“Mr. Pennyfeather, I think the bad grammar sounds a little fake at this point,” Titan said.
“I’ll make a deal with you,” Pappy said. “You never, ever refer to me as Mr. Pennyfeather and I’ll give up the coy grammar.”
“Sounds fair.”
“At first, I just shooed her away. Buzzards throw up on you as a defense, so I wasn’t exactly going to ask her to dance. But I knew she wouldn’t live long out here with that wing. I tried to catch her. But even on the ground, she was too fast for me.”
“So what happened?”
“One day, I was sitting on a bench on the boardwalk, and she just showed up. Used to hang around Fat Chance, which was fine with me. If anybody happened by, they’d hightail it out of there when they got a look at her. Of course, by that time, I could see that besides the broken wing, she was missing an eye.”
“Was she your pet, then?”
“No,” Pappy said. “She never came near me. She never came near anybody till you showed up. She might be ugly, but she’s a good judge of character.”
“Where’d you say you first saw her?”
“Right over there in that rotten log,” Pappy said, pointing uphill. “Of course, it wasn’t quite that rotted back then, but I’ll never forget it.”
Titan stood up and started walking toward the log. Pappy watched him, grateful that for now, at least, they had moved on. As Titan scrambled up the slope, two young birds flew into the sky in front of him. Titan turned back to Pappy with a smile.
“Looks like the buzzards are still using this place as a breeding ground,” Titan said.
“Buzzards are weird birds,” Pappy said. “They make their nests on the ground instead of in trees. The parents stay with their offspring for two or three months and then the babies just . . . fly away. Like those two!”
Pappy and Titan watched the baby birds fly toward the trees.
“I hope mama bird was ready to have them fly the coop,” Titan said. “I’d hate for her to be mad at me. Not in the mood to be thrown up on by a buzzard.”
“Those birds were strong and ready to take off,” Pappy said, squinting into the sun as the birds disappeared. “I think you’re safe.”
“Maybe that’s a sign,” Titan said. “Of a new beginning.”
Chapter 38
Breakfast got started early. Fernando knew that even though everyone was exhausted from the giant’s visit, no one would get much sleep waiting on Pappy, Titan, and Jeffries. His heart ached when he realized he’d never have to sound the dinner triangle again to call Dymphna, Professor Johnson, and Thud from up on the hill or Titan from the forge.
Never say never.
Jeffries was the first into the café, limping and leaning on a piece of wood he was using as a walking stick. Fernando helped him off with his shoe and was examining his ankle when Polly came bounding in.
“I saw Jeffries from my window,” Polly said to Fernando.
She was breathless, having obviously run from the inn.
“Want me to take a look at that foot?” she asked Jeffries, nudging Fernando aside.
“Do you have any medical training?” Jeffries asked, after getting a look of alarm from Fernando.
“No,” Polly said. “But I might be working on a wagon train soon and I need the practice.”
She realized this was the first time she’d said those words and meant it. She glanced quickly at Fernando, who looked pensive.
“It might not make sense for any of us to stay here,” she said quietly.
“I’m not ready to face that,” Fernando said. “But you might be right.”
Professor Johnson and Dymphna walked through the archway that connected the café to the Boozehound.
“I forgot you were staying in town,” Fernando said. “I guess I’ll have to get used to that.”
Professor Johnson and Dymphna both realized this was a perfect opening to mention their future plans, but neither did. Instead, Professor Johnson said, “How are the grapes doing?”
Dymphna’s mouth tightened.
“As far as I can tell, we lost about a third,” Fernando said. “We’ll have to get a more accurate count, of course, but I think that’s going to be what we find. We’ll have to scale back, but we can still move forward, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“It is,” Professor Johnson said.
“I’m surprised you didn’t already check,” Fernando said.
“I’ve had my hands full trying to figure out what to do about Dymphna’s farmhouse,” he said.
As soon as they smelled biscuits being baked and coffee being brewed, most of the townspeople straggled to the center table. Maggie was pacing Main Street, trying to find a cell phone signal.
It was still two hours before the café actually opened, but they knew they were welcome and they needed to be together. It had been a long night.
Jeffries told and retold how he twisted his ankle and how Pappy had set out to find Titan. A sigh of relief went up. Pappy might be a deceitful charlatan, but he was still Pappy, and the best scout in the area.
Pappy and Titan walked through the door, ridiculous grins on their faces. Cleo, being younger, beat Old Bertha to the punch of being the first to hug Pappy, and Dymphna was the first to hug Titan. No one was pretending that life was going to be the same, but at least everyone made it through the night.
“Quiet! Quiet!” Pappy bawled.
The group went silent.
“Titan found something he’d like y’all to see,” Pappy said.
Titan, still grinning, opened the door as wide as he could.
Fancy limped in, giving them all her one-eyed squint. Amid cries of surprise, Thud was on his feet in a heartbeat. He charged. Fancy let out a loud squawk and scurried out as Titan caught Thud by the collar. The joy everyone was feeling disintegrated as they realized Fancy was heading for the forge.
“I’ll be right back,” Titan said to the group.
Titan gave Thud a hard stare as he let go of his collar and the dog sat down.
As he took off after Fancy, the group crowded around the window. Titan and Fancy walked slowly down still-sodden Main Street to the flattened forge, passing Maggie on the way. Maggie jumped out of the way when she saw Fancy, but still punched at her cell phone screen.
Rocket was standing sentry by the Cinderella coach.
“The coach,” Erinn breathed. “Titan built the coach for Fancy.”
Titan swept a few pieces of wood out of Fancy’s path. He bowed as the bird crab-walked up the three shallow steps and disappeared inside.
“Hope she likes it,” Powderkeg said.
“It’s actually very comfortable.” Old Bertha sniffed, glad to be an authority on something.
Once Fancy was installed in her coach, the inhabitants of Fat Chance watched as Titan picked his way back to Main Street. He stopped and studied the ground for a minute. He heaved a chunk of metal out of the way and pulled out a large, wet mass of brown and tan fabric.
“My quilt!” Old Bertha cried. “He found my quilt!”
As Titan approached, the group hurried back to their seats but kept their eyes on the window, watching as Titan snapped the leather and canvas quilt in the breeze, sending even more mud flying.
“I just washed those windows,” Fernando complained. At Bertha’s look, he went silent.
Titan returned to the café. The townspeople made a fuss over Old Bertha’s quilt, praising her for her insight of using leather and canvas. No ordinary cotton quilt would ever have survived.
“What is this?” Pappy said, studying the lump.
“It was going to be a quilt for you.” Old Bertha blushed. “I know it’s kind of crazy.”
“Actually,” Pappy said, standing up and letting the quilt roll out to its full length, “if you could make it a little longer, this would be an impressive new top for the Covered Volkswagen.”
Old Bertha beamed. The hard questions no one knew how to ask about Pappy or about the future of the town
were set aside while Titan recounted finding Fancy. He told them about stumbling upon the nest just as the baby birds were taking flight.
“All of a sudden, I heard Pappy give a low whistle and say ‘holy f—’” He turned to Pappy, in apology for busting him. “Pappy said the f-word.”
The group looked reproachfully at Pappy. Everyone knew Titan didn’t like swearing.
“Go on,” Pappy said in his authoritative, gravelly voice.
“I looked down at the log and there she was,” Titan said, a quaver in his voice. “She only left to have some babies!”
“That daddy buzzard must have been drunk,” Powderkeg said, shaking his head. “I forgot how nasty-looking that old girl is.”
As the coffeepot was emptied, the fate of the town hung in the air.
“I have some clothes you can borrow,” Polly whispered to Dymphna. “Everything will be too long, but I can hem stuff.”
Dymphna nodded, afraid of grateful tears if she tried to speak. She looked out the café window at her sister, still marching up and down Main Street. Maggie’s clothes would fit her perfectly, but it seemed obvious to everyone that Maggie was not going to lend a helping hand.
Professor Johnson stood up. Everyone quieted down.
“We have so much to be grateful for,” Professor Johnson said. “But we have to make some decisions. Some can wait, but some have to be addressed immediately.”
“Like what?”
“Well, Main Street, for one.”
A unified moan escaped the group. Professor Johnson rapped his knuckles on the table.
“We need to rebuild,” Professor Johnson said, carefully avoiding Dymphna’s eyes. “I mean, if enough of us decide to stay, we’re going to have to have supplies delivered and Main Street is almost gone. In case you haven’t noticed, there’s an inch-thick covering of mud on everything—and most of that mud came from Main Street.”
“He has a point,” Fernando said, surprising everyone with his about-face. Fernando had been the strongest opponent to paving the street.
“Hey,” Fernando said, indignantly, “I can admit when I’m wrong.”
“He has a point, if enough of us stay here,” Old Bertha said. She turned with huge, scared eyes to Pappy. “We are staying, aren’t we?”
“That’s up to this young lady,” Pappy said, indicating Erinn.
Erinn realized the masterful move on Pappy’s part. She looked at Wesley, who looked as expectant as the rest of the table. She was saved from having to answer as Maggie barged in.
“I have some good news,” Maggie chirped. “Dodge says to tell you the paint came in right before the storm hit. Spoonerville is fine and there’s minimal damage to the ranch. He’ll bring the paint over as soon as he can. I told him Main Street was a mess, but he says his truck can handle it.”
“Why were you talking to Dodge?” Cleo asked.
No one in Fat Chance liked Dodge Durham, but for Cleo, he was Public Enemy #1—at least in Texas.
Maggie ignored the question as she plopped down in a chair. In contrast to everyone else, who looked haggard and pale, Maggie was practically glowing.
“I guess I’ll ask the question everyone is thinking,” Professor Johnson said. “What paint?”
Maggie just shrugged as she reached for a biscuit.
“I can explain,” Dymphna said. She looked imploringly at Professor Johnson. “I thought the grapes and Main Street had become hot-button issues and I just . . . well . . . Titan and I just thought a group project might unify us.”
“So you bought paint?” Cleo asked incredulously.
“Whitewash,” Dymphna said, hanging her head. “It seemed a good idea at the time.”
“It’s brilliant!” Powderkeg bellowed. “Let’s face it, once we scrape the mud off these buildings, they’re going to need a coat of paint.”
“And who’s going to paint them?” Cleo asked.
“My point exactly,” Professor Johnson said. “But that’s the question: Who’s staying?”
There was a painful silence at the table.
“All right,” Professor Johnson said. “We’ll take this one at a time. Fernando?”
“I’m staying,” he said simply.
“Titan?” Professor Johnson asked.
Titan and Jeffries were looking at each other. Jeffries gave a nod so brief, Professor Johnson wasn’t sure he’d seen it.
But Titan had. He took Jeffries’s hand.
“We’re staying.”
“Powderkeg? Auntie?” Professor Johnson turned toward them.
“We’re staying,” Powderkeg said at the same time Cleo said, “We’re not staying.”
“You can’t be serious,” Cleo said to Powderkeg. “The town has always been a wreck and now it’s a disaster! Why would you want to stay here?”
“I belong here,” Powderkeg said simply. “My shop is still here and I have orders to fill that will take me through next year.”
“But this place is regularly hit by tornadoes,” Cleo said.
“Says the woman who lives in a desert prone to earthquakes,” Powderkeg said. “And, until now, there hasn’t been a tornado here in eighty years.”
“So, you’re planning on staying here and rebuilding, is that what you’re saying?”
“That’s about right,” Powderkeg said.
“You’d be crazy to start all this again,” she said.
“Tell that to the people of New Orleans,” Powderkeg said.
“Don’t get me started on New Orleans,” Cleo said.
“Cleo, honey, every time you go back to Los Angeles, you find a reason to come back here,” he said. “Doesn’t that tell you something?”
“Yes,” Cleo said, forgetting that she was sitting with a group of people. She put her hand over his weathered one and continued. “I keep coming back for you.”
“And I’m always right here.”
Polly let out a small sniffle and wiped at a tear running down her cheek. Fernando glared at her. This was good stuff, but the group had silently determined to pretend they weren’t privy to the intimacy of the moment.
“What would I do here?” Cleo asked dramatically, sweeping her arms wide. “Fernando has made more of a success with his dismal cowboy food than I ever did with my French cooking.” She blinked at the group, as if surprised to find them all there, and added, “No insult intended, Fernando.”
“None taken,” Fernando said, heaving a sigh of relief that she wasn’t going to demand the café back.
“Auntie,” Professor Johnson said. “If I may be so bold, you’ve got more money than God, and we could use an investment in the vineyard. You know wine and you must know people in the wine business.”
“Don’t be obtuse, Elwood,” Cleo said. “Of course I know people in the wine business.”
“You could be the face of Fat Chance wines and get it into prestigious wine competitions that we’d never get into otherwise. We need to win some medals.”
“Wait a minute,” Fernando said, trying to keep the excitement out of his voice. “You mean . . .”
“The logical thing would still be to go about this my way and create a reliable wine that would have a steady client base,” Professor Johnson said. “But when that tornado was tearing our lives to shreds, it made me think. Did I really want my epitaph to be ‘Here lies a man who made dependable wine’? That’s not who I want to be.”
Cheers erupted from the table.
“I can’t promise I’ll stay,” Cleo said to Powderkeg. “But I’ll take on the winery.”
“We’ll take it one day at time,” Powderkeg said.
Professor Johnson moved on with his questioning. “Polly?”
“I don’t know,” Polly said. “I love everyone here, but I’m only twenty-four. Part of me wants to stay, part of me wants to go. Poet wants me to go to Nebraska with him and Lucinda in Galveston wants me to move there and take over her shop.”
“OK,” Professor Johnson said. “So . . . we’ll put you down as
a ‘maybe’?”
Polly nodded as she and Old Bertha both started crying.
“Pappy?” Professor Johnson said. “That brings us back to you.”
“Same answer as before,” Pappy said. “It’s up to Erinn . . . and Wesley.”
“It has nothing to do with me,” Wesley said. “You haven’t broken any laws and nobody is looking for you. I’m happy to go back to Los Angeles and pretend this never happened.”
All eyes turned to Erinn. She gripped her camera to her chest, as if protecting her baby from a pack of wolves.
“You must understand this is a big story,” Erinn said. “One of the biggest.”
No one spoke.
“Even with all the footage I lost . . .” Erinn began.
Old Bertha leaned in to explain to Titan, “Because there were no clouds.”
“I could make my reputation with this,” Erinn said, looking around imploringly. “But,” she said as she put her camera on the table, “Professor Johnson is right. Do I want my legacy to be the woman who ruined the lives of the most interesting, courageous group of people she ever met?”
“I’m hoping the answer to that is no,” Pappy said quietly.
“The answer is no.” Erinn sighed, opening her camera and pulling out the tiny memory chip. She put it on the table. “I’m going to close my eyes, and maybe the rest of my footage will disappear. I don’t have the fortitude to destroy it myself, but if it should happen to disappear in the next few seconds, I won’t have a story.”
She closed her eyes. When she opened them, the chip was gone.
“Thank you,” Old Bertha whispered without looking at Erinn.
“We’re staying,” Pappy said, his verve returning. “Bertha and I are staying. I’m getting old and might retire as mayor, but we’re staying.”
“You can’t retire,” Professor Johnson said.
“Why, Professor Johnson, I didn’t know you cared,” Pappy said.
“You can’t retire because you are not the mayor!” Professor Johnson said.
“You’re a consistent fellow, I’ll give you that,” Pappy said with a smirk.
“You haven’t asked me if I’m staying,” Dymphna said so quietly no one but Professor Johnson heard her.
Livin' Large in Fat Chance, Texas Page 24