Argosy Junction

by Chautona Havig

  G’night Sparky,

  Lane who avoids the woolsey thank-you-very-much

  Matt read the email from the comfort of his own bed. This was going to be worth the five hundred dollars he’d spent on the used laptop, wireless router, and fifty bucks to his friend to set it all up. His mom thought he was crazy, but Matt had tossed around the idea of an online Bible course for two years, so no one was too surprised when he signed up for the course and bought a laptop. He just hoped he’d be able to keep up with the course and his new correspondence simultaneously.

  Matt hit the reply button and prepared to dash off a new email to Lane, his fingers picking and searching as he struggled to write quickly. He’d never been a fast typist, thanks to his dependency upon watching the keyboard for the next place his fingers should fall. He remembered Ms. Franklin in Computer Literacy class telling them to ignore the keys, and their fingers would learn to fly without conscious prompting. He’d never mastered it. Impatient to type quickly, he’d always kept an eye on where his fingers went. Now, Matt realized that he needed to force himself to keep his eyes on the screen only.

  Each word slowly appeared as he struggled to remember where to find each letter.

  To: lanesywoolsey@letterbox.com

  From: mattrushby@letterbox.com

  Subject: Young pup

  Dear Lane,

  Well who knew you were such a baby! At twenty-nine, I’ve got nearly ten years on you girl! As your elder, I rightfully assume my position as the “older and wiser one” and encourage you to continue your friendship with Rose, but read your correspondence in private and share whatever it is that you choose to share in general conversation.

  Now, don’t take that to mean that I’m upset you shared my letter. I used to get irritated at the girls at school who would flip out when they discovered their boyfriend shared their notes with the whole locker room. If you aren’t willing to have the world read it, you probably shouldn’t put it down on paper.

  Of course, that doesn’t limit letters to impersonal trivia about the weather or the news. Sometimes you have to risk baring a piece of your soul to the world in order to share it with someone you care about. Not that you want it shared, but that you’re willing to risk it because the other person is worth that risk.

  For example, how many personal letters do we have of famous people in history? They didn’t write them to be read by posterity, but we have them and treasure them now.

  I write to you on my newest acquisition. Thanks to your family’s generous accommodations when I was so ungraciously tossed from my Gideon digs, I saved a bundle on food and hotel/cabin rooms! I hope I didn’t offend you by not offering to pay. Somehow, it felt like I would offend if I did, but now that I share this, I’m not so sure. I’d still pay if I could and it would be worth every penny charged. Now I feel strange; I should have at least offered. How can offering be offensive? I feel dumb.

  Well, I’m taking an online class and have required posting to do on discussion threads, so I guess I’ll go. Looking forward to your next email, and I think it’s your turn for a letter.

  Scuttling from the inbox,

  Matt, the foot-stuffed mouth

  Seven

  “Oh! Look! Look at the picture Matt sent me! Isn’t it beautiful?” Patience shouted and squealed from the office.

  Martha came rushing to see what the commotion was, drying her hands on her apron as she did. Tad, resting up for another evening of mountain lion patrol, jumped instinctively from bed before he realized the shouts were good ones. He dragged himself down the hall and joined his family around the monitor to see what had Patience all in a dither.

  “Isn’t that beautiful?” Patience’s awed voice would have amused them if they hadn’t been equally entranced.

  At the top of Matt’s email to Patience was a picture of a wedding party. The bride was a lovely blonde in a wedding dress so exquisite that it seemed to belong in a fairy-tale. The groom wore a traditional tuxedo and was very dark, but didn’t look African-American. The rest of the wedding party was dressed in traditional Indian attire. The girls wore gaily-colored saris and the guys wore coordinating kurtas.

  Tad read over Patience’s shoulder,

  To: impatience@argosyranch.com

  From: mattrushby@letterbox.com

  Subject: Indian Princesses

  Dear Patience,

  Kaalai Vanakkam. I hope it is morning because that is the Tamil way to say the equivalent of “Good Morning!” If it is night, I should have said, maalai vaNakkam. Tamil is one of the languages spoken in India.

  I learned this from my friend Jay. Jay is the man in the photo up there. His real name is Sanjay and that woman with him is his wife, Hope. Jay was born in the southern provinces of India and moved to America when he was eight. He still can speak Tamil, and his parents visit India every few years. They are American citizens now, though.

  I was at that wedding, and I think you would have liked it. Hope and Jay went to India on their honeymoon, and Hope told me to tell you she has some leftover souvenirs that she will give me to send to you. If Hope makes a promise like that, she’ll be sure to keep it soon, so watch the mail!

  I dug around in Mom’s box of books from when she was a little girl and found a neat book called The Saturdays. I’ll send it with Hope’s things. I think you and Megan will enjoy it. The book is about four siblings who pool their allowance so they can have more money to do something special on Saturdays. They do all kinds of fun things that I think you’ll like to read about.

  Time for me to work on my homework. I am taking a class now too, so you’ll have to keep on me to do my work and do my best. You’re probably a very good student like that, and I need all the encouragement I can get. It’s been a long time since I’ve been in school!

  pOyittu varEn (the formal goodbye!)

  Matt

  Lane enjoyed the email, but anxiously awaited the opportunity to check for her own. She knew that if there was an email for Patience, there was likely one for her. Tad clicked the inbox and found Matt’s email to the family, and they all chuckled over the story he shared about a young boy caught stealing from a nearby convenience store. Lane still waited impatiently.

  Once Lane finally managed to steal a moment, she slipped online to check her letterbox account. Matt’s email was a welcome relief. She still felt silly admitting that she’d shared his letter. It seemed to say, “Don’t bother writing me again.”

  This email encouraged her. She dashed off a response and closed out the email before anyone caught her online. When her mother brought a sandwich in for lunch minutes later, she saw nothing but spreadsheets.

  ~*~*~*~

  “Hurry! Hurry! “Patience’s voice was as impatient as a voice could be. All could see that she itched to grab the box from Tad’s hands, rip the pocketknife from his pocket, and open it herself. Once he had the flaps free, Patience snatched the box from his grasp, and her hands dove into the depths, but Warren’s voice stopped her.

  “Patience.” There was no exclamation or impetus to his tone. Her name dropped from his tongue with no emotion whatsoever, but it had the desired effect.

  Eyes wide at the realization of what she’d done, they filled with tears of remorse. “Oh Tad, I’m sorry. Thank you for opening the box. Why don’t you see what’s inside?”

  Everyone stepped away from the box in protest. Warren knelt to eye level with his daughter and spoke in very low tones to her. “I am very proud of you. You can open your box.”

  With a quick hug for Tad and her father, Patience returned to her box, withdrew items one at a time, and passed them around the room. Matt’s friend had outdone herself. There was a book on India’s history and various cultures, postcards, currency and coins, an English to Tamil translation book, a long piece of fabric that Hope described as a sari, and a few enameled bangles.

  For the next hour, before Warren carted her to bed, Patience played with the coins, jingled the bangles on her wrists, and tried to make the
sari work. Eventually, she managed to drape it realistically around her tucking it into her pajama bottoms as she did, unknowing it was exactly how they are worn.

  Around midnight, a dejected Patience slipped into Tad’s room and tapped his shoulder. “Tad? Tad! Are you awake?”

  Voice groggy and heavy with sleep, Tad fought to open his eyes “What is it? Mountain lion?” He sat up expectantly.

  “No. I can’t sleep. I lied. I wasn’t sorry. I just wanted the box.”

  Tad adjusted his pillow and sat up against his headboard making room for Patience beside him. “I know you did, honey.”

  Her eyes flew to his, and he saw their surprise in the moonlight as it streamed through the window. “You do!” He looked into his little sister’s face until she dropped her eyes and studied her fingers. “I didn’t want to get in trouble. I thought Daddy might take the box away.”

  “He would have too.”

  A dejected sigh escaped. “I know. I’m sorry. I really am. I didn’t know it would feel this yucky.”

  “Then you’re forgiven. No more yuckies.”

  She shook her head. “I’m going to feel just as yucky when Daddy takes the box away tomorrow. I traded one yucky for another, and now I’m getting what I should have gotten in the first place. Being a kid stinks. You aren’t smart enough to be patient so that you don’t get in trouble.”

  Tad smoothed her hair and then undid one of her braids. The hair was sticking out all over it and matting. “You weren’t very careful when you braided your hair. You’ve already got knots. I’ll fix it. And Daddy isn’t going to take away your box, because Daddy isn’t going to know.”

  “I have to ask forgiveness. Daddy would be very angry.”

  All finished with the re-braiding, Tad pushed her out of bed and waited for her to look at him again. His look was kind and understanding—exactly what he knew would relax her. “You did ask my forgiveness. You asked for it earlier than you meant it, but you did ask then, and you are asking now. He wanted you to repent of bad behavior, and you have. That’s all that counts Patience. Repentance is all that counts. As he used to tell us, ‘go and sin no more,’ so just do that.”

  Later, when Tad shared the late night confession with his father, Warren laughed. He could just see the frustration and consternation on her face, and it was more than a little amusing.

  Then he hesitated, wondering if Tad was encouraging Patience to disregard her conscience, but Tad’s parting words reminded him that his son had her best interests at heart. “Don’t worry, Dad,” Tad had reassured, “Now that I’ve told you, I’ll let her know you know. She just needed to see that sometimes doing the right thing means you aren’t in even more trouble. I could see her trying it again later—she was so discouraged.”

  “Discouraged how?”

  “That no matter what she did, she was still going to be in trouble—that making it right just meant delayed punishment. Now that I’ve told you, I’ll tell her and she’ll realize that you understand how repentant she was…”

  “In other words,” Warren said nodding, “this was a reminder that even little girls need mercy from time to time or they get embittered—kind of like church members?”

  “Kind of.”

  ~*~*~*~

  Emails flew back and forth for a few weeks. Letters soared lazily across country in comparison, but the Argosys enjoyed the correspondence and the variety of it all. Patience wrote faithfully about her friends, the animals, her dreams, and mini-dramas. Lane still struggled with comfort in typing her thoughts but enjoyed the rapidity with which their correspondence could transpire.

  However, Lane’s favorite times were driving home from the Post Office, pulling into her favorite grove of trees, climbing to the top of the hill, and reading Matt’s letters as the sun slowly set over a pasture of grazing sheep. She always sat, her back leaning against a lone pine, and read about his struggles with his online class, his worries about his aunt’s health, and doubts about what to do with his life.

  One such afternoon in early June, Lane climbed to her favorite spot and settled in with Matt’s latest letter. This one was thicker than most, making her eagerly anticipate the contents as well as speculate as to the cause. She carefully tore a tiny strip from the edge of the right side of the envelope and slipped the letter from its wrapping.

  Dear Lane,

  I miss your laugh. I saw something the other day that I knew would amuse you, and I could just hear you laugh—almost. That was disappointing. Not the remembrance of your laugh, but when I couldn’t quite hear it in my mind. Three dogs chased a cat up a tree barking and snapping at the trunk. The cat sat up there hissing and batting the air like it would do any good. Eventually, the cat got tired of it or something, because it just jumped on the back of one of the dogs and dug in. That dog howled and raced down the street. The other dogs saw the cat and chased after the dog. They went around the block twice before disappearing somewhere. I have no idea where, but I heard that dog yelping for a long time.

  Anyway, as it happened, I laughed so hard that I had to wipe tears away from my eyes and that reminded me of you laughing about me trying to “shoo” sheep. You have such a beautiful laugh. I think Patience might get your voice. I hope so. There are too many high-pitched Betty Boop-sounding women in this world.

  My mom says I have Rocky Mountain Sheep Fever. I think she knows I left part of me back in Argosy Junction. Dad and I talked about what I want to do with my life; we’ve never done that before. People in my life rarely make plans for their futures; they just go along and maintain status quo.

  My father has always worked for the RUT (subway). He started as a maintenance operator and worked his way up to foreman. I trained in a skilled trade, and in our family, that’s big. I’m shift supervisor now, and in five more years, I’ll probably be up for a manager’s position if I want it.

  So why do I feel restless? Why can’t I be content? I was talking about that with my dad, and I told him that I think it’s because I saw another side of life in Montana that I’ve only ever seen in books. I am comfortable with my current life, but I don’t know if I’m satisfied with it anymore.

  Have you ever thought like this? At your age, I was still high from being out of high school and felt rich beyond my wildest dreams for making ten bucks an hour! Life here makes it so easy to get into a rat rut. I know they call it the rat race, but I think that’s for corporate people. The regular Joes like me just get into a rut. Get up, go to work, come home, eat, play some video games, go to bed. Repeat 5 days a week, hang with the guys on the weekend, and start it all over again on Monday.

  Most of the guys my age around here are married. Some have kids. I can’t imagine how I’d ever afford that. How can they afford an apartment, utilities, day care, and formula? I’d love to have a family, but will I ever feel ready for one?

  Everything seemed so much simpler in Montana—so much cleaner; not just really cleaner like the air and the streets, but cut and dried cleaner. I’m not making sense.

  So, I’ll just go back to my original statement. I miss your laughter, your family, and your little sister, but most of all I miss you.

  Alone while surrounded by two million people,

  Matt

  The letter fell to her lap. She didn’t understand everything he’d said. Oh, she understood the words and their context, but she actually didn’t have the right frame of reference to be able to comprehend how a man couldn’t know the direction of his life. The men in her life knew what they wanted and made a way to get it. Whether revamping the sheep operation by her father, her brother, Kyle’s, search for a wife in Southern California, Tad’s plans for raising border collies and horses, and even the little boys had ideas about how and where they wanted to expand the ranch.

  She pulled out her phone and punched her father’s quick dial number. “Dad, know that convention at the end of the month?” She grinned at her father’s response. “Oh thank you! Patience too?” Sliding her phone shut she grabbed th
e pad of paper and pen next to her and started writing.

  ~*~*~*~

  To: mattrushby@letterbox.com

  From: impatience@letterbox.com

  Subject: Movies

  Dear Matt,

  Guess what! I’m coming to Rockland to go to the movies with you! Daddy has a convention in Rockland, and he said that Lane and me can drive ahead of him, and he’ll ride back with us!

  I am so excited! We’re going to go to the movies and see the big skyscrapers. We’re going to eat at those outdoor places you told us about and see the gray place where you work. I can’t wait. We’re leaving in three days! We get to go through Helena and see the capital, and we’re going to Minneapolis and then down to Rockland from there. Lane says it will take four days because we’re not going to drive all day and just stop to sleep.

  I have to go pack. She said we need more than just jeans and jumpers for Rockland so there isn’t much to pack. We’ll buy new clothes when we get there.

  I have to go.

  Bye until we get there,

  Patience

  Matt exhaled suddenly and realized he’d been holding his breath. They were coming to his territory! Stifling the temptation to check for an email from Lane or Tad, he replied to her email and suggested all the fun things they could do from the zoo and aquarium, to a trip into little India.

  Finally, he finished and opened Lane’s latest email. Her email was full of information about hotel rooms, an itinerary, and a list of things about which she wanted his advice. Her final sentence made him smile. “I don’t expect to do even a fraction of these things. I just want your opinion of what we should do to fill the day while you’re working and what you’d enjoy and have time for when you’re not.”