“Y’all are busted,” Paris said to the girl, who was about to fly at Willie Lee. “Get back and shut up.”
Willie Lee, experienced with his own little sister, held the baby quite confidently. Tears were squeezing out of her tightly shut eyes. Munro licked her toes, and she jumped and opened her eyes.
Rubbing her back, Willie Lee began to talk to her. “You are going to be all right…there now…sweet baby.”
She gazed at him, and he kept on talking to her, while those watching and listening experienced not only the miracle of the fever leaving the baby’s face, but Willie Lee’s words coming out amazingly smooth.
Emma was out in the backyard serving afternoon refreshments to the work crew when Sheriff Neville Oakes drove up.
She knew most of the young workmen by name now, and they always greeted her with a smile and an easy, “Hi, Miz Berry.”
“You’re spoilin’ my crew,” said the pool construction foreman Ralph Goode. As he said this, he helped himself to three large oatmeal cookies and a banana out of the basket. “They get in fights to be on the crew to come here.”
“That’s the idea,” replied Emma, continuing on around the backyard, handing out cold bottles of lemonade and generous helpings of fruit and homemade cookies, and stepping over trenches and around holes and concrete forms to do so.
The work was all going to be completed in plenty of time for the bridal-shower barbeque. John Cole had told Emma with a little bit of admiration that her serving refreshments was the secret of getting a good job done.
She had not meant it as any bribe. “I just wanted to make sure we didn’t have anyone with heat stroke…and to fatten up some of those skinny ones.”
It turned out that the young man that she had especially wanted to plump up just a bit—to put a smile on his face—was the person the sheriff came looking for.
The sheriff got out of his car, and heads all over the yard turned to look at him. Not only was he in a sheriff’s car and uniform, but he was an enormous man and people quite naturally had to look at him.
“Hello, Sheriff Oakes,” Emma called, and started hurrying his way with the instant and horrible fear that something awful had happened to John Cole or Johnny. She stumbled in stepping over a trench, and the young man she had been serving dropped his drink to reach up and catch her by the hand.
The sheriff called back, “Everything’s fine, Miz Berry. No emergency. I’m not here to arrest anybody.” He waved both hands and seemed very anxious that no one get upset. It was well-known that Neville Oakes was an enormous pussycat; he could not stand people to get upset.
“I’m just here lookin’ to see a Sammy Varela. I understand he is on this crew.”
It was Sammy who had hold of Emma’s hand to help her over the trench. She looked at him, and he looked as if he wanted to run. Then, without a word, he picked up his drink from the dirt and, still carrying his cookies, he went just behind Emma toward the sheriff. He walked stoically but with his head down, as if going to a firing squad.
The sheriff called him Mr. and said, “We got your brother and sisters at the station. I think you might want to come down and help us get the situation straightened out.” He held open the patrol-car door for Sammy, who slipped into the seat.
Then, to Emma, the sheriff said, “You can come, too, Miss Emma. Paris who works for you at the Stop is involved. You’ll have to drive yourself, though.”
With the image of the young man staring forlornly out the window burning in her mind, Emma raced inside for her purse, returned to her car and took off so fast that she caught up to the sheriff on the highway. Seeing him, she slowed down, afraid he would give her a ticket for speeding. She called John Cole, taking the chance that the sheriff wouldn’t look in his rearview mirror and see her using her cell phone while driving.
Then she looked in her rearview mirror and saw that Ralph Goode was following her in the pool-company truck.
It turned out that the Varela children had arrived in town from Dallas several months before with their mother, who had come with a man who got a job as mechanic at the Ford dealership and worked only three weeks before being fired for stealing tools. When he left town, their mother left with him. The children’s parents were divorced, and they did not know for sure where their father was. Mr. Varela was an Air Force sergeant based down in San Antonio, but he had been deployed overseas at the first of the year.
Fearing separation if taken by the authorities, the children had not told anyone about being abandoned but had struggled along on their own. Sammy admitted to stealing a number of things around town—aspirin from the drugstore for the baby, the cash from the yard sale, clothes off people’s lines, anything to feed and clothe his brother and sisters—until he got the job on the pool-construction crew, as well as washing dishes in the evenings at the Main Street Café.
He had been getting up before dawn every morning to walk to the house of one of his fellow workers, where he picked up a ride to the construction site, and in the evening he was dropped off in town, so he could go over to his job at the café, where he would get supper as part of his pay. In this manner he had managed to keep the electricity and water on and keep them from starving. He didn’t say, but everyone knew that the children, all but the baby Lucy, who was quite round, had often gone hungry, and virtually existed on hotdogs and peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. And there had been nothing Sammy could do but leave the younger ones on their own and caring for the baby while he worked.
“I’ll pay back everything we owe soon as I can,” he said earnestly. “I already gave that yard-sale lady back twenty dollars. I left it in her mailbox. I don’t want them to go to juvy or Children’s Services.”
Sheriff Oakes, seeing that the boy was near tears, passed him a soft drink and said, “It’s all gonna get straightened out. Nobody’s goin’ anywhere.”
“He doesn’t owe the Stop anything,” John Cole said, having shown up when Paris called.
“I’ll settle with anyone else,” said Ralph Goode. “He’s been a good worker on my crew.”
Fayrene Gardner had come over from the Main Street Café when she heard of the hoopla and said she would chip in, too. “Sammy does all sorts of extra things over at my place.”
In the outer office, the younger children were being kept quiet with hot-fudge sundaes that Belinda and Vella brought over. After a few bites, the girl, Nina, sat hers aside as a show of defiance. “I’m not goin’ away from Lucy and my brothers. If they send me somewhere by myself, I’ll run away.”
“Oh, eat your ice cream. It won’t help you not to,” said Paris, who was also enjoying a sundae on the house. When both Paris and Nicky stuck spoons into her sundae, Nina grabbed it and began to eat.
Until permanent arrangements could be made, Sammy and Nicky were invited by Tate Holloway to stay with them at Winston Valentine’s home. Willie Lee was excited, because his father said that he would put a cot in his room for Nicky. It would be like having a brother.
Naomi and Pastor Smith took the girls to stay at their house. Naomi said her three-year-old would entertain the baby, and she had Gabby and two older daughters to help. “When you have six children, a couple more don’t really matter.”
Sammy looked at his brother and sisters. “We’ll only be a few blocks apart,” he said, hugging them. He didn’t want to say it, but when he found out he would get the guest room, with a whole double bed and tiny bath all to himself, he was relieved to be on his own.
Nina had been the main protector of her baby sister and was reluctant to let go of her. After a few minutes of Naomi holding Lucy, though, Nina began to act like a little girl again. Within twenty minutes, she was playing with Gabby on the tire swing in the Smith backyard.
When once more Sheriff Oakes had his office to himself, he sat in his high-backed chair with relief. “Those are really nice kids,” he said. “Not one of them cried. Not even that baby.”
“That little girl took my compact,” said secretary and dispatcher Lori Wright.
“I’m pretty sure she did. I’d laid it right there beside the telephone.”
“Have you seen my Muscle and Fitness magazine?” said Deputy Lyle Midgett, looking around. “I was readin’ it when they got here. I bet that boy took it. He was lookin’ at it…and I still wanted to read the article about buildin’ mass.”
“Those kids are born criminals,” said Giff Phelps. “They’ll always be that way now. It all starts in the first six years of life, and obviously they’ve had the criminal influence for many more years than that, and—”
“Giff?” the sheriff hollered.
“Yes, sir?”
“Go patrol or somethin’. Lyle, go buy another magazine.”
That taken care of, the sheriff settled back to watch his afternoon soap opera, which he had taped. He was halfway through it when Lori came to his doorway.
“I just got this from San Antonio. Those kids have been reported as being kidnapped by their mother. Their daddy has been lookin’ all over the country for them since he got back from overseas.”
“Well, let ’im know he can come get ’em.”
“I already did,” she said, and went back to her desk to do her nails.
The sheriff put his feet up on his desk and thought that he could not have a better life than the one he had in the town where he had been born and where everyone pitched in to settle matters.
The next morning, Winston had a grand time with all the news.
“The mystery of the recent rash of petty thefts has been solved and some young lives rescued, thanks to our own Paris Miller down at the Berry Stop.”
There came the sound of applause.
“By now most everyone knows of the young children who have joined our small town, and if you haven’t, just go down and ask Belinda at Blaine’s Drugstore.
“We want to wish a big congratulations to Miss Lillian Jennings.” More applause, along with a trumpet. “Miss Lillian called me not five minutes ago to say that she has sold an article to American History magazine.
“And last, but certainly not least…” A loud trumpet fanfare sounded for some seconds. “…your own Brother Winston has been asked to appear on The Today Show. Yes, sir. I am a curiosity—the only ninety-something-year-old radio personality in the nation, and very likely the world.
“There is no doubt about it, we home folks here in Valentine are a special breed.”
Two minutes later, when he had cut to music, Belinda called to berate him for telling all the town news, leaving her nothing to report next week.
29
Holding On
Emma was on the phone with her mother when she heard the beep of a second caller.
She always got rattled when she heard the call-waiting beep, and seeing that it was John Cole calling, she got further rattled. Here she had her mother talking and now her husband wanted to talk. It wasn’t like the call-waiting gave her long to make the decision, either. Worse, she would have to interrupt her mother in the middle of telling her all about not only having sold her article to American History magazine, but also the reaction from her online writing group. It would be rather awful to break off her own mother from talking about the biggest event of her writing life only to hear John Cole ask if she had washed his underwear or something like that.
Still, reminding herself that she was married and living with John Cole, not her mother, she managed to say in the midst of her mother’s happy discourse, “Mama, I’m gettin’ a beep, and it’s John Cole. I’ll call you back, okay? Bye.”
It just seemed such a rude thing to do, especially to one’s own mother, who of course, was jarred as all get-out.
Answering John Cole turned out to be a very good choice, because he also had some exciting news. He had called to ask if she wanted to join him for a public relations meeting with the banker and builder on the land for the new Berry Truck Stop. He was apologetic for not asking her sooner.
“This just came up. Today’s the only day for a couple of weeks that we can get everyone together to put on a ground-breaking ceremony and get pictures for the newspaper. I need to get a sport coat, so I thought I could swing by the house and pick you up…and we could go out to dinner afterward. I understand, though, if you’ve got things goin’ there.”
“Oh, I’d love to go with you.” She had already left her worktable and was removing her apron. “I’ll be ready.”
This was the first time that John Cole had asked her to do anything related to the business in a very long time, and the first time he had suggested dinner out in ages.
Racing around, she did a full makeup job, with lipstick by the name of Luscious Red. She dressed in a summery sleeveless dress that swirled around her ankles, and, with a thought of the sun, she pulled out the wispy, horribly expensive wide-brimmed hat that she had ordered from Nordstrom’s and never had a chance to wear. She tried it on and delighted in the way the brim dipped over her left eye.
She was ready just as John Cole arrived. Peering out the back door, she saw him stop and speak to the workmen, who were laying sod around the freshly cured concrete area of the pool. He even got down on one knee, pointing out something. Emma smiled to think of what he was likely saying: “Make sure you get it in firmly, now…and you are plannin’ to water it thoroughly before you leave, aren’t you?”
Then he was coming to the door, so she stepped back to the counter, busying herself with pouring him a glass of cold tea, no ice, just as he liked it. When he came in, she turned quickly to face him, causing her skirt to swirl.
He said, “Your pool is just about finished,” speaking with satisfaction.
“Our pool,” she said, and handed him the glass of cold tea.
He gave no indication that he heard the correction, simply thanked her for the glass and drank deeply. Then he seemed to see her for the first time. “You look nice.”
“Thank you. I tried.”
Then he cast a worried glance at the hat. “You might better be careful about that hat. It’ll probably blow off if a good Oklahoma wind comes up.”
She took that in and smiled. “You don’t like the hat?”
“Oh, no…I mean it looks nice,” he said, as if he recognized his mistake, which may or may not have prompted his quick kiss before heading away. “I’ll get my sport coat and we can leave.” Then he called over his shoulder, “You don’t look like the mother of a grown son.”
Thrilled, she called back, “Good. I did not intend to.”
He could so often surprise her. He always had, she realized.
Rather than grab his sport coat, John Cole decided to shower and don fresh clothes. He said she looked too good for him to go all sweaty and wrinkled. He even put on some “good-smelling stuff,” as he called it. It took him barely fifteen minutes and they were getting into the car, where Emma knocked the wide brim of the hat on the roof of the car. She found that once inside the car with the hat, she could not sit there with it on. It hit the seat back or the window just every way she turned her head. Finally she took it off and f lung it into the backseat.
“How do women wear those things anywhere?”
“What women have you ever seen wear them?”
“Well, in the movies. They show them wearing hats like that.”
“That is in the movies, Emma,” he pointed out. “Ready?” His hand on the key in the ignition, he raised an eyebrow at her.
“Yes…and I imagine women with hats like that ride in larger cars, or convertibles.”
This idea was not pursued, however, because as John Cole backed around, here came a car up the drive. “Who’s that?”
“It…it’s Gracie,” Emma said.
“What’s she doin’ here?”
“Well, I don’t know. I’m sitting here with you.”
“We don’t really have time for talkin’.” He looked at his watch.
“You wait here. I’ll speak to her for just a minute. It has to be somethin’, or she wouldn’t have come by.”
John Cole watched her get out of
the car, and walk across to greet Gracie and hug her. He shoved the gear shift into park, looked at his watch and then gazed out the windshield at the women. Gracie was a small woman, even just a bit shorter than Emma, although Emma was wearing heels. Emma still had a youthful shape. Emma’s profile was toward him. The breeze fluttered her hair. He saw her glance quickly in his direction.
Then he saw Gracie look in his direction, and he averted his gaze to the rearview mirror, reaching up to adjust it. He didn’t want to appear to be just sitting there staring at them. Although he didn’t know what else he was supposed to be doing, because he was sitting there and couldn’t help but be looking at them.
He shifted his gaze to the air-conditioning vents in the dash and held his hand over one to check the coolness of the air. He needed to get maintenance done on the system.
Again his gaze drifted to the women. They had moved a couple of feet away, into the shade of the big old crepe myrtle. He thought, she’s going to come over and say that Gracie needs something—needs to talk to her or do something with her—so she isn’t going. He knew this so thoroughly that he waited for Emma to turn his way and walk to his window, and he could hear her words in his mind. You go on. I need to help Gracie out with something or other. The idea caused him to look over at the pool and tap his fingers on the steering wheel.
He would not let her see him waiting so hard for her. He would tell her it didn’t matter. Which it really didn’t. Gracie was more important than a silly, trumped-up ground-breaking ceremony.
He kept telling himself this for another five minutes, and had the reluctant thought that he was going to have to get out and address the situation. More time ticked away. He checked his watch a hundred times, while his annoyance increased to near fury level.
Just when he reached for the door handle, he saw Emma hug Gracie, and the next moment she walked Gracie to her car and saw her into it. Then she came toward their car, and John Cole could hardly believe that she got in and settled herself into the passenger seat beside him, saying, “I’m sorry that took so long, but we can go now.”
Chin Up, Honey Page 29