“I felt terrible last night, John-Boy,” Jenny murmured, “I thought something might have happened to you. Or that you didn’t care. Or that I might never see you again.”
John-Boy held her closer, not trusting his voice. He gently stroked her hair, and then smiled at her as she looked up. He kissed her again, then kissed her cheeks and nose and forehead. “It’ll never happen again, Jenny. Never again. Nobody’s ever goin’ to keep us apart again.”
For another minute they held the embrace. Then Jenny drew gently away and looked at the fireplace. She pushed a lock of hair from her forehead and laughed nervously. “Well, I guess I’d better get these dishes done.”
“To heck with the dishes,” John-Boy said. He took her hand and headed toward the nonexistent front door. “You been workin’ hard for ’leven years now, Becky-Lee Walton. It’s time you enjoyed the scenery around here.”
“But how about the wolves and bears? And Indians?”
“No need to worry about them. I got my rifle and powder.”
John-Boy had no idea what happened to the next two hours. Nor was he certain about whether Jenny Pendleton was really Jenny Pendleton or Becky-Lee Walton, and whether he was John-Boy or Rome Walton. It didn’t make a whole lot of difference. The girl who held his hand laughed and smiled and sometimes stopped for no apparent reason and kissed him. As abruptly, she ran away, and reappeared giggling in some hidden glen. They lay on their stomachs and drank water from fresh springs, and they took off their shoes and waded through cool, shaded ponds. Birds chirped and sometimes screeched angrily at them, and a deer watched suspiciously as they sat on a huge rock overlooking the valley.
John-Boy saw places on Walton’s Mountain he’d never known existed, and each of them seemed beautiful and lush with the sparkling warmth of spring. And more beautiful than all of them was Jenny’s smile, the soft texture of her hair, and the liquid, dancing warmth of her dark-brown eyes. John-Boy held her close to him, and felt his heart clamoring with urgent desire. And there was a moment in which each of them stopped breathing, as if poised on the rim of a deep chasm. But they had closed their eyes and the danger passed.
They must have walked at least five miles. Or maybe it was ten. They had gone down the back of the mountain, through moist-green meadows and virgin forests, and then circled slowly toward home, feeling no obligations to time or place or other people. When, finally, they reached the dirt road and the house came into view, John-Boy released Jenny’s hand.
“I guess it must be about lunchtime,” he said.
She smiled, understanding the need for caution. She touched her hair, feeling the wild flower John-Boy had placed there, and quickly removed it. But then she changed her mind. She put the flower back, hooked her arm through John-Boy’s with a final, quick smile, and then they continued with a respectable distance between them.
It seemed incredible that everything at the Walton house was very much the same as they had left it. The frog pond was now filled, but the same mud-splattered people still surrounded it. Most of them were kneeling, watching the erratic activities of their captives.
“Where you been, John-Boy?” Jason asked.
“Oh, we just walked up to the top of the mountain.”
Mary Ellen gave Jenny a hard look. “You goin’ to help with the tadpoles?’
“I’d like to. What can I do?”
“Nothin’ now. But we’ll be collectin’ some more after lunch. And we’ll have to dig another hole.” Mary Ellen was making it clear that Jenny would get no part of the six million dollars unless she started pulling her weight.
“Children!” Olivia called from the back door. “Lunch is ready. And please don’t track that mud into the house.” She started to close the door, but then held it open for Jenny and John-Boy. “Did you have a nice time?”
It was silly, John-Boy guessed, but it seemed like his mother was looking at him extra hard.
“Oh, it was beautiful up there,” Jenny said. “And so exciting to see where the first Waltons settled.”
“You certainly were up there a long time.”
Jenny laughed. “John-Boy was pretending to be Rome Walton, fighting off wolves and wild Indians. He killed hundreds of them.”
Olivia smiled, her fears suddenly gone. “Well, you two better wash up. You are going to have lunch with us, aren’t you, Jenny?”
“Oh, I’d love to.”
“Mama,” John-Boy asked, “do you think it would be all right if Jenny went with me to the Baldwins’ this afternoon?”
“I’m not in favor of anybody goin’ to the Baldwins’, John-Boy.”
“But you remember what Sheriff Bridges said last night. He’s kind of dependin’ on me.”
Olivia glanced at the two hopeful faces and got butter from the refrigerator. She had heard of no instances in which the Baldwin sisters had corrupted women or girls. Maybe it would be safer for John-Boy to have Jenny along. “I guess it’d be all right. But if you’re goin’ there to work, I don’t imagine the Baldwin ladies will appreciate your spendin’ the time talkin’ to Jenny.”
“Oh, I won’t bother him, Mrs. Walton. And maybe I can help find out something about Cousin Homer Lee.”
“That kind of business is best left to Sheriff Bridges. I just hope he gets it over with fast.”
VII
“Why, of co’se! You’re Dave Pendleton’s little girl, aren’t you! Mamie, look who John-Boy Walton’s brought with him this mornin’! Young Jennifer Pendleton! My, isn’t this a treat and a surprise. You two just come on into the parlor and sit right down. And Jenny Pendleton, aren’t you just the prettiest thing! I declare you’re as pretty as your dear mother, bless her sainted soul. And John-Boy, I just do believe you’re courtin’ this pretty little thing, aren’t you. You just sit right over there in the love seat while I see if we don’t have some lemonade in the icebox.”
Miss Mamie carried on the welcome while Miss Emily went for the lemonade. She had Jenny stand in the middle of the room so she could have a good look at her, and then asked about her father and her new stepmother. “And isn’t it nice that you two young people found each other. I declare I sometimes believe such things are all written right down for us in the stars.” She sighed happily and Miss Emily arrived with the lemonade.
“Isn’t this the most frightful mess!” Miss Emily said when they were all settled. On the low table between them were stacks of lavender-colored envelopes and stationery, along with a bottle of ink and a quill pen. “Sister and I have been writing invitations for the family reunion, and there are just so many of them I declare I’m just ovahwhelmed. Just ovahwhelmed!”
Miss Mamie smiled reprovingly. “There wouldn’t be so many, Emily, if we limited our guests solely to family members.”
“I still say Ashley Longworth is practically a family member, Mamie. A young man on the very verge, just the very verge of proposin’, is far more than a friend.”
“But you don’t even know where he is.”
“He attended the University of Virginia. Surely they must have kept track of him.”
Jenny sipped her lemonade, delighted with the conversation. “I’m sure the university would forward the letter.”
“There you are,” Miss Emily said triumphantly, and picked up the pen.
“Well, if you really feel you want to see him after all these years, you just go right ahead.” Miss Mamie sighed.
“It is not my desire to see him that is so important, as hurtin’ poor Ashley’s feelin’s if he should hear we had a grand party and he did not receive an invitation.” Miss Emily smiled dreamily. “He had such lovely cheekbones! Don’t you remember Ashley Longworth’s cheekbones, Mamie?”
“No, I don’t remember Ashley’s cheekbones, sister.” Miss Mamie smiled. “But I do remember he had nice eyes. One was green and one was blue.”
“Yes. Think of it. If I had married Ashley this place would be overrun with a whole passel of little children with blue-green eyes.” She frowned over at John-B
oy. “Some day, young man, would you bring all those brothers and sisters of yours over for a visit? I just adore children.”
John-Boy had finished the lemonade and placed the glass on the corner of the table. “Yes’m. I sure will.”
“And be sure to have your Granddaddy Zebulon come along. He does so appreciate our Recipe.”
John-Boy nodded. “Miss Mamie, are there any jobs you’ll be wantin’ me to do today?”
“Oh my, yes. The fire could do with more wood, and we’ll be needin’ more jars for the Recipe, and—oh dear, I forgot all about Cousin Homer Lee. Now isn’t that rude of me. Cousin Homer’s just been workin’ himself to the bone in the Recipe room, and we haven’t even introduced him to Jenny.” Her voice rose an octave and she sang out: “Cousin Homer Lee!”
Cousin Homer looked annoyed when he appeared. But the scowl quickly turned to a broad smile when he saw there was company.
“Cousin Homer Lee, you must come in here and meet Miss Jennifer Pendleton. Cousin Homer Lee is from Buckin’ham County, dear.”
“Jennifer,” Cousin Homer said. “A most charmin’ name for an even more charmin’ young lady.”
“Why, thank you, Mr. Baldwin.”
John-Boy smiled as Cousin Homer bowed and kissed Jenny’s hand. The sour aroma of the Recipe room had followed him in, and there was a dark stain down the side of his white pants.
“Isn’t he just the world’s biggest flatterer,” Miss Emily gushed. “He just keeps Mamie and me all atwitter around here.”
“Any flattery is but a pale mirror of your true beauty, ladies. If I were a poet I should have to venture no farther than Walton’s Mountain and this enchanted cottage for a lifetime of inspiration.”
Emily sighed. “And he just goes on and on and on. But I declare I could listen to it forever.”
Cousin Homer gave her an indulgent smile, then turned serious. “I’m afraid we have a small problem in the Recipe room, ladies. I seem to have added a double portion of sugar to this batch.”
“Again!”
Miss Mamie shook her head, amused. “Now isn’t that just like Cousin Homer. That’s the third time he’s made the same mistake. I’m afraid he’s just not suited to this kind of work.”
“Well,” Miss Emily said, “we’ll just have to increase all the other ingredients and make a double batch again.”
“Yes,” Cousin Homer agreed. “And we’ll need more jars, of course.”
Miss Emily smiled at Jenny. “We’ve just bought every jar Mr. Godsey has, and they’re all gone already. Isn’t that just the limit?”
“May I see the Recipe room?” Jenny asked.
“Why, of course you can, Jenny. We’d better get those ingredients all straightened out anyway.”
John-Boy had no desire to go into the Recipe room again, but he followed them all through the kitchen and out the side door.
The room was hotter and the odors even more pungent than on John-Boy’s first visit. The gurgling cauldron was almost overflowing now, and a half-dozen milk cans full of Recipe stood in the far corner.
Miss Mamie explained how the ingredients were mixed and the “base nectar” was distilled from the mash. When she finished she looked at the milk cans and shook her head. “Dear me, I think we’re goin’ to need far more than six dozen mason jars. I think at least twelve dozen, don’t you, Mamie?”
“That’s how many’ve been ordered,” John-Boy said.
“Oh? I thought it was six. Well, that’s just fine. Mr. Godsey should certainly have them by tomorrow.”
“And up there on those shelves,” Miss Emily went on, “is where we put the jars when they’re full. Of course we wash them out and use them over and over again. One can’t afford to be wasteful these days. And the Recipe sterilizes them just as pure as they can be.”
They all looked at the shelves above the milk cans. Except for three jars of Recipe in the corner, they were all bare. Miss Mamie’s face darkened. “Now isn’t that peculiar.”
“What’s peculiar, sister?”
“We did buy a-dozen-and-a-half jars Saturday, didn’t we?”
“Oh yes, I’m certain we did.”
“But there are only three jars left. We couldn’t have drunk that many in two days. Or if we did, what happened to the empties?”
“They must be around here somewhere.”
Cousin Homer, who was watching the exchange closely, suddenly gave the ladies a sheepish smile. “I . . . uh, must make a small confession, Miss Mamie and Miss Emily. As you observed earlier, Miss Mamie, I’m afraid I am extremely ill suited to this kind of work. A man spends his entire adult life pursuin’ the intricate and lofty paths of commerce, and then is stunned to find himself a servile paradigm of clumsiness in the simplest of menial chores.”
“Why, whatever in the world are you talkin’ about, Cousin Homer?”
“A most unfortunate accident, I’m afraid, Miss Mamie. While transportin’ those new jars from the storeroom to this chamber this mornin’, my foot entangled itself with its own counterpart. The result, I fear, was a shattering disintegration of the entire lot of containers.”
“Oh dear! You didn’t injure yourself, did you, Homer?”
“Not a scratch, dear Emily. A fact which served only to amplify my chagrin and mortification.”
“Oh, it’s not important, Cousin Homer,” Miss Emily soothed. “You mustn’t feel bad.”
“Certainly not,” Miss Mamie chimed in. “We’ll have twelve dozen tomorrow. Now you just stop worryin’ yourself about it. Eighteen empty jars just don’t mean one thing!”
Jenny was staring at Cousin Homer, amazed by his performance. He smiled sadly at the two sisters and slowly shook his head.
“Ladies, your beauty and charm is surpassed only by your infinite generosity.”
“Oh, now, go along with you, Cousin Homer.” Miss Emily giggled. “What we have to do now is get this next batch straightened out before it all turns to sugar candy. That happened once before, years ago. Remember, Mamie?”
“Oh my, yes. We were havin’ company, and just havin’ so much fun we got the ingredients all wrong and then plumb forgot about it cookin’ in here. In the mornin’ the room was three inches deep in hard sugar candy.”
“Yes, it took Mr. Crittenbarger two weeks to chop it all out.”
“And didn’t Mr. Crittenbarger love the Recipe! I think the saddest day of his life was when he finished cleanin’ out this room and had to go home.”
Cousin Homer Lee was smiling at the ladies and Jenny glanced at John-Boy.
“Well, I guess I’ll be choppin’ that wood and bringin’ it in for you, Miss Mamie.”
“That’s fine, John-Boy. And Jenny, you just stay right here. After we get the Recipe properly cookin’ here, I’ve got a surprise for you!”
John-Boy gave Jenny a disappointed smile and went outside.
Most of the wood stacked behind the Baldwin sisters’ house had been delivered by John Walton late last fall. The logs were cut into short lengths, but still had to be split to be used as stovewood. John-Boy pulled down six chunks and got the ax, wondering if his father ever accepted jars of Recipe in exchange for the wood. If he did he would never dare bring any of them home. They would be emptied into the sink a half second after Olivia sniffed the contents. But there had been occasions, usually after he had gone fishing, when John Walton came home more bright-eyed than usual. And his mood seemed to have no correlation with the size of his catch.
“That’s a fine ax you swing there, John-Boy.”
The voice gave him a start. John-Boy had heard no doors closing, nor any footsteps, but Cousin Homer Lee was suddenly standing behind him, his thumbs hooked into his suspenders.
“Well, I get a lot of practice at home, Cousin Homer.”
“It’s a fine thing when a lad helps around the house. I think I can attribute a great measure of my success in the business world to the simple virtues I learned doin’ chores at home. Hard work builds character.”
“Yes, sir.” John-Boy nodded. He tossed the split pieces to the side and set up another log.
Cousin Homer moved closer. “Say, John-Boy, I don’t want to impinge on your good nature, but I wonder if you might do me another small favor?”
“Sure.”
“It’s the dear ladies’ welfare I have in mind. And frankly, John-Boy, I’m a little worried.” Cousin Homer frowned darkly and kicked at the dirt. “One never knows when one gets older. Why, in Chicago last summer I observed a man—couldn’t have been forty years of age—grasp at his heart while standin’ on a street corner. A minute later, rest his soul, he was dead.” Cousin Homer snapped his fingers. “Just like that. Now I’m not suggestin’ that either Miss Emily or Miss Mamie is in ill health. Why I wouldn’t be surprised if they both lived to be a hundred and ten. But you just never know, John-Boy.”
“I expect not.”
“But I could never forgive myself, John-Boy, if it were within my power to save one of the dear ladies, and by some oversight, by some lack or preparedness, I found myself unable to do so. What I’m talkin’ about, John-Boy, is a new battery for the Baldwin sisters’ vehicle.”
“I see,” John-Boy said, but he didn’t see at all.
“You can imagine if there were an emergency, and I should run out to the car to go for a doctor, and there I should find a dead battery. In those few lost minutes, John-Boy, those precious minutes, I could lose a cousin. And I don’t think I have to tell you the high regard with which I hold those dear ladies.”
“No sir.”
“So, what is our problem? The ladies, it seems, do not feel any urgency about having their automobile ready and able to operate at a moment’s notice. It seems that they very seldom use the vehicle and regard its condition with, uh, we might say, indifference.”
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