by Billie Letts
But as soon as the sky began to turn pink Caney went out like he’d had a whiff of ether.
Sleep carried him so far under that he didn’t hear Vena stir, didn’t hear her fold away her bedding or tiptoe to the bathroom. But when he did begin to surface, in those few free moments drifting between dream and reality, he floated past watery images of a woman, dark hair spilling across a pillow, face turned toward dim light. And resting in her hand, a small glass horse.
When he awoke to the sound of the shower, he felt time rewinding itself, felt again the wonder of other mornings—rousing on the first day of summer vacation; opening his eyes to the sight of a key on his dresser, the key to his very own car; waking on a fast-moving train to the view of a city skyline—knowing in those first delicious moments he had something to feel good about, something to make him feel alive.
And today, that something was Vena Takes Horse.
When she stepped out of the bathroom, she was dressed in jeans and a plaid shirt, her hair wrapped in a towel, her feet bare.
“Did I wake you up?” she asked.
“No.”
She sat on the end of the couch, took a brush from her duffel bag and pulled the towel from around her head.
“Snow’s stopped,” she said.
“That’s too bad. I was hoping we’d get snowed in.”
“You wouldn’t have much business.”
“Yeah.” Caney grinned, obviously pleased by the idea.
“But if nobody could get in, then we couldn’t get out.”
“That’d suit me just fine.” Caney scooted himself up on one elbow and watched Vena brushing her hair. “There’s nothing out there I want anyway.”
As Vena reached into her bag for a barrette, the dog spied her and, struggling, pushed itself up on its two front legs, then hung its head over the side of the box.
“Hey, girl. Looks like you’re feeling a little bit better.”
“Is that what you named her? Girl?”
“I hadn’t really thought about it.”
“How about Harvey? That’s a good name.”
“For a female?”
“Harvette? Harvelina?”
Vena laughed then, the first real laugh Caney had heard from her.
“Harvey was a little terrier my aunt got me when I was seven or eight,” Caney said. “Only dog I ever had.”
“Lord, we had so many pets we ran out of names.”
“You live on a farm?”
“More like a zoo. My sister took in strays. Dogs, cats, rabbits, squirrels—whatever needed a home. And it didn’t matter if they were sick or pregnant or hurt, Helen kept them all. Once she had so many dogs she named two of them Lucky.”
“Were they?”
“I guess so. They both got distemper and I thought for sure I’d lose them, but they pulled through.”
“You took care of them?”
“Had to. Helen went all to pieces when her animals were sick. She couldn’t stand to see them suffer, so she made me doctor them.”
“How’d she swing that?”
“She was my big sister. And I was crazy about her. Besides, I liked messing with the plants and—”
“Whoa! I’m lost here.”
“Our grandpa taught me a little about Cherokee medicine.”
“I thought you were Crow.”
“My dad was Crow, but my mom was Cherokee. So was my husband.”
“Oh.” Caney tried not to let his expression change when he asked, “You still married?”
“No. That was a long time ago.” Vena pulled on a pair of socks, then reached for her boots. “Anyway, my grandpa showed me how to mix up salves, poultices. Teas. Berry wines.”
“Now how do you get a squirrel to drink wine?”
“Well, sometimes I treated people, too.”
Caney made a face of surprise.
“Nothing very serious,” Vena said. “Toothaches, colds, rashes. Now and then my mom had some kidney trouble.”
“Seems pretty serious to me.” Caney reached for a cigarette. “How do you treat kidney trouble?”
“Make a tea out of devil’s shoestring.”
“Sounds like a rock band.”
“Oh, some of the plants have great names. Turkey beard. Lady’s thumb. Jack-in-the-pulpit. Mountain ditney.”
“So what do you use that stuff for?”
“Poison ivy, ringworm, snakebite.”
“You treated snakebite?”
“Yeah. Helen had a cat named Peabo. Lord, she loved that cat. One summer Peabo tangled up with a rattlesnake and got bit on the thigh. Leg swelled up three times its size.
“Helen came apart. Couldn’t sleep, wouldn’t eat. Said if Peabo died, she was going to starve herself. And I was afraid she might. So I mixed up a poultice of mountain ditney and kept it on that cat for a week. Day and night.”
“Did Peabo live?”
“Only six more years.”
“Damn! You ever think about going to medical school?”
“Me? No! Helen was the smart one. Valedictorian in high school, honor student in nursing school.”
“Wait a minute. You treated your mother, you saved the two Luckys, you saved Peabo. Your sister couldn’t stand to see anything in pain, yet it was your sister—”
“Who became an RN.”
“But you’re the one who had the cure for snakebite and poison ivy and kidney trouble.”
“Yeah, I had some cures”—Vena’s eyes suddenly seemed to lose their light—“but I didn’t have what Helen needed.”
MollyO was hardly through the door of the Honk before she made her announcement.
“I’m going to be a grandma!”
Caney, momentarily at a loss for a reaction, forced an uncertain smile.
Vena lifted her coffee cup in the gesture of a toast and said, “Congratulations.”
Life moved quickly to take advantage of the moment, grabbed MollyO around the waist and danced her across the floor.
Bui, with absolutely no idea of what was happening, was nevertheless caught up in the celebratory mood and fell into a wild excitement of bowing.
Throughout the morning, MollyO repeated her news many times, but most of her customers, at least those as old as she was, responded by pulling out pictures of their own grandchildren, whom they declared to be not only beautiful, but talented and sweet as well.
The exception was Wilma Driver.
“This is my grandson Ronnie,” she said as she flipped through pictures in her billfold. “He’s nineteen, ugly and stupid. Doesn’t work, doesn’t go to school, doesn’t bathe.”
Trying to sound unfazed, MollyO asked, “What does he do, Wilma?”
“Drugs. Now this one is Erin, fourteen. She’s trying to sleep with every boy on the football team before her junior year. If she does, she wins five hundred dollars.”
“Now who would pay her to do a thing like that?”
“The football team. Here’s Robby, the best-looking one of the bunch. Well, he will be if they can do something with his ears. He’s an eleven-year-old pyromaniac. Set the garage on fire twice, burned down his sister’s playhouse and he’s a suspect in the arson of the bookmobile. And guess what he wants to be when he grows up?” Without waiting for an answer, Wilma supplied one. “A fireman.”
“Oh, Wilma, I can’t imagine—”
“Wait, there’s one more. Ashley. She’s eight, and according to her, an alien. Claims she’s from a planet called Klynot and refuses to eat anything green. Says if she does, she’ll turn to slime.”
But MollyO was too happy to let one grumbling grandmother spoil her day. As soon as Wilma left, she grabbed the JCPenney catalog and started making a list of the baby furniture she intended to put on layaway that very day.
Shortly after noon, a young man dressed in overalls, heavy boots and a baseball cap crawled out of a mudsplattered pickup and ambled toward the door. Hamp Rothrock at twenty still looked too lean and boyish to be called handsome, but MollyO could tell he’
d be a knockout by the time he hit twenty-five.
He’d gone steady with Brenda for almost a year; she’d gone steady with him for eighteen days. They had broken up just before Hamp’s graduation, when Brenda, a sophomore, quit school for the first time. As far as MollyO knew, Hamp had never dated another girl.
“I’ll swear, you’re getting better looking every day,” MollyO said.
Hamp, grinning, turned almost as red as his hair.
“How’s your daddy, Hamp?”
“He’s doing okay. About finished with his chemo. Two more treatments.”
“They think that’ll take care of it?”
“Yes, ma’am. That’s what they say.”
“That’s good news. Your daddy’s a fine man.”
Hamp nodded, twisting the work gloves he held in his hand.
“So what can I get for you today? We have a meatloaf special.”
“Nothing, really. I just came in to ask about Brenda. Bobby Swink said he thought he saw her in town yesterday.”
“He probably did.”
Hamp let his eyes slide over the dining room. “Is she still here?”
“No, she didn’t stick around long.”
“Oh,” he said, trying to hide the disappointment behind a smile. “She still singing her music?”
“She sure is. Matter of fact, she’s on her way to Las Vegas. She’s booked into a club there.”
“Well, that’s fine. That’s what she wanted. And she deserves it, too. She has a real pretty voice.”
“I know she’d appreciate that, Hamp.”
“You know when she might be coming back through?”
“She’s going to be here before too long, but—”
“She is?” Hamp pulled off his cap and ran his fingers through his hair as if he needed a head start to get ready for Brenda’s return. “You know when?”
“I’m not sure, but… Hamp, she’s getting married.”
As the news settled inside him, his boyish smile brittled and threatened to crack. “Anyone I know?”
“He’s not from around here. Truth is, I don’t even know him yet, but I will. Him and Brenda’s gonna have a baby, Hamp.”
“Oh.” Hamp sucked his bottom lip between his teeth and bit down hard. “I bet she’s happy.”
“Yeah, she seems to be.”
“Brenda’ll be a good mother.” Hamp cupped his hat back on his head as he took a step toward the door. “Guess I better be getting back. Got some calves to take to the auction in Broken Bow.”
“Hamp, you take care of yourself, you hear?”
“Yes, ma’am. I’ll do that.”
MollyO watched as Hamp hurried back to his truck, and as he pulled away, she saw him wipe the back of his hand across his cheek.
Right after lunch, MollyO started taking down the Christmas decorations. While she was rolling up a strand of red tinsel, Bui sidled up, then stood waiting until she noticed him standing beside her.
“Miss Ho,” he said, holding out his letter. “Can you mailing for me?”
“Sure, Bui.”
“But I cannot to knowing what is this.” He tapped the upper corner of the envelope.
“The return address? Here.” MollyO took the letter and wrote the address of the Honk. “Now,” she said, “it’s ready to go. I’ll take it to the post office when I go downtown to make the bank deposit.”
Bui pulled some bills from his pocket, neatly folded ones, and handed them to her.
“I’ve never mailed a letter to France before.”
“My wife,” Bui said, running his finger across Nguyet’s name on the envelope.
“Your wife lives in France?”
“Wife in Vietnam. But no can mailing to Vietnam. Cousin in France can mailing.”
MollyO nodded like she understood.
After she finished with the tinsel and packed the Barbies away, she started taking ornaments from the Christmas tree.
“Want me to get that?” Vena said when the phone rang.
“Yeah.”
“Honk and Holler,” Vena said into the receiver. “Yes, it is.” She lowered her voice so that almost all her conversation was muffled. But once, when her voice rose with frustration, MollyO heard her say, “I know it was a long time ago, but… Look, are you sure you’re spelling it right? Yes. S-a-n-c-h-e-z. Carmelita Sanchez.”
Minutes later, when she hung up, Vena brushed past MollyO on her way to the kitchen to ask Caney for a cigarette. As she bent for a light, her hand was trembling.
“You okay?” he asked.
“Just a little ragged, I guess. Nothing a hit of nicotine won’t cure.”
“You didn’t get enough sleep. Tonight, I’ll take the couch, you get the bed.”
“Oh, no. I’ll go to my place. They should have the utilities on today.”
“Vena, stay here tonight. Tomorrow night. As long as you want.”
“Caney…”
“Hell, no point in you paying rent when you can stay here for nothing.”
She started to walk away, but at the door stopped, and with her back to him, said, “Caney, you need to know… I’ll be moving on.”
“Well, I didn’t think you came to stay. Didn’t figure you planned to make a career working here.”
“Just so you understand.” She turned, then studied his face. “I won’t be around long.”
Caney grinned at that. “Hell, none of us will, Vena.” He shook his head. “None of us will.”
When they heard the tinkle of breaking glass followed by a moan from MollyO, they hurried out front where they found her kneeling behind the counter, picking through pieces of her nativity scene.
“I broke it,” she said.
“What?” Caney asked.
“The baby. I broke the baby Jesus.”
Chapter Fourteen
BY THE END of the week, Sequoyah had turned almost balmy. The last traces of the Christmas snow disappeared as the temperature climbed into the seventies, prompting the old-timers to warn that such weather was sure to spread some new strain of influenza for which they were quick to blame Asians, causing them to view Bui with even greater suspicion.
But on Sunday, a clear day with a warm southern breeze, most folks were giving little thought to the flu, Asian or otherwise.
The cafe filled early, first with bands of yawning duck hunters, then with an odd assortment of bikers. Though they called themselves the Harley Hellions, they were a docile bunch of circus people who wintered in Hugo every year.
Caney was churning out orders as fast as MollyO and Vena could pick them up while Bui, determined to be helpful, bused tables when he wasn’t burning toast.
By the time the churchgoers arrived for breakfast, the Honk was packed. Five members of the Lord’s Ladies’ Bible Class were waiting impatiently for a table and had just reminded MollyO for the second time that Sunday school started promptly at nine-thirty.
And that’s when the power went out.
Caney tried to call the electric co-op in Sallisaw for almost an hour before he finally got through on the emergency line to report the problem. But his wasn’t the first call they had received.
A traffic accident on I-40 had sent a propane transport truck barreling into an electric substation where it overturned, knocking out power to most of the county. Four thousand gallons of propane would have to be pumped from the damaged truck into another transport before the co-op crew could begin repairs, which would certainly take most of the day.
While Caney finished up the last of the orders, Vena and MollyO served the last of the coffee. Then, with no lights inside or out, and with the ice machine and coffeemaker shut down, the Honk closed for the first time in nearly twelve years.
The problem of what to do with the food in the freezer was solved by Life Halstead who offered the use of his sister’s meat locker over in Stony Point. The only problem, Life explained, was transportation because his truck was in the shop. But, he added, if MollyO would take her car, he’d be glad to go
along.
When she agreed, Life tried not to show his joy over the power outage, but secretly he was thrilled that he would have her to himself for a while. And if he got lucky, he might have her all day.
“I was thinking,” he said, “that when we leave Stony Point, we might take us a drive.”
“Life, going to Stony Point is a drive.”
“But we could go on, drive up the Winding Stair, have supper at that fancy place at the top.”
“The Wilhelmina Lodge?”
“They tell me while you sit there eating, you can look out the window and see the clouds down below.”
“That sounds nice, Life, but I don’t think so.”
“Why not? You’re off work, it’s a right nice day and we’re heading in that direction anyway.”
“This’ll be a good time for me to get some things done at home.”
“What things?”
“Oh, I need to do my hair, catch up on some ironing.”
“Your hair looks great and there ain’t a wrinkle on you. Besides, the electricity is out.”
“Life, I just—”
“Come on, MollyO. We’ll have fun.”
“Well, we’ll see,” she said, but when she smiled, Life knew he had her.
While Life and Bui loaded the freezer packages into her car, MollyO finished up in the dining room, then carried the last of the dishes into the kitchen where Caney was cleaning the grill.
“Where’s Vena?” he asked.
“I don’t know.”
“Is she outside?”
“Caney, I don’t think I’ve seen her since the power went out.”
“She might be in the utility room.”
“No, I just took some towels in there.”
“Maybe she’s in the bathroom.”
“Probably.” MollyO rinsed a stack of plates at the sink, then loaded them into the dishwasher. “Well, that’s about the best we can do without electricity,” she said as she pulled off her apron. “Tomorrow morning I’ll—”
They both looked up as the back door flew open and Vena, breathless and windblown, stuck her head inside.
“I’ve got a surprise for you, Caney.”
“What?”
“Come out and see.”
Caney wheeled to the doorway with MollyO right behind him. Outside, tethered to the handle of an old refrigerator, stood a magnificent sorrel gelding.