by Ashton Lee
He managed a genuine smile, and she was pleased that she had coaxed it out of him.
“You promise?” he said.
She started talking out of the side of her mouth, sounding like a character from an old black-and-white gangster movie. “You just stick with Becca Broccoli, kiddo, and you’ll be in high cotton!”
“The profession is just nothing like it was when I first started teaching way back when,” Miss Voncille was saying, clucking her tongue. She and Maura Beth were enjoying coffee and her famous biscuits with green pepper jelly in her bright yellow breakfast nook. “We were dedicated to our craft when I was coming along. Until I fell in love with Frank Gibbons, there was nothing else in the world I thought I would rather do than teach history. At least I can say I had that to fall back on when my personal life didn’t work out the way I wanted.”
Maura Beth drained the last of her coffee and gestured broadly. “All the book club members you taught swear by you.”
Miss Voncille leaned in with an air of confidentiality. “As well they should. Although Durden Sparks probably doesn’t. He was the most conceited boy I ever taught. He never wanted others to win or be the best at anything. Oh, no—that was his exclusive bailiwick. And he’s just carried that conceit into adulthood. Of course, I’ll admit it. With those looks, he should have gone to Hollywood and gotten his name in lights as a leading man. But as for me, there’s nothing phonier than false modesty, so I’ll take full credit for at least a smidgen of the success all my pupils have enjoyed.”
“My friend Jeremy McShay feels the same way you did about teaching,” Maura Beth said, artfully switching the focus of their conversation. “It’s a special mission to him. We all saw that demonstrated when he brought those bright students of his down with him from Nashville for the To Kill a Mockingbird review. Why, the poem that Burke Williams recited for us nearly had me in tears!”
Never slow on the uptake, Miss Voncille raised an eyebrow smartly as she split open another biscuit and slathered both halves with butter and green pepper jelly. “So I gather Mr. McShay is the reason for this little get-together of ours you requested. Over the phone you said it had something to do with teaching, but I’m guessing there’s a little something more involved here.” Then she pointed to the biscuit she had just fixed up so expertly. “How about I take the bottom and you take the top?”
“No, thank you, really I couldn’t. The two I’ve already had are more than enough. But you’re correct about Jeremy. He and I have become an item, at least in our own minds.”
“That’s a very clever way of describing it,” Miss Voncille said, touching a finger to her temple. “You both have to get to the same place at the same time, and that’s not always the easiest thing to pull off. Locke and I are working on that right now. Well, to tell the truth, I’m doing most of the work. I’m slowly letting it dawn on him that he simply has to marry me. I’ve been pulling out all the stops.”
Maura Beth laughed, raising her coffee cup in tribute. “Good for you. Is he almost there?”
“Almost, but I’ve still got to close the deal.”
“Don’t let him get away, now,” Maura Beth added with a wink. “Meanwhile, I have something you might be able to help me with regarding Jeremy. He’s thinking about giving up his teaching position in Nashville and trying to get one down here in Cherico—or at least reasonably near. Do you still stay in touch with your contacts at Cherico High?”
Miss Voncille’s sigh was accompanied by a distinct sadness around her eyes. “It’s getting harder and harder. Many of the friends I started out with have died, and others have retired and moved away. But I still keep in touch with a couple. Mainly, Johnnie-Dell Crews. She’s a few years younger than I am, but this may be her last year.” Miss Voncille began counting on her fingers but soon threw her hands up.
“Oh, I forget how long she has to go. Of course, she doesn’t realize it yet, but she’s not going to know what to do with herself. She’ll miss telling people what to do all day. She won’t be able to grade them anymore, and there’s so much behavior out there today that desperately needs grading. If it were up to me, I’d flunk most people for their appearance in public alone. The way they dress, the careless language they use. I’m honest enough to admit that I missed all the regimentation of dividing the day into neat little periods of activity. Spontaneity? I had no use for it. Fortunately, my interest in genealogy saved me. My brain just lapped up all those deeds and records and such.” She gave a little gasp as she noticed Maura Beth’s empty cup. “More coffee?”
Maura Beth nodded and waited for the refill before she spoke. “About Mrs. Crews. Would she be in a position to know about any openings?”
Miss Voncille’s reaction was emphatic. “Indeed, she would. She knows as much about Cherico High as I do about the history of Cherico. You should hear how she goes on and on about the young teachers nowadays. But she’s right, you know. These sweet-talking young things out of college aren’t looking for a career like Johnnie-Dell and I were. So many of them get married after a year or two, and then there’s another group who are already married who get pregnant and have to go on maternity leave. Many never come back. It was a lifelong commitment for us, but now . . . they’re just here today, gone tomorrow.”
“Well, I know Jeremy would stick around if he got a job there. He’d bring so much to the position, too. Maybe Mrs. Crews could let you know if something opens up.”
There was a gleam in Miss Voncille’s eye that was difficult to ignore. Whenever people saw it, they knew she meant business. “I’m sure she’d be delighted to help. Both of us were all for stability on the faculty, but we rarely seemed to achieve it.”
“Maybe we can do something about that by rounding up a dedicated teacher for Cherico High,” Maura Beth said.
Miss Voncille seemed lost in thought for a few moments but quickly perked up. “Looks like we both have deals to close. Meanwhile, Johnnie-Dell should know something in May. That’s usually when we found out who was coming back and who wasn’t.”
“Maybe right around the time of our All the King’s Men review?”
Miss Voncille nodded triumphantly. “I’ve got Locke on the same timetable. Let’s have a little toast, shall we?”
The two women hoisted their coffee cups and clinked rims. “To sisters in quest of that elusive nest!” Miss Voncille proposed. “And may our men come home to their hot mamas where they belong!”
13
Stark Realities
It had been months since Maura Beth had spoken with Councilman Sparks or seen him in person. It hardly meant he had been out of mind, however. But suddenly, with the book club’s All the King’s Men review just a couple of days away, he had summoned her to his office to discuss “something important.” As had always been the case regarding these impromptu City Hall meetings, Maura Beth was nervous, fearing the worst. But she no longer felt rudderless while sailing upstream against Cherico’s political tides.
“I wanted to ask you about your choice of Robert Penn Warren’s novel for The Cherry Cola Book Club,” he began, once she had seated herself across from him in his office. “Evie and I picked up your flyer at The Twinkle last time we ate there.” He brandished the sheet of paper that had been lying on his desk and then let it slip from his fingers. They both watched it slowly flutter to the blotter below. “All this flyer prose you’ve concocted about discussing political intrigue and corruption and untimely death seems thinly veiled to me.” He leaned in threateningly. “I am not—I repeat—not Governor Willie Stark. So you can cut out the wishful thinking, and if you and that Cherry Cola Book Club gang of yours are hatching fevered plans to assassinate me on the steps of City Hall, you can forget it.”
“I would have to say you’re reading between the lines, then,” Maura Beth answered, not about to be intimidated. But she was trying for levity. “That is, of course, if you’ll pardon the pun.”
He smirked. “Clever. You’ve always had that going for you.” Then he rea
ched down to open one of his desk drawers and retrieved a copy of All the King’s Men, tossing it carelessly on the desk with a thud. “I suppose you think you can rouse the rabble again with this? Will you storm my castle on Perry Street with torches?”
“May I see that for a moment, please?” she said, ignoring his absurd comments.
He handed it over, and she started reading barely a few pages in, enunciating her words with great precision: “This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination, or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.” She snapped the book shut and handed it back to him. “I think that should put an end to what sounds like an absurd case of paranoia to me.”
Councilman Sparks leaned back in his chair, once again indulging his smugness. “Miz Mayhew, we’re close to halfway through the year, and the best thing I can say about your little library is that you’re holding your own. But not much else. All those hundreds of people you whipped up into a frenzy with your petitions last year seem to have settled back down to reality. If they were so all-fired intent on using the library, then why haven’t they? I’ve been monitoring everything like I said I would—circulation figures, meeting room use, and the rest—and it looks very much to me like you have that same small but loyal core of library fans actually coming in. But it’s nowhere near the number you got to sign your petitions in that ‘let’s do something trendy’ maneuver you pulled off. Today’s voters can be manipulated so easily. I ought to know.”
Maura Beth was about to rebut him when the intensity in his face hardened further into a mask of hostility. She had never witnessed such a frightening transformation in her life, and it caused her to pull back at once.
“I want you to realize one thing,” he said, the pronounced softness of his tone somehow making his words that much more threatening. “You embarrassed me at the budget hearing back in November. You forced me to do something I didn’t want to do in front of a big chunk of my constituency, and I’m not going to forget that. The kid gloves are off. The last time somebody did something like that to me was during middle school right here in Cherico. Miss Voncille Nettles started refusing to choose me when I raised my hand because she knew I always had the right answers to everything. It was her silent way of calling me out, and she never let up. You found a different way to do the same thing last year, and so I want you to know that you’re on notice. The library’s one-year reprieve was just that. And since you also turned down my offer to keep yourself gainfully employed here in Cherico by working for me, I’d be getting my résumé together if I were you. For the last time, forewarned is forearmed, Miz Mayhew!”
Maura Beth was stunned. Talk about the fury of women scorned! The restrained anger of men was something more breathtaking to behold by far, especially when they held superior positions of power.
Since she couldn’t think of a syllable to utter, he continued his quiet little rant while staring her down. “I know you think you’re on some kind of elite literary mission with that feelgood club of yours, but, really, what does that have to do with the stark realities of living? Chatting smartly about books while swapping recipes doesn’t put food on the table every day, and it doesn’t even come close to paying the rent or the car note. This town needs jobs and new businesses coming in so that people don’t have to scrape by the way some of them are having to do. Okay, so maybe that does kinda make me a populist like Willie Stark. But my mission is taking care of Cherico, and one way or another, the Charles Durden Sparks Industrial Park is going to get up and running.”
For the first time ever in her dealings with Councilman Sparks, Maura Beth had no quick response. She realized she wasn’t any better off than she had been a year ago, when he had first revealed to her his complete and utter disdain for the library. He was, in fact, just toying with her until he got what he wanted.
Somehow Maura Beth managed to gather herself enough to say something—anything. “Was that all you had to tell me today?” Her tone sounded casual, but she swallowed hard afterward, and that gave her away.
“I think that’s it for now.”
She rose and headed for the door, her heart racing. “I’ll see myself out, then.”
“Yes, you do just that,” he said, getting in the last word.
Connie walked into the great room to find Douglas sitting on the sofa in front of the fireplace rifling through the pages of All the King’s Men. It seemed all the more peculiar since both of them had finished the novel over a week ago.
“What on earth are you up to at that frantic pace?”
He looked up, slightly startled. “Oh, I was trying to find a passage that’s been on my mind.”
She sat down beside him and watched as he continued his diligent scanning, using both his eyes and index finger. “What was it? Maybe I can help.”
“Something that Willie Stark said.” He kept on flipping pages. “I can’t find it now. I should have bookmarked it.”
Momentarily, he pounced upon it with a “Gotcha!”—pressing his finger to the spot as if he had just squashed a mosquito. He settled back and smirked. “The gist of what’s on this page is you gotta find a way to make the best of bad situations. That’s all anyone’s got.”
Connie waited for more, but Douglas apparently had finished. He was looking at her now with an intensity she had observed only occasionally in their many years of marriage. “Yes,” she said finally. “I remember him saying that. He was just trying to justify everything he did, all the corners he was cutting in politics. At least, that’s what I got out of it. I’m sure Maura Beth will want you to bring that up in our discussion. Good for you.”
He closed the book slowly and stared into the small fire he had thrown together to take the chill out of the room. “Forget the discussion, Connie. It hit home. Here’s this Willie Stark character summing up his career, and it could be me saying things like that about myself.”
Connie had heard similar versions of her husband’s introspection for some time now. He would return to them every so often, and her strategy had always been to listen quietly and be as supportive as possible until the latest crisis had passed. “All the King’s Men is a great novel, so I’m not surprised you found yourself relating to it. It’s appealed to millions over the years. You never know when a writer’s work will reach out and shake hands with you like an old friend. I don’t know how many times I’ve found myself thinking, ‘Now that’s just what I’ve been trying to say.’ ”
Her efforts to lighten things up fell flat, however. “I can never do enough fishing to clear my conscience.” He spoke with no emotion in his voice, and he seemed incapable of turning away from the fire and facing his wife.
“Douglas, it was just the nature of your profession. You did the best you could,” she said, trying to rouse him.
He indulged a crooked little smile. “I did pretty damned well, and you know it. For example, I earned the money to build this lodge for us when I proved that Mrs. Edna Hessmer’s fortune in silver and antique furniture had been irreparably damaged by the environmental discharge from the Baker City, Tennessee, paper mill exactly ten and a half miles from her house. At least that’s my ‘trial lawyer-ese summation’version of it. I should never have taken that case. The reality was—it was essentially frivolous.”
“Why should you feel bad about that, Doug? Would we have this house if you hadn’t taken the case? You presented the evidence, and it held up. As they say, case closed.”
His peculiar smile expanded right alongside the skepticism and disdain in his voice. “The connection was tenuous at best. I knew it. Everybody knew it. It was the terrible smell certain people in Baker City really objected to. Of course, what paper mill doesn’t stink to high heaven? But I took the case anyway. The truth was, Edna Hessmer was a rich, crotchety old widow with denture breath who didn’t care about a living soul but herself, and that
judgment against the paper mill ended up putting it out of business eventually. Down the road, hardworking people lost their jobs, and I walked away with the spoils. To turn what Willie Stark preached on its head, you might say I made something bad out of good.”
Connie knew it was useless when Douglas veered into “career revisited” mode. His second-guessing just had to run its course. But she continued to try and pull him out of it anyway. “If we’re going to play worst-case scenario here, I’ll take a shot. You had to make lots of tough decisions as part of the legal profession, same as we always did at the hospital. The difference was, when you weren’t up to snuff, someone might lose some money or property or something like that. When we made the wrong decision at the hospital, God forbid, somebody might die. Try to put things in perspective.”
His features finally softened as he turned her way. “Most of the time I’ve managed to do that, or I couldn’t live with myself. But lately, while I’m out there on the water just floating around without a care in the world, I keep thinking I should make something good out of bad, like Willie Stark, now that my finagling days are over And, no, fishing on the lake doesn’t qualify by a mile.”
“Then what would?”
He inched closer to her, and she felt the chill of his hand atop hers. It might be May with a bright, balmy day outside and everything in bloom within view of the great room windows, but inside the drafty lodge, the fireplace had been unable to get its self-doubting owner’s blood moving sufficiently.
“We have more money than we’ll ever need,” he said finally. “This is our home now. Maybe we can help Cherico in a significant way.”
Something suddenly clicked in Connie’s head and she freed her hand, gesturing with it dramatically. “I think you may finally have said something that makes sense. Haven’t you had enough of looking back? Think of our future right here on the lake.”