Improbable Solution

by Judith B. Glad

  "Good morning, Grip," Sally said. "Your tulips are lovely this year."

  The dog, a fat, elderly bulldog, barked again, this time more gently, as if acknowledging her compliment.

  "You talk to dogs?" he said.

  "Only to Grip. He's so proud of his yard. Wait until you see his roses."

  He decided not to comment.

  He snapped off a richly purple lilac spray as they passed the library and tucked it into the lemon-yellow band Sally wore around her head. "Since the café's closed, where are we eating?"

  "At the Legion Hall." She plucked a sprig from the double white lilac at the corner and buried her nose in it. "Ummm. These are the sweetest ones in town. We got a start from this bush when I was a kid, but it just doesn't smell as good in our yard." Stopping him with a gentle hand on his chest, she worked the stem into his second buttonhole. "There! Now we're a pair."

  Gus almost wished she could be right.

  They turned down Main Street in comfortable silence, broken only when Sally greeted one or another of the people they met. He found he was enjoying the walk. Whiterock was becoming a special place to him, try as he might to resist its charm. It had a vitality most towns, big or little, lacked. The empty stores were surprisingly well-kept, their paint fresh and their windows sparkling clean. Most of them had some sort of arrangement behind the glass—displays of library books, exquisite examples of the Community Church Quilters' craft, even a mannequin wearing clothing of the early 70s. He wondered if that had been the last time the dress shop was open.

  There was no litter on Whiterock's streets, and the trash barrels scattered along the few blocks of the business district were painted in whimsical designs. The people they met were friendly. Gus had never been anywhere he felt so welcome.

  Oh, hell. Pretty soon you're going to decide this is some kind of modern Shangri-La.

  Whiterock was just a town, like a thousand others in rural America. The only thing that made it special was Sally.

  INTERVAL

  Maintenance of glamour taxes capacity to utmost, may require additional concentration of scant resources...

  Energy surge timely but inadequate.

  TWELVE

  "I'm surprised they didn't get you to help with breakfast," Sally said as she and Gus walked from the Legion Hall to the park, stuffed to the gills with home-cured ham, sourdough pancakes and coffee that tasted like coffee instead of diesel fuel.

  "Nobody said anything," Gus told her, but he didn't go on to say that if they had, they would have come up short. He was a pretty fair hand with a spatula, but his involvement in Whiterock's May Fest was already too deep. He still wasn't quite sure how he'd let himself be appointed chairman of the clean-up committee.

  "Look! They've got the pole up!" Sally pulled at his hand. All around them people were streaming along Main Street, laughing and calling greetings to each other. She led him through the gathering crowd to an open space on the open lawn halfway between the elk and the bandshell.

  Everyone was gathered around a tall pole, topped by what looked like an old wagon wheel. Falling from the wheel were the colored ribbons he'd delivered to her house a couple of weeks ago, dozens of them.

  "Isn't it lovely!"

  Gus agreed, although he still wasn't sure exactly what a maypole dance consisted of. He followed Sally until she stopped under a big weeping willow.

  "This is where we always sit, as far back as I can remember." Her expression sobered, and something darkened the happy expression in her eyes. "My grandfather planted this tree when I was too young to remember him doing it. See?" She pointed to a plaque almost buried in the grass close to the trunk.

  Gus bent to read the words on stained, oxidized metal.

  "Sally's Tree. In memory of her grandmother, Sara Marget Heineke Carruthers, 1910-1985."

  He looked up to see tears in her eyes.

  "She died when I was three days old." She was biting her lip.

  He wanted to pull her close and comfort her, but instead he said, "Are you planning on sitting on the grass? You'll ruin your dress."

  With a quick headshake, Sally recovered. "No, I was going to leave you here to save the place while I go back to the house for a blanket and our lunch."

  "Lunch? You've got to be kidding!" He couldn't believe he'd eaten eight pancakes, but they'd been like nothing he'd ever tasted.

  "Once the dancing starts, I won't want to leave. Will you stay here?"

  Gus looked around. Recognizing a boy he'd seen hanging around the shop, he beckoned. "You want to earn a couple of bucks?"

  The kid nodded, his eyes wide and his grin wider.

  "Okay. You sit here and don't let anybody move in. We'll be back in a little while."

  The kid flopped down on the ground, obviously not worried about grass stains on his jeans.

  "Now—" Gus took Sally's arm. "—let's go get that blanket."

  Sally enjoyed every step of the few minutes' walk back to her house. Nobody in her whole life had ever treated her as if she were too fragile and delicate to carry a blanket, cushions and a picnic cooler five blocks. Gus would have taken the entire burden if she hadn't insisted on carrying the blanket.

  Its prickly nap was harsh against her arms, but she wouldn't have considered using anything else. As far back as she could remember they had used this old square of khaki wool whenever they went to the park. She'd had the dickens of a time finding it yesterday, for it had been a long time since she had picnicked. Finally she'd unearthed it in the attic, packed in a trunk with old wool comforters and her grandmother's afghans. It still smelled of mothballs, even though she'd hung it outdoors overnight, then tumbled it on the dryer's air setting with a couple of fabric softener sheets.

  The park was almost overflowing when they got back, but young Freddy Larkin was still holding their place under her tree. Gus made a big production out of searching his wallet. He finally handed Freddy a five-dollar bill.

  "Thanks, mister," Freddy called over his shoulder as he sped away, running in the direction of the food booths.

  "You're a nice guy, Gus Loring," she said, smiling.

  He shrugged, as if to deny her statement. "The kid doesn't look like he has much fun." With an economy of motion, he soon had the blanket doubled and spread, with the two tasseled cushions at one end leaning against the squat little cooler full of sandwiches, veggies and fruit.

  "How soon do the festivities begin?" he said, while reclining on his side and pulling one cushion under his head.

  Sally checked her watch. "A half-hour or so, if they're on schedule." They never had been, but one could always hope.

  Gus yawned. "Time for my morning nap. You want to wake me when something happens?"

  His eyes closed, and his breathing slowly grew regular. She was both piqued that he would so rudely withdraw into sleep and flattered that he was comfortable enough with her to do so. She wasn't a bit sleepy, in spite of the enormous breakfast. After so many years of missing the May Fest, she wanted to see everything.

  Gus looked younger asleep. His mouth lost its downward trend and the lines bracketing it softened, making him appear almost to smile. She found she wanted to touch him, to run a finger along his sensuous lips and down the straight line of his nose. Her fingers tingled, remembering how wiry and clinging his hair was as she'd combed through it.

  Enjoying the view, she let her attention wander down his body, seeing the breadth of his shoulders and the flatness of his belly. He was unmistakably masculine, even in sleep. She tried to imagine what he looked like naked. Was his skin warm ivory with pale tan freckles, or pinkish, with the freckles only slightly darker?

  She wondered if he would want the light on or off when they made love tonight.

  As prickles ran down her arms, she turned half away, knowing that if she didn't she wouldn't be able to keep her hands off his sleeping body. What a sensation that would create.

  In the next forty-five minutes, she saw people she hadn't seen for years, people sh
e'd forgotten and people she'd just as soon forget. The turnout had to have exceeded the planners' wildest hopes.

  I wonder why I can't remember any May Fests since the one when I was a sophomore in college. I must be getting old.

  An icy shiver ran up her spine. Would she someday be like her father—all memories, good and bad, lost? Don't think about it! Not now.

  In an effort to send her thoughts in a different direction, she forced her memories back to that earlier May Fest. The town had already lost many of its younger people, and a handful of the older ones as well. With no prospect of jobs locally and an hour's commute to Ontario, Whiterock simply wasn't a practical place to live.

  Her parents had been optimistic about the situation.

  "This won't last," her father had insisted.

  But their faith had been misplaced. More than a decade had passed since then, and every year had seen more empty storefronts on Main Street, more abandoned houses in town. Before too much longer Whiterock would be little better than a ghost town.

  A clash of cymbals and an extended drum roll told her that it was time. She turned to wake Gus, but he was already rolling upright and rubbing his eyes. She stood, knowing what was coming.

  With the first notes of the National Anthem, he rose quickly. They stood together, not quite touching, while the flag was raised on the pole beside the bandshell. A new flag, without the frayed end she remembered.

  The Whiterock Drum and Bugle Corps led the procession. There were far fewer members than when she'd played the cymbals—only two snare drums, the cymbals, the bass drum, five assorted horns and a single flute. Buster Holmes carried the flag, and three girls in red shorts and red-white-and-blue striped shirts carried a banner proclaiming this to be the 82nd Annual Whiterock, Oregon, May Fest.

  Behind the corps, a black surrey carried Ben Kemp and Rhoda Garcia, both looking proud and excited and so grown up that Sally suddenly felt ancient. Rhoda's pink satin dress, as unsuitable as she still believed it to be, was perfect for her dark Latin coloring. The matching ruffled, flamenco-style shirt somehow made golden-haired Ben look dashing and debonair. Two white horses with pink bows on their harnesses pulled the surrey, and a huge spray of Mrs. Alpin's early pink roses decorated the back of it.

  The American Legion was in the procession, with members from every branch of the armed services, and from every war since 1941. Jethro Kemp, in his powered wheelchair, led them. The Quilters' Guild marched two abreast, each of the four pairs carrying a beautiful quilt. There were two Red Cross volunteers in uniform, five members of the Malheur Mounted Sheriff's Posse and a red-nosed clown pushing a wheelbarrow, ready to pick up the inevitable results of horses in a parade.

  The procession halted before the bandshell, and Mayor Maribelle Grayhawk stepped to the side of the surrey. With one on either arm, she escorted Rhoda and Ben up the decorated steps to the floor of the bandshell, where bunting decorated a low platform on which a velvet-draped throne sat. She curtsied to Rhoda and stepped back to let Ben hand the May Queen onto her throne. As Ben took his seat on a cushion at Rhoda's feet, the mayor handed her a scepter.

  Rhoda smiled at the mayor, at Ben, and at her cheering subjects. She waved the scepter. "Let the festivities begin."

  Maribelle and several other adults went to sit in folding chairs on either side of the throne. The paraders scattered to join friends and family all over the park. Soon, the crowed stilled, waiting.

  Sally bit her lip as high, clear voices sounded somewhere off in the distance. The melody was "Greensleeves," but the words were those from a long-ago movie. Sally's throat burned as she heard the children sing of a "wondrous land" and a "home in the valley." As they approached the bandshell, they segued into "America the Beautiful."

  Twenty-odd first-through-fourth graders from Whiterock Elementary School wove through the crowd, carrying a garland fashioned of native juniper and lilac clusters. As they reached the maypole, they circled around it. Boys and girls from the fifth and sixth grades came running from behind the bandshell, each pulling a long-tailed delta kite. The brightly colored kites fluttered like exotic flowers above the crowd. They, too, circled the maypole before leading the little ones back to the bandshell. They all sat along its apron, their legs and the garland dangling.

  Gus nudged her. "Where did they all come from?"

  "The children?"

  He nodded.

  "Every child who goes to Whiterock Elementary is expected to take part in the May Fest. The seventh and eighth graders are in the Drum and Bugle Corps. These are the other grades."

  "I've never seen anything like this."

  She had to agree. There were some things about Whiterock that were unique.

  His sense of anticipation, small at first, and easily contained, grew as the day advanced. Gus was initially content to enjoy Sally's company, to feed his desire with small touches. While they watched the ceremonies in the bandshell, they sat close together, shoulders and hips brushing. Once she dug into the cooler and pulled out juice boxes. When he reached for his, he deliberately took her hand for a long, delicious moment. She looked into his eyes, her smoldering gaze full of promises.

  The first maypole dance involved the children in the first four grades. Gus laughed, along with everyone else, as they wound ribbons haphazardly around the pole, the steps they'd practiced all week forgotten in their excitement.

  While several adults were untangling the ribbons for the next dance, Mayor Maribelle called for the crowd's attention.

  "I didn't realize Whiterock had a mayor," he said.

  She chuckled, and this time sounded as if she was getting back into practice doing so. "Of course, we do! We're civilized."

  Again she chuckled, and Gus felt his heart warming at the sound.

  "Of course, it's mostly a ceremonial position," she said, "like now."

  Maribelle announced the winners of the school spelling bee, the math bee and the reading competition. The winners—and there seemed to be one from each grade—proudly marched up onto the stage and received certificates from the mayor and kisses from either the May Queen or her Consort. Gus thought how his daughter would have loved to be among them.

  It was the first time he had willingly thought of Emily since coming to Whiterock—and the first time he'd thought of her with anything but pain since—

  He chopped off the thought before it could develop.

  After applauding the winners as energetically as anyone, he murmured to Sally, "This is unusual. I guess I expected to be entertained."

  She turned around, stared at him with surprise. "I can't think of anything more entertaining than watching the children being recognized for their accomplishments. I thought you understood. This is their day."

  He held up his hands, delighted at the fire in her eyes. "Hey! I didn't mean I wasn't enjoying myself. I've just never seen a town do anything like this for its children before."

  The music began just then, so he didn't quite catch her reply, but it sounded something like "More's the pity." She was just a little bit stiff as she sat beside him while the older schoolchildren did marginally better at the maypole dance. About halfway through, he slid closer to her and draped his arm across her shoulders. After an initial start, she softened and relaxed.

  The lilac he'd tucked into her headband was wilted now, but its sweet scent blended with the honeysuckle of her perfume, filling his nose and eventually his whole being.

  Again there was a ceremony. This time it was for athletic excellence. Gus wondered at a town that rewarded Frisbee-throwing and hopscotch right along with running and jumping.

  "We used to have swimming awards," Sally told him, her breath warm on his ear, "until the state tested the creek and said it wasn't clean enough."

  Considering how he'd driven through upstream pastures filled with cattle, Gus wasn't at all surprised. "You really need a pool."

  "I think there's a savings account sitting in the bank at Vale, earmarked for just that purpose." She stopped to
applaud a jug-eared boy's award of a blue ribbon for the baseball toss. "That's Jason Holmes, Buster's youngest brother. He'll probably make the major leagues someday."

  She rolled to one side, leaning on her elbow and stretching her legs out in front of him. "Anyway, the swimming pool fund drive just seemed to peter out after they had about half the money. Harald Alpin—he was the chairman—died, and nobody seemed to care enough to take over. It's really too bad."

  More dances and more award ceremonies went on until mid-afternoon. In between times, people familiar and strange stopped by their blanket to visit. Sally seemed to know almost everyone, even those who'd long since moved away. Gus was surprised at how many ex-residents had come back for the May Fest. He said as much.

  "I'm surprised, too. I wouldn't have thought so many people would come back."

  Eventually, all the children had danced, all the awards had been presented. He imagined that every child in the grade school must have been recognized for something. The sky was so blue it hurt the eyes, and the overhead sun heated already relaxed bodies into somnolence. People who'd been standing sat, while those already sitting on blankets slid into more comfortable positions.

  Both Gus and Sally were reclining on the blanket, and when the ceremonies ended, she scooted even closer to him. With a quick inhalation, he commanded his wide-awake body to relax. She looked over her shoulder and smiled, so that he knew her movement had been calculated. She moved again, bringing her sweet little bottom even tighter against his burgeoning arousal.

  "Stop that," he muttered between clenched teeth.

  She peeked again over her shoulder, and her smile was just plain evil. "You really want me to?" Again that sassy little wiggle.

  "No!" God, but she felt good against him. "But I think you'd better, before we shock everyone."

  "Pooh! Nobody's watching."

  Gus glanced around. She was right. Nobody seemed interested in them.

  "What's on the program next?" He heard the hoarseness of desire in his voice.