The 25¢ Miracle

by Theresa Nelson

  I got to start over again, she told herself, breathing deeply and trying her best to stay calm. Just one more time. And this time I’ll use more flour—that’s all it needs, I bet—just a little more flour.…

  When Hank walked into the kitchen at 5:45, a sorry sight met his eyes. The whole room was covered in flour—an inch deep in some places—more in the drifts. Elvira was collapsed in a chair. She looked like a ghost. A glassy-eyed ghost. She was snowy white from her nose to her toes.

  “Good Lord-a-mercy, what happened in here?” yelled Hank, staring openmouthed at the mess.

  “I did it,” Elvira said wearily. “I baked a pie.” She pointed to the table. There was a pie there, all right. A genuine, homemade, lemon meringue pie, just like the one in the magazine. It had nearly killed her, but there it was.

  13

  “Well, I’ll swanny,” said Hank, in a softer voice. “I’ll swanny…that sure does look like one heck of a pie, all right.”

  “One heck of a pie,” Elvira repeated stupidly. She was too tired to think of words of her own.

  “But, Elvira, do you realize what time it is? Your company’s gonna be here in a couple of hours.”

  Elvira sat bolt upright. The words crashed in on her dazed mind like a bucket of ice water. “A-a couple of hours? It cain’t be that late.…”

  “It’s a quarter of six.”

  “A quarter of six? A quarter of six? Oh Lordy, where’s my list? I got to find my list!” And then she was on her feet and tearing around like a tornado—a white tornado, trailing clouds of floury smoke. “Oh, Lordy, how could it take anybody all day to bake a pie? That’s crazy—oh, Lord, where in the heck’s my list, anyway?”

  “This it here?” asked Hank, holding out the notebook, which had been lying on the table directly in front of her nose.

  “That’s it!” cried Elvira, grabbing the notebook and flipping it open to the right page. But her face fell again when she saw all it said:

  2. Fix spagetty sauce.

  3. Fix salid.

  4. Clean up kitchen.

  5. Set table and dekrate.

  6. Bathe and dress up.

  7. Make sure Hank looks real nice.

  8. Start water boiling for spagetty.

  “Oh, shoot, there ain’t enough time—there just ain’t enough time!” she wailed. She walked to one end of the kitchen and then changed her mind and walked to the other end. She picked up the broom, put it down, picked up the plastic bowl and started brushing flour into it, put that down, picked up the broom again, put that down one more time, walked to the refrigerator and started pulling stuff out, left and right.…

  For a moment, Hank just stood there, watching her. Then he started to chuckle. Elvira heard him; she wheeled around and looked at him. Her face was tight.

  “What are you laughin’ at?” she demanded. She was too upset to try to sound respectful.

  Hank cleared his throat and made an effort to pull himself together, but there were still signs of laughter around his mouth and eyes. “S’cuse me—I couldn’t help it. For a minute there you just reminded me a whole lot of—somebody.”

  “You think this is f-funny?” cried Elvira, her eyes blazing. “Miss Ivy’s gonna be here any minute! There ain’t nothin’ funny about it!”

  Hank straightened his face out again. “No, it ain’t a bit funny.… Now, take it easy, Elvira. You just got you a case of the hostess panic—that’s what we used to call it. I ain’t seen such a bad case in a long time. Now, come on; settle down.… Let me see that list you got there. Maybe I can help you out some.”

  Hank was wonderful after that. Elvira couldn’t get over how he pitched right in and helped out with everything. And somehow, it all got done—the sauce and the salad and the cleaning up and the setting of the table and the decorating, too, and there was still enough time left over for Hank to shave and Elvira to shower and both of them to get changed. Elvira put on a dress—her only dressy dress—the red and white one from that Christmas in Sulphur Springs. It was a little on the short side, but not all that much; she really hadn’t grown a whole lot in the last two and a half years. And Hank combed his hair and put on a clean shirt and even a tie, at Elvira’s request. She thought he looked just wonderful.

  At a quarter of eight, they stood together in the kitchen, admiring the table. The plaid sheet made a fine tablecloth, and the ketchup bottle didn’t look too much like a ketchup bottle, with the candle in it. It was a pretty candle; Elvira had chosen a nice shade of burnt orange to match the spaghetti sauce. The Kleenex roses weren’t quite as professional looking as Miss Reba Foxworth’s, but Elvira was counting on the candlelight to help there. She had told Miss Ivy eight o’clock especially so that it would be dark enough for it.

  “Seems to me like you’re ready to go,” said Hank. “It all looks just fine, don’t it?”

  “Yessir,” said Elvira. “’Cept—well, it don’t matter, I guess—”

  “What don’t matter?”

  Elvira sighed. “The wine. There ought to be wine on the table, in long-stemmed glasses. I forgot all about it, till now.”

  Hank rubbed his chin. “Elvira, we don’t even know if this lady drinks, and if she does, well, I can offer her a beer.”

  Elvira shook her head. “No, sir, you cain’t have beer with spaghetti. You got to have red wine.” She couldn’t quite put her feelings into words, but somehow she just couldn’t imagine Miss Ivy drinking a beer; it didn’t fit in the picture at all. But it was too late to worry about that now. They’d just have to do without the wine.

  “I guess it don’t really matter,” she said. “You really think it looks all right?”

  “It looks just fine. You’ve done a real nice job.”

  Elvira looked up at Hank and smiled. He was looking so handsome, all clean-shaven and neat; Elvira felt proud of him. Miss Ivy would like him. She would. She had to.

  Hank looked down at Elvira, too, and then for just a second a kind of peculiar expression passed across his face.

  “Uh, listen, Elvira,” he said suddenly, “I got to go someplace real quick. It won’t take me but five minutes.”

  Elvira gave a little cry of alarm. “But—but you cain’t leave now—Miss Ivy’s due here any second!”

  “Naw, you still got some time; it ain’t even ten till yet. And anyhow, women are most always late. I’ll be right back.” He hurried out the door.

  Miss Ivy was late, just as Hank had said—five whole minutes late—but Hank still wasn’t back when she arrived. Please make him come back, Elvira prayed, as she answered the knock. Please don’t let him change his mind about comin’ to the dinner. He’s just got to come back.…”

  “Well, don’t you look pretty tonight!” Miss Ivy exclaimed, when Elvira opened the trailer door.

  “Thank you, ma’am. So do you,” said Elvira. It was the truth. Miss Ivy had never looked lovelier. She was wearing white—angel white—a pretty cotton blouse with puffy sleeves and a flowing skirt of the same material. Her hair was brushed into reddish-gold waves that fell softly around her face, and her eyes were shining like twin pieces of the summer sky. She was holding a bouquet of flowers—all the loveliest ones from her garden.

  “These are for my hostess,” she said, putting them into Elvira’s hands.

  “Thank you, ma’am,” Elvira murmured. “They sure are pretty. You come on in and sit down; I’m gonna put these right on the table.…” She rushed into the kitchen and whisked the Kleenex roses into the garbage before Miss Ivy had a chance to see them.

  “Is there anything I can do to help you in here?” asked Miss Ivy, following her into the kitchen. “My goodness, you’re so organized! And your table looks just beautiful.”

  It did look nice, especially with the real flowers. It was pretty near perfect. But what did it matter, if Hank wasn’t there?

  “Thank you, ma’am, but everything’s done, ’cept for boilin’ the noodles, and I cain’t do that till the very last minute. Soon’s my daddy gets back
…” Elvira left off there, wondering how long she should wait before she gave up on him. She was beginning to have a kind of hopeless, sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach.

  “Your father’s not here?”

  “No, ma’am. He—he had to go out for just a minute. Some—some kind of work, I expect. He’s a—a real hard worker.”

  “I’m sure he is,” Miss Ivy said gently.

  She’s bound to think I’m lyin’, thought Elvira. I got to do better than that. “It musta been an emergency, or he’da been right here. He’s been countin’ on meetin’ you.…” She don’t believe a word I’m sayin’, Elvira told herself. Shoot, I don’t believe it myself. He don’t want to come, that’s all. He never wanted to come from the first minute I told him about it.

  She hung her head in shame and disappointment. But just then there was the sound of tires screeching and a motor being shut off and a door slamming outside, and then the trailer door opened and Hank was there, holding a brown paper sack in one hand.

  “Sorry to be late—I had a little trouble findin’ a store that was still open.” He was looking at Elvira; Miss Ivy’s back was toward the door. But then Miss Ivy turned around and smiled, and Elvira’s heart started tap dancing in her chest. Because she had seen Hank’s face. For just a second, it was the face of a little kid who has just seen Santa Claus and the tooth fairy and a genie out of a bottle all rolled into one. For just a second. Then it changed and got that strained, careful expression Hank always wore when he was talking to strangers. But Elvira had seen that first stunned, uncovered look, and now she knew she could hope again.

  “You must be Miss Ivy,” Hank was saying, in his most formal voice. “I’m Hank Trumbull. I’m mighty pleased to meet you.”

  Miss Ivy held out her hand. “I’m pleased to meet you, too, Mr. Trumbull.”

  “Call me Hank,” he said, shifting the package to his left arm and shaking hands self-consciously. He handed the brown sack to Elvira. “This is for your dinner.” He looked at Miss Ivy again. “Elvira says you cain’t have spaghetti without red wine,” he explained, grinning sheepishly.

  Elvira gave a little gasp of gladness. “You got the wine?” she cried, peering into the sack. There was a bottle of wine in there, all right, and a bottle of grape soda, and three things wrapped in tissue paper. She lifted them out. They were wine glasses—beautiful, long-stemmed wine glasses, just like in the picture. For some reason, sudden tears stung her eyes. She meant to say thank you, but all she could do was rush into the kitchen, mumbling, “I—I got to rinse these out.”

  “Can I help?” Miss Ivy called after her.

  “No—no, y’all stay in there and visit,” Elvira said firmly, blinking hard. “I got everything under control.…”

  It was the nicest dinner anybody ever had. Nicer than the one in the magazine, even, with Miss Ivy’s eyes shining in the candlelight, and the real flowers looking so lovely, and those elegant wine glasses half filled with ruby-red wine (Nehi grape for Elvira, but that was nice, too). Hank didn’t talk all that much at first, but Elvira thought that was all right; she figured that he was too stunned by Miss Ivy to do much talking. And Miss Ivy—well, Miss Ivy was perfect. Just like Elvira had known she would be. She made the conversation flow as easily and naturally as running water—a kind of happy river of talk that carried the other two along with it, no trouble at all. She actually managed to get Hank to relax some and open up a little bit. He even told his stories about Noah Goode and the Hogg sisters, and Miss Ivy laughed as appreciatively as if he had been Johnny Carson or somebody like that. And all the while, Elvira just beamed on them both. They liked each other. They really did.

  The food was good, too. The spaghetti tasted like real spaghetti, and the bread and salad were just fine. Elvira could hardly believe how well everything was going. She had only one more attack of nerves—when it was time to serve the pie. She had hidden it in her bedroom, so it would be a surprise for Miss Ivy. When she went to get it she whispered one last prayer to the Holy Ghost: “I’m sorry I quit believin’ in you earlier today. Everything’s goin’ great. If you could just please see to it that this pie is all right, then I won’t bother you for anything else. I’ll take over from here.”

  “A pie! Why, Elvira, you didn’t make that yourself!” cried Miss Ivy, when Elvira carried it to the table.

  “Yes, she did, too,” Hank declared proudly. “Every bit of it.”

  Elvira blushed and hoped for the best. She cut three pieces, handed them out, and held her breath while Hank and Miss Ivy took their first bites.…

  Miss Ivy put down her fork and looked up solemnly. “Elvira,” she said, “this is absolutely the best pie I ever put in my mouth.”

  “Mmm, mmm!” agreed Hank, his own mouth full. “It’s mighty good, daughter. Mighty good.”

  Elvira smiled blissfully. The Holy Ghost had come through with flying colors.

  I really appreciate it, she told Him, as she lay in her bed later that night, reliving every wonderful moment of the evening. But I guess I lied when I said I wouldn’t ask you for anything else. There’s gonna be a couple more things. Just a couple more…

  14

  For the next few days, Elvira watched Hank impatiently for symptoms of lovesickness. But he wouldn’t let on how he was feeling—if he was feeling anything. He has to be feeling something, Elvira told herself. She had seen the look in his eyes when he first saw Miss Ivy.

  On Monday, he started filling in over at Kinsel Automotive. Elvira began to panic about the time. There were only a couple of weeks left in August, and with Hank at work all day—even on Thursday, Miss Ivy’s day off—there was hardly any time for her to get them together. She had to get them together again; that was all there was to it. The seed had been planted all right, but now it needed tending. But how?

  It was John David who provided the answer, even though he didn’t mean to.

  “I sure didn’t mean to,” he swore, for the fortieth time, while Curtis and Elvira stood by the television set at Miss Ivy’s house, shaking their heads. Elvira had walked over to see the boys late Tuesday afternoon and found the household in an awful state. John David had dropped his Space Invaders’ power magnet down the back of the TV, causing a minor explosion inside the set and a power failure in the rest of the house. The ice cream was melting in the freezer, the fans had stopped fanning, and the temperature was rising—not to mention the tempers.

  “I don’t know how anybody could be so dumb,” said Curtis, also for the fortieth time. “How could you be so dumb, John David?”

  “I told you I didn’t mean to,” John David said unhappily. “I was just holdin’ it over that little crack in the back to see if it’d fit—I never meant to let go of it. It just sort of slipped out of my hand.”

  “Well, I tried to call Mrs. Alexander,” said Mrs. McFaddin, coming in from the kitchen, where the phone was, “but they said she’d already left. I don’t know that there’s anything she can do, anyway. There’s no way she’s going to get a serviceman out here this late in the day.”

  “Oh, boy, John David, how could anybody do anything so dumb?” asked Curtis.

  “I told you I didn’t mean to!” John David wailed. “I told you and told you!”

  “Well, I guess we just can’t watch The Bugs Bunny/Roadrunner Movie that’s on tonight, that’s all.”

  “Oh, no!” John David groaned. “That’s my best show!” It was too much. He crumpled up in a miserable heap on the floor and cried as if his heart would break.

  Elvira knelt down beside him and patted his back. She was sorry for his trouble, but her own heart was suddenly light. “Don’t cry, John David. I think I might know somebody who can fix it—maybe even before your show comes on.”

  “Wh-who?” John David hiccupped.

  “My daddy,” Elvira said, with pride. “He can fix televisions real good. One time he worked for a TV repair shop over in Silsbee. He’s fixed ours before, too. I’ll go call him right now.”

  Ha
nk’s voice was worried when he came on the line. “Elvira, are you all right?” She had never called him at any of his jobs before.

  “Yessir, I’m just fine.”

  “Well, good Lord, what is it, then? You had me scared to death. I thought there must be some emergency.”

  “Well, it is sort of an emergency. See, Miss Ivy’s television is broke. Her little boy put a magnet down the back of it.”

  “A what?”

  “A magnet—just a small-size magnet—but then their TV sort of exploded a little, and now all their electricity’s gone out.”

  “Well, haven’t they called somebody to come fix it?”

  “Yessir, but everybody says it’s too late today, and I was just thinkin’ that maybe you could come by after work and take a look. They’re havin’ a real hard time.”

  There was a moment’s silence on the other end of the line. Elvira crossed her fingers. He’s thinkin’ about Miss Ivy now, she told herself. He’s thinkin’ about how pretty she is and how nice it would be to see her again and maybe help her out. Oh, come on, say you’ll come, Hank.…

  “Well, I guess I could run by there for a little while,” Hank said slowly. “Where is it she lives?”

  When Elvira hung up the phone, she was so happy she could have kissed John David, but he had a lot of sticky, purple stuff on his face, so she thought better of it. Still, sticky or not, he had been an instrument of the Lord this day. That magnet hadn’t slipped out of his hand entirely by accident. Elvira was sure of it.

  Miss Ivy arrived first. John David met her at the front door. “You know what I made today, Mama?” he asked her, hugging her around the waist.

  “I don’t know—what did you make today, John David?” Miss Ivy asked back, smiling at the others while she stroked his dark hair.