Love's Labors Tossed

by Robert Farrell Smith

  “We got a situation here,” he said. “Seems as if you wandered back into town at a rather interesting time.”

  “Really?”

  “Trust, I’m looking to better this place,” he said seriously. “My project will completely cover the meadow and the path into Virgil’s Find. And all I ask in return is for a small gold plaque hung somewhere obvious with my name on it and thanking me for my sacrifice. Not a bad trade for a year-round wonderland.”

  “Actually,” I informed him, “it won’t be much of a wonderland. If you cover the entire meadow everything beneath it will die.”

  “There’ll be skylights,” Paul barked. “Do you think I haven’t thought this through?”

  “Well, the whole idea does seem rather ridiculous.”

  “I see,” he sniffed. “I suppose it would be to you, seeing how you’re an outsider and all. You have no real roots here.”

  “Maybe so, but I’m marrying one of its residents.”

  “A blue blazer don’t make a lamppost any more important.”

  Oddly enough, I understood his insult.

  “Paul, I didn’t come here to side with anyone,” I insisted.

  “Do you think the state should put down a road?”

  “It’s not an awful idea.”

  “Why? Because you’re scared there’s someone lurking in the woods like everyone else?”

  “I know nothing about any lurking.”

  “It’s all spit,” Paul spat. “So Leo’s misplaced his portable stove and Sister Lando can’t locate her cooking sherry. Big deal. It don’t mean we got some loony running ’round our town. And what’s a road gonna do, huh?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Some fancy police car will drive in here and declare that there’s nothing for us to worry about. Real comforting. Well, Trust, do you know who will be right behind that police car?”

  “Who?”

  “A band of soft-from-convenience freaks. That’s who. Ready and willing to overrun our meadow.”

  “You don’t know that,” I reasoned. “A road might help this town.”

  I don’t know what it was about Paul and me. We had really never gotten along. He had pestered me my entire mission here. And even though we were now civil with each other, I still seemed to bring out the worst in him.

  “That’s it,” he said, throwing his hands up into the air. “Trash my idea, but I’ll find that Book of Mormon and finance my project before Sister Watson can even get the state to come out and look at her road. Once I’ve got my shelter built over the path and meadow, no one will want to build a road.”

  “You have a point.”

  “I do?” he asked with surprise.

  “If you cover the meadow, no one, not even the locals, will want to spend time here.”

  “I see,” Paul said blindly. “Well, your nay-saying won’t put a dent in my desire. I’ll find that book, and I’ll build my masterpiece.”

  “And just how are you going to find that book? The entire town’s been looking forever.”

  “I got some ideas.”

  “I’m sure you do.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Paul snapped.

  “I just think it would be awful convenient if that book turned up someplace that only you knew of.”

  “I didn’t take it,” he insisted. “If I’d had it, I would have handed it over to Roger when he was here.”

  “Roger?” I asked for the second time that day.

  “Don’t Roger me,” Paul misinterpreted. “You smart-alecky city people make me sick. I know you came to foul me up,” he insisted. “I can read your mind, Trust.”

  “Well then, I’d like to apologize for what I’m thinking.”

  Paul fumed for a moment and then walked off towards the Girth River.

  I shrugged and stepped lively toward Grace’s place.

  8

  This Little Piggy

  Cindy sat on the outdated couch, fuming over her misfortune. She had caught the first flight to Southdale only to discover that her promptness was not going to pay off. She stared at the porcelain pig that sat as a centerpiece on the overpolished coffee table. Grief clouded her thoughts. Trust had slipped away from her. Her levelheaded aunt’s e-mail had failed to mention that Trust and Grace were leaving Southdale and returning to Tennessee. Light reflected off Cindy’s painted nails as she opened and closed her angry hands.

  “Tennessee,” she hummffed. “That state produces nothing but uninspired noise.” Cindy couldn’t remember a single good character from any of her romance novels who had hailed from Tennessee. Okay, there was Virginia, the buxom physical therapist with a gift for kneading secrets out of people. But in Cindy’s eyes, Virginia was a dolt, turning down tall Darien to be with stocky Chad.

  Aunt Cravitz emerged from the laundry room. She wiped her hands on her skirt and then squeezed the gray bun wound tightly on her head.

  “Still upset?” she asked Cindy.

  “I have a right to be, don’t I?” Cindy snipped. “I put a lot into this venture.”

  Aunt Cravitz sat down close to her niece on the couch. Their weight shifted, and the two of them leaned into each other, knocking heads lightly.

  “Do you mind?” Cindy snapped.

  Daisy Cravitz had not remembered her niece’s being so stubborn.

  “Cindy, you know there’s a nice man in our ward who would make a wonderful . . . well, decent catch. He’s a little older than you and sports an enormous head. I suppose finding a nice-fitting hat isn’t easy for him, but he’s kind. Besides, you wouldn’t have been happy with Trust. He has baggage.”

  Cindy stared at her aunt as if she had gone crazy. She didn’t want anybody besides Trust. His name was the omen her foolish imaginations had subliminally sought after. He was handsome, good-looking, and attractive—three attributes Cindy demanded in a mate. Yet here was her aunt offering up another while tearing apart the man she loved.

  “It’s not like he’s dead,” Cindy pointed out.

  “He’s engaged, dear,” Aunt Cravitz tried to say calmly.

  “Certainly I’m prettier.”

  “Grace is a lovely girl. Besides, he’s in love.”

  “That can be changed.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “I didn’t ask what you think,” Cindy growled.

  “Watch your temper,” Aunt Cravitz warned sternly.

  “I’ll do as I please,” Cindy insisted. “I always have and always will. I don’t need you telling me what to do.”

  “Remember who’s your elder.”

  “How can I forget with you sitting there all wrinkled and withered and wearing what must certainly be hand-me-downs from Eve herself?”

  Daisy Cravitz’s face turned pale. “Just where did you learn to speak like that?” she demanded.

  “Never mind.” Cindy brushed it off, standing and smoothing down her hair. “So where is this Thelma’s Choice anyway?”

  “You will sit down and forget about Trust.”

  “Where is he?” Cindy ranted. “Tell me.”

  “When pigs fly,” Aunt Cravitz said smugly.

  Cindy eyed the porcelain pig upon the table and smiled.

  “You wouldn’t,” her aunt gasped. “I made that in Homemaking!”

  Cindy picked it up, shifted it from her left to right hand, and then threw it across the room and through the small window by the square bookshelf. The pig sailed through the glass and out onto the front walk, slamming against the ground with a sound that resembled no part of “oink.” Glass from the window fell to the floor and crinkled against the plush carpet below it. Cindy looked satisfied. Aunt Cravitz sat there dumbfounded. For a woman of so many words, she was amazingly speechless.

  Cindy brushed her hands together and stomped out of the room but not before saying, “I’ll find him myself.”

  Daisy Cravitz caught her breath. Her sister’s child had turned out to be a real tornado. She picked up the phone and nervously dialed the one man s
he knew could calm her.

  Three rings later, Brother Victor was on the line trying to soothe his woman. Three hours later, Cindy was on a plane complaining about the small peanut portions and heading towards Tennessee.

  9

  Rolling Along

  The Heck home was one of the nicest abodes in the Thelma’s Way area. They kept it up and kept it painted. In fact, it seemed as if President Heck recoated the place every couple of months or so. Not holding down a job left him with a lot of free time and unused energy. Their house was currently brown with dark blue trim—soon to be something else of a similar nature.

  I stepped up to the porch and onto the handmade welcome mat that said, “Bless this Mess.” Their two-legged dog lay beside it, chewing on something round and orange. He looked at me, tilted his head, and then went back to gnawing. I knocked on the door, not yet feeling enough like family to just walk in.

  No one answered.

  I looked through the front window, thinking that I could hear something inside. No one was visible. I stepped back off the porch and gazed up at the second floor. I couldn’t see anything moving around through the black shingled dormers.

  “Grace,” I hollered.

  There was no reply. I was going to walk away, but I needed to be confident enough to simply walk inside and see if anyone was home. After all, I was going to be family soon. So, I knocked again and then turned the doorknob. It was unlocked, of course. I stepped in and yelled out.

  Again no answer. I was about to turn around and walk out, when I spotted a man with a towel wrapped around his waist and a shower cap on his long head step out from the bathroom and walk over to the icebox. He opened it up and began looking through it for food.

  “Leonard?” I asked in amazement.

  He jumped at my voice. “Trust,” he said, putting a hand to his heart. “It’s extremely bad manners to go sneaking up on people like that.”

  “I didn’t sneak. I was just standing here.”

  “Still, it smacks of poor upbringing.” Leonard pulled out a plate of cold chicken, set it down on the counter, and scratched his bare stomach.

  “How’d you get here so fast?” I questioned.

  “I was talking to that Watson woman, and I realized I hadn’t had a shower in days. Thought I’d run up and take care of business.”

  “Why’d you come here?” I asked.

  “I ran into President Heck down in the meadow,” he said without looking at me. He peeled back the plastic wrap on the plate of food.

  “And?” I queried.

  “And he said to stop by sometime.”

  “Stop by and shower, or just stop by?”

  “It’s hard to say for sure.” He picked up a piece of cold chicken and licked it for taste. “Ugh, this tastes awful.”

  “Seriously, Leonard,” I tried again. “Do they know you’re using their shower?”

  “I thought you said these mountain folks were laid back and open?” he defended his actions.

  “To a point.”

  “And what’s that?”

  “Some point you crossed miles ago.”

  “Listen, Trust,” Leonard said, pushing the chicken into the kitchen trash can and opening the cupboards to find something else to eat. “It’s not easy having your home sitting four miles away from town. I’m sure the Hecks would be honored to know I’m using their facilities.”

  “Honored?”

  “Exactly.”

  I rubbed my forehead.

  “Are you not feeling well?” he asked.

  “I’m okay.”

  “I’ve got a whole suitcase full of herbs back at my place.”

  “So is your home just sitting there at the trailhead?” I asked, reminded of his mobile house that didn’t fit down our trail.

  “I got a couple of locals watching it. Leo and CleeDee. Pretty name—I wonder where his folks came up with it.”

  “Leo and CleeDee are watching your home?”

  “Didn’t I say that?”

  “Yes, but . . .”

  “They said they wanted to try living away from town for a while, so I lent them my place gratssi.”

  “Gratis,” I corrected.

  “Thank you.”

  I decided to wander into a different swamp of conversation. “Do you know where the Hecks are?”

  “President Heck was down by the school talking about a chair he just found at the dump,” Leonard explained. “I don’t know where the wife is. Paulette, Penelope . . .”

  “Patty.”

  “I suppose.”

  “And Grace?”

  “Haven’t seen her. You know, Trust, you really have been holding out on me.”

  I thought he was talking about the strong opinions of him I wasn’t voicing at the moment. When he saw I wasn’t going to comment, he went on.

  “This town is a gold mine,” he said with sudden excitement, simultaneously spotting a box of sugared cold cereal. I couldn’t discern what he was happier about, the cereal or the town.

  “I haven’t seen this stuff since I was a kid.”

  It was the cereal.

  “I wouldn’t mind having a couple cases of this in my storage,” Leonard said.

  “So you like this town because they have easy access to Fudgy Nuggets?”

  “No, no, although it’s an added benefit,” he conceded. “I love this place because they have a need, and I can fill it.”

  “A need for what?”

  “Oh, Trust,” Leonard grinned wistfully. “There’s still so much you have to learn.”

  I couldn’t believe Leonard was in Thelma’s Way. It was like tossing a rusted bolt into a vat of clean caramel. This place was socially sticky as it was, but now it was about to be tainted with rust and metal shavings.

  “Yummm,” Leonard said, biting into a spoonful of cereal.

  “So about the town,” I prompted.

  “Do you think I should grow a beard?” he said, traversing down a completely different conversational trail.

  “I don’t . . . ,” I began to say.

  “It just seems like folks would take me more seriously with a nice face of hair. I used to have one, but between you and me, it was nothing spectacular. Us Vastlys were never very good about growing facial hair. Now, back hair, well . . .”

  “Leonard,” I pleaded, not needing the obvious pointed out to me.

  “I just want the town to know I’m one of them.”

  “You are?”

  “Sure. If they’ll have me,” he added humbly. “Like the sun, life moves in phases. And I have entered the Thelma’s Way phase of my life. It’s very appropriate, actually, considering that a couple of weeks from now it’s my anniversary. I hate the term birthday. Man has one birthday,” he said firmly. “And that’s the day when the heavens drop him into the arms of some unsuspecting couple all helpless and bawling. So I use anniversary. I suppose the exact term would be the ‘anniversary of my birthday.’ Forty-eight years. I wonder what the anniversary gift for forty-eight is.”

  “Moon,” I said, having tuned him out sentences ago.

  “Wow!” Leonard said in awe. “That could be pricey. But I suppose if people pooled their money . . .”

  “No. The moon has phases. The sun just shifts.”

  “Huh?”

  I wasn’t sure why Leonard was bothering me so much at the moment. It wasn’t as if he were acting any different than he usually did. Besides, he and I were actually pretty good friends, despite the fact that he was considerably older and odder than I. We had been through a lot together over the last six or seven months. He looked at life as if he were like a ten-year-old gazing out of a plane window, seeing everything as objects small enough for him to pick up and play with if only the glass of normal behavior weren’t holding him back. He had no steady job but seemed never to be out of funds. He did sell and peddle almost every pyramid scheme ever constructed, but he seemed to make more people mad than he made money with those ventures. He was Leonard, and I liked him. I su
ppose the incident that brought us closest was when he took me with him to visit a cousin of his that lived just across the Nevada border in a town called Twelve Laughs. It was named so because when it was first settled by a Mormon pioneer named Lawrence Telly, twelve laughs were precisely what his wife let out before saying, “You have got to be kidding.”

  Twelve Laughs was not a particularly beautiful town. In fact, it was dirt ugly—emphasis on dirt, accent on ugly. It was founded by Mormons, but they all left after a particularly warm summer fermented all their canned goods and caused the entire town to go a bit loopy during the following winter. Afterwards, making eye contact with their neighbors was virtually impossible. So, the good folks of Twelve Laughs figured it was an omen and packed up and left before the wicked heat returned in the spring. Most moved to Seven Snickers, two states over in Colorado. Only one family stayed.

  The Jeffery Vastly family.

  Jeffery Vastly was Leonard’s third great cousin, twice removed and thrice confused. He ran the whole town by himself until he died, leaving the legacy and family grocery store to his son Horace. Horace passed away unexpectedly while playing with dynamite, leaving his responsibilities to his only boy, Robby. Robby Vastly did all right with the grocery store, but a huge corporation announced plans to build a gigantic store in Twelve Laughs, the result of which would most likely be the end of the Vastly family business.

  Well, with things a little tighter than Robby liked and not having the money to afford a good lawyer, Robby wrote to Leonard and asked if he would help him out, seeing how he sold Pre-law and had seen so many legal movies.

  Leonard was all too happy to help. He coaxed me into going along with him as co-counsel. I wouldn’t have gone, but Grace was busy that particular weekend and I had some sort of sick fascination with watching tragedy unfold before my eyes. When we arrived in Twelve Laughs, Robby was holed up in his basement, refusing to come out until his wife, Dinny, agreed not to shop at the new store that was threatening to come in. Dinny said that was a promise she couldn’t keep, seeing how Robby was such a pathetic grocery store owner and he never stocked the items she needed. That actually was the problem at its simplest point. Amazingly, things found a way to go downhill from there. Robby, realizing that his demands were not going to be met, decided to change his request. He now refused to come out unless the fabled pirate ghost Hookums, that he had been told stories of as a child, appeared and told him he was forgiven of all his sins.