“OH!” she exclaimed as she jumped sideways and crashed into the counter. SNAP! near her elbow. SNAP! “OOOOOH!” As much as she wanted to lurch again she made herself stand perfectly still, her back plastered against the counter.
“JOSH! JOSHUA MATTHEW KINNEY! GET YOURSELF DOWN HERE RIGHT THIS INSTANT!” When the kitchen light suddenly flipped on, she threw her hand over her eyes.
“Mom! What are you doing down here in the dark?” He scanned the tripped mousetraps surrounding his mom on the floor and countertop. “OHMYGOSH! Did any of them get you? Are you all right?” His mom was as stiff as a board, like somebody had yelled FREEZE during one of those old yard games.
“I am, Joshua . . . I am . . . Thank goodness I didn’t take my shoes off! I am. . . .” And then she doubled over laughing as she spied the multitudes of mousetraps that lined the baseboards and countertops. “I am trapped!”
“No, Mom, Shelby did not come in the house or the barn. Shelby wasn’t involved at all; Kevin took me shopping and brought me home.”
Dear Alex and Outtamyway (a.k.a. Original Bearer of Mouse-in-the-house news),
What a night it was last night! You haven’t heard all of this, Alex, but here’s the recap: Dorothy told mom there were mice on the farm and mom then found “evidence.” She has yet to call “it” anything else. (Come on mom, just one time at least call it DOO!) Since I thought it was so funny (and mom said you did too, Dorothy), she told me I was the one who had to clean “the evidence” out of the drawers and deal with the issue, disposing of anything the traps might catch.
Good thing the “anything” that tripped a few traps the first night they were set didn’t get caught in one of them because otherwise I’d have to be getting rid of . . . MOM!
If either one of you come to visit, BEWARE! (And Alex, when *can* you get down here from Chicago again? And Dorothy, when are *you* coming to the farm again so we can get in one last crawdad hunt before it gets too cold? And Alex, that crawdad hunt invite goes for you too, man! And Dorothy, think your grandsons are gonna make it for a visit before the snow flies? Questions. I’ve got questions.) Mom seems to think I went to the extreme, but I say if you want to catch ALL the mice, set a ton of traps. It didn’t seem to me like a dozen in the kitchen was too many since those things are so cheap to buy! The expensive part is the cheese since the only stuff we had on hand was mom’s gross cheese from the health food store in Chicago. (I didn’t think the mice would even like it but it’s all we had.) Not sure which made her madder: “the evidence,” getting snapped at by traps or seeing what I’d put in them. Poor mom . . . Believe it or not, though, we did end up sharing a good laugh. (Score one for the momster!)
Later, you guy and guy-ette. Gotta do homework.
Joshmeister
Josh,
What will you think of next for entertainment down there on the farm? Trust me, there’s nothing that exciting happening here in the city. Unless you count the fact that Jennifer (yes, THAT Jennifer) smiled at me in the hall yesterday. I might try asking her out—again. Speaking of women, say hi to Shelby for me, you love-struck sap. Later. English exam tomorrow.
Alex
PS I’m talking to mom about maybe coming down there. Will let you know what she decides. She probably won’t say until after she gets my latest English exam grade. Don’t hold your breath.
Dear Joshmeister (and Alex too),
BUDGET HINT: mice really like peanut butter. But it sounds like they don’t stand a chance unless they learn to fly. Now wouldn’t that be a sight! (They could dive-bomb us with “evidence.”)
As for a crawdad hunt, I’m ready when you are. Don’t answer me tonight since you’re supposed to be studying, but how about this Saturday morning? If we can believe the weatherman (which we usually cannot), it’s supposed to be warmer this weekend.
Now get back to the books. Both of you. And Alex, “i” goes before “e” except after “c” . . . then again, sometimes that doesn’t apply either. HA!
Outtamyway
6
“I just can’t imagine why someone in town hasn’t thought of this before,” Dorothy said as she leaned in toward Pastor Delbert Junior who was sitting across from her at his desk, “especially since times have been a little tough for so many folks the last couple of years, what with the mine layoffs and all. Come to think about it, though, I guess there’ve always been folks who are alone on holidays. Folks whose families are scattered hither and yon or who’ve passed on.”
“Isn’t that often the way of it, Dorothy? Every time I use the plastic squeeze ketchup bottle I wonder what took us so long to come up with it.”
Dorothy hesitated a moment, shifting gears from Thanksgiving to ketchup. She figured out that he was talking about the simplicity of just squeezing the plastic ketchup bottle versus pounding a glass one to death. She nodded her head in agreement. “Do you think folks at St. Auggie’s will be interested? I know you and Father O’Sullivan are good friends. Should you run it by him or should I? Or is there . . .”
“Whoa, Dorothy! One thing at a time. Have you presented this idea to our own Social Concerns Committee? Sounds like something under their jurisdiction. I know you’re on the committee, but what do the others think?”
Dorothy sighed. The last thing she wanted to do was activate Gladys, the head of the committee, and, in Gladys’s own opinion, the boss of the town—if not the universe. No sirree, if they were trying to keep things simple, giving Gladys the reins would not be the answer. She liked May Belle’s thoughts about the younger women at St. Auggie’s maybe running the show. But how to get Gladys to go along with that?
“No, I haven’t talked to our committee yet. I will, though, before we contact anyone at St. Auggie’s.” Pastor straightened his glasses from right to left, then left to right as he studied her. “You look like you’re not at all sure about this, Pastor Delbert. What are you thinking?”
“I’m thinking, Dorothy, that there isn’t much time to prepare. I’m thinking that you’d have no idea how many folks might show up, so how could you plan? I’m thinking my glasses are making me crazy and I’m wondering if I made a mistake not even attempting to try contact lenses. I’m thinking, Dorothy, that I am not concentrating very well today.”
Dorothy relaxed her eyebrows, smiled and nodded her head up and down. “My moment with the Big Guy went just about like this the other night. I sat down in my prayer chair next to my bed, picked up my Bible, said ‘Good evening, Lord,’ and the next thing I knew, I was picturing myself in the barn staring out the window at the harvested fields. ‘Sorry,’ I said, and started praying again. Wouldn’t you know that within five seconds my mind had wandered off again? I can’t imagine being God, can you?”
With a punch of determination Pastor rammed his glasses up on his nose as though if he pushed hard enough they might stay there for more than ten seconds. “Dorothy, sometimes I can’t even imagine being me and this is turning into one of those moments.”
“You know, Pastor Delbert, I think you could use a vacation.”
“Dorothy, you sound just like my wife. She’s been telling me that for months.”
“She’s right, you know. But before you go on vacation, how about we finish discussing the possibility of a Thanksgiving dinner.”
“Why don’t you go ahead and give Father O’Sullivan a call yourself. He’d be delighted to hear from you anyway. He always asks about you when we get together for coffee. But don’t forget: you need to get approval from our committee first.”
“If we can get this worked out, do you think we could hold it in our church basement?”
“I don’t see why not.”
“At least that’s one detail off the list!” Dorothy stood and Pastor followed suit. As usual, he stood so quickly that his well-worn office chair rolled back away from him and crashed into the wall, leaving its next notch in the paint.
“I’ll keep you posted!” Dorothy whirled on her heels and began chugging up the stairs to the narthex be
fore Pastor had even said good-bye. She was on a mission. Within thirty minutes after she’d returned home, she’d made all the calls.
Sarah Sue chewed on her fist, then on her teething ring, then on her other fist. She was lying on her back in the portable crib Katie had purchased for Jessica as a baby gift a few months earlier. Although Katie believed it to be a practical gift, she’d also selected it with slightly selfish motives knowing it would enable Jessica to feel more secure coming out to the farm for a visit since she’d have a place to safely hold Sarah Sue captive once she started to roll and roam a little.
“Why is it so entertaining to watch a baby chew on things?” Jessica mused more than asked. Sarah Sue’s heart-shaped mouth was an exact duplicate of her mother’s and they smiled at each other with adoration.
“Because it means you’re not doing something else more taxing and because babies just naturally make us happy,” Katie said, never once removing her eyes from Sarah Sue’s wet chunky fingers that thrashed through the air as fast as her little legs were kicking.
“Yes,” Jessica said flatly as she leaned back in her chair and gazed out Katie’s living room window, “babies make us happy.”
“You say that like you’re not sure today. Was Sarah Sue up last night?”
“Nope. I was, though.”
“Bad dream?”
“You might say that.” Jessica was still staring out the window wishing her stomach would stop rolling while at the same time being grateful it didn’t feel like it was rolling quite hard enough to make her sick—at least not at the moment. Katie stared at her friend, waiting for further explanation, but none came. She bent down, scooped Sarah Sue into her arms and planted a kiss on her forehead.
“So,” Jessica said as she folded her hands over her abdomen, “tell me about the great mousetrap adventure. You said you had quite the story to share.”
“How about I get us something to drink first.” Katie gave Sarah Sue one more kiss, this time on her left ear, then passed her to her mother who’d raised her arms. “Want water, iced tea, diet cola, maybe a glass of wine?”
As tempting as a glass of wine sounded, Jessica knew she better take a pass on it, just in case. “I’ll have an ice water, please.” She wasn’t one for much imbibing, but every once in awhile a small glass of wine did her good.
“Be right back. Hold your places,” Katie said over her shoulder.
Jessica put Sarah Sue back in her portable crib, then rearranged herself on the couch in slow motion as though doing so would keep her body from stirring up trouble. She grabbed hold of a lock of her hair and began twisting it around her finger while she stared at her daughter, trying to imagine what it would be like to have a newborn too. How old would Sarah Sue be when the baby was born? Gads! Barely over a year! She put her hands on her abdomen again and groaned. It just couldn’t be. That’s all there was to it. Financially it would be a disaster, although she was sure, like always, God would help them find a way. But emotionally . . . she just wasn’t sure she had it in her.
Katie came back with their drinks and the two of them chatted for another hour. Jessica barely took a sip. When Katie had to repeat a couple of things to her, Jessica finally realized she was now spending more time fretting she might get sick than listening. “I gotta get going,” she said, picking Sarah Sue up and settling her on her cocked hip.
Katie picked up the diaper bag and slung it over Jessica’s shoulder for her. “Thanks for coming out. Want the crib?”
“Nah. Just leave it here again. This is the only place I bring it anyway, since I get so few breaks.” The two of them passed through the kitchen, Jessica having parked her old compact car near the back door where everyone always parked. Her eyes landed on the plastic bag with the rolled up nubby rug sticking out the top. She walked over for a closer inspection, fingering the texture with the hand that wasn’t wrapped around her daughter. She turned and looked at the kitchen, then back at the rug.
“Perfect colors! Perfect. And I love the feel of it. Where you gonna put it?”
“Back on the store’s shelf. I bought it for inside the back door over there but the door won’t clear it. I tried putting it in front of the sink but it’s too bulky there. I just love the looks of that thing, but it just won’t work.”
Jessica walked over to the back door and squinted her eyes around Katie’s kitchen. “Oh! You know where it would look wonderful? Across your kitchen table. Either direction. If you ran it the short way it could serve as two placemats. If you ran it lengthwise,” she said, walking toward the table, “you could put a centerpiece on it and . . .”
Katie squinted her eyes like Jessica was doing. It was a mystery to Katie how Jessica could “see” this way. All she saw was a rolled-up rug sticking out of the top of a bag and an empty kitchen table. “Think? I don’t see it.”
Jessica plucked the rug out of the bag and tried to place it on the table while still holding her daughter. “Here,” Katie said, taking the rug, “let me do it.” The minute the rug hit the table she knew her friend was, as always, precisely right about anything having to do with decorating. “You, my dear, are a genius. This makes the most perfect table runner! I swear, there isn’t a problem you can’t fix!”
“Yes, there might be,” Jessica replied quietly. But that’s all she said before she left.
The Landers clan didn’t arrive at Harry’s until 8 A.M. After they’d all agreed that breakfast out would be nice, Arthur had stated the night before he always arrived when the doors opened at exactly 6 A.M. “It’s good to get there at the crack of dawn,” he’d said, to which his cousin had responded, “Sometimes, Arthur, dawn don’t crack until later than you think. Kind of like an optical illusion.” Three of them had laughed; Arthur had just grunted but he’d also hoped Herm and Vera would awaken earlier than they’d been getting up, which was later each day. Somehow since their last visit he’d managed to forget their penchant for sleeping in since, well, it just wasn’t like a Landers to sleep in. When they’d finally arrived at Harry’s, there wasn’t room for the four of them to sit at the counter together so, with a sigh, Arthur made the sacrifice and bypassed his stool. They sat at Cora’s usual post at the window table since she had already come and gone.
“What’ll it be?” Lester asked as he whipped his pad out of the pocket in his makeshift apron, which was really a large dishtowel doubled in half and tied around his slim hips. Although he usually donned an ugly stained apron, when he looked through his freshly washed apron inventory today—all two of them—he’d decided to toss them both in the rag bag. He’d decided that sometimes a guy could be too frugal and made a note to call the restaurant supply place tomorrow.
“Could we see a couple of menus, please?” Vera asked. Arthur gave Lester an apologetic shrug. Lester pointed to the sheet of paper standing between the salt and pepper. The makeshift menu was hand scrawled and tucked in a plastic page protector. Vera picked it up and began to read it out loud to Herm. “Two eggs, two strips of bacon, home fries, toast and coffee for . . .”
“I don’t care how much it costs, Vera. We’re on vacation!” A tone of happiness wrapped his words.
“Right, Herm,” she said, reading the rest to herself, only her lips moving.
“That’ll be separate checks,” Herm said to Lester while pointing two fingers first at himself and Vera, then at Arthur and Jessie. Although they might be on vacation, he wasn’t that big of a spender. Jessie kicked Arthur under the table to stop him from saying what she knew was on his lips.
“Whatcha kickin’ me for, woman?”
Jessie’s face darkened. She should have known better. “I was just trying to cross my legs, Arthur.”
“Jist bring us one check,” Arthur said to Lester. “I guess I kin afford to buy my cuz and his wife a breakfast. After all, we ain’t seen ’em for a long spell. That and I figure he kin buy the next meal—or several.”
Vera tapped Herm’s leg under the table, figuring she knew what he was about to say.
“Rather than working to keep track of whose turn it is, let’s just keep things separate this trip, okay?” Herm looked back at Lester and repeated his two-by-two gesture. Lester grunted and flipped his pad back to the previous page again. Lester remembered Herm all too well from the last time he was at the grill. He just wanted to get their orders and be done with them.
Both women sat in stunned silence since neither of their husbands had said what they’d expected they would, even though neither had been able to take a hint. Jessie thought Arthur was going to tease—or should she say chastise?—Herm about it being his turn to buy since Arthur was buying all the meals out at the farm, even though she was cooking them, and Vera thought Herm was going to remind Arthur that he and Vera had bought that fancy dinner out at the country club the last time Arthur and Jessie came to visit them, since he’d brought it up a time or two before. What neither woman expected, however, was what Herm said next, and that was what he said to Lester, which sadly reminded them all of what they’d forgotten since last they were together.
“Correct me if my memory serves me wrong here, Lester,” Herm said (feel the unleashing begin!), “but ain’t you the guy ol’ Arthur stole Jessie from?” (ShaZAM!) This time the women responded like a professional wrestling tag-team, simultaneously hiding nothing and whapping their husbands on the arm above the table (well, Jessie whapped and Vera tapped). They did so in hopes it would snap some sense into them before they said anything else and this age-old sore spot revved up again. Although Arthur and Herm seemed to think it was just old water under the bridge and something to poke fun at, it seemed perfectly clear to the women that by the look on Lester’s face, it was not a topic for open season. Water under the bridge? Yes. Funny? No.
Dearest Dorothy, Who Would Have Ever Thought?! Page 6