation by saying, “I’ll be there.”
There was little time left before the appointment was due for them to be at the planned assignation under the bridge. Papa helped Pearlie Burleson water and saddle Chicago.
As soon as that task was completed, he went to the little Rib Shack and filled his order, loaded up on Buck and rode out of town across the Chickasawhay River Bridge to the other side down to the river’s edge. Papa found a stand of pecan trees along the river bottom’s rich, black, moist soil and dismounted. He removed his saddle roll and spread it out on a smooth green area beside the water’s edge.
He saw Jordan sauntering along on Chicago, and Papa called up to him. “Come on down you already know how to get here.”
Jordan nodded and said, “This is a good location. It is on very short notice, and I don’t have a lot of time this afternoon. Why don’t we set up lunch and talk while we eat?”
Papa answered, pointing to a makeshift picnic spread on the ground with the food and drinks, dishes, and utensils set in places. “It’s ready right now. I put down a blanket and I always carry plates, cups, knives, forks and spoons just in case I am on the move.”
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