“I’m gonna go pick me up some old dining room table legs, if he’s still got them,” Dorothy said to May Belle. “And who knows what else I might find.”
“Table legs? What on earth for?”
“I was standing in the doorway to the guest room last night just staring, trying to picture what kind of bed I might like to buy. You know I’m putting Caroline Ann’s bed in the auction, right?”
“No!”
“Yes, I am, May Belle. I realized it’s time a new little head had the chance to sleep tight in that beautiful old set. I tell you, it just made me feel good to speculate what the next little girl might look like.”
“So what’s that got to do with table legs?” May Belle asked.
“So I was standing there in the doorway staring, and suddenly, plain as day, I recalled the day Sam Vitner told me about those table legs and voilà! I just imagined what a great headboard and footboard they might make! And what a story I’d have to tell about them,” which of course she then went on to repeat to May Belle.
“You say you’re going to use those table legs for a guest bed?”
“Yes, ma’am. If you turned those upside down…think about it. They’d look just like posters on a four-poster bed!”
May Belle glazed over and stared into a hole in space somewhere above her kitchen sink. For the longest time, she just stared. Then she smiled and slapped her knee. “By golly! You’re right! How on earth did you come to that on your own?” May Belle asked without waiting for an answer. “But Dorothy, you can’t be walking down the hard road out to the edge of town. It must be two miles from here. And you certainly can’t be dragging table legs back home with you!”
“You’re right. I’ll just call Arthur. He’s always asking me if there isn’t something he can do for me anyway. I’ll tell him to bring his truck. Who knows what else I might find. I want to talk to him about something anyway.”
“Oh?”
“The Tank.”
“What about The Tank?”
“I’m talking about her smashing last ride.”
“Dorothy! You’re not still thinking about that demolition derby?”
“I am.”
“I thought you’d gotten that notion out of your head.”
“What made you think that?”
“You haven’t mentioned it for a good long while.”
“I’ve been waiting for Arthur to examine her and tell me if he thinks she can make it through the startup. That’s all I’d need to make me happy is to see her go down running in a good battle, giving it all she’s got, even if she’s the first one out.”
“Dorothy! Please tell me you’re not thinking of driving!”
“I’m telling nothing more. And don’t you ask me either, you hear?”
For all the decades May Belle had been Dorothy’s friend, she knew that when Dorothy wagged her finger with that tone of finality in her voice, one thing was for sure: that was that.
22
When Josh and Katie arrived in Partonville on Thursday evening, they headed directly to Dorothy’s new home for an up-close-and-personal look-see, as Dorothy referred to it. From all Jessica had told Katie on the phone, and from all Dorothy had shared with Josh in their daily e-mails, Dorothy was making the transition with flying and fire engine red colors. “You just won’t believe how swell things are shaping up, Joshmeister!” Dorothy had typed in a flurry, sitting in her yet-drab-but-new combination computer and guest room. No doubt about it, Katie and Josh were eager to see that kitchen ceiling. It had, however, come as quite the stunning surprise to her sons and grandsons when they’d arrived, since Dorothy hadn’t even mentioned it to them—figuring Jacob would lecture her, which is exactly what he did. Truth be known, Katie was as excited to see Jessica and her artistic handiwork Dorothy’d bragged about as she was to see Dorothy or the ceiling.
Katie began marveling at the transition the moment she pulled up in front of the little house. She sat in her Lexus just staring for a moment before she even turned off the engine, thinking back to the day she had first arrived in Partonville, soon after Aunt Tess’s death. She recalled with emotion how stunned she’d been at its horrid, run-down and overgrown condition. But now…between all the yard sprucing and the new mailbox and front porch decorations, it was hard to believe this was the same dwelling. The entire place seemed to radiate the happy and refreshing presence of new beginnings.
Once inside the door, after Dorothy’s generous hugs and chatting a moment about their Chicago brownstone closing and pack-up, Katie acknowledged Dorothy’s family seated around the room. As much as Katie was not looking forward to being around Jacob again, she had made up her mind that she was going to be tolerant. There was just no sense in fueling an obvious, spontaneous and mutual animosity, not when everyone involved was, deep in his or her heart, really concerned for the well-being of the same woman. After giving the room a quick scan, she thankfully spotted everyone but him.
Drawing her attention back to the room itself, Katie continued to be in awe of the transformation. What she had first beheld as the piled-high chaos of Aunt Tess’s mounds of possessions, and then, after the massive cleanup and dispersal, had left behind as a clean albeit lonesome space, was now shaping up into a modest but cheery home. Aunt Tess’s old floor lamp with the fringed purple shade was the perfect accent to Dorothy’s couch. The massive mahogany desk that had been Dorothy’s father’s—the one she wasn’t sure she could even fit in the tiny house—stood proud and strong against the back wall as though it were overseeing the room. A man’s pocket watch encased in a glass dome was displayed on the end table, and the pervading and steady ticking of Dorothy’s old regulator clock on the wall reminded Katie of a beating heart.
Katie had neither noticed the clock nor its prominent sound in Dorothy’s old place—now her place, she had to keep reminding herself. After Katie inquired about it, Dorothy replied, “I assure you it was there in our living room since nearly the beginning of time itself.” They agreed that it must be the acoustics of the smaller space that brought its heartbeat to life, as though the house itself were alive.
They rounded the corner into the kitchen, Dorothy first, then Josh, followed by Katie. Bradley, Steven and Vinnie jumped out of their seats to follow them, just to witness their response to the red ceiling. Katie didn’t even notice Jacob sitting at the table, so uplifted was her head. For a moment, everyone was stone still.
“This ROCKS!” Josh shouted, startling them. “Dorothy, this absolutely ROCKS! What do you say, Mom? Doesn’t this ROCK?”
Everyone looked to Katie, who was now running her finger along Jessica’s beautiful floral-and-ribbon design. She looked again at the ceiling, then back to the trim. “Joshua, much to my own surprise, I quite agree!”
“You’re just being polite,” a doomful male voice she recognized as Jacob’s said. For the first time, she made eye contact with him. Forcing herself to paste a broad smile on her face, she responded, “No, sir. I mean that with all that’s in me. And you can believe this, too: I don’t say anything just to be polite.”
For the rest of the evening’s visit, Katie and Jacob kept their distance, positioning themselves across the room and speaking civilly to each other. The boys spent a considerable amount of time together in front of Dorothy’s computer, playing some of her games. When Josh and Katie left around 8:30 P.M., sighing that it was going to be a big day tomorrow since it was Josh’s first day of school, Dorothy and her grandsons walked them to the car. Vincent’s boys exchanged quips with Josh about how happy they were that their school didn’t start until after the holiday.
“We’ll probably see you around the Lamp Post,” Steven said to Josh.
“Aren’t you staying here with your grandmother?” Katie asked.
“I guess you didn’t notice, huh?” Bradley asked, but he didn’t wait for an answer. “Grandma doesn’t have any bed in there yet. Besides, for all of us to be at the farm for the sale by 7:00 A.M. Saturday would mean there’d
be five of us trying to use the bathroom before we’re barely awake. Dad said it would just be easier to stay at the motel. Uncle Jacob’s gonna stay here and sleep on the couch, though.”
Katie sighed with relief. Somehow, Uncle Jacob didn’t need to be encroaching on her relaxing hideaway. No, 7:00 A.M. on Saturday would be plenty early to have to be in his company again.
At nine o’clock Friday evening, the volunteer phone tree had spread the word: all workers were to arrive at the auction site no later than six the following morning. Dorothy called Jessica, who passed it along to all her pertinent motel guests. Even though it would mean a tremendous amount of last-minute work, they’d decided, since it was promising to be a clear day after all, that it would be best to separate the Social Concerns Committee’s Fall Rummage Sale from Dorothy’s auction as best as possible. Containing the sale to the upper barn and the auction to the yard, house and lower barn would do that nicely.
There was already a line of buyers forming at the end of the driveway at 5:45 A.M. Signs had been posted the night before saying that until nine o’clock sharp nobody but workers was allowed beyond that point. A couple of Scouts were ordered to post themselves at the mouth of the long lane by five o’clock just to make sure folks followed the rules and weren’t trying to sneak in ahead of schedule. They had been duly warned about antiques dealers who would ask for special permission to view the goods early, and they had been given strict orders to say no. Sure enough, the antiques dealers were the first to arrive and the first to ask, but the Scouts stood their ground in spite of the dirty looks.
Wilbur from Your Store had arrived—hauling his homemade trailer containing the steamer table and serving tables, folding chairs and all the food—at 6:00 A.M., the time Swifty and everyone on the committee had promised to be there. Wilbur figured the working troops would be hankering for coffee and doughnuts, and he was right.
Shelby’s golden hair was tucked up under her Wild Musketeers baseball cap, which rested backwards on her head. She wore baggy coverall shorts over a pale blue tank top, and Josh thought it was the most beautiful outfit on the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen. It was all he could do to watch his step as the two of them carefully carried a heavy coffee table for the auction out of the upper barn, down the hill and into the yard while they chatted about yesterday’s “bogus day of boring teacher introductions.” Shelby commended Josh on having found his way around the school so quickly, and he thanked her again for being so helpful. He beamed brighter than a halogen headlight. He could almost hear Alex saying, “Geesh! Turn on your low beams, please. You’re blinding me!”
Although it was already seventy degrees, humid and heading for the upper eighties, there was neither a cloud in the sky nor one in the weather forecast. The clear day seemed nothing short of an answer to prayer since all week the weather channel had kept predicting thunderstorms for their area this Saturday. But at the last minute—and as though blown by the very breath of God—the storm had suddenly veered to the south.
Dorothy was glad her sons, grandsons, Josh and Earl were around to supply younger muscle power. Her sons drove the tractor to maneuver the trailer loads from here to there. They kept looking at one another, saying, “Didn’t we just move all this stuff a few weeks ago so we wouldn’t have to move it today?” Then they would all shake their heads in exaggerated disgust, continuing to move things from here to there yet once again.
Everyone knew it would take them every bit of their three hours to set up and get things in order, especially with all the last-minute moving for the auction. One by one they looked at their wristwatches, fretting how surely it couldn’t be seven-thirty already; then suddenly, it was eight-forty-five.
“NOW HEAR THIS!” Gladys shouted into the microphone from atop the trailer turned auctioneer stand.
“You gotta turn it on, Gladys!” Swifty hollered from the refreshment area, where he was already downing his third cup of Wilbur’s powerful, eye-opening coffee and polishing off a home-made cinnamon roll May Belle sneaked him for free from the bake sale table. Gladys’s raised voice was so loud that Swifty could hear her without the microphone.
“And WHERE, exactly, do I do THAT?” she screamed back, causing folks standing at the foot of the platform to duck and cover their ears.
“On the BOTTOM of the microphone!”
Gladys fumbled with it, finally finding the little black switch at the base of the cordless instrument. She began whapping it with her knuckle to see if she heard the thumping over the loudspeakers, which she did.
“NOW HEAR THIS!” she yelped into the mike.
“YOU DON’T NEED TO HOLLER INTO THE MICROPHONE!” Swifty screeched back at her the moment her voice boomed so loudly it made his expensive speakers rattle.
“Now hear THIS!” Gladys said again, this time leveling her voice a bit.
“FOR GOL-DERN SAKES, WOMAN!” Arthur yelped from inside the barn. “I IMAGINE THEY CAN PLUMB HEAR YA IN ALASKA! TURN YOUR VOICE DOWN, WOMAN!”
“Arthur Landers,” Gladys said quietly into the live mike, “I need to be heard. What I have to say is important.”
“That woman thinks everything she says is important,” Arthur complained to Nellie Ruth as the two of them were making sure the cash box was in order and their checkout volunteers were in place.
“Now, Arthur,” said Nellie Ruth, “it isn’t easy being Gladys.”
Arthur’s mouth flew open and he looked up to respond. Then it soaked in what she’d said, and he noticed that Nellie Ruth was grinning from ear to ear and winking at him. “I guess yer done right ’bout that, now, ain’t ya?”
“If I could have everyone quiet down for a moment. Please.” Gladys paused until the din waned. “The Scouts, if we can count on them to not steer vehicles into mowing us down rather than heading them toward the designated parking areas”—and she paused just long enough here to raise both eyebrows at her brother, who stood staring at her from alongside the top portion of the driveway next to the giant arrow that pointed toward the field—“will be opening the gates in exactly…”—she raised her wrist, then tapped on her watch face—“eight minutes and thirty seconds. That means in exactly eight minutes and thirty seconds, folks will begin storming the barn and the yard and the house, asking a million questions like”—she paused and drew a breath—“what’s for sale and what’s auction and where do they pay and where do they get numbers for the auction and can they write checks and how late can they pick up items and are there any guarantees or is everything sold ‘as is’ and can they use the toilet in the house rather than having to use the portable outhouses and…”—she stopped to draw a big breath, which most were beginning to wonder about—“and how late are we open and…and I just hope we have all the answers. And if you don’t, here are a few of the most important ones.
“ONE! NO, they cannot use the toilet in the house, which is why there is a large piece of duct tape across the closed bathroom door saying DO NOT ENTER. No septic tank on earth could handle today’s kind of load.” Several in the crowd laughed out loud. Gladys ignored them.
“TWO! We are closing the rummage sale promptly, PROMPTLY, at 5:00 P.M. All small items, that is, items that are smaller than a chair, must be taken today. TODAY!” The microphone squealed, causing her to once again back down her escalating voice. “All large items left behind can be picked up tomorrow between noon and 6:00 P.M. Any items not picked up by then will be considered donated, and we will do with them as we see fit. No exceptions.
“THREE. Net proceeds from sale items, as in those that are marked and sold for a price rather than purchased in the auction—and ALL those items are located in the upstairs only of the barn—will go toward this year’s charitable causes, and if you can’t remember what they are, read the posters in the barn. All items in the auction are Dorothy’s, and proceeds will go to her, although she has stated that she will be donating a thus far undisclosed percentage to Social Concerns.” Gladys noticed a couple of people tossing her a dirty look
, and for the briefest of moments, she wished she hadn’t phrased that exactly the way it came out. But after all, if somebody was going to make a donation, it seemed to her that they should commit a percentage before they knew how much they were going to make!
“FOUR. Numbers for the auction can be obtained from Swifty’s wife, Loretta, whom I’m sure you all know, who is set up at that table”—she pointed with the microphone toward the house—“just over there.” She realized she’d kept talking with the microphone away from her mouth, so she drew it back to her lips and repeated, “just over there. Raise your hand, Loretta,” which Loretta obediently did.
“FOUR.”
“You already said four,” Jessie said as she passed by in front of Gladys.
Frustrated and thrown off her concentration, Gladys was forced to look at her index card again. “Please, folks, no more interruptions! We’re running out of time! And listen up because this is important: FIVE. Everything is sold AS IS, no exceptions. None. Whether it looks like it’s broken or not, broken is not our responsibility. Is everyone clear on that?” Heads nodded around the yard as Gladys refused to move forward until after her slow, 360-degree turn on the platform seeking acknowledgment. She looked down at her card again and continued.
“SIX. Yes, Swifty and the Social Concerns Committee will take checks but NO credit cards. Checks for sale items should be made out to United Methodist Church, and auction checks should be made out to Sell It Like It Is. Loretta has all the directions folks will need for auction information. If there are any other questions about that, refer them to her. Also, I’m sure Swifty will make any announcements he needs to before he begins, right, Swifty?” Swifty had by now walked up to her side, having been sent by Dorothy. “Use the hook if you have to, Swifty,” Dorothy’d implored him. “That woman will talk until dark if we don’t stop her!”
Dearest Dorothy, Slow Down, You're Wearing Us Out! Page 19