O Little Town

by Reid, Don

  “That’s not it.”

  “What?”

  “That’s not it. You’re not who I wanted to hurt.”

  It was time for Paul to take a pause.

  “I wanted to hurt Mr. Sandridge.”

  “Milton? Milton Sandridge?”

  She merely nodded her head.

  “Why? Has he ever done anything to you?”

  “I wanted to steal things from his store and get him in trouble so he would be fired. That’s not the first time I did it. I did it three other times and most of the stuff I just threw in the trash. Some things I kept, but I really didn’t want them.”

  “You wanted him to get fired.” This was more of a statement from Paul than a question. A statement to establish firmly the new information he was still trying to digest. “Millie, why?”

  “I don’t know. I just don’t like him.”

  “You don’t like Mr. Zirk, your science teacher this year. Are you trying to get him fired too?”

  “No.”

  “Then why Milton Sandridge?”

  “Paul? Millie? Is there something wrong?” Dove was standing in the doorway with dustings of flour on her apron and her hands. “Have you heard something from the hospital?”

  “No.”

  “It’s just that I heard you mention Milton Sandridge. I thought maybe you had heard—”

  “Who’s in the hospital?” Millie asked, looking first at her mother, then her father.

  “Mr. Sandridge. Your father and I were there last night. I left you a note on the bathroom door in case you got up and missed us.”

  There were plenty of currents in the air between family members, but none of them were connecting. Dove stood stillest of all, hoping her husband would pick up the conversation. Millie gave her attention to the edge-worn, room-sized rug in her father’s study. And Paul, not focusing his eyes on any one thing, searched his mind over what had just happened. Aware that Millie had yet to tell him why she didn’t like Milton Sandridge, he was even more interested in knowing if Dove had interrupted their conversation on purpose or if it was simply God’s timing in forgoing an unpleasant situation. Millie was the first to speak.

  “Are the cookies ready to be decorated?”

  “They certainly are. That’s why I came looking for you. Twenty-four Santas and twenty-four reindeer. Do you want to help, Paul?”

  “No, I have to finish up in here. You girls go ahead. I’ll be along in a bit.”

  He would talk to Millie later. He would talk to Dove later. Right now he would pray.

  CHAPTER 27

  Buddy, Amanda, and Shirley Ann were just finishing breakfast.

  “What time did you get home last night, Daddy?”

  “I don’t know. It was late.”

  “I talked to Louis Wayne this morning. He said they hadn’t heard anything yet today about his uncle. Do you think he’s going to be all right?”

  “I hope so.”

  “Well, I’ve got to get ready to go. Louis Wayne is picking me up shortly. His grandfather is coming home this morning and he wants me to see him. I really like Mr. Selman, don’t you?”

  “Yeah. He’s a very nice man.”

  With one more gulp of juice and the slide of a chair, Shirley Ann disappeared to ready herself for her future husband. Amanda looked over her shoulder at her still sleepy husband.

  “You’re talkative this morning.”

  “I just don’t know what to say to her.”

  “It’ll get better. This is only our second day. You haven’t told me much about last night either. How bad was it?”

  “Well, I saw first-hand the wrath of our new in-law, the stern Mrs. Sterrett. And on top of all of that, with Colleen on the verge of standing on her head, your good friend, the preacher’s wife showed up.”

  “No!” Amanda turned from the sink and sat down in one of the dinette chairs.

  “Yes. I was with the whole bunch till, oh, two o’clock I guess. Doris jumped Dove in the waiting room.”

  “What did she say?”

  “She asked her what she was doing there right in front of Colleen.”

  “Oh, Buddy,” Amanda put her hands to her mouth, “I feel like this is partly my fault. As a friend sometimes I just don’t know what I’m supposed to do: let them cry on your shoulder or tell them the truth. What should I have done?”

  “You did the right thing. It wasn’t up to you anyway. But please, don’t get any more involved in it than you already are.”

  “I promise you I won’t. I’ll just tell Dove we will have to talk about other things.”

  “Good. We’ve got plenty of our own worries without taking on their problems. Like our daughter. She’s going from having a curfew to having a baby, just like that. She’s going from having a bedtime to reading bedtime stories. We’re in for a big roller-coaster ride, babe.”

  “I know.”

  “Where will they live? Has anyone thought about that?”

  “She and I talked after you left last night. The Sterretts have a four-room apartment over their garage, behind their tennis court. She says it’s very nice and cozy. All they’ll need for now.”

  “So they’ll be living with the Sterretts.”

  “No. Only close to the Sterretts.”

  Buddy laughed out loud. Amanda smiled and waited for him to let her in on the joke.

  “Last night, sitting there looking at Doris, all I could think of was that drunk driving thing a few years back. Remember me telling you about that?”

  “Now I do. I had forgotten all about that.”

  “Forgotten about it? How can you forget about things like that?”

  “You need to forget things like that too, Lieutenant. You’d feel better if you did.” And then she slapped him playfully on the shoulder with her dish towel as she got up and went back to the sink.

  “Okay, I’ll try to do better, Juanita.”

  They laughed, and it seemed a little more like Christmas Eve.

  CHAPTER 28

  “Now, Walter, you should have everything you need. You’ve slept in this guest room before. I’m going to the basement to get you a little television set with rabbit ears to put on that table.”

  His son-in-law was doing everything in his power to make him comfortable. His daughter was also flitting around the room, rolling back covers and fluffing pillows and taking lunch orders and basically making everyone nervous. Walter sat in the rocker and waited for them to wear down or leave. He just wanted to see his grandsons. They had gone to pick up Louis Wayne’s girlfriend. Girlfriend? Or should that be fiancée? Future bride? Whatever her designation, he was content to sit in the old rocker and wait. It was a familiar chair—the same chair he had been rocked in as a baby, and Doris had been rocked in, and Louis Wayne and Hoyt had been rocked in. It was a comfort to relax in this old piece of family history. Old things brought peace and serenity to the most trying of times. And if he ever longed for the tranquility of heirlooms, he needed them today.

  The room filled with doctors and nurses, and Walter was pushed so far from Adrienne’s bed he could barely see her. Her eyes were open as if she were seeing a ghost, but Walter knew she saw nothing. Someone put a hand over her face, and when that hand was removed, she looked as if she had fallen asleep. Someone noted the time. Someone else scribbled frantically on a chart. The room was a blur of activity and noise. Dr. Larnette took him by the arm and led him to the hallway.

  “Are you all right, son?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  “Come sit down.”

  Larnette led him to a wooden straight-backed bench that had probably been used by friends and family members in very much the same condition of confusion and disbelief. The features of his face sternly set and his bald pate shining, the doctor sat down and spoke directly and quietly in his ear.

  “Walter, the police will be coming up those stairs soon. If there is any last thing you promised that young woman you would do, you have to gather yourself up and do it now. You
can still slip away unnoticed if you go soon. Is there someplace you have to go or something you have to do?”

  “Yes, sir. I need to go find—”

  “Don’t tell me, Walter. Just go do it. Don’t ever tell me. I can protect you better by knowing as little as possible. Now go.”

  Walter Selman walked briskly down the back steps, opened the door, and ran into the dark until his breath and heartbeat wouldn’t allow him to run any longer. He didn’t stop till he flopped down on the concrete steps behind the train depot. Here he caught his breath and his thoughts and began feeling his way down the lonely tracks leading north out of town.

  When he thought he had come far enough, he stopped and looked in all directions for the flickering fires. He saw nothing. Had he not come far enough? He walked a little farther and thought he saw one or two flickers over the embankment. He slid down the dirt bank, nearly falling more than once and continued slowly toward the dimly burning piles of brush and wood. When he looked around, he realized he was in the center of the camp. Or rather, of what used to be the camp. He smelled no food. Heard no voices. Saw no movement. The place was deserted.

  “Nicholas! Nicholas! Nicholas Knoles!”

  He walked to one of the fires and saw a broken plate and a tin cup and some rubbish lying in the dirt. He reached down to pick up a filthy blanket and a mud-caked glove.

  “What do you want, boy?”

  Too frightened to speak, Walter froze and backed away from the voice.

  “I said what do you want?”

  “I’m looking for someone who was camped here a few days ago.”

  “They’re all gone.”

  “Where did they go?”

  “Everywhere and nowhere.” The voice took on a shadow as he moved closer and then took on human form as he came close enough for Walter to see his dirty clothes and the dried blood caked on the side of his face and melded into his hair. “The railroad jacks came and run everybody off. They do that every few days. You never know when they’re coming with their billies and their cudgels.”

  “Do you know where Nicholas Knoles is? Was he run off?”

  “Nobody uses names here, boy. Just one lost soul talking to another. He’s probably thirty miles down the track. Which way, I can’t say.”

  “Are you going to be all right? Do you need a doctor?”

  “I don’t need nothing. You wouldn’t have any money on you, would you?”

  Walter scrambled for the few cents he had in his pocket and dropped them into the crusty hand of the man who had no particular age and no particular place to go.

  The man retreated into the shadows and Walter walked back up the hill, realizing he would never find Nicholas Knoles to tell him of his wife’s death.

  The town that had hoped and prayed for the hopeful recovery and then observed the quick demise of the young stage star turned out in overwhelming numbers to her funeral. Faith Presbyterian Church overflowed with every prominent family known to the local paper’s social page. The mayor and his council sat on the front row. The doctors, who had worked without pay to see her through surgeries and a disappointing recuperation, filled the pews with their families. Merchants and farmers and out-of-town curiosity seekers stood around the walls and spilled into the sub-freezing air on the sidewalk. A small theatrical orchestra made up of Civil War veterans played hymns and dirges from the choir loft. Three ministers officiated and spoke glorious words of praise over a life they had never known. Everyone attending the funeral service for this beautiful twenty-five-year-old actress was a stranger. E. G. Selman had tried to no avail to contact kin of any kind, even through the agency that had booked her into the Crown Theater. The police had telegraphed and telephoned her hometown. And Walter himself had tried to find her husband. It was the decision of the town fathers to bury her on Christmas Eve, so as not to dampen the spirit of the season by holding her body over until the following week. So at 2 p.m. on Saturday, December 24, 1904, Adrienne Knoles was eulogized in a house of the Lord and buried in a private plot in the Vestry Hills Cemetery.

  Five men and one boy carried the casket up the hill from the horse-drawn hearse. The two black stallions stood in the cold, expelling steam from their nostrils while the tired soldiers marched behind, playing “Silent Night.” Beautiful words of life and death were spoken, psalms were read. Only Walter saw the tall figure in a dark topcoat and slouch hat standing off in the distance by a maple tree. The man was sobbing.

  At the closing of the grave, flowers covered the hillside, and that evening a light snow fell and covered the flowers. Adrienne Knoles was gone and so was Walter Selman’s youth.

  For years Walter scoured the entertainment papers. He found occasional mentions of Simon Croft, but he never made it back to Mt. Jefferson.

  A legend grew as to the whereabouts of Nicholas Knoles. Townsfolk claimed to see a man walking the street at nights by the cemetery and swore it was the actor, come back to stand beside his beloved wife’s grave. Sometimes it was reported a tall, strange figure would sneak into the old Crown and sit on the back row, only to leave before the show was over. And there were even reports that he had taken his life and that his spirit rested in the basement hallways of the Crown. But no one could give credence to such fiction, and eventually his mystery waned and went the way of all fables, myths, dreams, and memories.

  CHAPTER 29

  “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas” blended with a mother’s and a daughter’s cheerfulness that was long overdue in the Franklin household. Paul smiled to himself, wondering if perhaps some of his prayers were being answered. The phone rang and Dove hollered from the kitchen, “Paul, will you get that?” He did and after he hung up, he walked into the kitchen to see what all the merriment was about.

  “You girls are sure making a lot of noise in here. Which one of you was singing with Gene Autry?”

  “That would have been your daughter. She knows some of the silliest lyrics to ‘Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer’ you have ever heard. She’ll have to sing them for you sometime. How about you? Are you finished?”

  “I think so. I’m not totally satisfied, but then I never am, am I?”

  “Daddy, how do you write a sermon? I mean where do you get the ideas? From a book or something?”

  “Yes, Millie. It’s called the Bible.”

  “No, really, I mean do you buy sermon books or what?”

  “Oh, you can. Outlines. That sort of thing. Some people use them more than others.”

  “How about you? Do you use them?”

  “Very seldom.”

  “Then how do you know what to talk about?”

  “Well,” Paul looked thoughtful as he bit the head off a Santa Claus cookie, “I usually just talk about whatever is on my mind. Whatever I’m thinking about that week or worried about or suspect most of the congregation members are thinking about. If you just talk from your heart, you usually can’t go wrong.”

  “What are you going to talk about tonight?”

  “Christmas. What else?”

  “Just tell the Christmas story? Wise men and shepherds and all?

  It was clear to Paul that Dove was attentive to their conversation. She smiled as she mixed up another batch of dough.

  “No. Not necessarily. A little more than that you might say.”

  “What’s the title?”

  “‘Forgiveness.’”

  “Gee, that’s kind of strange for a Christmas Eve sermon. I don’t get it.”

  “I think it’s perfect for a Christmas Eve sermon. It’s where the story of ultimate forgiveness starts.”

  “Yeah, I guess you’re right. I never thought of that. Mom, can I finish mixing those?”

  “No, honey, I’m through. It’s ready to be rolled out and then we can cut them.”

  Millie’s attention was back on her father. She seemed to forget all about the cookies. Her eyes told him she had something else suddenly on her mind.

  “Daddy, Mamma. You know what I’d like to do? You remembe
r how we used to go downtown and eat lunch every Christmas Eve at Beecher’s when I was little? Let’s go today. We could walk down like we used to and eat hot dogs and ice cream sundaes. What do you say? Can we?”

  Paul looked at his wife working dough with a rolling pin. He spoke to his daughter while never taking his eyes off his wife.

  “I can’t think of anything I’d rather do. You go wash the flour off your face and get your coat, and as soon as your mother, if it’s okay with her, gets those cookies out of the oven, we’ll head down to the big city and have a feast.”

  Millie left the room in a near run. Paul picked up the reindeer cookie cutter and began to make imprints in the flattened dough.

  “Who was on the phone?”

  “Colleen Sandridge.”

  Dove looked up in surprise. “Is everything all right?”

  “Everything’s fine. She was just calling to pass along an update. Milton is going to be all right. He’ll miss Christmas this year, but he’ll have a lot more ahead of him and she was thankful for that kind of good news.”

  “Paul.” Dove began, then said nothing more until she finished placing the cutouts on the tray and shoving them in the oven. She wiped her hands on her apron. “Paul, you know I went to school with Milton back in Richmond.”

  “Yes, I knew that.”

  “And not just school. I went to the prom and football games and the Christmas dance and …”

  “Yes, I knew that, too.”

  “Had I told you that?”

  “No. Your mother did about ten years ago. One time when they were visiting, she saw him at church. That’s when she told me.”

  “I’m sorry. I’m sorry it was my mother who told you and not me.”

  “So am I.”

  Paul went to the sink to wash his hands. Dove took off her apron and put it on the back of a chair. When she turned around, he was looking at her. She felt her face go flush and she dropped her eyes and began cleaning the countertop. When she looked up again, he was still watching, looking not just at her, but into her.