Tumbleweed Weddings

by Donna Robinson

  The crowd broke out in applause. Lane replaced the mic and stepped off the platform. The applause accompanied him all the way to the back of the room, with a few whistles and shouts of “Bravo!” thrown in.

  Bruce took the microphone. “It is now ten o’clock, and we will dismiss the meeting. Be assured that the town council will convene to discuss this, um, problem.”

  Conversation filled the room as the crowd rose and began flowing toward the exits.

  Callie shared a smile with Lane. “I’m glad you spoke, Lane. You did a great job.”

  “Thanks.” He gazed at her.

  Agatha Collingsworth strode toward Callie. “Oh, Callie, sugar! I must speak to ya’ll. Got a minute?” Not waiting for an answer, Aggie pulled her to a corner of the room, away from Lane and the milling crowd. “I don’t like the way this meeting went tonight. Do you?” Her dark eyes, usually dancing with fun, were serious for once.

  Callie shrugged. “It’s hard to say how it affected the council.”

  “Hard to say?” Aggie lightly smoothed back her hair. “Those stubborn men are going to do nothing about keeping our library open. But I got an idea.” She glanced around and lowered her voice. “We need a petition, ya know? If we get enough townspeople to sign a petition to keep the library open, the town council will have to honor it.”

  “But what are the laws about presenting a petition?”

  Aggie cackled. “I’m one step ahead of ya, girl! I talked to Bertram Lilly this morning over at the county courthouse, and he told me exactly how to get that council to sit up and take notice.” She pulled a piece of paper from her purse. “I already made a mock-up to collect names and addresses. Look it over and see what ya’ll think.”

  After some discussion, they agreed on a plan. Finally Aggie left the Elks lodge, which was empty now except for five people clustered near the platform, deep in conversation. Cheyenne sat by herself in the second row from the back of the room.

  Callie realized she’d been standing for more than three hours. She sank into a chair in the row behind Cheyenne. “Where’s Lane?”

  Cheyenne swiveled around. “He didn’t stay long.”

  “He left?” Callie sighed, tired from the emotional roller-coaster ride she’d taken in the past few days. “I don’t know what to do about him, Cheyenne.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I really like him, but I don’t think we’re meant for each other.”

  “Don’t say that. He likes you. Why, just look at the way he acted toward you tonight—staring in your eyes and whispering in your ear. I bet he’ll be at the library tomorrow morning when you open.”

  “The library’s closed on Wednesdays.”

  “Oh, that’s right.”

  Callie removed her glasses and rubbed her eyes. “He’s so reclusive, and I still don’t know what kind of agent he is. Sometimes I wonder if it’s God’s will for us to get together.”

  “Oh, Callie.” Cheyenne placed her hand on Callie’s arm. “I have a strong feeling about you and Lane.”

  “I don’t. I don’t have any peace at all. He hasn’t called or tried to see me.” Callie shrugged. “Maybe I should just forget him.”

  Cheyenne’s blue eyes widened. “Don’t do that! I thought you wanted to marry him.”

  “Well, yeah …” Lane’s handsome face popped into Callie’s mind, and she thought how easy he was to talk to. “But he’s so bitter toward God. And besides that, something is going on in his life that he doesn’t want me to know about.”

  Cheyenne shrugged. “If that’s the case, God knows what it is. Personally, I think the Lord brought him to Fort Lob just for you.” The dimples in her cheeks deepened with her smile. “You have to trust the Lord, not worry about the future. Take your burden to the Lord and leave it there.”

  “You’re right.” Callie sighed. “I’ll pray and let the Lord take care of it.” She put her arms around her friend and hugged her, which was difficult with a chair between them. “Thanks for your advice. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

  “You keep owing me more and more, but I know how the debt can be paid.”

  Callie raised her eyebrows. “How?”

  Cheyenne grinned. “Make me a bridesmaid in your wedding.”

  Chapter 12

  I’m checking this book out, Callie.” Vern Snyder laid a slim volume on the checkout desk and slapped his library card on top of it.

  It was eleven o’clock on Friday morning, and Callie hadn’t seen Lane since Tuesday night at the meeting. But she’d seen plenty of Vern.

  She picked up his card. “Seems like you’re spending a lot of time at the library, even though you want the building to be demolished.” She glanced at the title of his book—How to Become a Millionaire in Twelve Weeks.

  “Yeah, well, you know.” Vern shrugged. “It’s a place to hang out. Once the library closes, I aim to spend my time at the Trailblazer Café.”

  She ran the book under the scanner. “Has the town council met to discuss the protests about tearing down the library?”

  “Nah, we don’t need to do that. This building will be gone in two months.”

  “Aggie Collingsworth still thinks we can keep the library open. She’s circulating a petition for a revote.”

  “A petition?” Vern’s bushy eyebrows met between his eyes. “That woman don’t know when to stop. How does she know what’s good for this town? Well, she don’t. That’s why we have a town council.” He picked up the book. “This library has got to go, Callie. It’s for the good of Fort Lob. Remember that.”

  Callie sighed as he left. Why were they bothering to petition?

  The door opened to admit Cheyenne, dressed in her US Postal uniform, a mailbag slung over her shoulder. “Here’s the mail for the library.” She placed a letter, several magazines, and a newspaper on the checkout desk.

  Callie smiled. “You’re delivering the mail today, Cheyenne?”

  “Yeah, Bernie’s sick. But I like doing delivery. Gets me out of the building. It gets so hot in there without air-conditioning.” She tapped the newspaper. “You should read today’s article by Herbert Dreyfuss.”

  Callie picked up The Scout. “What’s the subject?”

  “The danger of power in city halls.” Cheyenne smirked. “It was awfully quiet over at the Trailblazer Café—you know all those men who meet there for breakfast every morning? Most of them are on the council, and I don’t think they appreciated Mr. Dreyfuss’s opinion.”

  Callie found the column on page eight beside the familiar picture of Dreyfuss—a handsome man in his sixties with graying temples. She spread the paper on the desk. The article was called “City Hall and the Dangers of a Political Machine.” Silently she read the first few sentences. “But Cheyenne, this is about New York City and the history of Tammany Hall.”

  Cheyenne leaned over and pointed to a paragraph near the bottom of the page. “Read this—out loud.”

  Callie focused on the words. “ ‘The political machine that wields power doesn’t have to be in a big city. Sometimes small towns have a group with great influence over their citizens. A town council often runs the town, making decisions without any input from the populace. In effect, it’s the old problem of taxation without representation.’ ” She looked up. “Wow, he put his finger on Fort Lob’s problem.”

  “Isn’t that an amazing coincidence?” Cheyenne hefted her mailbag over her shoulder. “You’d think old Herbert knew what had happened Tuesday night.” She turned to the door. “Gotta run. Later, girlfriend.”

  “Bye.” Callie perched on the stool behind her and read the entire article. Except for that one paragraph, the article didn’t have a remote resemblance to Fort Lob, but the mention of the town council was certainly a strong coincidence.

  Just like the Yellowstone article.

  Turning to the computer, she pressed a few keys. Lane’s name popped up with a list of books he had recently checked out.

  Callie’s jaw dropped. “I can�
��t believe this,” she muttered.

  Two children brought their books to the desk, interrupting her. She checked them out then helped a young mother find some books on child rearing. Ten minutes later, she got back to Lane’s name on the computer, hoping no one else would need her.

  She remembered calling Lane on Tuesday afternoon about the protest meeting. She called around four o’clock, but then he was late to the meeting, not arriving until eight thirty. According to the computer, he had checked out two books at 7:15. She stared at the titles.

  William Tweed: Boss of Tammany Hall.

  New York City and the Political Machine.

  She took a deep breath. Lane definitely had something to do with Herbert Dreyfuss. But what?

  The door opened, and Aggie swept into the library. She held a clipboard in her bejeweled hand. “Oh, sugar! You wouldn’t believe all the signatures I’m collecting.”

  Callie sighed. “Do you think it will do any good? Vern seems to think the library is history.”

  “Of course Vern would think that! He doesn’t come up for reelection for another three years. But we’ll show him!” Her husky voice sounded confident. “I just got back from Bruce MacKinnon’s ranch. We had a good talk.”

  Callie raised her eyebrows. “Did Bruce sign it?”

  Aggie sobered. “Well, no. But he did agree to a meeting with the citizens. After all, his reelection is coming up in November. He has to consider the popular vote.” She brushed her fingers against her hair. Today it was back to pink and looked like spun cotton candy. “I’m so excited! We have a date.”

  “You and Bruce?”

  “No, no!” Aggie cackled out a laugh. “As if he would want to date an old hen like me.” Her smile faded. “A date for the meeting, girl, held at the Elks lodge on Saturday, August 30, seven o’clock.” She tapped a red-manicured fingernail on the desk. “Write it down, sugar. We’ll beat the pants off those old councilmen!”

  “Really, Aggie.” Callie tried to hide her smile but didn’t quite succeed. “So we need all those signatures by the thirtieth?”

  “Oh, I’ll have them long before then. Why, that’s two weeks away. Plenty of time.” She placed the clipboard in front of Callie. “And I need to get your John Hancock, Miss Callie Brandt. Sign right here.” She pointed to the next available line.

  After Callie wrote her name and address, Aggie picked up the clipboard. “By the way, sugar, did you see that article by Herb Dreyfuss this morning?”

  “Yep. Looks like we have a political machine right here in Fort Lob.”

  “I know!” Aggie knit her brows together. “Ya’ll don’t think Herbert Dreyfuss snuck into our protest meeting, do ya?”

  “Well … I don’t think so.”

  Aggie brayed out a laugh. “Just kidding.” She glanced around. “Think I’ll take a little traipse through the library and have everyone sign up.” She ambled into the conservatory and soon struck up a conversation with Mrs. Anderson.

  Shaking her head, Callie pulled out a reserved book. That Aggie was a real character. But … could she be right? Was Herbert Dreyfuss actually at the meeting Tuesday night?

  Callie sank down on the stool. First the Yellowstone article—after Lane had checked out all those books about Yellowstone. Then the one about New York, Tammany Hall, and the political machine—after he had checked out books on those subjects. And he did have an uncle Herb.

  But that must be a true coincidence. His uncle had been dead for seven years. However, a rumor had circulated a few years ago that Herbert Dreyfuss was dead. Everyone thought it was speculation, and Callie herself had never believed it.

  Maybe Lane was Herbert Dreyfuss’s agent. Yes—a book agent. That must be the type of agent he was. And perhaps … perhaps Lane did the man’s research for him.

  “That’s it!” She jumped up from the stool just as two teen girls walked by the desk. She smiled at them sheepishly before looking again at the reserved books.

  Probably Lane looked through dozens of books for each article, found good material, then called Dreyfuss and talked it over with him. Maybe he e-mailed him through the Wi-Fi at the Trailblazer Café. She once saw Lane at a table in there with a laptop sitting in front of him.

  With a smile, Callie nodded. She’d figured it out. And she felt 100 percent better knowing Lane’s secret.

  A week later, Aggie breezed into the library. Callie stood at the checkout desk beside Miss Penwell, who had just arrived.

  “We did it!” Aggie laid down the clipboard, stuffed with a sheaf of messy papers. “Girls, we have collected enough signatures. I am so excited I could scream!”

  Miss Penwell pursed her lips. “Please don’t do it here, Agatha. Take your screams elsewhere.”

  “Oh, Lucille!” Aggie cackled out a laugh. “Ya’ll are a riot! I’m gonna drive out to Bruce MacKinnon’s ranch and throw this petition in his lap. Why, practically the whole town signed the thing!”

  Callie folded her arms on the desk. “I sure hope it saves our library.”

  “It won’t.” Miss Penwell turned to the computer. “This building will be gone before you know it.”

  A cloud of depression settled over Callie. Miss Penwell was right. The library was history, and so was Callie’s relationship with Lane Hutchins. She had tried to call his apartment several times in the past four days, but there was no answer. Finally, in desperation, she had called Mrs. Wimple who informed her that Lane was out of town. He said he wouldn’t be back until the end of the month.

  She couldn’t believe how much she missed him.

  But Aggie had no such reason to dampen her spirits. “Now, Lucille, don’t be such a wet blanket. I think this petition will do a world of good. And don’t forget that Bruce agreed to a meeting on the thirtieth. That’s only eight days away.”

  Miss Penwell glanced at Aggie before looking back at the computer. “Bruce may well be impressed with the number of signatures you’ve collected, Agatha, but some of the other men on the council won’t be swayed. They have no use for Fort Lob’s history. They would tear down every old building in this town if they could.”

  Aggie patted Miss Penwell’s hand. “That’s not true, hon. Besides, some of them are up for reelection this year, and they’ll probably agree to give it time. At least they’ll fix the electrical or something. I think—”

  “You don’t know the councilmen like I do.” Miss Penwell wagged her finger at Aggie. “These old buildings are expensive to maintain, and they don’t want to spend the town’s money. They’d rather put it in their pockets.”

  “But, Lucille—”

  “Do you know what kind of books Vern, Ralph, and some of those other men check out? They’re all about finance and investing and making money. That’s all they care about.”

  Aggie sighed, her good mood seeming to deflate for the first time. “I guess some of them men are greedy, Lucille, but that don’t mean we can’t persuade them to see our side.” She tapped the papers on the clipboard, her voice lifting with each word. “Look at all these signatures! Why, when the men see all these names representing people—the people of our town—who want to save our library, the idea will take wings and fly.”

  “It will never get off the ground.” Miss Penwell pursed her lips.

  Aggie ignored her. “Callie, hon, why don’t you go with me to see Bruce? He likes you, and maybe you can add your two cents. Ya’ll can represent the younger crowd.” She turned to Miss Penwell. “That okay, Lucille? You won’t need Callie for a few minutes, will ya, sugar?”

  Callie looked at Miss Penwell, knowing that petition would never fly.

  The older librarian adjusted her wire rims. “Well—”

  “Oh, you’re such a sweetie!” Aggie leaned over and gave Miss Penwell a quick hug. “We’ll be back as soon as we can.”

  Callie hung on for dear life as Aggie’s open Jeep bounced over the dirt road to Bruce’s ranch, which was four miles southwest of town. Even though Aggie hit every pothole in the road, she mana
ged to talk the entire time she was driving. Callie kept her mouth tightly shut, hoping to keep the dust and bugs out. When they finally pulled up in front of Bruce’s two-story farmhouse, she prayed she wouldn’t look as disheveled as she felt.

  Aggie parked the Jeep in front of the porch.

  Callie got out, hot and covered with a thin layer of dust. She couldn’t wait to get into Bruce’s air-conditioned house.

  “Oh, look at these roses!” With her clipboard, Aggie pointed to the red flowers growing profusely on trellises beside the porch. “How Bruce can keep his roses growing like that in August, I’ll never know.”

  They ascended the steps to the front door. Before Aggie could knock, Bruce opened the screen door for them. “Come on in. I heard through the grapevine that you’d collected enough signatures, Aggie.” His r‘s rolled with the lilt of his voice. “Thought you might be over today.”

  “Now isn’t this the most gossipy town ever? I only told one or two people.” Aggie walked past him into the house. “Maybe three.”

  Callie smiled when Bruce winked at her.

  Aggie took a large blue easy chair in the living room. “I brought Callie with me to represent the younger set, Bruce.” She dropped her voice and nodded at Callie. “Now ya’ll be sure to jump into the conversation, sugar.”

  Thankful for the cooler air, Callie took a seat on the comfortable blue-and-white-plaid sofa. “Well, I—”

  “Oh, Bruce.” Aggie glanced around. “Every time I come to your house, I’m impressed all over again! I just love the way ya’ll decorate.”

  “Why, thank you, Aggie.” Bruce handed her a glass. “Iced tea? I remember that you like plenty of sugar.”

  “Oh, ya’ll are just the sweetest thing!” Aggie smiled up at him as she took the glass.

  Callie stared at Aggie’s face. She really likes him! Callie had never thought of old Agatha Collingsworth falling in love with someone. But this was too funny—a down-home, overweight Texas gal falling for a sophisticated and staid Scotsman. Aggie had mentioned that Bruce wouldn’t want to date an old hen like her. Evidently she had no hope for a relationship with him. Just like me with Lane.