Be It Ever So Humble

by Jenifer Jenkins

  Martha shook her head. “I sure can’t see that happening, sweetie. We may be a bunch of nosey gossips around here, but what happens in our town stays in our town. I don’t know anybody who’d do such a thing.”

  It just didn’t add up. “Well, then, how did those reporters find me? How did they know I was here? How did they know to look for me at the grocery store? How did they know all of my secrets?”

  “I don’t know.” Kenny frowned. “Old Bill at the store just called us, told us some reporters were outside his store harassing you and that we should come pick you up. He didn’t give us any other details.”

  Martha added, “John was with us when Bill called, and he drove right away to get you. We were all so worried.”

  Of course John had rushed to get me when he’d heard. He felt guilty.

  “They didn’t hurt you?” Kenny asked, a fiercely protective glint in his eyes.

  “No. I was just frightened and shocked.”

  “So were we,” Martha said. She had that glistening look again, and I didn’t think I could handle another display of emotions from the two of them.

  “Do you think they know I’m here at your house? Will they come after me?”

  Martha sighed. “I don’t know.”

  “Well, I do,” Kenny chuckled. “They’re long gone by now, I imagine. Old Bill at the store got rid of them good.”

  Martha perked up. “Oh? And how do you suppose he did that?”

  “He had several friends drive up in their pick-ups filled to the brim with manure,” Kenny laughed. “Stank up the place so bad that those without a desensitized constitution like ours couldn’t last a few hours, let alone days. Heard they were even threatening to ball it up like snowballs and throw. Cleared ’em out pretty quick after that.”

  Martha gasped. “Well, I don’t like that at all. It makes our town look bad running people out with manure.”

  “But they won’t make the mistake of coming back. You have to admit it’s kind of funny, darlin’.”

  She pursed her lips, trying not to laugh along. “I don’t have to admit anything.”

  “Actually, it is kind of funny,” I chuckled for the first time since John had brought me home. After my great “trajesty” in the fields, who would’ve guessed I’d be so thankful for animal poo? It seemed to be some sort of poetic justice. “But do you think they’ll come back? Or look for me here?”

  “Folks in this town know how to protect ours. Like Martha said, we may have loose lips amongst each other at times, but we tighten up when strangers come in,” Kenny reassured me. “Besides, you of all people should know there’s always a new story to chase.”

  “Huh.” I pondered that. I wanted to believe it was enough to keep them away.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  “Do you want to go downstairs with me and check on your soaps?” Martha asked a few days later.

  I nearly jumped from the couch at the suggestion. Crossword puzzles with Kenny had been my only pastime since my most recent grocery store ordeal. Most people wouldn’t know the joy of experiencing just one nervous breakdown in a grocery store, and I’d had two. It turned out crossword puzzles weren’t distracting enough for me. I couldn’t keep my mind off of John when solving clues like four-letter first name of the actor known as The Duke or four-letter name that also describes a toilet. Okay, I made up that last one. It was rather fitting, though, considering the way I felt about John at the time. His absence since my unmasking seemed proof enough of his guilt. If he were innocent, he’d be working hard to prove it to me, right? Why couldn’t he just prove me wrong? I hoped the soothing scents of the soaps would replenish me and quiet my mind.

  Martha and I headed into the basement, and she took me to the soap-curing shelf. My soaps were sitting in a wooden box with a towel draped over them. We took the box and placed it on the table. For some reason, I was nervous to see them. After all that work and all this time, what if they didn’t turn out right? I didn’t know if I could handle any more disappointments.

  “Do you want to do the honors?” Martha motioned toward the towel.

  I nodded and slowly drew it back, revealing the most beautiful, fragrant soaps I’d ever seen. Okay, I was biased. Amazement filled me as I thought of all the work I’d literally poured into them. I had never been so proud of something I’d made with my own hands.

  “We can cut them out now. They’ll still have to set for at least a month, though.”

  “But that’s so long,” I whined.

  Martha smiled. “What is that saying about patience? I guess there are plenty of ’em. ‘Good things come to those who wait.’ ‘Patience is a virtue.’ ‘Love is patience.’”

  Why’d she have to mention the L-word? I was trying not to let my thoughts wander to John. “I think it’s ‘love is patient,’” I corrected her.

  “So it is.” Her eyes sparkled in that knowing way they sometimes did. I knew she was thinking about my relationship with John, too.

  Was that a setup? What was she getting at? I wondered if she was implying that John was being patient because he hadn’t come around since I told him I never wanted to see him again. Was that Martha’s way of meddling in my love life? Or was I reading too much into things once again? Maybe she was just talking about soap.

  “In the meantime,” she changed the subject, “we could start a new batch if you’d like. What’s a four-letter word for the kind of milk we need to get started?” She winked.

  “Goat,” I chuckled and headed to the freezer. She must have been as sick of crosswords as I was. We assembled our soap-making implements in comfortable silence. My recollection of the equipment and measurements needed for the task surprised me. “Can we try something different today?”

  “Of course,” Martha said in a singsong voice. “What do you have in mind?”

  I looked through her oils, fragrances, and dyes until I had a plan. “I want to make a soap that looks and smells like a Creamsicle.”

  “Orange and vanilla! I like that,” Martha cheered.

  I strummed my fingers on the table. “Do you happen to have any Popsicle sticks?”

  “I know where you’re going with that, and I love the idea,” she exclaimed, “but, no, I don’t have anything like that.”

  “That’s okay. I figured it was a long shot.”

  “Why don’t we make a batch in a circle mold—like an orange? We can create a delicate orange and white swirl. We’ll test out the recipe to make sure we like the amounts we use, and after we have it perfected, we’ll have some Popsicle sticks handy. And by that, I mean we’ll go to the store and buy a bunch of Popsicles to eat.”

  “Good plan.” I put my hand up for a high five. Martha was confused at first; then, when she realized what I was doing, she got so excited she missed my hand. It was endearing, and we both giggled.

  Then we got to work concocting what I was sure would be my first true soap masterpiece—a soapsterpiece. It was fun coming up with different scent and color combinations. I tried to think outside the box: cranberry and lime soaps shaped like tiny cosmopolitan glasses, root beer soaps in the shape of soda bottles, and so many more. The combination options were limitless.

  “I’m surprised you don’t just spend the whole day doing this,” I mused.

  “I sure do enjoy it, but I’ve got other things to do. You can’t pay bills with soap.”

  I stopped my work as I thought about that. “But what if you could?”

  “What?” Martha scrunched her eyebrows together.

  “What if you could pay the bills with these soaps?” An idea was materializing in my mind. It had been somewhere in the back of my brain the first time Martha and I had made them. “Why don’t you sell these?” I gestured around the room to all of the soaps and soon-to-be soaps on the shelves and countertops.

  She gave me a look that told me she thought I was razzing her and waved a hand in dismissal. “Hand me that spatula, would you?”

  “I’m serious,” I protested a
nd withheld the spatula so that she would have to listen to me. “What if you and I made soaps and tried to sell them? We could go to events or try one of those online marketplaces. You’ve already got people you give the soaps to. Maybe they’d pay to have them whenever they wanted.”

  “This is just a hobby, Sissy.”

  “But it could be both,” I insisted. “If you changed the way this place runs—I mean the entire farm—you could use the goat’s milk or even cow’s milk to make soap.”

  Listening to myself say these things was ironic. Not long ago, I’d been disgusted at the thought of bathing in milk. Now I was coming up with more ways to do it. “That could be the main focus. Kenny wouldn’t have to work so hard on the farm trying to churn out milk to sell, or whatever it is he makes his money from.” Even after working on the farm, I didn’t know what Kenny did to pay the bills. “You and I could do the work here. It would be great for everyone. I could contribute more; Kenny could contribute less. Eventually, I can do the work by myself if you want, once I’m sure I know what I’m doing. This could be a solution to your problems.” Honestly, I was making a lot of assumptions based on things Kenny, Martha, and John had said. It didn’t sound like the business was doing well. They were struggling, and things were going to have to change around here sooner rather than later.

  Martha’s expression told me she was intrigued but not entirely convinced. “Maybe we could try to rent a booth at the next fair to see how people would respond.”

  “I’ll take it!” I jumped and shook my clenched fists like a cheerleader without her pompoms.

  “If I’d realized you’d be this excited about soap, I’d’ve introduced you to it the moment you got here.” Martha’s face was glowing, and her smile touched both ears. “I’m just glad you have a reason to want to be here. You know you can stay as long as you’d like. If you want to start a soap business, well, that’ll mean staying for... a while. Kenneth and I would be tickled to pieces if you decided to stay forever.” She took me in a tight embrace, squeezing so hard that a big puff of air flew out on impact.

  I hadn’t realized the implications of my idea. I was offering to run a business for them in a sense. That was a commitment to staying indefinitely. “I don’t have anywhere else to go,” I said, trying to downplay my feelings. “And,” I hesitated, uncertain I was ready to admit it to her yet, “I like it here. There. I said it. I like being here.”

  She squeezed me again. “I’m so glad to hear it. Ken’ll be glad to hear it, too. You’ll tell him, won’t you? It will be more meaningful coming from you.” There was almost desperation in her voice, like she thought my acceptance of this place would heal all of Kenny’s ailments.

  “Sure. I’ll tell him.”

  Martha was an absolute chatterbox after that. It was charming, though a bit exhausting. She prattled on about growing up in this town and how things had changed there in her lifetime. I listened, charmed by her anecdotes, as we poured our soap mixture into two bowls, dropping orange food coloring into one and leaving the other plain. Then we swirled the colors into the round molds. I could have eaten the soaps. They smelled so good. When I was a kid, I longed to buy a Creamsicle at the ice cream truck like other kids. My mom would never let me. She said a real orange was healthier, and we didn’t know if the nasty man in the truck had poisoned the merchandise. I had never actually eaten a Creamsicle. The closest I’d ever come to it was drinking orange-vanilla flavored water, and it was probably nowhere near as delicious.

  In a way, the Creamsicle soap represented a new chapter in my life. I was out of my mother’s grasp, making my own decisions now. I could do anything I wanted.

  We finished up and set our soaps in the refrigerator. Tomorrow they would go on the setting shelf. Maybe we would try my cranberry-lime concoction then.

  I sighed as we stepped back from the table after cleaning our mess. “Thank you, Martha.” I hugged her this time.

  She didn’t squeeze me as tight. I think because she was in shock. “Oh. What for, sweetheart?”

  “I don’t know. For everything? For letting me stay with you, for taking care of me, for the car you won’t let me drive, for spending time with me... Just thank you.” I would not cry. I refused. Even though my eyes were getting cloudy, I bit my lip and willed those tears to retreat back into their ducts.

  “You’re welcome,” she cooed and squeezed my hand. I could see she was struggling to contain her emotions, too. “Now, let’s get upstairs. I’m going to make some chili for dinner. I’ve got a special recipe that doesn’t have any meat.” She seemed proud of herself for that.

  “Sounds delightful,” I reassured her as I followed her up the stairs. She opened the door, took a few steps, and came to an abrupt stop. I almost slammed into her before realizing what was happening. I tried to peer past her, but it was almost as if she was shielding me. I could see Kenny standing with the front door cracked open. He was speaking in hushed tones.

  “What are you doing here?” Kenny hissed.

  “Do you think they found me?” I whispered. Martha reached back to squeeze my hand but said nothing, taking in the scene. Her protective stance in front of me seemed so maternal. I wondered briefly why she and Kenny had never had kids. Martha would have been an excellent mother.

  I heard Kenny mutter a few more words under his breath, but I couldn’t make them out.

  “What do you mean, ‘What am I doing here,’ Kenneth? She’s my daughter, and I want to see her.” My mother’s velvety voice floated down the hall. On the surface, it was sweet and calm, but underneath it was stern, commanding... intimidating. She used it when she needed to get her way.

  “Mom?” I sidestepped Martha and strode down the hallway.

  “My baby!” She threw her arms open and entered the house, closing the distance between us. Her hug wasn’t the tight squeeze Aunt Martha had given. My mom was more of a tapper. She simply placed her hands on my shoulders and tapped twice. That was her idea of an embrace.

  “What are you doing here?” I asked, too surprised to say anything else.

  “And that’s how you greet your mother who came all this way to see her precious baby?” She sure was laying it on thick.

  Kenny crossed his arms over his chest. “It’s a valid question, Leanne. What are you doing here?”

  She looked from Kenny, to me, then back to Kenny. “I wanted to see my baby girl. She is my daughter, you know, and I missed her.”

  Kenny grunted. He didn’t appear too pleased that my mom was there. That was odd.

  “Chastity,” my mother gushed, “let’s go outside. We’ll have a nice long chat and catch up.” She wrapped an arm around my shoulder and steered me toward the front door.

  “That’s a great idea,” Kenny said. “Chastity, why don’t you take your mother for a walk on that path you found when you first got here? I think she would find that very interesting.” He winked, and I smiled apologetically as my mother led me away.

  Did he mean I should take her back to the pastures where the neighbors’ horses did their business? That was the only path I could think of, and that ended in a smelly, disgusting disaster. Was that like a brother thing? He wanted to pick on his sister? It was sort of a weird exchange, but I didn’t have time to think about it too long.

  “Mom, seriously, what are you doing here?”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  I started leading my mother down the front path, but she stopped me. “Sweetheart, why don’t we sit in my car and talk? I feel like I’m being eaten alive by mosquitos out here, and it’s so humid.” She fanned herself theatrically with her hands. The comparison between her initial reaction to this place and mine would have been humorous if I wasn’t so confused by her presence.

  “That’s fine.”

  We got into the car, and she immediately turned it on. My mom turned the air conditioning dial to full blast and pointed her vents directly in her face. She gave me a look like she expected me to do the same with my vents, so I pointed them bot
h at her. She acknowledged my courtesy with a quick nod. “Isn’t this rental car nice? Much nicer than I would’ve expected to find around here.”

  It was some sort of sporty red thing that only seated two people, and it was loaded. I wasn’t a car expert, but I knew when a car was fancy and expensive. It probably got terrible gas mileage, though. I was getting distracted. “What are you doing here, mom?”

  She reached into the back seat. “I brought you a present.” Then she handed me a small box wrapped too well for her to have done it herself. “Open it!” I did as she commanded, but before I saw what was in the box, she blurted, “It’s the newest iPhone!” Grabbing the phone from the box, she pressed the home button. “I had all of your contacts plugged in and added some cute pictures. Don’t you love that one?” Adorning the home screen was a picture of my mother and me, all smiles at the last Emmy awards.

  “Wow,” I responded as I took the phone back to get a closer look. “This is really great, Mom. Thank you.”

  “Chastity,” she murmured, reaching to hug me. The hug was awkward with the large compartment between our seats. I tried to hug back, but all I could manage was a hand on one of her shoulders. “Baby, I came as soon as I heard. I guess we were foolish to think you could hide out forever.”

  I frowned. “I guess we were.”

  “But if there’s a silver lining in all of this, it’s that you can come home now.” She squeezed my shoulders tightly. “Now that everything’s out in the open, there’s no reason to hide. You don’t look so sad anymore. You look healthy. A little too healthy if you ask me. But don’t you worry about that. We’ll get you a trainer and a dietician, and you’ll be back to normal in no time. You’ll be a hero. Everyone will be in awe of your courage to keep fighting. So, you see, this is a good thing.”

  I was stunned. How could she find any good in this situation? “But, Mother, they know everything,” I whispered.

  “Well, it was bound to come out sooner or later.” She tossed a hand in the air and opened the mirror on the driver’s side visor. Studying her reflection, she continued, “I mean, people talk. I couldn’t pay off everyone in that hospital after your... mishap. And as far as the rest, well, I’m sure you’re not the only girl that old geezer got too cozy with on set. Someone was bound to talk. You would have had to say something eventually. It’s better that you were the one to expose him. Honestly, I don’t know why I hadn’t thought of it before. I always thought it would be bad for your career, but it could actually be great. You have a past now. You’re a victim, relatable. People love that kind of thing.”