“I could have helped you bring it here.”
“I’m fine.” She placed her change in her purse. “It’s only a block.”
“I’ll take care of it from now on. Please. I insist.” I grabbed the wagon’s handle. Suddenly I noticed the eerie quiet and that everyone standing within earshot was staring at us. I froze, only now realizing what I’d done. I’d forgotten all about my wallflower persona. My cheeks stung with heat.
“We’d better get the tea to the refreshment table.” Jayne’s comment saved me. She cleared a path, and I followed in her wake.
As I gathered strength to haul the cooler onto the table, my hands were pushed out of the way.
“We’ll get that, Josie,” Amos Royden said. Mossy Creek’s police chief and his pal, lawyer Mac Campbell, lifted the cooler easily.
Chief Royden was in his late thirties, tall and good-looking. He usually made me feel so shy I could barely breathe.
His friend Mac leaned near me and whispered dramatically, “Any chance your mother sent along one of her chess pies for the chief?”
Chief Royden looked as if he wanted to kill Mac.
I coughed and pointed at the Very Sweet section of the dessert table. As much as Chief Royden loved Mama’s chess pie, the three she’d brought to him prior to the beauty contest hadn’t made him vote for me. Thank goodness. You had to respect a man who couldn’t be bribed.
I whispered to the chief. “I have another one in a cooler outside. If you want it, I’ll put it in your squad car right now.”
Chief Royden kept scowling at his friend, who kept grinning. “No, thanks, Josie. I’m a little busy planning how to arrest someone on a Smirking In Public charge.”
He winked at me as he walked away. Jayne and I spent the next few moments arranging desserts. I was slicing Mrs. Beechum’s famous Italian Creme Cake using Martha Stewart’s method for optimum servings when I felt Jayne’s elbow in my side. I looked up to see Oscar Oscar, the double-named grandson of Eustene Oscar.
Oscar stood on the other side of the Melt-Your-Teeth desserts, looking nervous and shy. “Hey, Josie.”
“Hello, Oscar. Do you want a piece of Mrs. Beechum’s cake? Won’t cost you a dime, tonight.”
“No. I mean. . . .” I swear he was shuffling his feet. “Sure. That’d be cool.”
I used Mama’s silver cake knife to place a piece on one of the red paper plates with a huge white heart in the middle. “There you go. Good luck.”
But he didn’t go.
“Oh, ah . . . thanks.” His face turned a shade close to Chinese red. “I was wondering if you had a date to Cupid’s Cotillion.”
If Cupid himself had shot me with an arrow at that moment, I doubt I would’ve felt it. “Me? You’re asking me to the Cotillion?”
He grinned. “I sure am.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know. Because I want to, I guess. I’m movin’ to Tennessee to work in my cousin’s hardware store.”
I planted my hands on my hips. Neither he nor any other boy in Bigelow County had ever acknowledged my existence. Now he wanted to take me out on Valentine’s Day? “I don’t think so.”
Oscar frowned. “You already got a date or something?”
I opened my mouth to tell him hotly that my date waited for me on Colchik Mountain—the misguided love of my life, in fact, who could snap his scrawny neck like a wishbone—when Jayne answered for me. “No, she doesn’t.”
I gaped at her.
She ignored me.
Oscar’s confused face cleared. “I’ll pick you up at seven, then.”
“Pick her up at The Naked Bean, Oscar,” Jayne told him. “It’ll be closer for you, anyway, than driving out to the other side of Bailey Mill.”
That’s just what I needed, another man who wouldn’t see me to and from my door. I crossed my arms over my chest. “I’ll think about it.”
“See you Saturday.” Oscar grinned, and with a bite of Italian Creme Cake, he walked away.
I glared at Jayne.
She smiled. “You’re an angel. Men are starting to notice you. I’d like to help.”
“Oscar’s not a man. He’s a boy. And I’m not an angel. I’m a snake.”
Jayne laughed. “He’ll be good practice for real dating later, then.”
I blurted without thinking, “You don’t understand. I don’t want anything to do with him! He isn’t Harry!”
“Most guys aren’t, at his age. He’ll probably get hairier as he gets older.”
I stood there, grateful she’d misunderstood, stunned by my near revelation of Harry’s existence, and just plain miserable about my situation with him. “I don’t have a dress to wear to that stupid dance.”
“I’ve got several that will fit you! I’m certainly not using them right now. All right?”
Suddenly all of the euphoria I’d been feeling because Swee Purla had given me the sole responsibility for decorating the church hall vanished. I couldn’t get out of going to Cupid’s Cotillion with Oscar without telling everyone why.
What was Harry going to say? Would he care?
And why should I care what he’d say when he’d made it clear he wouldn’t come down off his lonely, remote mountain to take me himself?
* * * *
"You're gorgeous!" Jayne exclaimed.
I stared into the full-length mirror in her apartment above The Naked Bean. It was close to seven, the "Oscar" hour. Not exactly the witching hour, but it's how I'd been thinking of it. "Don't go overboard."
Although I had to admit she was right . I could scarcely believe it was me staring at myself. The deep red velvet of the long-sleeved, knee-length dress complimented my auburn hair, and the form-fitting stretch velvet hugged curves I never knew I had.
"Shut up, Josie McClure. You might as well admit it , because everyone at the dance is going to be telling you how beautiful you look."
I yanked up the plunging neckline. "Mama would have a fit."
Jayne yanked it back down. "It's perfect, just the right spot for the corsage he's bringing."
"How do you know what he's bringing?"
She wasn't a bit contrite. "He asked me what to get, and I told him."
"Since you're so hot for all this, maybe you go to the Cotillion with him."
"I'm manning the refreshment table."
"That's what I've done for"
The doorbell rang.
"There he is," she said brightly.
Panic and misery rose in my throat, threatening to choke me. "I don't want to go."
"One day you'll thank me," Jayne repeated for the umpteenth time as she headed for the door.
"Yeah. On the day rhododendrons bloom in December."
Oscar's reaction was everything Jayne had hoped for. Any customers who might've been in the shop below—if all shops in Mossy Creek hadn’t closed early today—would’ve heard a loud thump when Oscar’s jaw hit the floor. “Josie? Is that really you?”
“No, Oscar, it’s the wicked witch of the west.” I was in no mood for compliments from him.
“Hush, Josie, and say `thank you.’” Jayne said with a meaningful glare. “Give me the flowers, Oscar, and I’ll pin them on.”
Oscar handed her the plastic box. “Gawdalmighty, Josie. You’re purtier than a ten pound trout.”
“Sheer poetry, considering the source,” I murmured so only Jayne could hear.
She stood right in front of me and had just pulled a wicked faux-pearl tipped pin from the corsage. She held it up with a threatening glare.
I rolled my eyes. “Thank you, Oscar.”
Jayne and Oscar continued to gush all over me as Jayne pinned the lovely corsage of baby’s breath and two red roses at my bosom. Five minutes later, Oscar escorted me to his car.
“Why ain’t you never dressed like this before, Josie? It wouldn’t a taken me so long to ask you out.”
He opened the passenger door to his decade-old Chevy truck, and I did a little glaring of my own. “If you’re thinking
of trying anything funny tonight, Oscar Oscar, you can put that thought right out of your head. Cause if you do, I’ll slap you so hard you’ll think a grizzly’s got a hold of you.”
“Ain’t no grizzlies in these mountains, Josie,” he said patiently. “Them suckers is out west.”
All the way to the Moose Lodge, I got a monologue on the bears native to the Appalachians. He’d missed my point entirely. I don’t know why I was surprised. At least his talking kept me from having to talk.
Jayne’s prediction proved correct. Everyone who came within speaking distance of me raved about my sudden transformation. My dance card—Mossy Creek still kept the tradition—was filled before Joe Biddly and His String Quartet began to play. The “strings” being a lead guitar, a steel guitar, a dulcimer, and a fiddle. The sweetest request was from eight-year-old Timmy Williams for the second waltz. As my date, Oscar had the first dance and the last one. It irked him that he couldn’t have more, but I didn’t mind one bit.
I was the belle of the ball and should’ve loved every minute of it. The only man who’d ever asked me to dance at the Cotillion was my Daddy. At nineteen, I’d become a permanent fixture at the refreshment table where my napkin folding never failed to be a hit with the ten and under crowd.
But I didn’t love it. The only reason the evening didn’t drag by like a fox with a dead bear was my discovery that I loved to dance. Mama had forced dancing lessons on me at an early age, of course, but I hated them because I was always the last girl chosen as a partner. Tonight I swung around the room with every man who asked me. If one of my penciled-in partners wanted to sit one out, all I had to do was turn around to find another willing set of arms and legs. It didn’t matter to me who I danced with, as long as my feet kept moving.
I saved the seventh dance for Daddy, who beamed at me as he led me onto the floor. “You’re purtier than a wild mountain rose. Your Mama’s already making plans for next year’s Miss Bigelow Contest. She claims she understands her mistake now. She should’a dressed you in red.”
With a frown, I glanced at Mama, who held court with a bevy of her cronies. She looked happier than I’d seen her since before last year’s contest. Her purpose for living had been revived . . . or so she thought.
“Daddy, I’m not going to enter that contest ever again.”
“Ah, honey, you know what it means to your Mama.”
“I don’t care, Daddy, I . . .” My words died away when I noticed the hush that had fallen over the room. Everyone stared at the door, so naturally I turned to see what had captured their rapt attention.
Harry filled the doorway. My Harry.
I nearly fainted. The only thing that saved me was Daddy’s hand on my arm.
“Who is it, honey? Do you know that man?”
Harry’s gaze locked on to mine. The expression I saw in his black eyes brought blood back to my brain and purpose to my heart.
“Yes, Daddy. I do.” I tried to pull away from Daddy’s hand, but he held on.
His worried gaze studied the massive man who completely blocked the doorway. “He looks dangerous, honey.”
I smiled indulgently. “Not my Harry.”
“Your Harry?”
I reached up on tiptoe and kissed his cheek. “Yes, Daddy. My Harry.”
Daddy let me go, and I began weaving my way through the crowd. When people noticed me moving toward Harry, they slowly parted, their whispering echoed my father’s fear. I was ten yards away before I had a clear path to Harry. I wanted to run and throw myself into his arms. If nothing else, to show Mossy Creek they had nothing to fear from my gentle giant. Instead, I made myself stop.
Dressed in a dark gray pinstriped suit that fit him like a bird fits into its feathers, Harry had a new haircut and a clean-shaven face. The yin curve of his scar stood out starkly against the yang. He’d come clean shaven on purpose, I knew, to test the mettle of Mossy Creek. I hoped my fellow citizens lived up to my boasts.
But now Mossy Creekites were the last thing on Harry’s mind. The way he looked at me meant more to me than all the compliments I’d received all evening.
“You’re beautiful,” he said simply.
A collective sigh went up from the crowd.
It startled him, and he glanced around. He lifted his chin, as if wanting to give them a better view.
“You look pretty spiffy yourself.” I searched his face in wonder. “I can’t believe you’re here.”
His dark eyes were intense, and saw only me. “Just because I have a Ph.D. doesn’t mean I’m stupid. I know when I’ve fallen in love with the most wonderful woman in the world.” He lifted his huge, meaty hands. “And since this was the only way I can have you, here I am.” He bowed slightly at the waist. “May I have the next dance?”
Another sigh, accompanied this time by hushed chatter . . . which died away after a few seconds, so avid was everyone to hear what we said next.
I tore my dance card into little pieces. I threw them into the air like confetti and walked to his side. I proudly slipped my arm through his and turned to the crowd. “Everyone, I’m very pleased to introduce Dr. Harold Rutherford, my fiancé. Harry, this is the entire population of Mossy Creek.”
My announcement set the room buzzing again. To one side, Mama cried out, then succumbed to the fainting spell I’d fended off earlier. The cronies around her caught her.
“I told you.” Harry looked down at me. Panic hid in the depths of his eyes, just behind a thin veneer of determination.
“I can’t believe you’re not halfway out the door by now.”
He straightened. “Once I make up my mind to do something, I see it through, come hell or high water.”
“My sweet, stubborn Taurus-Dragon.” I smiled and patted his arm. I wanted to tell him that these people weren’t staring at him because of his face, but because he was a stranger . . . and a huge one at that. But I couldn’t be absolutely certain. Mossy Creek had to show him.
“Hey, Josie,” Jamie Green shouted from the back of the crowd. “Is this that feller I been delivering mail to up on Colchik Mountain?”
“You mean the one who’s mail you’ve been reading?” Harry shouted back.
The crowd tittered, and it felt as if the entire room heaved a relieved sigh.
Both of us felt a tug on Harry’s jacket, and we glanced down to see eight-year-old Ida Walker, Mayor Walker’s granddaughter.
“Are you the Bigfoot?” she asked breathlessly.
Harry stiffened, but I knew Little Ida was far from horrified.
“He wears a size twenty-two shoe, Ida,” I said. “Is that a big enough foot for you?”
Little Ida thrust her dance card at Harry. “Will you dance with me, Mr. Rutherford?”
“Doctor Rutherford, Ida. That’s what Ph.D. means.” Mayor Ida stepped forward and offered her hand to Harry. “Let me be the first to welcome you to Mossy Creek, Dr. Rutherford. Congratulations. You’ve raised the average IQ of Mossy Creek by ten points.”
Harry’s hand swallowed Mayor Ida’s whole. “I don’t know about that . . .”
The mayor pumped his hand energetically. “I hope we’ll see you at town meetings, now that you’re marrying into the community. We can always use a level head at city hall.”
“You mean a level head like the one that shoots up welcome signs?” Harry asked. “I’ve heard a lot about Mossy Creek.”
“Well, bless me, we’ve got a live one here. You’re going to be an interesting addition to our little town, no doubt about that.”
I squeezed Harry’s arm, and he glanced down at me.
I grinned. “I told you Mossy Creekites wouldn’t run screaming.”
Harry smiled. “You can throw my words back into my face all you want. I finally feel like I’ve come home.”
“You once told me that your arms are my home. Well, mine are yours.” I wrapped my arms around him. “Welcome home.”
Mayor Hamilton raised her glass of red punch. “I’d like to pose a toast to the King and
Queen of this year’s Cotillion. To Josie and Harry. Mossy Creek’s very own Beauty and her Bigfoot.”
RAINEY
Life—and homecomings—are always about big, stomping choices. You have to lead, follow, or get out of the elephant’s way.
RAINEY
Homecoming Day, 1981, Part One:
When the Elephant Came to Town
I was twelve years old that autumn day when Mossy Creek High burned down. Until then I had a few simple, urgent goals in life: To stay as cute as whipped cream, to be the most famous curly-haired beautician in the history of Mossy Creek, and to make Robbie Walker’s heart pound as hard when he looked at me as mine pounded whenever I looked at him. His mother wasn’t mayor then, but even so, she was Ida Hamilton Walker. So Robbie was the rich son of Mossy Creek’s most powerful woman.
And, well, I was Rainey Ann Cecil. Might as well have been Rainey Ann Nobody. I tried so hard to win Robbie’s admiration and impress the whole rest of the world, too. In vain. Vanity was my downfall.
“Don’t you let me catch you in that makeup counter this morning, Rainey Sue,” Mama ordered. Goldilocks was her shop then, and had been Grandma Cecil’s before that, and would be mine, someday.
“Aw, Mama, just lemme wear a little pink lipstick. For a perk-me-up.”
“I’ll perk you up with the flat of my rat-tail comb, Lady Fingers. You ain’t goin’ around Mossy Creek lookin’ like you’re growed up and on the prowl for trouble. Now out. Out. I got customers.”
A whole bunch of antsy ladies filled the shop that morning, all glaring at me, with good reason. It was the Saturday of Homecoming, and all the mamas in town wanted to look good for the big football game and the high school homecoming dance afterward. Who said chaperones couldn’t kick up their heels along with the teenagers?
About that time, I heard a rapping at the shop’s glass doors. There stood Robbie Walker and Hank Blackshear, peering in at me like I was a serious fish in a funny bowl. Robbie slouched, pretending to be a bad character, his hands shoved in his jeans’ pockets. He had taken to wearing an old leather aviator jacket that had belonged to his daddy, Jeb. It swallowed him.
He was tall for twelve, with dark hair and a strong, thoughtful face, though in the past year, since his daddy had died, he looked mad and sorrowful most of the time. His mama, Miss Ida, was still grieving so bad she barely set a foot outside the big house out at Hamilton Farm. But Robbie had taken to roaming, and everybody in town was trying to rein him in. A heartsick twelve-year-old kid could count on that kind of help in Mossy Creek. Plus all the girls had crushes on Robbie and wanted to make him smile again. I know I did.
Reunion at Mossy Creek Page 4