Berried Alive

by Chelsea Thomas

  Sally’s face reddened. “You mean old lady. You are evil. Do you know that? You don't have proof my family did anything. You're just evil and mean.”

  “Step back, Brewster scum!” A hunched, balding man approached with the assistance of a cane. He looked to be at least 190 years old. And he spoke with a raspy, tired voice. I didn’t know the man, so I leaned in toward Gigley.

  “Who’s that?” I whispered.

  “That’s Granny Smith’s ex-husband, Wendell,” Gigley said. “Nasty divorce they had, I handled the whole thing. And let me tell you, their differences were very irreconcilable.”

  “You stay away from my beloved, ya Brewster filth,” Wendell warbled at Sally. “Dolores Smith is a town treasure. She stands for the truth no matter what it takes. And I will not watch as you insult my lady.”

  A younger man, somewhere in his 60s, with a thick head of gray hair and perfect teeth, pushed his way toward Wendell. Unlike Wendell, this man's voice boomed and his chest puffed. “She's not your lady anymore, Wendell. She's my one true love. Don't you forget it!”

  “And let me guess,” I said. “That’s her new husband?”

  Gigley nodded. “Ted. He’s a much younger man, it was a real scandal when it happened. I handled their pre-nup.”

  Ted took a threatening step toward Wendell. Granny Smith tried to wedge herself between them but neither man looked interested in anything other than a fight.

  Sally Brewster laughed. “Look at you, Granny Smith. You think you're so classy. You've got two men fighting over you like they’re on an episode of Springer.”

  Granny Smith turned on Sally Brewster. “You foolish heap of trash. This is nothing like Jeremy Springer.”

  Sally laughed even louder. “It's Jerry Springer. Not Jeremy.”

  As the women argued, the men stood toe to toe, glaring.

  “You can’t follow Dolores around like this, Wendell. She’s not your wife!” Ted declared, his chest swelling.

  “Go smell the sewer,” Wendell said. “You think you're tough? I was fighting the Nazis while you were just a twinkle in your daddy's eye.”

  “Hogwash,” Ted said. “You were never deployed in Germany, you liar.”

  “Listen, Wendell,” Sally said, in a more conciliatory tone. “Why don’t you just grab a donut and go home? This isn’t your battle to fight.”

  “Just like ya didn’t fight the Nazis!” Ted said, with a smug grin.

  “Oh you shut up, Theodore,” Sally said with a hiss. “You think you’re so clever, but you were stupid enough to marry Dolores the Bore-us.”

  Bore-us?! It didn’t seem like the most stinging (or clever) insult to me, but Granny Smith definitely took it personally. She looked like someone had just called her a loose and dirty, uh... rhymes-with-bore.

  Granny Smith spun on Sally Brewster. “I am not a bore-us! I am an entertaining and educational tour leader. You take that back.”

  “Fat chance,” Sally said.

  Granny Smith slapped Sally Brewster across the face. Sally cackled, her tongue planted in her cheek. “You do not want to do that again.”

  Granny Smith pulled her hand back, ready to deliver another slap. “Don't I?”

  “What is going on in my bakeshop?” Miss May, my aunt and surrogate parent, approached with her hands held up in the air. Her expression was incredulous and irritated.

  Granny Smith and Sally Brewster erupted simultaneously, each defending their side in the argument. Wendell and Ted did the same. Each member of the foursome attempted to yell louder than the others. Their defenses ranged from, “I didn’t say nothing,” to “Wendell’s too old to know his own name!”

  Miss May was not having any of it. She held up her hand to silence the fray. “Quiet!”

  The four of them stopped yelling immediately.

  “Go home. All four of you. You're making a scene and you're hurting my business. Honestly. You're acting like a bunch of teenagers.”

  “We’ll go, May,” Sally said. “But don't kick us out. At least let us buy some donuts first.”

  Granny Smith looked down, embarrassed. “I came all the way up here to pick up a few dozen donuts. And they smell so delicious.”

  Miss May shook her head. “No. No donuts for any of you. You can come back another day.”

  Granny Smith nodded, sheepish. So did Sally. Ted took Granny’s arm and they exited together, followed by Wendell. Sally was last in line.

  She paused before she exited. “Just one donut hole?”

  “No!” Miss May said, and shooed Sally out the door.

  Gigley raised his hand hesitantly. “I can still buy donuts though, right?”

  “Don’t test me, Tom!” Miss May said, and stormed out.

  I slyly passed Gigley a donut over the counter, which he wordlessly took and ate.

  Chapter 2: German Invasion

  THAT NIGHT, MISS MAY and I enjoyed a delicious feast. And let me tell you, I do not use the term “feast” lightly.

  We always rewarded ourselves after a late September Saturdays on the orchard. That day we had served over 500 customers. Apple pickers, bakeshop visitors, and families who came from as far as North Carolina for their annual trips to our mecca of fruit and fir.

  Each Saturday of the busy season, Miss May and I spent a few extra hours on our feet at the end of the day, and we cooked. Fresh baked bread, mashed potatoes, roasted asparagus, and tonight, a delicious, lemony salmon.

  I didn’t like to eat a ton of meat, especially meat that came from something with a cute face, but I couldn’t turn away from Miss May’s salmon. It was a pure slab of buttery, citrusy goodness, cooked to perfection. If salmon didn’t want to be eaten, I thought, admiring the perfect pinkish hue of the filet, they shouldn’t look this tasty.

  Still, I focused most of my attention on Miss May’s fresh-baked bread. She always baked it a little ahead of time and tried to make me wait to eat it, “so it can cool down and stay fresh for longer,” but I had no patience for that kind of forward-thinking. Plus, I always eat the whole loaf, so who cares about lasting freshness?

  After dinner, I toddled with a full stomach out to the barn to visit See-Saw, the farm’s tiny horse. I thought See-Saw had probably had a long day too. She’d gotten lots of petting and attention, but she’d also incurred the unwarranted wrath of Granny Smith. So I brought the little equine some apples, carrots, and sugar cubes as a special treat.

  I entered the stable to find KP, Miss May’s righthand man on the farm. He was already feeding See-Saw. KP looked up as I approached.

  “Hey KP,” I said. “I guess you beat me to the treat.” I opened my hand to reveal my bounty of See-Saw snacks.

  KP laughed. “Toss what you've got in the bucket. Little horse never gets full. Seriously. She’d probably founder if I wasn’t careful with her.” KP patted See-Saw’s ample belly with obvious fondness.

  KP was a gruff guy who had formerly been in the Navy. He hated stop signs, officious busybodies, and library overdue fines. But he loved See-Saw, and their relationship was the cutest thing in the world.

  I added my snacks into See-Saw’s “slop bucket,” as KP called it. See-Saw didn’t even pause to notice my contribution. She just kept eating. I admired her focus and conviction.

  “So I heard there was quite the argument at the bakeshop today,” KP said.

  “It was crazy,” I said. “Sally Brewster and that Granny Smith lady were about to have a fistfight. And so were Granny’s two husbands!”

  KP laughed. “All over some history from over 200 years ago. And I’m not talking about Dolores and Wendell’s divorce!”

  I laughed. “Seriously, though, how old is that guy? He’s like a modern-day Methuselah.”

  “He’s no spring chicken, that’s for sure. Maybe he is Methuselah!” KP chuckled. See-Saw raised her head from her bucket and snorted. “Aw, See-Saw doesn’t like that. I know, ol’ girl. He’s not the real Methuselah.”

  “Well, Wendell may be old but he’s still a fighte
r,” I said. “I was so glad when Miss May showed up to break up the brawl. If those four started fighting, hips would have been broken.”

  “Ah, those two ladies have been at it longer than the sun in the sky,” he said. “They’re all bark and no bite.”

  “Who do you think is right?” I asked. “Do you think the Brewster family really did help the British during the Revolution?”

  KP shrugged. “Granny Smith sure knows her town history. Rumor has it she finds all these crazy documents and artifacts down in those tunnels from the war. Gets a lot of her information there. But who cares, is what I say. A man shouldn’t be judged by his family’s sins.”

  I sensed KP wasn't telling me something. “So do you think Granny Smith’s onto something?”

  “Ah, hell if I know. But I like Sally Brewster more than old Dolores. Way more. So I'm on Sally's side. She’s never been anything but nice to me, that Sally. So what if her great, great-grandparents were traitorous slime-balls.”

  I nodded.

  “And what's the story with Granny Smith's dueling husbands?” I asked.

  KP laughed. “Oh I don’t much about that. From what I gather, Granny Smith left Wendell after thirty years of marriage for that wily real estate agent Ted. Now Wendell hates Ted. Kinda like a 2+2 = 4 situation. Like I said though, I don't know much about all that.”

  I laughed. “I can tell. You don't find small town gossip interesting at all.”

  KP nodded. “Exactly. It's frivolous is what it is. But if I were interested in small town gossip, I would think it's crazy that an old angry bird like Granny Smith has two men fighting over her. And that Ted is a young cuck. Who am I to talk, though? Never been married, myself. I guess the heart wants what the heart needs or whatever the saying is.”

  There was a soft knock on the stable door. KP and I turned, and there, standing in the doorway wearing shorts, cowboy boots, and an embroidered vest, was Germany Turtle.

  “Did I hear someone mention the heart?”

  KP’s eyes went wide at the sight of Germany’s unconventional attire. “Who dressed you, a rodeo clown?”

  Germany hung his head. “It’s not good, I know. I have been trying and failing to dress as a Pine Grove local for months now. This is yet another botched attempt to ‘blend in.’”

  “I’ll say,” KP agreed, staring at Germany’s weird vest. “Unless you’re trying to blend into the circus.”

  “Alright,” I said, feeling surprisingly defensive of Germany. “I think it’s a fine ensemble. The vest, uh, is...a statement piece.”

  “What statement is it making?” KP asked. “‘I got dressed in the dark?’”

  “KP!” I said.

  “He’s right, of course,” Germany said, and mournfully produced a giant bouquet of flowers from behind his back. Germany Turtle had a few trademark moves, which included dressing weird and always bringing me flowers. I smiled, charmed in spite of myself. Germany extended the bouquets toward me. “I’ll just give you this exquisite arrangement of daffodils and leave. I need some time to reevaluate the Pinterest users I’ve been following. My sense is that their ‘metro-cowboy’ fashion tips have led me astray.”

  KP chuckled. “Ah, don’t leave on my account, Little Turtle. I was just heading back to my cabin.”

  KP gave See-Saw another sturdy pat, then he turned and trudged back to his cabin.

  Germany waited a moment then slumped sideways into the stall door. “I have neglected to impress your surrogate uncle.”

  “KP? No, he likes you. He just likes to tease people,” I said. “Thank you for the flowers. What are they for? Is there some holiday I don’t know about? ‘National Daffodil Day’?”

  Germany stood “No holiday,” Germany said. “Simply a celebration of your continued well-being.” He explained, “I heard of the kerfuffle on the farm, between the traitorous Brewster clan and the curmudgeonly Smith woman. I thought your delicate feather coat may have been ruffled by the conflict.”

  I narrowed my eyes. “I don't think feather coat is a term people use. Maybe just feathers?”

  “No. Feather coat refers to the feathers on a beautiful bird.”

  “OK,” I said, my know-it-all streak stunted in the face of such determined assuredness. “But I’m not a delicate bird, you know. I'm a strong, independent woman. I can witness a little argument without fainting or needing to be hospitalized.”

  Germany smacked himself in the face. “I know that! I didn’t mean to imply that your delicacy was a shortcoming.”

  I let out a small laugh. “It’s OK, don’t beat yourself up about it.” Literally. “I'm just saying... I can hold my own. And you courting me like this, showing up like you expect me to be wounded... It's a little old-fashioned, don't you think? I’m not a damsel in distress. I karate chop murderers! I should be courting you.”

  Germany perked up. “That would be wonderful. It would be my pleasure to be courted by you.”

  “Fine. Good,” I said. “Do you want to go out sometime?”

  Whoa. I didn't expect myself to do that.

  “I've been asking you out once a week, every week for the past two months. Finally you're saying yes?” Germany smiled.

  “No,” I said. “That’s not exactly it, I just...”

  Germany interrupted me as I tried to backpedal. “How about next Friday night at eight?”

  “My Fridays can get busy,” I lied. “Let's do Monday night. I should be able to fit you in then.”

  Germany turned away and pumped his fist, excited. It was about thirty seconds before he turned back to me, with a straight face. “Monday at 8 PM it is.”

  “Great. I'll see you then,” I said.

  “Terrific.” Germany stood. “I'm going to go home now. Before I do something silly like sing you the song I wrote you earlier today. That seems like it might be a bit much right now and could ruin the moment. But you should know... I wrote you a song.”

  “I look forward to hearing it some day,” I said.

  “Not as much as I look forward to our date.” Germany did a little bow, then hurried away. I looked down at my daffodils.

  What did I just do?

  Chapter 3: You Bet, Buster

  MISS MAY FELT BAD FOR refusing to let Sally Brewster purchase donuts at the bakeshop. So the next day we brought Sally a fresh baker’s dozen as an apology.

  Sally's house sat at the end of a long cul-de-sac. Hers was the only house on the road, and as we approached I immediately recognized the architecture of a Revolutionary era building.

  The home was an old, white colonial. It had a large front porch, and a significant portion of the shingled roof looked like it had been patched thousands of times.

  An incredible brick chimney jutted up from the rear of the house, its rust red color a stark contrast to the pure white of the house.

  The house was situated on a beautiful piece of acreage. Although the grass was overgrown, somehow the overall effect of the landscaping still worked. Maybe because of the old trees, draping their branches across the land, or the aged stone walkway that led to the front door. The house felt timeless yet ancient, and a crisply manicured lawn would have felt off.

  When we rang the door, Sally answered with a smile. She was wearing one of her American flag T-shirts, and it matched the flag billowing in her yard.

  “Miss May. How did I know you were going to bring me donuts today?”

  Miss May smiled back. “Could it possibly be because this is exactly what I did the last time I kicked you off my orchard?”

  Sally laughed. “Pretty sure that was over ten years ago. But it feels like yesterday. Time moves in funny ways. Like a tweaker on the dance floor.”

  I laughed, but Sally seemed to be having a serious reflective moment. “Sorry, I just... That’s an evocative comparison.”

  Miss May shook her head. “You’ve been feuding with Dolores Smith for too many moons, Brewster.” Miss May pulled a box of donuts out of her purse and handed them to Sally.

  �
��I will never cease to be amazed by the amount of baked goods that you can hold in that purse. You're like Santa Claus but with donuts and pies instead of presents.”

  Miss May laughed. “Donuts are better than presents, at least according to me.”

  Sally accepted the donuts, opened the box and took a big, satisfying sniff. “You do not have to do this, May. I shouldn't have gotten so riled up in your bakeshop. I just... I can't stand by and let that horrible woman besmirch my family name.”

  “Apology accepted,” Miss May said. “And even if your predecessors did help the British in the American Revolution—”

  “They did no such thing!” Sally glared.

  Miss May put her hands up in surrender. “Okay. I'm not trying to start anything. I'm just saying the Brewsters are all good in my book. No matter what.”

  Sally nodded and took a bite of donut. She invited us inside, but Miss May declined. After a few more minutes of chatting, we headed back to the VW bus.

  Miss May sighed as we drove away.

  I looked over at her. “What's wrong?”

  Miss May shook her head. “Nothing. Just... Now I feel bad that I brought Sally donuts but not Dolores.”

  “Granny Smith started the fight,” I said. “She smacked Sally in the face, right in the bakeshop! She doesn't deserve donuts.”

  “Still,” Miss May said. “If Dolores finds out that I brought Sally donuts, that old Granny will be mad at me forever.” Miss May patted my arm. “Will you check the kitchenette for me? See if we have any pies or other goodies back there.”

  I climbed into the back of the van and opened the refrigerator in the kitchenette. It was fully stocked. “Yup,” I said. “You've got lots of pies back here. And cookies. And donuts. And... a burnt cake?”

  Miss May smiled. “Great.” Then she turned the car around and headed toward Granny Smith.

  Granny Smith's home was also clearly from the Revolutionary War era, but it was a different style than Sally’s white-sided cottage.

  The Smith house was a simple yet elegant stone construction. Two stories, with a number of small windows.