There was something about Dorothy’s genuine trust and praise that helped folks rise to new levels. Her vote of confidence gave Sheila the ammunition she needed to try a few new things, like having an adorable set of twins run onto the stage—one from each side—with sparkling streamers, then meet in the middle to announce each new act, rather than to march her own self up there time after time, just to make introductions. Dorothy applauded the idea and came to the Thursday rehearsal to cheer Sheila’s creativity and to pass on a few insights she’d gleaned after all these years: “Make sure you keep yourself off of the judges’ panel; do not allow an intermission or folks both in the audience and in the acts will disappear; try not to cringe when T.J. Winslow plays sour notes during his Lady of Spain clarinet solo. He takes enough guff from the band.”
By 3:00 P.M. Friday, both inside and out, the park district building was a wondrous site to behold. All in all, most thought it resembled the most bountiful and inviting horn-of-plenty they’d ever seen. A giant banner framed the entrance to the park and a special box ran on page one of the Partonville Press with the same announcements.
Friday:
5:00 P.M. Acting Mayor Gladys McKern: Pumpkin Festival and
Centennial Plus 30 Proclamations and Pronouncements
5:00 P.M. to ? Chili Galore! (Bring your appetite!)
7:00 P.M. to ? (dependent upon the number of registrants):
Talent Show
Saturday:
9:00 A.M. to 1:00 P.M. Craft Fair: More than twenty exhibitors!
1:00 P.M. to 7:00 P.M. Building closed to public
7:00 P.M. Pumpkin Festival Dance begins
Friday night’s proclamations, which most thought were a little too long, but nonetheless did Partonville proud, chili dinner and talent show—and no, Cora never did sign up—ran like clockwork. Sheila had done a marvelous job of directing the talent show; the twins never missed a cue; and much to the disgruntlement of the audience, the judges declared a singing trio from “unincorporated Hethrow” the winners. Next year, Gladys huffed under her breath, they might make contestants show certificates of residency.
The Centennial Plus 30 booklet was selling like hot-cakes, some families buying multiple copies, including the Carols . . . and Katie. Their family history was just as Pastor Delbert Junior had written it the first time, unfolding a beautiful story about the legacy of the church, and how a father and son had ministered at the same facility for nearly fifty years. There was one addition, however, to his original copy. On the page where he spoke of his father’s passing, to the list of survivors he had added “. . . and his daughter, Katie Mable Carol Durbin, who lived in Chicago at the time of his death, but who is a new Partonville resident.” It was all that needed to be said.
There were three anonymous platinum-level patron donors whose monies alone covered the entire costs of the booklets. A brief note had come with each cash donation. The first to arrive said “THANK YOU, JESUS!” The second read “Families are forever, on earth as it is in heaven. Amen.” And the last: “From Cinderella.”
Josh was a nervous wreck. He relentlessly fiddled with his tie and paced to the front window to see if Kevin was on his way up the lane. The plan was Kevin would pick up Shelby first, then Josh, then the three of them would journey to Hethrow to pick up Deb. From a geographical point of view, this routing didn’t make sense, since Kevin and Deb actually lived closer together than anyone else; but from a strictly social standpoint, nothing else made sense.
Katie stared at her son, fighting back tears. She was blindsided by her own emotions. He looked so much like his father, and yet . . . she’d studied family pictures in the Centennial Plus 30 booklet of Delbert Senior, and there were her father’s unmistakable ears, pinned back on the top. Same cleft in his chin. Same shape of his eyebrows.
“What’s wrong?” Josh asked as he paced back toward her.
“Absolutely nothing. You look very handsome, Joshua. Very handsome.”
“Thanks, Mom. I hope I don’t sweat through my jacket before they get here, though, or all I’ll look is gross.” Just then headlights flashed in the front window. They were here. Josh immediately started out the door.
“Josh! The corsage! I’ll get it.” Katie scurried to the refrigerator.
“Just a sec!” he hollered out the door.
Katie handed him the box and gave him a peck on the cheek, but not before he ducked back into the house so nobody would see it. “Have a good time. And don’t forget your curfew!”
“Got it!”
He loped to the car and opened the back door, seating himself behind Shelby. “Hey!”
“Hey!” Kevin said back.
“Hey, Shelby!”
“Hello, Josh,” she said with a hint of reserve. This was harder than she thought it would be, the bozo.
Idle, somewhat stiff, conversation occupied them all the way to Deb’s house. “So how was your day?” “Hope the DJ is good.” “I heard the park district building is really something.” Josh kept trying to figure out what Shelby had done to her hair whenever another car’s headlights briefly lit up the back of her head. It looked all . . . fluffy, piled up or something and . . . Are those highlights? Nice. And those earrings . . . dangling, swinging, brushing her beautiful long neck that he’d never noticed before. He had yet to see her face; she’d never turned her head remotely around. He received occasional wafts of an enticing fragrance he surely did like.
At last they pulled up in front of Deb’s. Josh sat there, staring at her house.
“Earth to Josh-o! Dude, you gotta get out of the car if you’re going to pick her up!”
“How about you just call me Josh, okay?” he said as he exited the car. His heart was beating a mile a minute as he walked to the front door. His first date—and what a complicated one! The doorbell played the longest song he’d ever heard. When the door opened, there stood her dad. “Hello. You must be Josh. I’m Deb’s father. It’s nice to meet you.” He held out his hand and Josh dropped the corsage box while fumbling to shake hands. He picked up the box as carefully as a piece of broken glass, hoping he hadn’t managed to knock the flowers apart.
Deb made a grand entrance down the open staircase; she lived in one of the new upscale subdivisions, her family having upsized about a year ago. She looked beautiful. “Hi, Josh. I see you already met my dad.”
“Yes, I have.”
She walked up to him, eyes on the corsage box. “Is that for me?” she finally asked, since Josh wasn’t making any attempts to hand it to her.
“Oh! Yes. Here,” he said, jutting it out toward her. He watched her open the lid, then with relief saw her smile.
“It’s beautiful,” she said, holding exactly what she had asked for, which was a wrist corsage with a purple orchid. “Can you help me put it on, please?”
“Sure.” He fumbled with it, suddenly realizing with horror that the main stem was indeed broken. The flower dangled by a thread when he tried to slip it over her wrist.
“Deb, I am so sorry. I . . . dropped the box and then . . .”
Deb laughed. “We seem to have a thing going like this, don’t we?” She handed everything, box and broken corsage, to her dad. “Don’t worry. I’ll live without a corsage. It’s a beautiful flower. I’ll float it in some water or something. Let’s just go have a good time.”
They said their goodnights, which were followed by curfew mentions, making Josh feel more relaxed since hers was the same as his, which was eleven, a half hour after the dance was to end.
Shelby watched the two of them walk to the car, Josh holding Deb’s elbow. Her dress was stunning. Dregs! Shelby noticed Kevin was doing his share of mouth-open oogling, too. Double dregs!
So far, the evening had gone fairly well, Josh thought, aside from the fact that the top of Deb’s shoes were covered with scuff marks from him stepping on her toes. A dancer he wasn’t. Of course, Kevin could dance as well as he did everything else, which was to perfection. Josh just wished he wouldn’
t be holding Shelby quite so closely, which, unbeknownst to Josh, Shelby was wishing too. Deb had caught Josh on several occasions craning his neck to watch Kevin and Shelby, same as Shelby had caught Kevin staring at Deb, even though he was about to squeeze her lungs out, not to mention smashing her first-ever corsage to bits.
Shelby was a sight to behold, Josh thought as they all stood near the refreshment table during a music break. Deb was beautiful, but Shelby. . . . He’d never seen her with lipstick before. It wasn’t much, but it brought out the rose in her cheeks and . . .
“Mind if I ask your date for the next dance when they start back up again?” Kevin quietly asked Josh.
“Not as long as you don’t mind if I ask yours.”
“Deal.”
Four songs later, Kevin and Deb were still dancing, laughing . . . flirting, if Shelby wasn’t mistaken. The good news was, she and Josh were doing the same. While Josh stepped on Shelby’s toes—which were numb anyway from her stupid heels, which she hated and vowed never to wear again—Shelby looked over Josh’s strong shoulder (Nice! WhEn did he grow these?) at Maggie Malone, her beautiful Grannie M, and Great-Grandpa Ben. They were gliding and twirling, swaying and . . . kissing. In their seventies and still kissing! It was just dreamy. Almost as dreamy as the guy who held her: not too close and not too far away, but just right.
Katie was curled up in a blanket watching an old Tracy and Hepburn movie. Even though Dorothy had convinced her many people went stag to the dance, she’d decided to stay at home and just let Josh have his night. Now if Jacob, Dorothy’s single attorney son who lived in Philadelphia, had come in for the weekend festivities, she might have changed her mind. Although they’d butted heads, Jacob at first having trouble trusting that Katie’s offer to buy the farm wasn’t simply an attempt to take advantage of his mom (and truth be told, she did have mixed motives back then—and sometimes even now), by the time they’d worked side-by-side during Dorothy’s farm auction and spent some collective hours with everyone afterward, she and Jacob had settled into a truce—of sorts. She’d even found herself curiously . . . intrigued by him, especially after getting a stolen glimpse of his tender heart for his mom and, she did have to admit, surveying his fit body in cutoffs and a T-shirt.
After learning from Jessica how many family members traveled “back home” to Partonville each year for the Pumpkin Festival, and especially how many more had come this year because of the Centennial Plus 30, Katie had been surprised—and admittedly disappointed—that neither of Dorothy’s sons returned for the festivities. At the very least, Josh had been hoping Steven and Bradley, Dorothy’s teen grandsons, might arrive from Denver with their dad, Vincent, who was divorced. Josh had had a great time with them when last they were in town, and he knew enough girls now that he could have fixed them up with dates for the dance. Although a few encouraging e-mails had flown back and forth between them, in the end, it wasn’t to be. Katie noticed Dorothy had clearly sounded disappointed when she’d inquired, but like always, Dorothy said she understood and that she had high hopes they might all be home for Thanksgiving, or Christmas for sure.
Last Katie knew, Dorothy was going to the dance, though. She’d told Katie she was going to “stand by the sidelines with the rest of the old hens,” then she’d thrown her head back and laughed until Katie began to laugh too, both of them commenting on how good it felt to do so again. “You know, Katie, it just does an old ticker good to see those young ones out there having a swell time. Brings back such memories . . . ,” she’d said with a momentary faraway yet happy look in her eyes as she gave silent thanks to her smile, which didn’t even need an ounce of coaxing.
What Katie didn’t know, however, was that while she was home alone feeling sorry for Dorothy, Dorothy was slow-dancing with first Doc Streator, who bowed before her when he invited her to “twirl a whirl” with him, then Lester K. Biggs, who had no sense of rhythm but looked incredibly dapper in his new haircut, and Arthur, who wore his coveralls but who hummed sweetly to one of his old favorites, “Tenderly.” (“Wish we’d a played that tune rather than that darned doo-dah-daying one!”) The next tap on her shoulder had come from none other than the Joshmeister, who she believed was possibly the most handsome boy at the dance.
Dorothy couldn’t help but look over Josh’s shoulder at Nellie Ruth, who was sure talking up a storm with Edward Showalter while they swayed to the music, dancing from one side of the floor to the other. If Dorothy was right, those two had been dancing together every dance since the Partonville Community Band’s “live music” had come to an end for the evening. And there’d been quite a buzz about their playing, too. People weren’t sure if it was the acoustics of the building, the beautiful harvest-moon night, the breathtaking decorations, the fizz in the fruit punch, reflections of the mirror ball, the Centennial Plus 30’s excitement or what, but the band had sounded pretty darn good! Jessica certainly agreed, but she was too tired to even utter the words. She danced with Paul, Sarah Sue held between them. It was all she could do to stay awake. “I have to (yawn) go home, honey, as (yawn) soon as this song is over.” Yawn.
The double-dates dropped Shelby off first and Kevin walked her to the door. Josh craned his neck to see what was as clear as day under Shelby’s front porch light: he did nothing more than to give her a polite peck on the cheek. When Kevin got back in the car, he turned on the interior light and looked at his wristwatch. “You know, looks like we’re running toward curfew. How about I drop you off first, Josh-o, and then take Deb home so she doesn’t get in trouble? She lives in my neck of the woods anyway.”
“That would be perfect,” Deb said, flashing Kevin a broad smile.
“Aside from you calling me Josh-o again, yes, that would be perfect.”
“Sorry. I’m trying to remember,” Kevin said apologetically, but he was looking directly at Deb when he said it.
“Thank you for a lovely evening, Deb,” Josh said when he closed the door for Deb, who had moved into the front seat. “See you at the lockers!” End of date.
All that worry for nothing.
24
All Saints’ Day fell the day after the dance. A long-standing tradition for parishioners at United Methodist Church, Partonville, was, of course, to remember the saints, including departed friends and relatives who had touched their lives. For a couple weeks beforehand, parishioners turned in special cards bearing the names of those they held dear; homebound folks could just call the office with their requests. After Pastor’s sermon, which helped them to reflect on the saints and their roles in their lives, a few parishioners, who had practiced pronunciations, would then read the names. This year, however, the worship committee had decided to add a new element. The little notice had been printed in the bulletin for the past several weeks, and a special collection basket to cover expenditures had been set up near the coffee pot during the meet-and-greet time.
When members entered the church on All Saints’ Day, they were, of course, greeted by the morning’s greeters and handed a bulletin. But they were also directed to a special table that had been set up in the narthex upon which several vases of long-stemmed flowers were arranged. They were told that if they would like to participate, they should select a flower (up to three) for each person they would like remembered. When the time came, they would be instructed to walk, one at a time, to the front of the church, face the congregation, and say the name of the person for whom they put their flower in the vase set up in front of the pulpit. There would be a response by the congregation, thanking God for them.
When the time came, Gladys, sitting in the front row, went first. “Jake McKern,” she said facing the congregation, her voice cracking. She turned and put the very first flower in the vase. “His memory is a blessing forever,” came the congregational response. His flower looked so lonesome in that big vase, she thought as she sat down. Oh, Jake! You should have seen our Centennial Plus 30, the clock in your name.... You would have loved this whole weekend, dumpling. Dumpling had been h
er private nickname for her beloved Jake.
One by one, men and women, young and old, came forward with their flowers, naming names. “His memory . . . Her memory . . . Their memory is a blessing forever.” There were older people like Dorothy giving thanks for their parents, and Dorothy’s third flower was, of course, for her beautiful Caroline Ann. A young parent gave thanks for a child he had lost in a car accident. A young girl gave thanks for her dog. With each flower, the bouquet grew. “For my Homer,” May Belle said. Earl was right behind. Although he did not speak or face the congregation, his flower for his father was placed with gentle care next to the one his mother had added.
Josh held two flowers in his hand. He had no intentions of going forward, but somehow watching Earl stirred something within him. Suddenly he could do nothing but stand and walk up the aisle. He placed his flowers one at a time in the nearly overflowing vase. “For all my grandparents,” he said in a quiet voice, making eye contact with Pastor Delbert. Although he didn’t speak their names, he was understood. Pastor Delbert swallowed hard, then placed his flowers next to Josh’s. “For my mother and my father,” he said. “Their memory is a blessing forever,” Dorothy repeated with the rest of the congregants, dabbing at her eyes.
While Josh was sitting down next to his mother, Katie Mable Carol Durbin stared at the flowers in her hand. It still felt too early and awkward, and a bit too uncertain, for her to publicly participate in a religious ceremony, especially this one. But silently she thanked God for her mother . . . and her father.
After Pastor had collected himself, he pointed to the colorful bouquet. “May this bounty of beauty serve as a symbol of the cloud of witnesses who surround us.”
Dearest Dorothy, Help! I've Lost Myself! Page 24