The Waltons 2 - Trouble on the Mountain

by Robert Weverka

  “Please, Mr. Levy” Erin said.

  “And how about your papa? He says it’s all right to sell these wonderful things?”

  “Mama said it was all right. Nobody’s used any of this stuff for years.”

  “It’s just worthless old junk,” Erin added, and quickly got a dark look from Mary Ellen.

  Jacob rubbed his chin and gave them a sly smile. “Well, you want a dollar. I could offer you, say, eighty cents, and then you would ask ninety-five. But who has all day? A man of my heavy responsibilities must be tending to business.” He drew out his wallet. “One dollar—so be it!”

  Their faces instantly brightened.

  “But there’s one condition,” Jacob said, rising. “For an old man you’ve got to help me carry the merchandise out to the truck.”

  Mary Ellen was delighted with the deal. She couldn’t imagine what anyone could do with a worn-out tire or boots and a couple of boxes full of rusty iron. At best, she had hoped to get fifty or sixty cents.

  Once they had heaved the boxes up on the truck bed and waved good-bye to Mr. Levy, all four of them rushed into the house to announce the good news.

  Olivia listened patiently through a complete recounting of the conversation and bargaining, and then smiled. “I think that’s wonderful, and you’re all very good businessmen and women. But I wish you’d all go outside again and try to be quiet. Grandma’s lying down.”

  “What’s the matter? Is Grandma sick?”

  “No, she’s just worried about your grandpa.”

  “Do you think he got lost somewhere?” Elizabeth asked, “or that somebody kidnapped him?”

  “No, I don’t think that at all. I think he just went visiting somewhere and forgot how late it was getting. As soon as your Daddy and John-Boy get home they’ll go out and find him. Now you all run along.”

  Olivia went back to chopping vegetables after the children left, but her thoughts stayed on Grandpa. It was possible, she supposed, that he had gone visiting and forgotten the time. But she didn’t think that was likely, considering that he knew how much they needed those candles.

  The fact was, Olivia told herself, for a man Zebulon’s age, he worked far too hard. Sometimes, through the kitchen window, she had seen him lifting the ends of logs that must weigh two hundred pounds. And when John had to deliver wood in a hurry, Grandpa was always out there loading up the truck as if he were an eighteen-year-old boy. It was things like that that caused old men to drop dead from heart attacks.

  Olivia scraped the vegetables from the chopping board into a pot and set them on the stove. Then she dried her hands and went to the front door where she could see the road. But there was nobody coming.

  “The good Lord ain’t going to take me,” Grandpa always laughed. “He don’t want nobody so mean an’ ornery to upset ever’body up there in heaven. No sir, he’s going to wait till I’m so old and tired and weak I can’t give him no trouble. And that’ll be about twenty, thirty years from now, I reckon.”

  Olivia smiled grimly as she turned away from the door. She certainly hoped it would be twenty or thirty years from now.

  V

  “Why, Mr. Walton, I do believe we’ve bought just so many lovely things we won’t be able to get them all in the car.”

  “Perhaps two of us should sit in the back, and we can put all these packages in the front.”

  “No, no, we’ll manage, ladies.”

  It was the third stop they had made in Charlottesville, and this time Zebulon had to make two trips into the store to carry out all their purchases. After the millinery shop there had been the lingerie emporium, and then Moffat’s Department & Ladies’ Fashion Store. At the millinery shop they had bought several bolts of material to make themselves new dresses. At the lingerie emporium Zeb had waited discreetly in the car, and he had no idea what they had bought. But after an hour they came out with a dozen boxes and bags. An hour later, when they saw the gowns at Moffat’s, they decided not to make their dresses after all, but to buy them ready-made. So then there were hats and scarfs and a lot of other doodads to go along with the dresses.

  It was getting awfully late. At each stop Zeb had tactfully suggested that they ought to be starting for home, but the ladies had gone merrily about their business, oblivious to his concern. But now, with not one square inch of space left in the car, they would have to be on their way. It was already after supper time, and Zeb knew they would be worrying at home. But he expected it had all been worth it.

  Earlier in the day, Zeb had gotten only halfway to Ike’s store when the brilliant idea had hit him. Instead of getting candles and having everybody sitting around a half-dark house—with no radio or washing machine or electric iron—it would be a lot simpler for him to get two dollars and seventeen cents somewhere and just pay off the electric bill. And Zeb knew exactly where he could get the money. When the thought occurred to him, Zeb turned abruptly off the road and headed directly for the Baldwin sisters’ house.

  “Why, I declare,” Miss Emily said when she answered the door. “Look who’s here, Sister. It’s Zebulon Walton. And I’ll just bet he’s brought back Papa’s typewriting machine!”

  “No, Miss Emily. However, I’m sure John-Boy will have his story all typed up in a day or two, and he’ll be bringing it back first thing.”

  “Oh,” they said, but quickly recovered from the disappointment. “Well, do come in, Mr. Walton. It’s just ever so nice to see you, anyway. And, Sister, shall we all have a little Recipe while we’re visiting?”

  “No, no, ladies. Your kindness and hospitality is most generous, and for that I thank you. But my visit is strictly business.”

  “Business? Oh, dear, I’m afraid Emily and I just aren’t too familiar with business. Now, Papa, he was just ever so clever about such things.”

  Miss Emily nodded. “Papa put all his money in United States Government Bonds. After the war with the Yankees, he said they were a fine investment because all the industrious people in the South would make this the strongest nation in the entire world.”

  “Your daddy was a wise man, Miss Mamie.”

  “Yes, and I do hope John-Boy will bring his typewriting machine back just as soon as he can.”

  “He will, Miss Mamie, I promise you. Now, the . . . uh, business about which I wanted to speak to you, is your drainpipes.”

  “Our drainpipes?”

  “Yes. I believe it was in April you spoke about the drains being clogged up?”

  “I declare, Mamie, he’s right! Don’t you remember, the last time it rained? The drainpipes all stopped up, and we had a leak directly over the Recipe room.”

  “Yes, we did! And that rainwater just fell straightaway onto the evaporating pipes and ended up in the dripping crocks.”

  “And didn’t Mr. Hollander like that batch! Why, he just raved and raved. Said it was the finest we’d ever made!”

  “Perhaps we should add a little rainwater to every batch, Mamie.”

  “What I was proposing,” Zeb said before they got carried off again, “is that I fix those pipes for you. Now we’re just likely to be having some summer showers right quick, and I know you don’t want any of your papa’s equipment to be getting wet and rusty.”

  Miss Emily smiled.

  “Why, now, isn’t that nice of Zebulon, Sister? Times being what they are, with most everyone having all kinds of troubles, and Zebulon Walton thinks about us!”

  “I’ve said ever so many times, Mamie, you can always count on a Walton man. Don’t you remember just this spring when we had our big reunion party? It was the Waltons who helped us out and made the party such a success!”

  “Now, what I was thinking about, if it sounds agreeable to you ladies, was something in the neighborhood of three dollars to get them pipes straightened out and running right.”

  “Oh, I think that sounds just as agreeable as can be, don’t you, Mamie?”

  “I surely do, Sister. And Mr. Walton, we’ll just be ever so grateful to you.”

/>   “It’s a deal then.”

  Miss Emily sighed happily. “Well, now, that wasn’t so very difficult, was it? I do think we’re rather good at business affairs after all. Don’t you, Mamie?”

  “There’s one thing,” Zeb said, “that is, if you lovely ladies don’t think it’s too much of an imposition. The electricity bill over at our house has come due. And if you don’t mind, after I finish the drains, I’d appreciate borrowing your car so I can go over to Charlottesville and pay it.”

  “Oh, dear. You mean Papa’s car?”

  Miss Emily shook her head. “Oh, no. We don’t ever let anyone use Papa’s car, Mr. Walton. Since Papa died we’ve cleaned and polished it every week without fail.”

  Miss Mamie nodded solemnly. “It’s a Franklin, you know.”

  With that explanation the matter seemed to be settled, and the two ladies smiled.

  “Well,” Zeb said, “I reckon I can get John to drive me over.” He had hoped to earn the money and secretly pay the bill, so the electricity coming back on would be a big surprise to everybody.

  “Mamie,” Miss Emily suddenly said, “you know what we could do? We could just drive over to Charlottesville ourselves, and take Zebulon along. It’s just been ever so long since we’ve had a nice long drive.”

  “Why, yes we could! What a good idea! And while we’re there we can buy material to make new dresses for the dance!”

  “And hats, Mamie! It’s been ages since we’ve treated ourselves to new hats!”

  “And lingerie! I just must have a new pair of . . .” Miss Mamie gasped and caught herself, blushing deeply. Then the two of them giggled and hurried off. “You just do those drains as fast as you can, Mr. Walton.”

  Before Zeb was finished with the pipes, the two ladies were dressed and waiting patiently for him by the side of the house. Then they all climbed into the old Franklin and set off, with Miss Mamie at the wheel.

  Zeb had often seen Miss Mamie and Miss Emily driving over the roads of Walton’s Mountain. On those occasions, with the two ladies smiling happily in the front seat, anyone who recognized the approaching car was quick to give them a broad and unemcumbered path. All the evidence seemed to indicate that Miss Mamie had complete faith in the automobile’s ability to find its own way to its destination, and she supplied only a minimum of help. When the roads were smooth the car angled slowly to the side, where a gutter or a high shoulder set the wheels back on course, or across to the other shoulder for the next correction. When the roads were muddy or rutted, the car simply followed the natural path.

  Inside the car, Zeb found the experience even more harrowing. While she drove, Miss Mamie adjusted her hat and straightened her skirts. She exclaimed at the weather and the scenery, talked excitedly about the coming dance, and repeatedly expressed the hope that John-Boy was taking good care of their papa’s typewriting machine. And with every subject her foot responded by lifting or thrusting itself harder against the accelerator.

  “You are going to the dance, aren’t you, Zebulon? It’s just been ever so long since we’ve had a dance in Walton’s Mountain.”

  Zeb answered such questions quickly, so Miss Mamie’s eyes could return to the road. “I reckon we’ll be there.”

  “And did you see who’s going to do the calling?”

  “Yes.”

  “Fred Oglethorpe Hansen! I declare, I think Mr. Hansen’s just one of the most handsome men in all Jefferson County! Don’t you think so, Sister?”

  “And such a gentleman,” Miss Emily sighed. “I do recall that some years ago Mr. Hansen was a-courting your Esther, wasn’t he, Zebulon?”

  “Yes.”

  “Now, aren’t you just the lucky one to have won her hand!”

  “When we go to the dance, we must take Mr. Hansen a jar of Recipe, Sister. He did love it so. And I do believe it improved his calling.”

  Traffic in Charlottesville was not heavy. But from the few cars that were on the streets there came a great deal of honking and tire-screeching, along with angry words from the drivers. Miss Mamie saw only the display windows of stores and waved to an occasional friend as she delivered Zeb to the Jefferson County Electric Company.

  Zeb paid the bill, explaining to the young lady that the delinquency was merely an oversight due to the press of other complicated business affairs, and then the sisters began their shopping spree.

  “Well, I do declare, Zebulon,” Miss Mamie said, now that the car was loaded, “if we’d bought one tiny wisp of a package more, we’d all just be crowded right out to the running boards.”

  Miss Emily was wedged tightly between them, and the car was started. “Hasn’t this just been the most exciting day!”

  “Sure has,” Zeb agreed, “and a long day. It’s always nice to be going home.”

  Without a backward glance Miss Mamie pushed the accelerator to the floor and swung out into the street.

  “Miss Mamie,” Zeb said, “I think you ought to be slowing down some if you’re going to turn that corner.”

  “Oh, I just love the wind rushing past,” she exclaimed.

  Zeb braced himself, but there was no need. Miss Mamie flew right past the road toward Walton’s Mountain. “Miss Mamie?”

  “Oh, Mr. Walton,” she smiled, “we’re not going home yet. We just don’t ever come to Charlottesville without stopping in to see Mr. Harper.”

  Miss Emily agreed. “Just wouldn’t seem like we’d been to Charlottesville.”

  “But, Miss Mamie, it’s long past supper time.”

  “Is it? Well, I’m just not the least bit hungry. Are you, Emily?”

  “Not at all. Shopping just makes me so excited, my appetite plumb disappears.”

  Zeb nodded and settled back in the seat. He knew there was no use protesting. Earlier in the spring, just before the Baldwin sisters’ reunion party, Zeb had found himself in much the same situation. That time he had not gotten home until after midnight. But it had been his own fault; he had sipped a little too much of the ladies’ Recipe and ended up taking them to a movie theater when their car wouldn’t start. Esther had hit the ceiling and didn’t let him forget it for a month. At least this time, Zeb consoled himself, he had a good excuse. Getting the electricity turned back on ought to make them all happy enough to forgive his sins. To err is human, he thought with a smile, and to forgive is divine. And when the lights came on, they’d all sure enough think it was divine. In the meantime, however, he’d just have to grit his teeth and pray they didn’t decide to visit everyone they knew in Charlottesville.

  Mr. Harper turned out to be the proprietor of a drugstore—a smiling, pink-faced little man. “Well, well, well, ladies, what a pleasant surprise,” he beamed as he came out from behind the soda fountain.

  Zeb tried to smile through the introductions, and then the ladies gushed on.

  “Papa purchased all his medicine from Mr. Harper during the illness.”

  “I declare, I just don’t think we could ever count the number of times he literally saved Papa’s life.”

  “And a pleasure it was to serve such a fine and distinguished gentleman as Judge Baldwin,” the druggist responded.

  “Mr. Harper would deliver the medicine personally all the way to our house. And he never left without sharing some of Papa’s Recipe.”

  Mr. Harper brought his hands together and closed his eyes. “Ahhh, the Recipe.”

  The ladies were smiling impishly now. Miss Emily dug into her handbag. “We have a surprise for you, Mr. Harper!”

  “You don’t mean . . .”

  Miss Emily lifted her hand, displaying a mason jar full of amber liquid. “It’s from a batch Papa made in 1925!”

  “We only share it with very special people,” Miss Mamie smiled.

  Mr. Harper took the jar in loving hands. “Well, I declare. I do declare. How very thoughtful of you ladies. Now,” he said, his face brightening, “you must let me do something for you. How about three ice cream sodas? On the house.”

  “Mr. Walton? Have we
the time?”

  “Well . . .”

  “Oh, let’s indulge ourselves,” Miss Mamie cried. “Mr. Harper, your hospitality is simply overwhelming!”

  “Can we have chocolate?” Miss Emily asked.

  “Three chocolate sodas coming up. You just browse around, and I’ll have ’em ready in a jiffy.”

  “Isn’t he just the most lovely gentleman?” Miss Mamie said.

  “He truly is,” Zeb nodded. It was dark outside now, and the ice cream sodas would probably take another hour to drink. Zeb smiled, and the two sisters moved around the displays.

  “Sister?” Miss Emily said. “Look here! Perfume! That’s the one thing we didn’t get!”

  “Oh, aren’t they just the most lovely bottles!”

  Miss Emily removed a stopper and sniffed. “Oh, my. It smells positively wicked!”

  “Well, what can you expect? Just look at that name. ‘L’Amour.’ French women have no shame.”

  Zeb stared at a display of pocketknives and then wandered over to the perfume counter.

  “Zebulon, I do think you ought to buy some of this lovely perfume for Mrs. Walton.”

  Emily agreed. “I think that’s just a lovely idea!”

  Zeb looked at the display. The whole table was covered with frilly boxes and colored bottles. “They sure enough got lots of different kinds here, haven’t they.”

  “What kind does your Esther prefer, Mr. Walton?”

  Zeb squinted closer at the bottles. “Well, I don’t rightly know for sure. Raspberry, I’d guess.” He looked for one containing red liquid.

  “Raspberry?”

  “Uh huh. ’Least that’s her favorite punch drink.”

  “Here’s something nice,” Miss Mamie said. “It’s called ‘Evening Mist.’ ”

  Before Zeb could pull his arm away she squeezed the little bulb, drenching his hand.

  “That’s how you smell it,” Miss Mamie laughed.

  “Huh. Don’t smell much like raspberry.”

  “Oh, I think Mrs. Walton would be delighted. It’s just so nice and faint and delicate. And it’s only thirty-nine cents!”