by Joyce Magnin
"No, Griselda. I can see you have other people to take care of now."
I swallowed. "But, Zeb, this is important."
Zeb kissed my cheek. "So am I. So are we."
I waited until Zeb was out of sight. "That man infuriates me. It's like I'm supposed to be alive for him and him only."
"Men," Stella said. "They're all big babies."
"Yep. When he needs to run over to the café at the drop of a hat, even leave me alone at the movie, well, that's all OK, but if I need to do something, then it's a big fat problem."
I headed into the kitchen and started coffee percolating.
"Now, what do I do, Griselda? Nate is so awful mad at me right now, and I still haven't seen Walter, and I have yet to convince myself that I even want to so maybe telling Nate was a little premature anyway."
But I was too preoccupied thinking about Zeb to answer. I heard her all right. I heard every word she said. I just didn't really care all that much just then.
"Griselda, are you listening to me?"
I sat at the kitchen table. "Of course, Stella. I think you should be glad the cat's out of the bag. Now maybe Nate will help you figure things out."
"Nah, he's too angry at me. Claims I lied to him even though I don't get the big deal."
"Men don't need a big deal to get them in a swivet, you know. Just about anything can change their world, and they don't like it, I suppose. In a way I see Zeb's point, but what am I supposed to do? Totally ignore Agnes and my friends?"
"We were talking about me," Stella said.
I stood and grabbed two cups with saucers and carried a half of a pumpkin pie to the table. "I think I have whipped cream in the fridge. So what are you gonna do?"
"Oh, I reckon I'll ride it out like I do practically everything else. A person can ride out just about anything if she sets her mind to it."
Stella and I sat for a while talking about everything but our most obvious problems until the doorbell rang. It was Ruth Knickerbocker, carrying a beef stew in a blue and white Wedgewood casserole dish.
"I can't eat it all by myself," she said. "So I figured I would take a chance that you were home and I see that I'm right."
"Come on in, Ruth, Stella's in the kitchen."
"Stella Kincaid. Well, that's fine, Griselda, just fine."
The afternoon didn't slow down until six o'clock that evening, after Ruth and I returned from the library with three Xerox copies of scenes of Dodge City showing a saloon and wooden walkways, which gave me an idea to see if Nate and Studebaker might build a wooden walkway leading to the town hall. I just came in the house when I heard the phone ring.
I answered. It was Agnes.
"How come you never came today, I was waiting for you, or are you still mad at me?"
"I'm not mad, Agnes, I got sidetracked. I'll come out tomorrow, OK?"
"Bring me pie, Griselda. I haven't had a taste of pumpkin all season long."
"It's only been fall for less than two weeks. And the doctor said you can't have sweets."
She hung up on me for the first time in my life.
8
Monday morning came all too quickly. Awakened by the sound of rain splattering against the windows and the wind howling around outside like a pack of wolves, I pulled the covers tighter. "Great day to go to Greenbrier."
I might have stayed in bed another half an hour, I'm not certain, I only know that I couldn't listen to Arthur's incessant mewling anymore and made my way to the kitchen. I plopped wet food, Seafood Banquet, into his bowl and then flipped on the radio in time to hear that a riot had broken out in Chile and that a new movie called The Exorcist was playing at the Wilkes-Barre Drive-In.
Seven o'clock was way too early to go to Greenbrier. One thing I learned was that visiting in the morning left me open to seeing and smelling things I would rather not. It was always best to wait until closer to lunch time, after the nurses and aides got the residents settled and secure for the morning in fresh gowns or clothes, medicines had been doled out, and most of the folks were sitting upright in wheel chairs or at tables in the common areas.
Hoping she hadn't already had breakfast and was out and about on her wanderings, I called Ruth and invited her over for eggs and toast.
"Of course, Griselda, I'll be right over. I was feeling a little . . . all by myself this morning also. You know how much I miss my Bubba."
"I know, Ruth, so why don't you come on over. I'll get eggs scrambled."
Ruth was always good for company, and I will admit that I was feeling lonelier than ever. It might have had something to do with the growing tension between Agnes and me or maybe it had something to do with Zeb. Land o' Goshen, only God knew where that was leading! I liked Zeb well enough, and I guess you could say we had been dating on and off for several years. But Agnes always seemed to get in the way. Now that she was pretty much out of the picture, you would think it would get easier. Still, I seemed to find other things to distract me or pull me away from him.
I scrambled four large brown eggs in a red bowl, placed four slices of toast in the toaster, and got the pan heated. It wouldn't take Ruth long to get to the house—even walking she could be here in five minutes. But I wanted to wait before I started the eggs.
Sure enough, a couple of minutes later, I heard the doorbell.
"Hey, Griselda, thank you for asking me over."
"Sure thing, Ruth, come on inside. I just have to cook the eggs."
I poured the beaten eggs into the hot pan. They sizzled a second, and I worked them around with a fork until they were fluffy and sunshiny yellow.
"What's the real reason you called me over here, Griselda?" Ruth shook salt and pepper onto her eggs.
I smiled and sipped coffee. "Just for company, Ruth. I have a sort of busy day between the library, visiting Agnes, and then the Committee meeting tonight. Are we meeting at the café or the town hall?"
"It's at the town hall tonight. Boris said the library is too cold, and he thought we'd get more done away from the distractions of the café—if you know what I mean."
"If you are referring to me and Zeb—"
"No, no, well, not altogether, I mean. I think that hussy woman, Gilda Syrup—"
"Saucer. Gilda Saucer."
"Gilda Saucer is creating a ruckus, and she seems to be there so much. Why she won't eat at her own house is beyond me."
I stared down at my uneaten eggs. "It's hard to eat alone in an empty house, especially when the person you love is gone."
Ruth stood and grabbed the coffee pot. She filled our cups. "Are you talking about Agnes now?"
"I suppose. She and I had some words."
"Words? The dickens you say. Why you and Agnes never argue, leastways not since that unfortunate turn of events last year, but that was understandable considering everything but—"
"I can't explain it, Ruth. I just all of a sudden resent her or something. It's like my eyes have been opened to how much she took advantage of me, and I needed to tell her."
"But she couldn't help it, Griselda. She being so . . . so fat and all. She needed you."
I took a breath and finished my eggs. Ruth probably couldn't understand what I was really saying and that was OK. Just having her there to listen was good enough. I knew Agnes and I would figure things out—eventually.
"So how're things at the library?" Ruth looked pensive a second or two. "I just realized something while I was sitting here."
"What's that?"
"You do a lot of things alone, don't you—living, working."
I patted Ruth's hand. "Thank Jesus I have good friends."
"I got started on making bandanas," Ruth said. "I hope no one minds but I found this pretty red and blue paisley print. Course the art society at the high school will paint the background scenery like they always do, and they always do such a nice job. But I thought I'd make a batch of bandanas for folks. Hand them out as they turn in their tickets."
"Sounds good by me, Ruth. I can't wait to see wha
t you come up with."
"I hope to get one finished before the meeting tonight. There's really nothing to making them. Pretty much hemming a square."
We yakked a little while longer until I decided it was time to get over to the library and Ruth needed to get back to making bandanas and cowboy vests. I dropped her off in front of her house. "See you tonight."
"OK, Griselda, thanks for breakfast."
I drove up to the top of Filbert Street and parked near Hector's Hill—a place where I had a clean view of the large, empty field that seemed to go on forever, the place where Ruth and I flew kites in memory of friends who have passed. It was still only ten o'clock and I remembered I wanted to listen to Vera Krug's Good Neighbor Show. She always reported the happenings in Bright's Pond, even though she lives in Shoops. She does it as a service because Ruth is her sister-in-law—although they don't much act like family. I wanted to see if she mentioned the Harvest Dance.
I tuned in WQRT. For some reason the reception was always better in my truck if I parked on top of the hill and kept the wipers flapping—which I didn't really need anymore. The rain had stopped and the sun peeked out from the clouds.
But then, in a sudden flash I saw something out the passenger side window I had never seen in Bright's Pond. An airplane, a small airplane, making absolutely no sound, like a glider was flying slow and frighteningly low. It was the same plane I had seen twice before.
"It's gonna land on Hector's Hill," I said out loud. "Oh, my goodness gracious!"
And sure enough, I watched as the small white plane with blue stripes landed. First the back two wheels touched ground and spit up dust into a swirly cloud and then it seemed to hop and skip a few seconds until the front wheel made contact and the plane jostled to a complete stop. All without making much of a sound at all.
I dropped the truck into drive and moved as close as I could to the plane, thinking that maybe the pilot was hurt or sick or worse. I jumped out of the truck and headed toward the plane. At first I didn't see any movement. Nobody climbed out of the plane, and I started to think maybe I should proceed with more caution. So I continued to creep up on it and then stood still as the door opened up and the pilot hopped out.
He stood there like a mannequin at first. Then he shook his head and rubbed the back of his neck.
"Hello," I waved to get his attention. "Are you all right?"
He waved back. "I'm fine. It's my plane that's broken."
I moved closer, the whole time thinking that Zeb would be telling me I was nuts for getting so close to a strange man—no telling what kind of maniac he is. But seriously, I couldn't imagine any self-respecting axe murderer to be landing on Hector's Hill at twenty past ten on Monday morning. Just didn't make any sense.
"Is everything all right?" I asked when I was standing about five feet away from him.
"Not sure. My oil light flashed on, and I thought I'd better cut my engine and ease her down in case it was leaking, and from the smell I'd say I'm right."
The pilot was tall, I'd say over six feet, with sandy blond hair that waved in the slight breeze, a leftover from the brief rain. His chin was square and strong. He needed a shave, but I kind of liked the dirty face look.
"My name is Cliff Cardwell." He extended his hand. His rough palm felt good against my smooth hand.
"I'm Griselda Sparrow," I said.
"Pleased to meet you, Mrs. Sparrow."
"Miss." I took my hand back.
He smiled into my eyes and my heart skipped a beat. "Is there anything I can do to help?" I asked, feeling suddenly nervous even though I wasn't sure why. "Do you need to make a call or anything?"
"I need to look under the hood first, so to speak, and see if I can figure out what happened."
I watched as he unhooked the engine cover and pushed it open. He looked inside like he was any old mechanic checking under the hood of car.
"Creepin' red lizards," he said. "Cracked a hose. It's leaking all over."
He stood straight and wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. "I need to replace it."
"Not sure where you get airplane parts around here. Nearest airport is in Wilkes-Barre."
"That's where I was headed. Wilkes-Barre." He looked around. "So where am I, exactly?"
"You are exactly on top of Hector's Hill, but the name of our town is Bright's Pond."
"Bright's Pond. I never heard of it."
"Most haven't."
"So, Miss Sparrow, can you point me in the direction of a telephone booth?"
"I can drive you into town. The Full Moon Café. You can make a call there."
"And get a cup of coffee?" He smiled again in a way that made the gold flecks in his brown irises dance.
I parked out front of the café next to Studebaker's baby blue Caddy.
"There's a phone right inside the door."
"Thanks, you coming in?" he asked.
"I was planning on opening the library—that's me, the librarian. But maybe I should introduce you to everyone first."
"I'd like that. Maybe somebody inside would know where I can find what I need."
"OK, but I don't know where you'd begin to find airplane parts around here."
"Oh, any farm would have what I need most likely."
"Really? Then you might want to talk to Nate Kincaid."
He opened the door and hopped out.
"Nate?"
"Yep. He's a farmer. Raises corn and pumpkins. Has a few cows."
"Sounds like a start."
"I doubt he's in the café, but you can make your call at least and then maybe one of the fellas will get you out to the farm."
The café was not very crowded and there was no sign of Gilda. I saw Stu and Boris in their usual booth, probably talking about the dance or some silly political issue.
"Zeb," I called. "Come on out here."
Dot Handy was taking orders. Babette was mostly likely at school.
"Where you sitting, Griselda?" she asked.
"I'm not staying. I just brought this man, Cliff—"
"Cardwell," he said.
"He had to land his plane up on the Hector's Hill. It was an emergency. He needs to make a phone call."
That was when I watched Boris jump to his feet. "See, I told you. I told you a plane just landed up there. But no one believed me. I saw you pass over the town hall not a half hour ago."
Cliff laughed. "That's right. I cracked an oil line. I thought it would be safer to land than to chance making it all the way to Wilkes-Barre. When I saw that beautiful field, I took a chance it would be OK and landed Matilda, quick and sweet."
Boris moved out from the booth. "Told you, Studebaker." He walked close to us and extended his hand. "I'm Boris Lender, First Selectman of Bright's Pond. Welcome to our town."
"Thank you," Cliff said. "Hope you don't mind me landing on your field. I really had no choice."
Boris put his hand on Cliff's shoulder like he was a returning war hero and about to receive the key to the city. "No problem. No problem at all. I'm just glad we had a field big enough."
Zeb came out from the bathroom adjusting his apron.
"Zeb," I said, "come meet Cliff Cardwell. He's a pilot who made an emergency landing up on Hector's."
"Really? Holy cow! A real emergency landing? I didn't hear anything."
Cliff shook Zeb's hand. "Nothing too exciting. Just a hose. So I cut the engine and let her drift in real peaceful and smooth."
Well, I got to say that the men swooned over Cliff the pilot like women swooned over Cary Grant. Dot and I exchanged glances and snickers.
I whispered into Dot's ear. "He isn't Charles Lindbergh."
Dot laughed. "No, he's cuter than Lindbergh."
She was right about that, but I was not about to admit that to Dot.
"Maybe I'll have a cup of coffee," I said. "It's a lot more interesting here than at the library."
"Sure," Dot said. "How often does a pilot land in Bright's Pond?"
I sat at t
he counter and only overheard snippets of conversation until Nate Kincaid's name was brought up. Studebaker offered to take Cliff to the Kincaid's farm.
"I'm sure Nate will have what you need," Stu said.
"But what's your hurry?" Boris said. "Can you sit awhile, get something to eat? Zeb makes a heck of a baloney sandwich."
"Sure thing," Cliff said. "I'm a bit hungry, but I will need to make a call first. I was expected at a . . . a meeting in Wilkes-Barre."
Studebaker and Boris watched Cliff make his way to the telephone like they were watching a celebrity. He smiled at me on his way past. "Thank you, Griselda, for helping me out."
"I'm just glad I was there, Cliff." This time I smiled into his eyes.
He reached into his pants pocket and pulled out loose change. He counted through it and then turned to Dot. "I don't suppose I could get change for a dollar."
"Oh, sure thing," Dot said. "I can give you all dimes and nickels."
"Thank you," Cliff said as he handed her what looked like a freshly minted dollar bill.
Zeb came out from the kitchen and leaned on the counter near me while Cliff made his phone call.
"Can you believe it, Grizzy, the way Stu and Boris are acting toward that fella?"
"Uhm, they are a mite smitten now, aren't they?"
I glanced at Cliff in time to see him remove his leather jacket.
"Smitten," I repeated. "They sure are."
9
I excused myself and was heading for my truck when I saw Ruth running down the street. "Griselda!" she called. "Griselda! Did you see it? Did you see that . . . that thing, whatever it was flying so close to us? It zoomed right over my house and then it disappeared. Disappeared like a rabbit down a hole. Poof." She huffed and puffed.
"I did, Ruth, I did. It was an airplane. The pilot landed on Hector's Hill."
She stopped close to me. "I need to catch my breath. I sure got a fright, especially when it disappeared like that, and it was flying so quiet. Not making a sound. Then it disappeared right out of the sky. Are you sure it's not a UFO?"
"It's an airplane, a small airplane. He turned off the engine and let the plane glide in for a landing. I was there. Saw the whole thing."