The Waltons 1

by Robert Weverka

  The kitchen looked as if a tornado had struck it—or more accurately as if a tornado had hit the Richmond library and carried all the reading material over the mountains and deposited it in the Waltons’ kitchen.

  Four years ago John-Boy’s father had helped a family named Beckwith when they were moving away from Walton’s Mountain. Among the many things George Beckwith decided to throw away rather than take with him was a complete set of National Geographic magazines dating back to 1912. To Olivia’s consternation, instead of taking them to the dump, John had brought them all home, and since that time they had occupied a dark and forbidden corner of the cellar. Olivia had no objection to the scientific and cultural knowledge presented in the magazines, and on occasions they were very helpful to the children’s homework. But what she couldn’t understand was why it was necessary for the editors to print full-color pictures of unclothed aborigines, men and women. Whether people were dark-skinned or not, they were still human beings, and the laws of civilized, God-fearing decency still applied. When the children needed information about odd places such as Nicaragua or Nepal, Olivia went to the cellar herself to scan the indexed back covers for the appropriate issues. Only then, after the magazine was carefully scrutinized and the objectionable photographs torn from its pages, was the copy brought upstairs for consultation. But today, Mary Ellen, Ben, Jim-Bob, and Elizabeth had carted the entire library up to the kitchen before Olivia realized what was going on.

  “It is not necessary to look through all the pages,” she was telling them when John-Boy came in. “Just read the contents on the front cover and it tells you exactly what’s in each magazine.”

  Her words were having no effect. Elizabeth was staring wide-eyed at pictures of seals, Ben was engrossed in an article about mountain climbing, and Mary Ellen and Jim-Bob were methodically going through every page of every magazine.

  “What’s goin’ on?” John-Boy asked.

  “Frogs,” Mary Ellen said.

  Erin, who was wiping dishes and seemed to be enjoying the spectacle, smiled airily. “Mary Ellen’s tadpoles all ran away.”

  “They didn’t run away,” Mary Ellen muttered. “Frogs don’t run, they hop.”

  “Well, however they did it, the tadpoles all turned into frogs and disappeared.”

  John-Boy still didn’t understand why the place was cluttered with magazines. He got some liver sausage from the refrigerator to make a sandwich. “Isn’t that what you wanted? I mean didn’t you expect ’em to turn into frogs?”

  “But not that kind of frogs,” Erin said smugly.

  “What kind of frogs?”

  Olivia decided to put an end to Erin’s contentious comments before Mary Ellen exploded. “The frog farm didn’t turn out very well, John-Boy. The tadpoles all turned into frogs and hopped away this mornin’.”

  “They all climbed trees.” Erin smiled. “They were tree frogs.”

  “Oh.”

  Mary Ellen and Jim-Bob were turning pages at a furious pace now, controlling their anger.

  “It seems to me,” Erin said, “a person ought to find out the difference between tree frogs and bullfrogs first, before he starts collectin’ tadpoles.”

  That was the final straw for Mary Ellen. She slammed her magazine down and grabbed up another one. “You’re the kind of person who always waits until someone falls down and breaks his leg, and then you say, ‘Watch your step.’ But the only thing you know how to do is brush your hair!”

  “All right, children,” Olivia said. “That’s enough. Now clear a place for John-Boy so he can eat at the table.”

  “Mary Ellen,” Ben suddenly said, “maybe we oughta raise ladybugs. It says here they use them in California to protect the crops from aphids. What’s an aphid?”

  “We’re goin’ to raise frogs’ legs,” Mary Ellen said emphatically. “Just forget about ladybugs and find somethin’ about bullfrog tadpoles.”

  “Somebody tore a page out of this issue,” Jim-Bob said. “Look at this, right in the middle of a story about pygmies. Why would someone do that?”

  “Never mind,” Olivia said quickly and took the magazine. “Now let’s just get this organized and do things sensibly. Why don’t you all let me read the contents on the covers, and then if there’s anything about frogs or tadpoles we’ll all read it carefully.”

  XII

  John-Boy was a little surprised when he came in sight of the Baldwin house again. It was after four o’clock and he expected at least two or three cars to be parked in front. But there was not a vehicle—not even a chariot—in sight. Nor were the Baldwin sisters on the porch, or anywhere to be seen. John-Boy had to knock several times before Miss Mamie answered.

  She let him in with a desperately anxious look. “You didn’t happen to see any Baldwins lost on the highway, did you, John-Boy? Anyone askin’ to find their way here?”

  “No ma’am.”

  Miss Mamie led him into the parlor where Miss Emily was sitting on one of the love seats in her frilly gown.

  “I’m afraid it’s only John-Boy,” she said, and Miss Emily sagged with disappointment.

  “Oh, dear, I’m afraid nobody at all is comin’, sister. I was just sure Ashley Longworth would have arrived by this time. Do sit down, John-Boy.”

  “We’re just goin’ to have to face the facts, Emily. It’s been twenty-five years since you’ve seen Ashley Longworth.”

  John-Boy had never seen Miss Emily looking so pretty. With the skirt of her dress hooped out in a beautiful semicircle and her hair in a mass of dangling curls, she looked like a picture somebody had painted. But she looked as if she were about to cry as she gazed at a scattering of opened envelopes on the table. They all seemed covered with red and black ink from rubber stamps.

  “Still, it’s not like Ashley not to favor us with a reply,” she said.

  Miss Mamie picked up one of the envelopes. “He couldn’t favor us with a reply, Emily, because he never received the letter. It says, ‘Return to Sender—Address Unknown.’ I’m sure he would have replied if he had received it.”

  Miss Emily seemed only mildly reassured. “Imagine that splendid young man havin’ no address. I would think you could just address it, ‘Ashley Longworth, The World,’ and it would eventually get to him.”

  From the number of envelopes on the table, John-Boy guessed about half of them had been returned for lack of a correct address. The other invitations must have been lost in the mail, or the people hadn’t bothered to answer. On one of them John-Boy could see the word “Deceased,” in red ink. But it was apparent that the Baldwin sisters’ reunion was not going to take place.

  “Your dress looks real pretty, Miss Emily,” John-Boy offered. “I expect you two ladies are just about the prettiest in all Virginia.”

  The compliment seemed to catch them both by surprise. Miss Mamie blushed, while Miss Emily smiled brightly. “Why, John-Boy, what a nice thing to say. I declare, Mamie, these Walton men just never fail to be as nice as all get-out. I’ve always said you can count on a Walton.”

  But the weight of the returned invitations was too much to escape. Miss Emily looked at them with a sigh, then rose and moved slowly to the window.

  “I had so looked forward to singin’ ’round the piano,” she said. She lifted the frail curtain from the window and peered up the road as far as she could. “And the sound of children’s voices. You know, John-Boy, there were goin’ to be thirty-seven children here today. Can’t you just imagine all those happy voices?”

  Miss Mamie smiled softly at the thought. “I expect there’s no reason for you to be stayin’ here, John-Boy. I’m sure you’ll be wantin’ to see your Jenny sometime today.”

  “Yes’m,” John-Boy said. But he felt terrible leaving the two ladies alone. All the pictures of relatives hanging on the walls seemed to make things even worse. And the desertion of Cousin Homer, their guest of honor, must have been the cruelest blow of all. “I don’t really have to go. I could stay and talk if you want.”

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nbsp; Miss Emily came back from the window. “Now you just don’t be silly, John-Boy Walton. Mamie and I will just have ourselves a nice supper and go to bed. And I just know Miss Jenny is achin’ for you to come around and see her and her poor mother.”

  “Emily is right. You just run along now, John-Boy. Just ’cause our guests couldn’t come is no reason why Jenny Pendleton’s favorite guest can’t come a-callin’. And you be sure to give them all our love.”

  John-Boy promised to do that. But walking home he couldn’t help thinking about how heartbroken the two sisters must have been when those letters all came back. And then their brave attempts to appear lighthearted as they forced him out the door seemed about the saddest thing of all.

  He guessed they would spend the rest of the evening taking down all those pictures. And then Miss Emily would put away her dress and never take it out of the trunk again.

  “I declare, Mamie, these Walton men just never fail to be as nice as all get-out. I’ve always said you can count on a Walton.” Remembering the words, and the brief, happy look on Miss Emily’s face when she said them, brought an extra sadness to John-Boy. He guessed that tonight more than ever before in their lives the Baldwin sisters needed someone to count on. But from the looks of things it didn’t appear like a single person was going to show up to help them.

  John-Boy had a pleasant surprise when he arrived home. He had intended to clean up as quickly as possible and go directly over to Jenny’s house. But when he opened the door to the kitchen he faced a crowd of laughing, talking people, with Jenny Pendleton the center of attention.

  “Look who’s here, John-Boy,” his father called out. “Jenny Pendleton, and she’s makin’ up for them two days she wouldn’t talk to any of us.”

  Jenny was standing by the sink, and she quickly came across and took John-Boy’s hand.

  “We don’t want no kissin’ here in the kitchen,” Grandpa said. “We don’t want you two embarrassin’ Grandma now.” He laughed and slapped his knee.

  John-Boy felt his face flush, but he put an arm around Jenny and smiled. “Okay, Grandpa.”

  “It won’t embarrass me,” his father said, and everyone looked expectantly at John-Boy. He gave Jenny a quick kiss on the forehead.

  “You call that a kiss?” Grandpa shouted. “Why, a thing like that makes me ’shamed to be a Walton. John, that boy ain’t your son, is he? He shore ain’t my grandson.”

  They all laughed and John-Boy squeezed Jenny closer to his side. “How’s Eula?”

  Jenny was as relieved as John-Boy to have the subject changed. “She’s much better, and Mrs. Shackleford came over to stay with her for a while.”

  “Get yourself cleaned up, John-Boy,” Olivia smiled. “We’re all eatin’ in about two minues.”

  “Yeah,” Grandpa said. “And take that girl somewhere so you can do some real kissin’.”

  Grandma said grace, giving thanks for Jenny’s and Eula’s recovery, and asked the Lord to take care of Dave Pendleton. As quickly as she finished John Walton grinned and started the food circulating. “Well, John-Boy, how’s the big reunion goin’ out at the Baldwins’? Them relatives shootin’ at each other yet?”

  “There ain’t no reunion, Daddy. Nobody showed up.”

  Everyone looked up in surprise. “They must of heard about Cousin Homer runnin’ off with the Recipe.” Grandpa laughed.

  “Not one person came?” Jenny asked with concern.

  John-Boy told them about all the invitations coming back, and how the two ladies had gotten themselves all dressed up.

  “Too bad,” his father said. “But havin’ no Recipe around, maybe they’re lucky nobody came.”

  John-Boy glanced cautiously at his mother. “Any news about the truck, Daddy?”

  “Not yet. But I expect it’ll be back here by mornin’.”

  There was no comment from his mother, and John-Boy guessed she’d been told what happened.

  “Ike says Ep Bridges was madder’n a wet goose.” Grandpa laughed. “Filled up his gas tank and headed off to Charlottesville like a bat out of . . .”

  Grandma gave him a sharp kick. “You hush, old man!”

  Grandpa winced from the pain. “I was goin’ to say, like a witch on a broom. What’s the matter with that?”

  “When did you see Ike Godsey?” John asked.

  It was an indifferent question, but it seemed to unnerve Grandpa for a minute. He glanced around and shrugged. “We was just chewin’ the fat. I took a walk over there this afternoon.”

  John-Boy’s father laughed. “You figure maybe Cousin Homer sold some of that Recipe to Ike, Grandpa?”

  “You better not bring none of that Recipe in this house,” Grandma said.

  “No such thing, old woman. When a man reaches ninety-five he’s entitled to sit around the cracker barrel on occasion.”

  “Hmmph! Yesterday you were ninety-eight, and last week you were ninety-two.”

  “That’s right. And them two numbers averages out to ninety-five, which is correct, more or less.” Grandpa grinned around the table, then stretched his arms from his cuffs preparing to cut his corn kernels off the cob.

  There was finally silence at the table and John-Boy put his fork down on the plate. “Mama . . . and everybody . . . I’m goin’ to ask you all somethin’. And I expect maybe you’re goin’ to think I’m crazy.”

  Olivia smiled. “Ask anyway, John-Boy.”

  “Well, like I told you, I think the Baldwin sisters are right broken up over no one comin’. I mean, they’re pretendin’ like it’s not important, but I could kind of tell they’re feelin’ pretty bad.”

  His mother frowned suspiciously at him, as if anticipating what he was going to say.

  “What were you goin’ to ask us, son?”

  John-Boy took a deep breath. “Couldn’t we all just put on some nice clothes and go over there, and spend the evenin’ with ’em. They’re sittin’ there all alone in that big empty house. And they just love children.”

  His mother gaped at him as if he had suggested they make a social call on the devil. She glanced at John and back to John-Boy. “John-Boy, I think it’s enough that you’ve been spendin’ so much time out there. I have no desire for any of the younger children to be within five miles of that Recipe of theirs.”

  “Amen,” Grandma agreed.

  “But Mama, there’s not a thing in the house stronger’n lemonade now. Cousin Homer took all the Recipe away.”

  “That’s true, Livvy,” John said.

  Grandpa was suddenly eating at full speed. “I don’t know about the rest of you, but I’m goin’.”

  “Then so am I,” Grandma announced. “To keep an eye on you, old man.”

  John-Boy felt Jenny’s hand touch his, then squeeze it under the table. She was watching his mother, who appeared to be reconsidering.

  “Well, I can’t say that I approve of the things Miss Emily and Miss Mamie do. But . . . well . . .” She smiled thoughtfully. “It does break my heart to think of those poor old things sufferin’ like that.”

  “Can we all go, Mama?”

  She looked across the table. “You think that green dress of mine would be all right, John?”

  “Livvy, in that green dress you look like a princess. I just hope a princess won’t mind goin’ to the grand ball with a country woodcutter. Come on, everybody, let’s get a move on!”

  If Olivia had reservations they were quickly dispelled. As soon as they were all dressed and headed up the road Grandpa moved to the front of the group and lifted his arm. “Onward Christian s-o-o-o-l-diers . . .” he boomed out in solemn tones, and they all joined in.

  This was followed by “Rock of Ages” and then “The Battle Hymn of the Republic,” each in stirringly louder tones than the other. Whether Grandpa deliberately paced them or not was hard to say, but when they came into sight of the Baldwins’ house they were in the midst of a rousing chorus of “Dixie.”

  John-Boy tried to imagine what was going on inside the Baldw
in sisters’ house. When the Walton family was within a hundred feet of the front porch he saw a curtain pulled discreetly to the side. Within a couple seconds the other side was parted, and then he could make out the two startled faces.

  The Waltons spread out in front of the porch to finish the song. Grandpa mounted the steps, both arms now directing with great sweeps, and they all boomed out the final line, “Awaaaaaaay down south in Dixxxxxxxiiiieeeee!”

  The curtains dropped back into place and a second later the front door swung open. Miss Emily and Miss Mamie were speechless. Normally they were all smiles and ready to gush and swoon with greetings for callers. But this evening neither of them seemed able to speak. They were blinking, their mouths moving, and tears were standing in their eyes, but not a sound came out.

  “Happy reunion, ladies!” Grandpa roared, and then the others repeated it as they crowded forward.

  “Well, I declare,” Miss Emily finally managed. “Well, I declare!”

  “Evenin’, Miss Emily,” John-Boy grinned. “Evenin’, Miss Mamie.”

  “Well, I declare! I do declare, John-Boy, how nice of you all to come a-callin’.”

  “Miz Walton, what a pleasure this is! It is indeed a pleasure to have you all in our home! Come in! Ever’body come in! And you brought all of your lovely children! Oh, my, Emily! Oh, dear me!”

  It took several minutes for everyone to get inside and for Miss Mamie and Miss Emily to examine each of the children and rave about how big and handsome they had all grown. And then they got all fluttery again and escorted Olivia and Grandma to honored positions in the love seats.

  John-Boy had never seen two people quite so beside themselves with happiness. They cooed over the children, kept repeating what a pleasure and joy it was to have so many callers, and then they rushed to the kitchen and began carting out an incredible array of cakes and pies and sweets. And with every compliment Miss Emily’s eyes would fill with happy tears and she would rush out to the kitchen and bring more.