“Back to exercise again? How’d you do that? Guess it beats talking about the weather, although I have to say we’ve sure had our ups and downs out east here when it comes to the hots and colds.”
“Same here. One day there’s not a cloud in the sky and the weather feels like Indian summer; the next it’s damp and cold and makes you think snow is just over yonder and blowing our way.”
“You been out to the farm lately?”
“No. No wheels, remember?” She pointedly worked to keep the hard knock of that loss of her independence out of her voice. “But I’m planning on going tomorrow if the weather holds out. Josh is picking me up. We’re hoping to get in one last crawdad hunt before the season closes. I think we’re pushing it now, though.”
“So you and Josh are still buddies, huh?” Jacob thought back to the farm auction, how his brother Vinnie’s sons had at first been jealous of their grandmother’s relationship with Josh. But by the time they’d all spent a few days together—and especially after the crawdad hunt—Dorothy had made it quite evident who was her flesh-and-blood and who was her good friend. She’d also made it sparkling clear there was room for all of them. Same as she obviously tried to do when it came to Katie, Vinnie and himself—although like his mother, Vinnie was just naturally a more trusting type so he’d taken to the city slicker quicker. Even though Jacob and Katie had seemed to at least come to terms before they all parted ways, he still carried this niggling feeling of distrust about her.
“Well, I hope you get your one last hunt in, Mom, but to be honest with you, I have concerns about you wading in the creek. You know it can be slippery. And I don’t want you catching a chill. You know . . .”
“Jacob Henry, this is starting to sound like a mini lecture. Is that what you’re meaning to give?” Although he couldn’t see her grinning, he heard it in her voice.
“Busted. Okay, we’re even. I know you’re capable of taking care of yourself, Mom. I just worry about you.”
“Yes, and that’s one of the billions of reasons I love you. Let me get serious a minute here, son. If you do get to come for Thanksgiving, how would you feel about helping to serve a Thanksgiving dinner at church rather than eating at my house?”
He gave it some thought. “Will Vinnie be able to bring his sons?”
“I talked to him just before I called you. He said he’s coming no matter what, and that it looks like the boys will be with him. Although he wasn’t one hundred percent sure, he said Joan was thinking about going to Cancun for the holidays. Apparently she’s been seeing someone who invited her and the boys on this swell vacation. The boys declined. ‘Refused,’ was the exact word Vinnie used. Told her to go ahead and go if she wanted, so it sounds like that’s what she’s going to do, since she knew Vinnie would be glad to have the boys.”
“Wow. How’s Vinnie handling this, Joan seeing someone? Someone who has invited her and his sons on a vacation?”
“Same as he always does. Says ‘To each his own and we’re each owned by the same loving Father.’”
“Now where do you think he got that line?” he joked. Jacob had heard it fly out of his mom’s lips time and again throughout his life, and his brother’s—not to mention Caroline Ann’s, his beloved sister. “What I wouldn’t give to hear Sis say that again. I’ve been thinking about her a lot lately.” A long silence passed between them.
“Me, too. Me, too, son.” Caroline Ann had been the sibling who worked at softening Jacob, the sibling who could loosen him up, challenge him when he was being grumpy, make him laugh out loud. All loved by the same loving Father.... What was so loving about a God who would let someone die from breast cancer, he’d often wondered? The fact he questioned everything that way was probably why he was a good lawyer. And yet, he secretly longed for just a dose of whatever it was his family members had that made them so strong in their faith.
“Well,” he said, chippering up his tone of voice, “I’m anxious to see everybody else! I’ll let you know when I’m coming in. In the meantime, though, I better get back to work. Thanks for calling, Mom. I love you.”
“Wait! Don’t hang up! What do you think about my Thanksgiving idea?”
“Whatever makes you happy, Mom. Might be a good way for all of us to make the transition. I was already thinking how odd it would feel to not be out at the farm.” Yes, it would be odd, indeed. And sad, they both thought, although neither spoke it.
Theresa Brewton, the daughter of one of Dorothy’s oldest and now departed friends, said the St. Auggie’s Social Concerns Committee was excited about the idea of a Thanksgiving Dinner, especially since they’d talked about the very same possibility a month ago but had just never gotten going on it. “I do believe,” Dorothy said with joy in her voice, “that God is tapping us on the shoulder!” Theresa quite agreed, laughed, then said she would, however, like to talk to God about the extremely short notice—which set them both to laughing. Father O’Sullivan had said their building was pretty booked up with one meeting and another, but they all agreed if they could use the UMC basement, they didn’t see why they couldn’t pull this off! “But we’ll need to keep the meal—the plan—simple,” Theresa added. Dorothy agreed (silently vowing to keep Gladys out of it!); told her Lester had volunteered to cook whatever was needed; her family would do potatoes (unless numbers got so high they needed another volunteer); May Belle would do some bar desserts and that she was sure UMC would be good for a few turkeys. Then Dorothy popped the All Important Question: “You think you can chair the joint event, Theresa?”
“I don’t see why not.”
“PRAISE GOD FROM WHOM ALL BLESSINGS FLOW!” Dorothy sang in her tenor voice right into the receiver.
“Wow. That’s quite a response!”
“You have no earthly idea just how happy that makes me!”
Jessie had to get some time to herself or she was going to explode. While the other three guests (Arthur might as well be a guest the way I have to wait on him hand and foot! ) had walked back to the creek, she’d headed out Saturday morning and left a note on the kitchen table. Arthur wanted to point out to Herm and Vera the designated park area, the access road set to run right down the property line between Crooked Creek Farm and his property. Jessie told them to just go on ahead, saying she’d seen it all before. The minute they’d left she’d scrawled the note. “Need to run some errands. Help yourselves to anything while I’m gone. If I’m not home for lunch, eat leftovers or make yourselves some grilled cheese sandwiches.” She wanted to add a P.S. to Arthur saying, “I’m sure Herm and Vera can help you find the refrigerator,” but she stifled herself.
She fired up the sedan and headed down the lane wondering where she would go and where she’d say she’d been when she returned. All she knew for sure was that she needed to be by herself and that was all there was to it. Out of habit she turned right on the gravel road at the end of their driveway, which would lead her toward the hard road into Partonville. Realizing she didn’t want to see anyone she knew, she did a gravel-spitting U-turn and headed toward Hethrow. From the field, Arthur noticed the rooster tail of dust kicking up like a land-born jet stream heading that-a-way, but before it had completely evaporated it came zooming back on itself then raced off into the horizon. Mostly he recognized the sound of the Buick’s engine. He wondered where his moody wife had headed off to in such a hurry—she hadn’t said anything about going anywhere before they left—and he wondered what in the world kind of bees were swarming in her bonnet.
Jessie stayed on the hard road all the way to the interstate where she hopped on and headed north. Twenty miles later she decided she better stop before she no longer wanted to, her journey now feeling more like an escape than a brief getaway.
Yes, it was time to S-T-O-P and consider what she was doing.
“From what I heard tell,” Arthur said, still pointing his thick finger toward the bank of trees down the creek line toward Crooked Creek Farm, “this here so-called park ain’t gonna go past them trees. Do
rothy said they was talkin’ ’bout puttin’ in swings and such, but she’s agin it. Said we don’t need no playground when nature provides its own. ‘Yup,’ I told her. ‘That is absolutely true.’” Herm and Vera nodded their heads in agreement.
“Reckon they’ll even let the kids jump into the swimmin’ hole the way we used to, what with everybody bein’ lawsuit happy these days?” Herm stuffed his hands into his pockets, a faraway look in his eyes. He could remember countless youthful days they’d all gathered at Dorothy’s named trees by the swimmin’ hole and dropped like falling leaves into the creek from Woodsy’s strong branches, only to climb back up and do it all over again.
“I hadn’t thought ’bout that, but I bet yur exactly dad-gum right! Just leave it to them lawyers to ruin Dorothy’s best intentions.”
“Now, boys,” Vera said, “no sense getting yourselves all riled up before something even happens. And Herm, you know getting riled up will not be good for your blood pressure.” The men were both shaking their heads back and forth. It was hard to tell whether they were doing so because they thought she was wrong or to erase their own negative thinking.
“I know, Arthur, how about you play us a tune on your Hohner,” Vera said in a gear shift. “I see it peeking out of your pocket. It’s too nice of a day to be getting so wrought up about possibilities.”
Arthur never needed much encouragement to play his harmonica. Within a wink he was playing a soulful rendition of “Unforgettable,” which seemed like the perfect tune for the moment. He was good at that kind of thing, matching mood to moment. Even though it was a song with a happy lyric, he continued to grumble within himself about them dad-gum dirty dogs that might keep kids from havin’ their own memories. Insurances kin make things unforgettable before they’re even dad-gum experienced! After the last note was played and Vera was done clapping, Arthur shoved the Hohner back in its resident slot while Vera grabbed hold of Herm’s hand to give it a happy squeeze. Herm entwined his fingers with hers in a familiar gesture, which Arthur eyeballed.
“Why don’t you two lovebirds float a few sticks down the creek, just for old time’s sake. I’m gonna go see what that woman is up to. Maybe she’s got lunch on the table. If she does, I’ll ring our old lunch bell.” Although he hadn’t heard her come back, the Buick might have made its way up the driveway while he was playing, his eyes having been aimed at Weeping Willy, Woodsy and Willoway.
“I believe we’ll take you up on that, Art,” Herm said to his cousin. “You go on ahead. I reckon I can recall a few more stories I haven’t ever told Vera yet and I don’t imagine they’d be ones you’d want her to know, so better ya don’t hear me a tellin’ ’em.” Herm winked at Arthur but he doubted he saw it. Arthur had spun on his heels and headed toward the house before Herm’s eye was even back open again.
“. . . make yourselves some grilled cheese sandwiches.” Arthur had read every word of Jessie’s note out loud. “What errands?” he asked aloud. “We’ve got company, woman! And it’s lunchtime! Ya don’t ask company to git their own lunch!” He wadded up the note and stuffed it down deep in his pocket. He opened the refrigerator door and stared at all the containers and jars. He closed the door and decided to just wait it out. Surely she’d be back before Herm and Vera were. He marched into the living room, plopped into his La-Z-Boy and turned on the TV.
Herm and Vera continued holding hands as they strolled along the creek. Herm was indeed recollecting many memories, most she’d heard before. She didn’t mention that to Herm, though, because it did her heart good to see her husband enjoying himself. She’d been raised on a farm, too, but a dairy farm. Her farming memories were more attached to the endless hard work and long hours. Up before dawn; to bed practically right after dinner; do it all over again the next day. You just couldn’t decide to put off milking a cow to go swim in the creek if you wanted her to continue earning food for the table. Skip a milking or two and the cow could quit producing.
Vera loved Herm’s ability to tell such happy stories. She could almost feel the cool creek-water splashes, hear the boys shouting Annie-Annie Olson free—or whatever that phrase was. She chose not to interrupt Herm to ask him, even though she still didn’t understand what the phrase was, even though he’d just said it. When she was a girl she just mumbled whatever when it had been her turn. No, she didn’t wish to spoil his reverie; the more stories he told, the more he’d remember, one leading right into the next.
At some point, though, Vera wondered when she’d stopped listening and begun to wonder what was going on between Arthur and Jessie. What had really seemed to set Jessie off, and she couldn’t blame her, was Arthur’s insensitive statement about not knowing whether he’d won or lost. Kidding aside, it was an inappropriate comment and she didn’t blame Jessie for being mad about it.
“What did you say, Herm?” She realized rather than just talking, he’d asked her something.
“I said, what do you reckon is going on with Arthur and Jessie?”
“Why do you say that, Herm?” It gave Vera the goose bumps to think they’d been thinking about the same thing—not the first time.
“Because she hightailed it down the road right after we got to the creek. I don’t know what Arthur’s trying to pull, acting like he’s goin’ up ta see if lunch is ready yet. She ain’t returned.”
“How do you know she left?”
“I know the sound of a unique Buick when I hear it. And you didn’t notice that big rooster tail of dust comin’ and goin’ this way and that?”
Vera just sighed. No, she hadn’t heard or noticed anything about a car; all engines sounded alike to her. She had noticed, however, one of the same things Herm had, and that was the lack of a ringing dinner bell.
12
Josh and Dorothy gabbed nonstop all the way to Crooked Creek Farm, their chatter as lively as the clatter of the rocks on the undercarriage and the patter of the gentle rain that let loose for the last mile of their journey. Of course, that wouldn’t dissuade them from a creek adventure since, after all, part of the fun was “accidentally” getting wet anyway. By the time they pulled up next to the farmhouse, Katie was out the back door to greet them. Dorothy carefully stepped down from the tall SUV and moved back in front of Sheba’s door. “Do you remember this trick?” she asked Sheba, holding her arms out in front of her.
Sheba came flying through the back window right into her arms. Although it unsteadied Dorothy, it also thrilled her to pieces Sheba still did remember. It was, after all, the same way Sheba had exited The Tank nearly all the years of Sheba’s eight-year-old life before The Tank died and Dorothy made the decision she needed to quit driving. Josh broke into applause and Katie followed suit, although they’d both caught their breath when Dorothy had wobbled.
“What a grand welcome!” Dorothy said, setting Sheba down—who immediately hightailed it toward the barn and back again, then around their legs. “She thinks we’ve finally come home,” Dorothy said wistfully. She leaned down and patted Sheba’s head when she flew by. “Enjoy it while you can, Sheba. That’s just what I’m intending to do!” Dorothy opened the SUV’s rear door to retrieve her backpack. She slung it over both her shoulders and jostled it around until it settled on her back. Josh tried to talk her into letting him carry it but she told him she was a tougher old bird than he might think. She promised she’d turn it over if it got to be too much. The rain had stopped and she was ready to rumble. “Ready you two?” she asked Josh and Katie who were watching her gear up. “Let’s get this show on the road before the rain comes back. Oh, that little bit of rain will have awakened the earth’s aromas. I can hardly WAIT!”
“Don’t you want to come in and have a sip of something before we head out?” Katie asked.
“And have the call of my flabby old bladder cut the hunting short? Not on your life!”
“Let me grab my jacket,” Katie said. “You two go ahead and start down; I’ll catch up.” They didn’t need to be told twice; they were merrily jaunting that way
before Katie had reached the door to the back porch.
Before Josh had gone to pick up Dorothy and Sheba, he’d laid out the hunting supplies near the edge of the barn so they could just grab them on the way: his extra pair of shoes, a couple of towels—just in case, a small net (although hands were always better and Dorothy would say he was cheating if he tried to use the net anyway, but nonetheless, he had it too—just in case), a giant bag of potato chips and three cans of soda. He’d packed it all in an old waterproof army surplus bag his dad had once given him. Said he’d had it around for years (couldn’t even remember where he’d gotten it) and that his wife, Chloe, Josh’s stepmom—although he just called her Chloe—had been cleaning out the garage. Bruce thought Josh might like it. This was the first time Josh used it; it wasn’t the type of backpack you’d want to be seen with at school. Certainly not the upper-class Latin School he attended in Chicago when his dad had given it to him, and not Hethrow High either. Sometimes he didn’t think his dad knew him at all. Nonetheless, his dad had thought of him, so he’d kept it. After Josh shrugged on the backpack, he and Dorothy turned to see if Katie was on her way yet. Although she wasn’t, they kept moving toward the creek. “She’ll find us,” Josh said. Sheba was already near their destination, feet flying up behind her like they were paddling through the air, squirrels and other critters flying this way and that at her sudden intrusion.
Katie put on her expensive windbreaker and thought how dumb it was to wear such a good jacket to a creek, but it was the only lightweight jacket she owned. She recalled Jessica having teased her one day, asking her if she’d been shopping for barn clothes yet.
Dearest Dorothy, Who Would Have Ever Thought?! Page 12