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

by Charlene Ann Baumbich

  “I figure anyone who lives on a farm ought to have the appropriate crab-catching paraphernalia,” she said.

  “Crawdad-hunting paraphernalia,” Dorothy and Jessica, to whom Katie had revealed her intentions, shouted at the same time.

  “Crawdad,” Katie said slowly. “Maybe after five years of living here myself, I’ll get it right.”

  Josh stared at his mom, trying to make sense of what he was hearing. He looked at Dorothy, then at Alex. They were both beaming, obviously in on whatever was happening.

  Lives on a farm…five years of living here…He heard those words ringing in his ears as he struggled to make sense of them. Then the light finally dawned. “Mom! Do you mean to tell me we’re moving to this farm?” His face revealed no evidence of what was going on inside of him.

  Katie’s heart felt as if it skipped a beat as she realized that this could possibly turn out to be the worst moment of her life. “Yes,” she said, in a tone just above a whisper. She moved close to him and looked him straight in the eyes, trying to create an intimate space of privacy in the midst of the now gawking gathering. “Yes. As soon as Dorothy’s safe in the house on Vine Street and we’ve closed up things in Chicago, we’re moving right to this place in Pardon Me Ville.”

  “Mom, are you kidding me?” Josh asked with a hesitant tone in his voice.

  “No, son, I am not kidding you.” The silence throughout the entire party was deafening as many took in this news for the first time and others were holding their breath.

  Suddenly, Alex began applauding. Then Lester joined in, as did Dorothy and Jessica. Then May Belle and…everyone, including Earl, was applauding. Everyone but Josh and Katie, who stood wide-eyed, staring at each other.

  Then, in a sudden, fluid move, Joshua Matthew Kinney stepped forward and picked his mom up clear off the ground. “Yahoo!” he screeched in her ear. “YAHOO!”

  “Joshua, I can’t breathe,” she finally said. Josh set her down in front of him, then backed off to look into her eyes, which welled with tears. “I take it you’re happy about this, then?” she asked, somewhat hesitantly.

  “Happy? HAPPY? I’M THRILLED!” And the next thing they knew, they were being hugged by everyone, including Shelby. It was just about the most wonderful moment of Josh’s life.

  11

  Josh and Katie had been back in Chicago for two weeks. Katie had always kept their brownstone in top shape, living a nearly compulsively neat life—much to her son’s disgruntlement. And properties in their neighborhood usually sold before listings were in print, often going for more than the asking price after bidding wars ensued, so from that standpoint things looked good.

  But the mental game of preparing for such a drastic lifestyle change was what seized her in her rocky moments. As she walked to the ethnic deli or contemplated the bountiful luxuries of spas and libraries, museums and cultural events…when she engaged in conversations with businesswomen or picked up a New York Times or Atlantic Monthly at the corner newsstand…No, she wasn’t worried about leaving; it was the thought of what she would be missing that occasionally caused her to become nearly overwrought with anxiety. When she was in Partonville, things seemed simpler and very clear. When she was in Chicago, things seemed…well, they seemed like what she’d been used to all her life, and the familiar always delivered a certain sense of security—even at its worst.

  One thing was for sure, she’d simply have to return to Chicago for her hair appointments. No way was that outrageous Maggie Malone getting her hands on Katie’s perfectly colored and styled tresses. Yes, a good dose of the city every six weeks or so would be in order. After all, it was only a half-day away.

  Back in Partonville, the little Vine Street home was all safe and up to code in every possible way. Now complete with ceiling fans and white carpeting in the living room and a new sink and roundie toilet, it patiently awaited Dorothy’s arrival. “There’s no turning back now, Lord!” Dorothy had announced to the heavens when she set down the pen after signing the final paper. “Yes,” Katie had added somewhat pensively, “there’s no turning back now.”

  Dorothy had been extremely lonesome for the city slickers since they departed, even though she and Josh were continuing their daily, sometimes twice-daily, e-mailing and she and Katie spoke about once a week on the phone. Dorothy even received an occasional cheery greeting from Alex. Although Josh and Katie had promised they would return before school began, even if they needed to set up camp once again at the Lamp Post should Dorothy not be quite out of the farm yet, their arrival still seemed a long way off. Truth was, her heart had embraced them as family, and it was as though her own children were once again moving away—at least for a spell.

  Dorothy was, however, very eager for her sons and grandchildren to arrive, which they’d be doing within days now. It had been far too long since they’d all been together. Jacob Henry hadn’t even made it home for Christmas last year. Dorothy feared that his absence, due to the excuse that he just had too much work, had not only wounded his brother, but further widened an awkward gap that had grown between her adult sons. The difference in appearances, priorities and lifestyles of offspring produced by the same parents never ceased to amaze her. Vinnie, as family members often called him, was spontaneous, outwardly emotional, fun-loving and a divorced father of two sons living in the suburbs of Colorado. He was about her height, had sandy hair and had always been a tad on the chunky side. Jacob was a stoic, single, well-to-do lawyer living on the East Coast who, the last few years, often seemed buried in his work. He was dark complexioned, more than six feet tall and solid as a rock, working out at a health club nearly daily.

  Nevertheless, the brothers had been equally stunned at what seemed like their mother’s sudden decision to sell Crooked Creek. And the grandsons were deeply saddened at the thought that they might no longer get to visit their grandma at the farm. But in their own way, they were all relieved she’d be in town, closer to friends. Vinnie especially had been vocal about his mom’s being isolated so far out in the country at her age, and he worried about her driving. The last time he’d been home and she’d driven them into town was almost scary. He wished things in his life could have worked out differently so that he could have taken over the farm and kept it in the family. As fate would have it, however, marriage, divorce, job security and young children whose mother had moved them to Colorado—and no way would he be separated from them—had made that impossible.

  Everyone knew if Caroline Ann, who was closer to Vinnie in personality and who loved the land as powerfully as her mother, had lived, there wouldn’t be any question that Crooked Creek Farm would continue to flourish and be loved under her passionate care. But as his father used to say, “Sometimes it’s just time to let go. And once you do, never look back.” Wise, and also easier said than done.

  Dorothy began spending a bit of time each day perusing the house and occasionally putting a few items in a box she kept on the back porch for the sale. She figured she’d have Earl take it to the barn next time he visited. She started taping stickers to items she wondered if one son or the other might want, as well as cataloguing them in a notebook so she wouldn’t forget their whereabouts, knowing her time with her sons would fly by and that they would need to make the most of it. She wasn’t sure if they’d both get to come back for the auction or not, and she surely didn’t want to let go of any sentimental items that would grieve one of her sons later.

  Some items simply wouldn’t fit in her new home. Others were family treasures that Dorothy decided were best passed on now, while she could still remember and talk about their stories. She recalled how sad it was for her after her parents were gone, the day she realized that with them had gone so many of the stories. “After all,” her mother used to say, “how would we even define ourselves if it weren’t for our stories?” Dorothy had thought she’d always remember the details her mom so often repeated about this and that, but alas, she did not.

  Dorothy wandered over to the hutch and
picked up the beautiful hand-painted bowl with the marking “Prussia” on the bottom. Her mother had received it from a friend. What friend and why, Dorothy couldn’t recall. She only knew that her mother spoke about it with reverence and a soft heart. “Things like this ought to have dates and stories attached to them, Sheba.” Sheba rose from her slumber and trotted over to where Dorothy stood, fully expecting Dorothy at least to toss her a treat for her trouble. When she didn’t, Sheba actually made a groaning sound when she yawned before resetting herself and entering back into her slumber. “Sometimes we just don’t get what we expect, do we, dearie?” Dorothy said to her lazy dog, contemplating the deep truth in her own statement.

  Suddenly she was overwhelmed again with all that was before her. She decided to head upstairs early and check her e-mail one last time before retiring. Once she sat down at her computer, however, she couldn’t help but open a new file she had named “Family Stories.” She determined right then and there that in her spare time—as much for cathartic release as for the recording of family history—she would write up all the details she could remember about life on the farm…this person and that…family events…She would begin tomorrow by writing up the story about the basketball backboard. She knew the boys would appreciate that. The boys and their boys and…

  She wandered into the spare bedroom that she used as a guest room and opened the lid on the old wooden trunk filled with photographs. Picking up a small handful, she began to label the backs of the photos of those people she could identify. Then she stood for a long while studying an ancient tin photo. “Land’s sakes, Sheba! I have no idea who one single person in this photo is!” The thought made her feel so sad, she tossed all the pictures back into the trunk and let the lid slam down, rather than gently snapping it into place the way she usually did.

  “Lord, it’s just too much for an old woman. Too much to let go of. Too much to remember. Too much!”

  By the time she took off her clothes, put on her pj’s and swiped her face with a warm washcloth, she was plumb worn out. She tossed her partial plate into the container and didn’t even bother to fill it with water and drop in a tablet. She’d do that in the morning. She lowered herself into her prayer chair, turned on the small lamp, tossed a blanket over her legs and picked up her Bible. There was only one cure for this type of loneliness, sorrowful and overwhelming, and that was her evening moment with The Big Guy. Psalms, it would be. No doubt about it. Flipping open her Bible, immediately she spotted words she’d highlighted in bright yellow during a previous quiet moment. They were the closing words to the Nineteenth Psalm: “Let the words of my mouth and the meditation of my heart be acceptable in Thy sight, O Lord, my rock and my redeemer.” She reread the passage three times, then closed her Bible and her eyes.

  “Oh, Lord, how I complain. And they’re all good things I complain about! Parents who loved me, worldly goods that have helped make my life a comfort, my own children coming to see me, the chance to move to the security of a nice small house near my good friend May Belle, not a financial care in the world…

  “Lord, forgive my complaining self and let the words of my mouth not be ones of more complaint. But thanks for listening to my complaints anyway, and for loving me even when complaining is what I’m doing. Amen.”

  “Jessica, it’s Katie!”

  “Katie! I was just thinking about you, thinking about how much I miss you! Honestly, I was out pulling weeds around the front porch, remembering our conversation about parenting that evening, and…then the phone rang…and it’s YOU! Oh, it’s YOU!”

  Katie took in how wonderful it felt to be so happily acknowledged. “You know, I’ve thought about that night many times myself. You might have a hard time believing this, but that was one of the first times in my life I had ever shared such a vulnerable piece of myself with anyone, let alone someone I barely knew.”

  “Well, you were definitely my angel. Up until that very moment I thought I was the only mom in the world who didn’t instinctively and automatically know everything.”

  “Listen to us! We sound like the mutual admiration society in full bloom,” Katie said, then they both laughed.

  “Did you need something?” Jessica asked when their laughter subsided.

  “Yes.” A long pause ensued. “Just to hear your voice.” The statement was received with silence on the other end, and finally Katie asked Jessica if she was still there.

  “Yes,” Jessica said right after she sniffled. “You have no idea how timely your call is. It’s been one of those days. For the first time I tried to use the breast pump. I’ve never felt so ridiculous in my life. Did you ever use one of those things?”

  “Heavens, no!” Katie was even a bit embarrassed at the question. “To be honest with you, I just didn’t think I’d be very good at nursing. I found the entire idea intimidating. Bottles all the way. I know that sounds silly, but that’s exactly how I felt. I have to admit that I’ve always been a little envious of those women like yourself who just seem more comfortable with their own skin and womanhood.”

  “And I’ve always felt a little envious of women who are more independent than me.”

  “Oh, Jessica, I watch you and Paul and Sarah Sue together and…why is it we always think we need what we don’t have?” The unanswerable question hung in the air for a moment.

  “When do you think you’ll be coming back to Partonville, Katie?”

  “We’re both hoping to find an excuse to head that way again real soon, although we’ve certainly got our hands full, what with the move and all. I’ve been making lots of phone calls, getting school records transferred, tasks like that. Josh is so happy to be leaving Latin that he doesn’t much care where he goes, as long as it isn’t there again. I imagine this will be a bit more difficult than he’s picturing, but we’ll just take it one step at a time.”

  “I hate to cut this off, Katie, but Sarah Sue is beginning to squeak, and I better get to her before she winds herself up into full-blown hysteria. I am just so glad you called! You know your rooms will be waiting when it’s time for your return, if Dorothy isn’t out of the farm yet. Not only are you my friend, but you’re my best client!”

  “I’ll keep in touch, and you do the same. I’m sure my home number is in your records.”

  “This is a bit embarrassing, Katie, but we’re having to watch our pennies since Sarah Sue arrived, so I probably won’t be phoning very often, which doesn’t mean I won’t be thinking about you!”

  “Jessica, I’m so glad you mentioned that. I have an 800 number. Let me give it to you.” By the time Jessica had written it down, Sarah Sue was at full volume, and the women said their good-byes over the desperate cries of a heart-shaped mouth.

  “The meeting will come to order,” Gladys said, pounding the gavel on the table. “The meeting WILL come to order! It is seven-thirty-four already!” One thing was for sure, it wasn’t Jessica’s fault they were tardy, because after last month’s fiasco she’d made it a point to arrive five minutes early. No, it wasn’t Jessica’s fault. It was all the conversation about Dorothy and her impending move. Dorothy this and Dorothy that, Gladys thought. Enough was enough.

  “It can be noted that everyone is present. The secretary will now read the minutes from last month’s meeting.”

  Quickly Dorothy handed the typed-up notes to Jessica. Although Jessica wished she’d had a chance to read through the minutes privately before she had to read them aloud, she started right in without hesitation, desiring to please Gladys—if that was humanly possible. There were a few snickers choked back as Jessica read the ongoing commentaries Dorothy had interjected into that near-hostile last meeting, but nevertheless, the minutes were approved as read.

  Dorothy then read the treasurer’s report, letting everyone know that flowers had been sent on behalf of the Social Concerns Committee to the DeKalb family upon the passing of their father. Other than that, there had been no income and no further expenses.

  “Moving right on to old bus
iness, then,” Gladys said. Dorothy’s hand shot up in the air before the statement was all the way out of Gladys’s mouth.

  “Yes, Dorothy. You have something to report?”

  “Actually, I have something to ask. Something highly unusual, I know, but urgent and important. I’m wondering if it might be possible to have our Fall Rummage Sale a week early this year, that last weekend in August before the holiday weekend.”

  “Did you just listen to yourself, Dorothy?” Gladys asked. “Fall sale in August? That doesn’t even make sense. Fall does not begin until September.”

  Dorothy decided that rather than taking on the issue of fall versus Labor Day—which is when the sale was but which also wasn’t fall—she’d just stick with the matter at hand. “As you know,” she said, casting her eyes toward the other committee members, “I’m going to be moving into town. Not only that, but Katie Durbin will likely move into the farm as soon as I’m out. Although she is not pushing me in the least, even though she now officially owns Crooked Creek, it would be wonderful if she could get herself and her son settled before school starts and not have to deal with all this commotion on the heels of taking possession.”

  “I do not believe an out-of-towner getting settled before school starts is our problem, Dorothy. And frankly, I’m surprised you’d even bring up such a request.”