Dearest Dorothy, Slow Down, You're Wearing Us Out!

by Charlene Ann Baumbich

  After the game, The Tank bucked and coughed all the way home. It was all Dorothy could do to get herself up the stairs and into bed. She didn’t even wash her face.

  “Lord,” she said before drifting off, “I know heaven is going to be a mighty swell place. It’s just that I’d rather not go there right now. I’ve still got a few things to do.”

  “Dorothy,” Doc Streator said when he handed her the new prescription, “it would be good if you could slow down a bit. Now, it was wonderful to see you cheering for the Musketeers last night, but Dorothy, it’s time you put down your pom-poms.” He saw Dorothy open her mouth to respond, but he put his finger to his lips, then picked up her hands, one in each of his, and continued. “There’s just not a whole lot more we can do to help you. I believe this medication might help a little, but no promises. And you be sure to put one of those nitroglycerin tablets I gave you last visit under your tongue the moment you feel a hint of pain.” He studied her face and noticed she looked away when he talked about the nitro.

  “Dorothy Jean Wetstra, have you been keeping those handy and using them like I told you?” She didn’t answer. She just continued studying the bountiful age spots that decorated his strong, aged hands, which were so gently holding hers. As Arthur had been The Tank’s only physician, so Doc Streator had been hers since the day he came to Partonville right out of medical school. He had seen her kids through fevers, chicken pox and bronchitis. He’d been with her when her husband, Henry, died and helped her daughter, Caroline Ann, get a few more years out of her life before succumbing to cancer. He had attended her youngest son’s wedding and been a good friend to Dorothy when that same son went through his divorce. He was a regular attending member of the United Methodist Church of Partonville, and he could read her like a book. He sighed and shook his head. “What am I going to do with you, Dorothy?”

  “Watch me live until I die,” she replied matter-of-factly. “Continue being the good friend you have been since your first day in practice. Don’t preach to me—that’s Pastor’s job. And Doc, never stop holding my hand. It’s the closest I get these days to sparking!”

  They both shared a good laugh, then Doc gave her a long and genuine hug. He spoke softly in her ear as he was hugging her. “Dorothy, the good Lord helps us through much, and one of the ways He does that is through medicine. Promise me you won’t be too stubborn and too proud to know His answer to prayer when it’s staring you in the face—or hiding in a little pill bottle in your handbag or pocket, okay?”

  Dorothy gave the doc a sweet peck on the cheek. “Thank you,” she said softly. “Thank you for caring.” Then she stood, whirled on her heels and departed, leaving not even a hint of a promise in the air.

  7

  It was the height of the lunch business at Harry’s when Katie, Josh and Alex entered. The swivel chairs creaked in unison and heads nearly screwed themselves off their necks as the regulars strained to get a gander at the city slickers. Most had now seen at least two of them—at the very least, had them pointed out in one place or another—during their last visit while attending either the wake, funeral or dinner afterward, or at the recent ball game. Those who hadn’t actually met them or viewed their whereabouts had certainly heard the buzz, if not about the slickers themselves, then at the very least about their showy vehicle.

  How Katie had ever let Josh talk her into coming back to this greasy spoon of a café was momentarily beyond her. With discomfort, she noticed that the few tables were filled. Before she could open her mouth to tell the boys they’d wait outside for a table to open up rather than be stared at the entire time, Josh and Alex had eagerly bellied right up to the counter, where there were three stools available together at one bookend of the U, which was unusual for this time of day. Her choices were to stand in the doorway by herself, leave or join them. Although she had endured Harry’s before, this distasteful predicament went far beyond both her comfort zone and the call of motherhood. At least during the last venture she’d been seated at a table.

  Kathryn Durbin, as she was known in Chicagoland commercial real estate development circles, wasn’t a counter sitter. No, she was used to “Good evening, Ms. Durbin. We have your table ready.” She was used to having her chair pulled out, linen and complete tableware for five courses, not perching herself at worn Formica in front of a chrome napkin dispenser. This entire happening was so foreign to her that she actually found herself unsure of how to properly seat herself on a stool. Did one plant one’s backside first and then swivel toward the counter? How did one get on the stool without looking as if one was mounting a horse, since the stools were so tall?

  With wide eyes, Josh watched his all-together mom become paralyzed by a stool. The moment she made eye contact with him, he pointed to his foot, which was resting on the elevated, running footrest near the base of the counter. He tapped his pointed toe, as though this delivered a clue for her dilemma. After a brief frozen moment, she awkwardly slid one foot onto the runner and finally—albeit hideously—positioned herself on the stool.

  Immediately, however, she faced a new dilemma: where should she put her rather large Gucci handbag? Certainly she couldn’t just drop it to the floor, which was too far down for her to lean over to reach without falling off the stool. When she tried to rest it in her lap, it instantly began to slide off since her knees were lower than her hips. She lurched on the stool to make a grab for it. She glanced down at the footrest, thinking she’d set it in front of her legs, but chalked off that idea since the footrest was black, and she wasn’t sure why…but she suspected something gross. Finally, she put the straps over her shoulder and hugged the handbag to her side with her arm.

  Cora Davis, now seated on the edge of her chair at the table by the window, studied Katie’s every move. Acting Mayor Gladys McKern readied herself to seize her chance to talk to the horse’s mouth without Dorothy running interference. Arthur, Harold and Lester had watched Katie’s uncomfortable procedure with fascination, glancing from Cora to Gladys, then winking at one another. Alex, always bolder than Josh, had witnessed their winking. When they looked Alex’s way, he grinned and winked right back at each of them, one after the other.

  Katie stared at the menu, which didn’t contain a semblance of a healthy-heart meal. “What’ll it be, folks?” Lester asked them as he plunked down a knife, fork and spoon at each of their settings, causing Katie to rear back a bit.

  “I’ll have the special today,” Josh said. How could he pass up a Double High Burger, as it said on the index card that was paper-clipped to the menu propped up between the salt and pepper shakers? “And it’s nice to see you again, Mr. Biggs.” Lester looked surprised Josh remembered his name.

  “I’ll have the special, too,” Alex said. “And it’s nice to meet you.”

  Lester took mental note of how popular his special had been today. Usually Wednesday was liver-and-onions day, but he’d made a last-minute change when the liver hadn’t arrived. “I imagine you boys want colas to drink,” Lester said rather than asked, writing it down before they could reply.

  “Yes, please,” they said in unison.

  Lester stood staring at Katie, who was still staring at the menu, trying to find one thing that didn’t smack of a gastrointestinal attack and flabby thighs. Her eyes rested on the side dishes. “I’ll have a baked potato and green beans,” she said without looking up.

  “Don’t have baked today,” he said flatly. “Fries or smashed taters, if you want spuds today.”

  “Mashed potatoes and green beans would be fine,” Katie said. “You don’t serve the potatoes with gravy on them, do you?” she asked, crunching her face up.

  “Not to you,” he said. Katie couldn’t decide if Lester was smiling or scowling. He stifled himself from saying that his white chicken gravy was the best in the tri-county area, according to May Belle. And if May Belle said something about your cookin’, then it was so.

  “I’ll just have water to drink…please.”

  “I figured,
” he said.

  Katie and Lester locked stares for a moment before Lester turned back toward the grill area, right after the left corner of his mouth tilted upward a bit. Katie decided he was being friendly, in his own odd little way. Even though Lester was gruff, she remembered his kindness at bringing a meal by the house for them when they were last in Partonville. She also remembered how he’d delivered the collection jar. It had been filled with change and a few dollar bills. He said he’d kept the jar in the restaurant so folks who didn’t go in on flowers could donate toward her loss and pay their respects. She noticed the jar now sitting by the register had a sign on it that said DEKALB FAMILY.

  A sudden tap on the shoulder caused her to gasp. She swiveled to see who had tapped her, and the awful squeak of her chair startled her nearly as much as the tap. She discovered an outstretched hand, right at her midriff.

  “Cora Davis,” Cora said, lit up like a Christmas tree at this one-on-one, face-to-face opportunity. “I wanted to reintroduce myself, since I imagine you don’t remember me from the funeral, what with all the new faces.” Oddly, Katie did not remember meeting Cora, and usually she was very good with names and faces.

  “How are things coming along at your aunt’s house? I understand it’s been quite a job. I saw Dorothy’s car there the other day. How good of her to help you. But then I suppose, since she’ll be moving in, she has a personal interest in the process.”

  Katie was instantly wary of Cora Davis, who seemed a little too fast-talking, friendly…and curious. “Things are going just as they should be,” she said, withholding any information about Dorothy, feeling oddly protective. Cora stood, waiting for Katie to continue. When it became clear that she wasn’t going to, Cora gave it her full press.

  “I imagine you and Dorothy have worked out all the details as to when she’ll be moving in, which will be…” Cora’s voice lifted at the end, implying the dangling question.

  “When she’s ready,” Katie said without emotion. Josh looked on with interest while Alex stared at Arthur, who was staring at him. Gladys noticed all the impolite staring Alex was doing and threw her head back in disgust, dabbing at the corners of her mouth with her napkin.

  “If you need anything, just look me up in the phone book. We’re the only Davis in Partonville.” Cora then spelled Davis, just to make sure Katie understood. No sooner had Cora dejectedly stepped away than Gladys sidled up to Katie before she had a chance to swivel back toward the counter. It was nothing short of tag-team interference.

  “Acting Mayor Gladys McKern,” she said, thrusting her hand in front of Katie.

  “Yes, I remember,” Katie said. The two shook hands, Gladys delivering her practiced, mayoral shake of two firm up and downs, then separation. Like a ventriloquist whose lips didn’t move, Josh mumbled to Alex, “forward and progressive.” The two of them snickered, causing Gladys to stiffen a bit at their rudeness, even though she hadn’t heard what passed between them.

  “How are your plans coming along for the Crooked Creek estate?” Gladys asked. Like Cora, she wasted no time.

  “And what plans would you be referring to?” Katie asked, playing dumb.

  “Why, whatever plans you might have, of course,” Gladys said, not easily dissuaded from her mission to find out what, exactly, Miss City Slicker Durbin might have up her sleeve.

  “No plans are final. Many plans are being considered. The only thing for sure is that a portion of the land will become Crooked Creek Park.”

  “Of course, you don’t plan on moving to the farm, right?”

  “I don’t recall saying that,” Katie said nonchalantly. Josh’s eyes got as big as full moons. He’d never heard his mother even entertain the idea of moving to the farm herself.

  “Oh,” Gladys said, “so you do plan on moving to the farm.”

  “I don’t recall saying that,” Katie said, now grinning at this cat and mouse game. Everyone in Harry’s had by now stopped talking and tuned in to the entertaining verbal sparring, hoping to learn something themselves.

  Gladys yanked on the bottom of her blazer, eyes flashing fire. “I guess you really haven’t said much of anything, have you?” Katie stiffened a bit and raised a threatening left eyebrow. Gladys immediately realized the tone of her own voice wouldn’t help her glean anything, so she friendlied up the presentation of her next statement. “As the acting mayor of Partonville, I just want to make sure that you feel welcome, should you become one of our residents. And, of course, I’m always looking out for the good of the people of Partonville, what with Hethrow perched at our doorstep and Crooked Creek being the path that leads to the door.”

  The women sized each other up for a bit, Katie finding herself mildly admiring Gladys’s tenacity, yet unwilling to give an inch—partially because it did not seem any of Gladys’s business, and partially because her own plans were not yet cemented. She nodded her head up and down in acceptance of Gladys’s statement, but she didn’t speak. You could have heard a pin drop in the restaurant until the slam of the screen door caused everyone’s heart to skip a beat.

  “Mr. Lester,” Earl said, “I finished my deliveries.”

  For decades Earl had foot-delivered call-in lunch orders to local businesses. Lester was glad for the help—the only help he “hired”—and Earl was proud to have a job.

  “Thank you, Earl,” Lester said. “Just put the basket back where it belongs, and I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “Yes, sir, Mr. Lester. See you tomorrow.”

  Josh waved at Earl, who almost grinned before flashing his eyes to the ground and moving toward the door. Immediately after the screen door banged shut, Lester announced, “Food’s up.” He set the boys’ burgers down, stating, “Two specials.” Then he retrieved Katie’s order, one small bowl in each hand. “Green beans and smashed taters, hold the juice. Better eat it while it’s hot,” he said in a loud and stern tone as he slid the order in front of her, seemingly intentionally intervening in the ladies’ standoff.

  “Thank you, Mr. Biggs,” Katie said, turning to face him. “Yes, I do hate eating cold hot dishes.” This time without a shadow of a doubt, the left corner of Lester’s lip curled up. His eyes even sparkled at her a bit. Without spoken collaboration, he had entered into battle, taking sides with Katie Mabel Carol Durbin, a city slicker worth her salt.

  When they were done with their meal, Katie left an ample yet unpretentious tip, deftly slid off the stool, marched directly to the cash register, paid her bill with a smile, then put the change in the jar for the DEKALB FAMILY, whoever they were. Lester gave her an approving nod before the three of them marched out the door.

  Gladys and Cora sat at their posts, looking rather like deflated frogs.

  Dorothy had elected to keep an old rocker of Aunt Tess’s, a charming floor lamp with faded purple fringe around the lampshade, which was similar to the one she’d always admired at May Belle’s, a mahogany wooden end table with a pocket at one end for books or magazines or whatever one might want to keep close at hand, and the kitchen table, chairs and ruffle-trimmed place mats that matched some of her own.

  When Katie had first entered Aunt Tess’s home after her death, the entire house was in shambles, aside from the kitchen, which had been kept in perfect and readied tidiness as though Tess had expected guests. Indeed, the table setting presented itself as an oasis in the midst of chaos. Centered on the table there had been a vase filled with wilted wildflowers from her tangled yard—obviously freshly picked before her death—and three perfectly set place mats and water goblets. Next to the flowers, Aunt Tess had kept a framed photo of herself at thirty or so with younger sister Clarice, Katie’s mom, standing next to a silo. Katie learned that it was Dorothy’s silo and that the three had been friends way back when. The photo had been taken before Clarice suddenly decided to move to Chicago, leaving Tess, who had nearly raised Clarice after their parents’ death, heartbroken and alone. Tucked into the frame was a photo of Josh when he was a baby, obviously one Katie’s mom had sen
t to her sister, since Katie had no recollection of doing so.

  The day after Katie’d arrived this trip, she’d stopped by the Floral Fling and picked up a bouquet of daisies, her mother’s favorite, for the vase. The kitchen table had grown to feel like the comfort zone, “a sacred place to be honored,” Dorothy had said when she’d announced she’d like to keep the table as it was. Although Katie would never have come to that phrasing on her own, she certainly knew truth when she heard it. Dorothy just figured Aunt Tess and the house wanted the table to stay, and so it would be—although Katie’d made it clear she was going to keep the vase for a memento.

  Katie, Josh and Alex worked at the Vine Street house the rest of the day, dropping off the last load at the farm before returning for the final sweep-out and mop-up. At 8:00 P.M., the threesome finally plopped down at the table. Katie announced that the next order of business was to call in some contractors to deal with the electricity and a few other minor repairs. “Tomorrow’s project will be the hunt for skilled labor,” she said, running her finger over the petals of one of the bright daisies. “Maybe you boys can finally get to your baby-crab hunt at Dorothy’s while I spend the day working on that task.”

  “Mom, it’s crawdads. Crawdads. Somehow I don’t think we’re going to find crabs in Crooked Creek.”

  “Right. Crawdads.” Mindlessly, Katie lifted the daisy from the bouquet and held it up close to her face, studying it for a moment.

  “I should,” she said after plucking the first petal, “I shouldn’t” after plucking the second. She continued doing this until only one “should” petal remained. She hesitated, grinned, then plucked the “should” petal from its stalk, which she then laid on the table next to the tiny pile of petals.

  “I thought when girls did that they said, ‘He loves me, he loves me not,’ ” Alex said.