“Luvella!” Steckie said when she came through the door, balancing and turning. He didn’t sound really happy to see her, just surprised. The stress of the morning meeting came back in waves. She stood still a moment, wondering if she should leave.
No! The meeting was this morning. It’s over. This is now.
“Steckie.” She smiled to encourage herself as much as Steckie. “You know those small barrels that you get your nails in? Don’t you just throw them out sometimes?”
“Ayup, I do.” He smiled back. “Do you need some?”
“Well, yes, as a matter of fact. I think they’d be perfect for some small chairs I could make for my caboose. Do you have, maybe, three that you don’t want?”
“I have two right now. They’ve been in the back room for a while, so they’ll be dusty. And I’ll get more nails this week, on the next train from Pittsburgh.” He disappeared into the back storeroom and then came back with the two barrels. “I can bring them to the caboose for you.”
“That’s good, Steckie. Daddy can help me bring them home tonight.” She looked at how Steckie had filled in the corner space where her store business had been. “Where is everyone today? I haven’t had one customer!”
Steckie was quiet. Luvella turned to look at him. When she saw his face, flushed, his mouth moving with no words able to come out, she knew.
“Steckie,” she said. “I’m the one who should be angry, shunning them.”
Steckie nodded. “I know, Luvella. But these are just plain folk. They believe everything they read in the news, or more like it, all the rumors they hear about Indians. They’re afraid! And on top of that, you’ve abandoned them—your partners in business, your friends.”
“It’s more like they’ve abandoned me,” Luvella retorted. “This festival, with the whole town working together, would be so good for us.” She was shaking her head. “I can’t imagine them letting that go.”
“Well-ll,” Steckie murmured. “Like I said, they’re afraid of the Indians. We…um…they didn’t see them like you did.” He began rearranging some tools, then put them right back where they had been.
Luvella watched him. He’s not really on my side with this, my own brother-in-law. She turned toward the door. “Thank you for the barrels, Steckie.”
She saw Mr. Johannson rushing up the step to the porch and into the hardware store. He nodded at Luvella, intent on his purpose.
“Steckie, I just got a telegraph from Hughsville. That Mr. Bocke is quite well known there.” He grinned with success. “Appears he plans to buy a big hotel there, too. Has the present owner all worried, just like Ben here. Bocke keeps pushing to buy soon, buy soon, and he’s only offering about two-thirds of the value.” Mr. Johannson held the telegraph in one hand and slapped it with the back of his other hand.
“Here’s the clincher, Steckie. The sheriff there is a good friend of the hotel owner and is looking into Bocke’s finances. He doesn’t have any money in the Hughsville Bank, and so far, the sheriff can’t find his money anywhere.
“The sheriff found his name mentioned in a couple other towns—Boswell and Johnstown. Bocke promises money to owners of hotels that are wobbly, money-wise. The thing is, once his name is on the deed, he gets the income from the hotels. So far, the sheriff couldn’t find that he’s broken any laws. But he said to be careful of Bocke’s offers.”
Steckie said, “I knew there was something shady about him. He just acted too…too uppity.”
Luvella looked at Mr. Johannson. “Do you think you ought to wire that sheriff right away and tell him Mr. Bocke is here in Muncy Valley, trying to badger poor Mr. Smythe? And trying to buy my caboose?”
“Ayup, I did that already, Luvella. And now, I better go tell Ben. I don’t know if that’s good news or bad news for Ben, though. But at least he won’t give up the deed to his hotel to that fleecer.”
Luvella thought a moment, frowning. “You know, I saw Mr. Bocke come out of the bank one day, a good week ago. Maybe you should talk to Mr. Harley.”
“Ayup,” said Mr. Johannson. Suddenly, he looked at Luvella and stammered for words. He had been so excited, Luvella figured, he’d forgotten the meeting and the whole group’s censure of her.
“I was just leaving,” Luvella murmured and went out the door.
Back at the caboose, Luvella was startled when she opened her door. There was Mrs. Maarten, standing in the aisle, holding her reticule in both hands. She shifted her weight nervously from one foot to the other, and her face was wrinkled with worry.
“Hello, Luvella. I saw your sign and decided to wait for you.” She looked all around, her head turning in jittery jerks. “This is very nice in here.” She accented the ‘very.’
“Thank you, Mrs. Maarten.” Luvella had never seen Mrs. Maarten so fidgety. “Do you have some goods for me?”
Mrs. Maarten shook her head. “Luvella…umm, Luvella…I think this morning… I don’t know… Oh Luvella, we just can’t not have the festival.” She had raised her voice, just a little, but that was a lot for Mrs. Maarten. “I couldn’t say nothin’ at the meeting, especially with my Erik not there. I’m just a housewife who makes things for your store. Nobody would listen to me. But it isn’t right. The festival is such a good plan for us, for Muncy Valley. I don’t know what to do, but I’m here to help you. Can we knock some sense into those noggins?”
Luvella stared for just a moment, then pointed toward the desk with one crutch. “There are two chairs behind there,” she said. “Let’s the two of us sit down and see what we can do.”
Chapter Seventeen
“I don’t have a fire in the stove, it’s been so nice and warm.” Luvella pointed to the center of the left wall of the caboose. “If I had it now, I could make us some coffee.” She smiled.
“No need.” Mrs. Maarten waved her hand in dismissal. “What we have to do is somehow get everybody together again. I mean, together in our minds to do things.” She patted her hand on the desk to emphasize her idea.
“Time is ticking away, you know.” Luvella pursed her lips and shook her head. “To make the bonanza work, we have to send our advertising to Harper’s magazine right now so the big city people will see it and want to come here. This bonanza is still a new idea, even for the big cities, and city folk would love our beautiful mountain view.”
Luvella frowned in concentration, tapping her good foot on a rung of the chair. “Those Indians I was with were so nice. They’re good people, kind and gentle. If only Muncy Valley folk could see that, could see them.”
Mrs. Maarten slapped the desk top again. “Well, then, let’s have them meet each other!” She bobbed her head and turned to look at Luvella straight on.
The two women sat like that, looking at each other, thoughts and ideas darting around like flies before a heavy rain. Finally, Mrs. Maarten asked in an I-hope-you-don’t-think-I’m-silly tone, “Is someone having a birthday soon? We could maybe have a big birthday party?”
They both laughed.
“We could have a Founder’s Birthday Party, but I don’t even know when Muncy Valley was founded,” Luvella said. “And besides, the Muncees were here first.”
They were quiet again, thinking.
“If we could only think of something that would interest the men,” Mrs. Maarten said. “Like football. I know if someone mentions football, the men gather round and even quiet Mr. Smythe raises his voice.” She sniffed and rolled her eyes.
Luvella nodded, still pondering. Then, speaking as she thought, “I think…” She stood on her good leg and hugged Mrs. Maarten. Both blushed. “Mrs. Maarten, I think you’ve found our answer! My brothers play football with your husband and some of the other men sometimes. And Reeder and Bill just found out that Luke Raven, the Muncee who brought me home safely, is the famous linebacker at Carlisle.”
Luvella took a step, planning to pace. The second she put her weight on her strapped ankle, she gasped in pain and sat back on the chair, raising her hand to Mrs. Maarten that she was f
ine. She needed to put her thoughts, swirling around in her brain, in some kind of order.
Finally, she said, “Mrs. Maarten, I think my brothers would go wild at a chance to play—and win—a game of football against the men who live in the tenant houses and their friends. They’re a really rough bunch, Reeder told me, and usually win because they don’t follow the rules. What if we had Luke and a couple of his Indian friends—from Carlisle—play on our team, on our Muncy Valley men’s team?”
Mrs. Maarten gasped. “Erik loves the Carlisle team, and nearly had a heart attack from excitement when they beat Harvard recently. Oh, Luvella! You are so wicked!”
“I know.” Luvella giggled. “Reeder says that all the time.”
Mrs. Maarten puckered her mouth to one side. “I know Erik would do anything if he could play aside a Carlisle player. I’ve heard him rave about how good they are. And if we can have sort of an official game, all us women will be involved, too. Let’s see, when could we have the game? How about the second Saturday from now?”
“Well,” Luvella lied, “I know Luke had to go out of town for a while. He would be the one to get the other Carlisle players.”
Luvella tore a sheet of paper from a pad under the desk, uncorked her inkwell, and dipped her pen. “Now! If the men want to have this football game, the Carlisle players would have a long trip. That means they couldn’t get here, play a game and get back to Carlisle in one day.” She thought about her family’s barn. It would be insulting to have the Carlisle players all sleep in their barn. But if they slept in the house, would her brothers be willing to spend the night in the barn?
Mrs. Maarten was still pink from Luvella’s hug, or maybe with excitement. She drummed her fingers on the desktop and stared, unseeing, out the back window. “Hmmm.”
Luvella spoke as the thoughts entered her head. “I’ll ask my brothers to go to the Muncees in Forksville, talk to Luke about getting some of Carlisle’s players.” She thought some more, long and hard. She shifted on her chair. “But the football game and Carlisle players aren’t enough. We really need some basket makers to come to our game and bring their handiwork. And that’s exactly what our friends don’t want.”
Mrs. Maarten glanced at Luvella, her face a complete blank.
Luvella was quiet, dismay all over her face. “Besides, the Muncees can’t get here and go back in one day either, not if they travel in wagons.” She pushed the hair back from her forehead with one hand.
“Oh Glory! They’ll all have to stay overnight—the football players and the Muncee people. And I’m sure they can’t afford Mr. Smythe’s hotel, even if he’d let them in there.”
Mrs. Maarten and Luvella frowned through more thinking, heavy thinking. Mrs. Maarten sighed.
“I’m sure I can talk Erik into having one couple stay with us, especially if he can also have a football player there. And if there’s a single lady in their group, I know Mrs. Kiergen could put her up.”
Luvella added, “I know Mama and Daddy would have Mr. and Mrs. Raven stay with them. I think my Uncle Isaac will still be in mourning.” Then the idea hit Luvella like a thunderbolt. Luke would be coming, too!
She nodded, still thinking. “How will we let everyone know? We’ll need more people to host the Muncees. I don’t want to call a meeting. That is something they should ask me to do—if they ever do again.”
Mrs. Maarten rested a hand on Luvella’s arm. “Martha Johannson is my good friend. And so is Mrs. Kiergen. We will start with them and then spread the news. And Luvella…” She pointed her finger. “Let’s not ask people; let’s just go ahead and plan it. This is something we have to do.”
The afternoon flew by. They decided to plan the football game as a rehearsal, so everyone could be prepared for the bonanza. They’d have the main road—in front of Mr. Smythe’s hotel and most of the other businesses—be the football field, and the same set up they had discussed previously for the music and food. Women who wanted to sell their picnic meals would have to find their own baskets, or use cloths. Everything would be the same except for the merchants’ sales and the baskets. “Maybe even out-of-town folk will come to watch the game.” Luvella grinned. “This will be a big football game.”
The sun was casting long shadows through the windows when they finished their plan. Each had tasks to do, right away. Luvella remembered to tell Mrs. Maarten about Mr. Johannson’s discovery of Mr. Bocke’s suspicious practices in other cities.
“I think none of us will be surprised about that” Mrs. Maarten raised her eyebrows and nodded. She added, “Mr. Smythe, I think, will be even more interested now in pursuing our football party plan. He needs to be interested!”
“I hope so. I hope so,” Luvella said. “Have you noticed that not one customer has come in here today, Mrs. Maarten? Anna hasn’t even come over!”
“They’ll come round, Luvella. Just wait and see.” She left her chair and walked around the desk and down the aisle. “Hasn’t anyone bought my new scented soaps?”
“Not yet,” Luvella answered. “But I was thinking… As I mentioned this morning, I’d like to get some really small baskets and put a cake of your scented soap in each little basket. Sell them as one package. I’ll bet big city folk will love that, don’t you think?”
“What a lovely idea!” Mrs. Maarten pretended she was an elegant city woman, picking up first this item and then another. “Oh my! These are all so chahming, I can’t decide which to buy. I think I’ll just buy all of them!”
They laughed together.
“Luvella, run over to see Anna right now. I’ll stay here in case anyone happens to come in. Don’t let the whole day go by without you seeing your best friend. And while you’re over there”—she pointed her finger at Luvella again—“tell Mr. Smythe about our plan and tell him how many of us are for it.”
Luvella looked blank. “How many of us are for it, Mrs. Maarten?”
“Why, all of us, Luvella. All of us. You tell him.”
Luvella giggled almost all the way over to the hotel.
Once she opened the door to the hotel lobby, the sense of doom hit her like fog in a dip of the road. Anna was walking from the desk into the lobby, but when Mr. Smythe saw Luvella, he called Anna back. “Go to the office, please, and clean off the desk for me.” Anna looked at Luvella as she backed away, her face sorrowful, her eyes wet and ringed in red. She didn’t speak.
Luvella hesitated. Then, realizing Mr. Smythe must have heard about Mr. Bocke, she went to the desk. “Mr. Smythe! Just the person I wanted to see.” She smiled with bravado and leaned on the desk to rest her arms from the crutches. “Has anyone come to you yet about our big football game celebration?” She ignored his frown.
“What football game? What celebration?” he echoed. “Nobody has said a word to me about it.”
Luvella decided to forget about confronting Mr. Smythe with his dilemma of not having a buyer for his hotel. His mood was bad enough already.
“That’s the point, Mr. Smythe. People are saying we already had made plans for a bonanza, so why don’t we go ahead and have a football game instead? I heard they’re going to see if some Carlisle boys will play on our team—against the tenant houses team. There, in front of your hotel, just like the bonanza. That is, if it’s all right with you.”
He looked up from his paper work. Was that a glint of hope in his eyes?
“You mean, I’d have food here for everybody?” he asked.
“Yes, sir. And there’ll be music and dancing and a picnic after the game, just like we planned for the bonanza.”
He came out from behind the desk. “Here, Luvella, you should sit down.” He motioned toward one of the lobby chairs. “Get your weight off that broken ankle.
“So, when is this here celebration going to be?”
Anna peeked out from the office door and saw her father in conversation with Luvella. She smiled and came forward. “I’ve cleaned the desk top, Daddy.” She sat on the arm of Luvella’s chair.
Luvell
a patted Anna’s hand. She was trying to figure out how to mention the Indians coming to the celebration. She said to Mr. Smythe, “A week from this coming Saturday. Everything else is the same as we talked about.” She paused and moved her splinted ankle to a more comfortable spot.
“Except for a couple things,” she added, adjusting her skirt. “I guess some people are concerned about not having the bonanza, about how that will hurt our town, and they’re going to invite some Carlisle Indians to play on our team. The men are all excited about that, and that game alone will bring other townspeople in. People have decided to invite some other Muncees to join the celebration afterward, because they know we’re going to win the game.”
Mr. Smythe’s smile faded. Luvella continued before he said anything. “Our neighbors here think we could meet them and see what they’re like. They could also bring some baskets for us to inspect.”
Mr. Smythe took a breath to speak, but Luvella kept on talking. “The only problem with the Muncees coming is that they would have to stay overnight. I don’t think they could afford the hotel, so some of our people are offering their homes for the night.”
Mr. Smythe paced over to the lobby desk, stopped, turned around, and came back to face Luvella. “Who are our neighbors, Luvella? What people have said they’ll do this?” Suspicion mapped his face.
Luvella swallowed and hoped he didn’t see it. “I’m not sure of all of them. But I know that Mr. and Mrs. Maarten, and Mrs. Kiergen, and Mr. and Mrs. Johannson are interested.” She realized that Mrs. Maarten was still in her caboose and wouldn’t have gotten to Mrs. Johannson yet. Oh, I’ve never gotten away with lying in my whole life. Why did I think I would now?
She tried to stand. Anna helped her up. “Mr. Smythe, can they count on you to provide the food for this party? And can Anna come over to see some changes I’ve made in my caboose?” With Anna out of the hotel, she knew he wouldn’t be able to run over to the depot to ask Mr. Johannson about the Indians staying at his house.
The Heartbeat of the Mountain Page 13