Earl walked out to the front porch and began staring down the street in the direction from which his Dearest Dorothy would, he hoped, soon be appearing. Within a couple minutes, he saw Sheba loping down the sidewalk toward him, tongue flapping into her own back draft. He knew Dorothy was on her way.
“Hel-LO, Earl!” she shouted from two houses down.
“Hello, Dearest Dorothy,” Earl said quietly. He never raised his voice.
Dorothy got to the front porch where she stopped to catch her breath. “Whew. I paced myself a little too quickly this morning, Earl. And yes, it’s time for my groundskeeper to get to work!” Earl and Dorothy were very special friends. She didn’t have to hear his question; she recognized it in his eyes, his stance, his readiness and ongoing love to do for her. As soon as he’d heard “it’s time,” he’d swiftly moved down the stairs.
“Whoa! Listen up, Earl. Don’t forget your mower! You might need to get some gasoline though; you better check first. If you do need to fill her up, just tell George I’ll pay him next time I’m in town. You can do that, right?” George Gustafson owned the By George gas station just a block off the square. Back in her driving days, when Dorothy wasn’t on a road trip, and for all the years that George had been in business—which amounted to more than she could count—she’d purchased nary a tank of gasoline from anyone else in the vicinity. Even her late husband, Henry, swore by his gasoline. And Arthur Landers, well, he told it like he saw it, at least in his own mind: “Ya just can’t trust what some fellas might try to pawn off as gas-o-line but what mighten just as likely be leftovers from too much beer, if ya git my drift. Nope, by George, I’d buy gasoline from nowheres but By George.”
Earl, who was walking backwards away from Dorothy toward his task the entire time she’d been talking about gasoline, nodded his agreement to Dorothy that he understood her instructions. Dorothy hadn’t even noticed when she’d walked up that he’d long ago poised the lawn mower at the very edge of the lawn, readied for his task. He was way ahead of her. “I know you can handle that, Earl. I don’t know why I even asked! You do such a fine job, honey. I imagine this’ll be one of the last mowings before the snow thinks about flying though. Then I guess you can become my snow-shoveling groundskeeper, okay?”
“Okay,” he said, but he was already too far away for her to hear his reply over the sounds of the lawn mower merrily thumping its way across the cracks in the sideway. Earl had a lawn to mow.
“Good morning, Dorothy,” May Belle said, appearing on the front porch wearing one of her well-worn signature aprons. “I see you’ve sent Earl off and mowing. I’m surprised he slept a wink last night. You know we both love you, Dorothy, and appreciate everything you do for us. But it still makes me feel bad you pay him to mow your little bit of yard.”
“Oh, pish-posh. What good are those few dollars to me? I do not want to hear another word about it!”
Sheba was standing right by the front door, waiting to get inside. A routine awaited her, and like Earl, she was anxious for it to get underway. May Belle pulled open the door and the ladies followed Sheba in. She darted her doggie self straight into the kitchen. Dorothy and May Belle walked through the living room, through the archway into the dining room, and then on into control central, as Dorothy often referred to it, where they caught up with the waiting Sheba. She was standing next to the counter, wagging her scruffy tail a mile a minute. Dorothy seated herself at the kitchen table where a fresh cup of coffee awaited her, along with a giant slice of apple-crumb coffee cake still warm from the oven.
May Belle reached for the tin of table scraps she’d saved from breakfast and tossed a sliver of ham to Sheba, who snatched it out of the air before it hit the green and white linoleum floor. It was a trick May Belle never got tired of watching. “I tell you, Sheba,” May Belle said, “I’d give my right hand to be able to jump half that high.”
“You’ll try no such thing,” Dorothy said, the warm gooey goodness already coating her tongue and throat. She slid the light green linen napkin out of the dark green plastic napkin ring and wiped the corners of her mouth. “I think we’re past our jumping days, friend of mine.”
May Belle tossed Sheba the last remaining morsel, rinsed out the tin, set it in her plastic dish rack, then sat down across from Dorothy, who had, within these few brief moments, downed her entire piece of coffee cake.
“More?” May Belle didn’t wait for an answer; she arose to get the pan and a spatula.
“Just a teensy more. Teensy. Since I moved so close to you, I’m afraid I’ve put on five pounds. I’m glad my scale is broken; might be ten pounds.”
May Belle set the pan and spatula down in front of Dorothy, then patted her own round belly. “I’m glad I’ve never owned a scale,” May Belle said. “From what I read in the papers, folks are fretting themselves to death anyway, worrying about good cholesterol and bad cholesterol and carbohydrates and calories and exercise and vitamins and . . . rather than just sitting down at the table and enjoying a nice meal together. Goodness! I figure that as long as I can still get my aprons tied around me, I’ll be in business. Besides, I guess since we’ve lived to be in our eighties, we must be doing something right!” A soft ripple of laughter passed between them.
Dorothy finished her snack, then picked up her plate and handed it to May Belle, who she knew couldn’t stand dirty dishes sitting on a table. “Well, look at that,” May Belle said, peeking through her starched and pressed, navy-and-white gingham café curtains in the kitchen window above her sink. “The sun is trying to pay us a visit!” When she pushed open the curtains, the sun’s rays refracted through the crystal she’d hung from the curtain rod with a piece of twine. Dorothy had noticed May Belle eyeing the chandelier crystal at a recent rummage sale and bought it for her for a quarter. She’d wrapped it in toilet tissues, stuffed it into an empty face powder box and anonymously left it in May Belle’s mailbox.
Rainbows not only cast across May Belle’s face, but all the way to the table where they landed on Dorothy’s linked fingers. Dorothy stared at them, smiling, sensing the promise of God’s covenant. Great timing, God! If Katie kept poking around in those letters, Dorothy continued to feel unsettled about what she might discover, how far things might have to unfold—although maybe it was just time. . . . Yes, it was unsettling. That was the same word Katie had used to describe some of the contents of the letters: Unsettling. And there’s good reason for that, Dorothy had thought at the time. But she also knew God was faithful, which was, as usual, once again confirmed in such a surprising way, just like the cricket. Thank you, Lord, for your grand style. Oh, how you talk to my smile! More dazzling than any painting I’ve ever seen, Jesus, and nary a penny did I pay for either one of them!
“Now aren’t we suddenly colorful!” May Belle exclaimed after she turned and saw Dorothy grinning from ear to ear, staring at her hands. She lightly touched the crystal, setting the rainbows to dancing. “Wasn’t that nice of someone to leave me such a magical gift?” She walked over to Dorothy and set her hand atop Dorothy’s. They watched the red, green and purplish arches sway back and forth across their fingers.
“Brings some happy life to the ugly age spots, wouldn’t you say?”
May Belle patted her friend’s hand while she chuckled. “Thank you, Dorothy.”
“For what?”
“For the crystal.”
“What makes you think it was from me?”
“The Merle Norman powder box was a dead giveaway.”
“I guess there’s no fooling an old fooler, huh?”
“I guess not.”
Dorothy pulled her eyes away from their hands and looked at May Belle. “How about we say a few extra prayers for each other this week, since we’re now bonded by rainbows?”
“You know I always pray for you, Dorothy.”
“And I for you. But it never hurts to double up. And truth be told, I have a hunch I’m going to need all the extra prayers I can get. I can’t talk about it, May Belle, b
ut there’s something brewing and it could be mighty big if it boils over.” Dorothy bit her lower lip, her eyes revealing the depth of her concern, especially to someone who knew her so well.
“I’ll pray and you just think rainbows, okay?” May Belle said. “God just loves giving us rainbows to remind us about His love. Yes, I’ll pray, and you pray, and we’ll both give thanks for rainbows!”
Josh stepped off the late bus scowling. He’d held his cheery fake smile as long as he could; now he was all to himself and it was time to let his wounds, confusion, anger. . . . He wasn’t even sure what all emotions were jumbled up inside of him, but they needed breathing space, and he’d already learned that the farm was just the place to vent them. Wandering from side to side to kick a rock here and there, he rambled up the two-track gravel lane with the grass down the middle, stopping to study the sway of the trees whose fingers were laced together above him as they dropped the first fading leaves into the soft breeze. How could it be that yesterday he was on top of the world and today he felt so trampled?
He started to head straight toward the barn, a private cavern of a welcoming space, then remembered with a Gheesh! of disgust that he needed to report in to Sergeant Mom. He also wanted to check his e-mail. Maybe there’d be a newsy note from Alex that would cheer him up. He opened the door to the small, enclosed back porch, went up the few stairs to the interior back door, then entered the kitchen. “Joshua Matthew Kinney reporting in for lock-down!” he hollered, slamming his heavy backpack onto the kitchen counter, peeling off his jacket and tossing it across a kitchen chair, then moving straight for the fridge to see what he might pop into his mouth. Nothing. Is she ever going to go shopping? He rifled through a couple cabinets and retrieved a sleeve of crackers from the only box that didn’t smack of the tasteless stuff his mom always harped was more nutritious than these “fat-laden, empty carbohydrates.” Turning back to the fridge, he grabbed a can of cola, then slowly went up the creaky stairs. When his left foot reached the third step from the top, several times he rocked his weight on and off again, taking small pleasure in the wooden stair he realized made the loudest, lowest-pitch groaning sound.
“I’m in the Chaos Room, Josh.” The tone in Katie’s voice had echoed his own voice’s terseness when he’d arrived. He noticed down the hall that the door to the Chaos Room was closed. Feeling no need to open it, he went straight into his room. He set down the soda can and crackers on his desk and turned on his computer, taking a few minutes to crank up his CD player and plop on his bed until the computer had gone through its booting-up rigors. YES! He had mail!
Dear Josh-o, whoever that is. I know who Josh and the Joshmeister are. “They” are my friend. Josh-o is somebody I don’t know. Guess you’ve just gotten too cool for me, man. Write me when you’re somebody I know who might be wondering how things are with me, on occasion. Alex. (Notice that is not Alex-o.)
Josh felt punched in the gut. What was wrong with everybody? And not a single note from Dorothy, who he suddenly realized he hadn’t spoken to—or e-mailed—for quite some time. He turned up the CD player another notch, hurled himself spread-eagle on his bed and stared at the ceiling. Okay, maybe he’d been a little full of himself lately. But gheesh! Isn’t it about time I have a turn?
He lurched up from his bed, grabbed the soda and crackers and nearly ran down the stairs, through the house and out the back door. Rather than go around to the incline that led to the massive top barn door, he entered through the closer ground-level door and shut the world out behind him, stopping a moment to allow his eyes to adjust to the darkness while inhaling the ancient earthiness. Since moving to Crooked Creek Farm, he’d discovered a ladder in one of the old stalls that led to the top of the barn. He put the can of soda in his pocket and held the sleeve of crackers between his teeth as he ascended the old ladder rungs and arrived upstairs, the flapping sound of pigeons’ wings greeting him. The top of the ladder came out right next to what had been Dorothy’s favorite spot. Sliding open the small back barn door, squinting to allow his vision to embrace the light, he sat down on the wooden plank floor, legs dangling over the edge to the outside world, and opened the can. After a few hearty guzzles, he peeled back the paper to the sleeve of crackers and popped them into his mouth two at a time. A drink of soda, a few more crackers. It was a cycle he repeated until everything he’d brought with him was gone. He swung one leg up floor level and leaned back on the doorframe, letting the other leg continue to dangle. He closed his eyes and felt a few sunrays splash over his face as they darted through the swiftly moving clouds. Since he’d left his jacket in his room and the temperature had dropped somewhat, he considered how good the rays felt against his otherwise cool body.
“Cool.” He wished he hadn’t thought about that word again. “Too cool for me” is what Alex had accused him of being. Well, maybe now I am too cool for you, Alex! He stood up, closed the door, descended the ladder and walked with ever-swifter steps down past the field toward Crooked Creek, which was about a quarter-of-a-mile jaunt. The smell of fall was in the air; Landers, whose farm was right down the road, must have been burning something. By the time he was close to Weeping Willy, Woodsy and Willoway, the names Dorothy had given the largest trees near the swimmin’ hole, he was running full bore. Without breaking stride, he launched himself up to the first climbing branch in Woodsy and challenged himself to get to the top faster than he’d ever made it before. Winded, he perched in the crook of the highest branches he felt assured would support his weight, and looked down on the rushing waters below. Although Dorothy told him kids throughout the ages, including herself, had jumped into the swimmin’ hole carved in the hairpin turn directly below Woodsy’s longest, strongest arm, he knew he was now too high and too heavy to engage in that kind of dramatics. Tempting as the idea might be, even as chilly as it was, what he imagined, were he to try it, was his body drilling right through the creek bottom clear up to his neck and him drowning in the muck, crawdads crawling into his ears and out his nose.
By the time he’d caught his breath, like the speeding waters below him, slices of the day’s events hastily began to flash through his mind. Try as he might to just be in the moment, in the tree, the music of the waters, the fragrance of fall . . . all he kept hearing was Kevin’s voice slamming into his ears.
“Okay, Josh-o, now you get to know who I’ve asked to the dance!”
“Oh, so mystery woman said yes, huh?”
“Not only did she say yes to going to the dance, but I’m hoping her yes trend keeps up long into the night. She’s got the hottest little bod I’ve noticed for, well, at least two days.” He winked, banged Josh on the back and began laughing like a lunatic.
As had previously happened on the basketball court, Josh was not pleased with Kevin’s off-color innuendo, but like before, he smiled on the outside anyway. “So? Who is the lucky woman?” Josh asked when he finally found his tongue.
“So? So you wanna know, huh? How about I give you a few hints. Does the word blonde help?”
Josh looked to the left and right and saw at least ten blondes headed between classes in each direction. “Helps me to know she’s blonde.”
“What if I said baseball?”
“She plays ball for Hethrow High?”
“Nope.”
“Okay, I give up.”
“Let’s just say I’m hoping she is indeed a Wild Musketeer!”
Josh stared at Kevin as his mind swiftly pulled together just who Kevin was talking about. His skin prickled and his chest tightened quickly enough to squeeze out a flash of resentment that catapulted straight to his mouth. “You asked Shelby? And she said yes?”
“You got it! But my man, you sound a little intense. Or are you just getting over the shock?”
“Why target Shelby? I thought you guys were friends from way back.” There wasn’t a hint of teasing in his voice.
“Target? Whoa!” Kevin leaned back and held up his hands in front of him, palms toward Josh. “Yes, we were fri
ends, are friends—although if you haven’t noticed, she doesn’t look like a tomboy any more. She’s all grown up, real nice.” He made an hour-glass gesture with his hands, then stuffed them into his pockets. “So have you asked anybody yet, Josh-o?”
“Tell me you’re going to be nice to her!”
“You haven’t even told me who it is you’ve invited yet! How can I make that promise? Chill, dude.”
“I’m talking about Shelby. Tell me you’re going to be nice to Shelby!” The tone in Josh’s voice was nothing short of combative.
Kevin took a giant step toward Josh, who didn’t flinch. They stood nearly nose-to-nose. He studied Josh’s face, leaned his head to the right and said, “I think I’ve struck a nerve here with Mr. Josh-o. Were you going to ask her to the dance?” After a long silence, he repeated his question. “Were you?”
Josh weighed his response, then said, “It doesn’t matter if I was going to ask her or not—and frankly, I hadn’t even thought about it yet. Just don’t mess with Shelby.”
Kevin wasn’t used to being talked to like this by anyone. He blinked a couple times, as though clearing his vision would clarify what his ears had heard. Then he swallowed. Then he leaned in even closer to Josh’s face and spoke through a clenched jaw. “I’ve known Shelby for a long time; you’ve known her for a few months. If I didn’t know better, I might think you were jealous or at least really cared about her. But I haven’t heard you mention her name for weeks. I haven’t seen you paying any attention to her at all, in fact, and since you haven’t called dibs, I consider her fair game. I will treat her the same as I treat any girl, which is to say I will treat her how she lets me treat her.”
Josh was grinding his back teeth together, staring hard at Kevin. Kevin leaned back on his heels, relaxing his posture. “You might want to lighten up just a touch, Josh-o. Much easier to maintain friendships that way. I’ll assume you’re just having a bad day and that by tomorrow you’ll have your testosterone under control.” Before Josh could say another word, Kevin whirled on his heels and stormed down the hall. Josh’s insides were so knotted up that his ears were ringing. He didn’t even notice Shelby, let alone hear her “Hello, Josh!” as she zinged by him, so intent was he on burning a hole in the back of Kevin’s head with his thoughts.
Dearest Dorothy, Help! I've Lost Myself! Page 7