She left the television on and was jarred awake twice by the blaring of the National Weather Service warnings. Ivy jumped up both times to look out the window. It still rained, and the trees in the distance danced in the winds, but nothing that kept her from drifting back to sleep.
Ivy and her siblings had grown up in Tornado Alley in the Midwest, and unless the shingles were being peeled off the roof or tree limbs were falling from the sky, she didn’t get flustered by a thunderstorm. Even after her experience in Tulsa, Ivy let the rhythm of the storm lull her back to sleep.
She actually missed them. They did not get many thunderstorms in Phoenix. During the summer monsoons, storms came up from the South and plagued the southeast valley. In the winter months, the storms came in from California and drenched the west valley. Ivy’s apartment, situated in north-central Phoenix, rarely saw any rough weather in either season.
Morning dawned with drizzle but no thunder or lightning. The wind had calmed, and Ivy drove away toward Oklahoma City at half-past seven. She found a drive-thru at a nearby McDonald’s and got a large black coffee, a sausage and egg muffin, and a hash brown.
Ivy plugged her phone into the dashboard charger, put in another audiobook CD, and headed back down I-40. The clouds and drizzle obscured the morning sun, so the drive wasn’t too uncomfortable.
The Lexus handled nicely on the wet pavement, and Ivy had become accustomed to the brakes and the cruise control system. She was still figuring out the radio, lights, and air conditioning controls. Those would come with time and experience.
The traffic in Oklahoma City was trying, with all the road construction, and Ivy found herself idling for long stretches. She was happy when the transition onto the I-44 tollway came into view, heading her toward Tulsa and then on to Branson. Ivy thought she should make it into town before dark if the weather continued to hold.
Her Patterson novel ended, and Ivy checked her fuel gauge. She still had half a tank, but Ivy thought she’d stop at the next truck stop for a fill-up and another audiobook. It was near to lunch-time, so she’d probably pick up a sandwich as well.
No large truck stops appeared for over an hour along the state-run tollway. When one finally came up, there weren’t many cars in front or at the pumps. Ivy pulled in, filled her tank, and pulled the car up to the front of the big store. After filling the tank of the Lexus, she went in and emptied hers, using the sterile tiled restroom before venturing into the store itself.
The aroma of sandwiches coming from the Subway caught Ivy’s attention, and she made that her next stop. She ordered a turkey with bacon on an Italian roll with sweet onion dressing, chose a bag of chips, and filled a waxed cardboard cup with root beer. Ivy picked up the tray and slid into one of the smooth Formica booths.
Only one other person sat in the restaurant area, a big, middle-aged man wearing a ball cap emblazoned with a sports logo Ivy didn’t recognize and a grease-stained t-shirt that bulged over his muscular shoulders and upper arms. Ivy suspected him of being a truck driver. He smiled at her, flashing even, white teeth, and she smiled back nervously. He rose, and Ivy admired the way his jeans clung tightly to his shapely behind. He piled his garbage onto his tray and walked away past her booth.
Ivy opened her chips, poured them onto the paper that had wrapped her sandwich, and took a long drink of the icy root beer through the clear plastic straw. She was biting into her sandwich when someone slid into her booth on the other side of the table. Ivy looked up to see the same man who’d been at the other table.
“Hi,” he said with a blinding smile and dazzling hazel eyes. “I’m Dan, and I just had to come back and tell you I think you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve seen in days.”
Ivy swallowed her bite of sandwich and washed it down with some more soda. “Thanks,” she said with an impish smile. “Does that line get you much action out here on the road?”
“Some.” He picked up one of her chips and popped it into his mouth. “Pretty and smart, too. I like that. Where are ya headed?”
“Branson. You?” Ivy took another bite of her tasty sandwich.
“I’m running a load of produce from Brawley, California, to St. Louis.” He picked up another of her chips and then boldly took a drink from her root beer. “You’re not one of those Osmond Brothers fans, are you?” he asked, smiling as he chewed.
“Hardly.” Ivy chuckled. “I just bought some property near there. I’ll live there part-time, and my sons and grandchildren will use it during the summers and hunting season.”
“Huh. Why part-time? Where will you be living for the rest of the time?” He flashed his charming smile again, and he was beginning to make Ivy a little nervous. He seemed just a bit too charming.
“I live in Phoenix. You?” Ivy snatched a chip before Dan could take another.
“Victorville, California. I’m a desert rat too now.” He took another drink from her straw. “If you’re headed to Branson, we could travel together for a bit. You have ears in your wheels?”
“No,” Ivy laughed, “I gave up my CB thirty years ago. I traded it in for audiobooks.” She wadded the paper from her sandwich into a ball, piled her trash onto the tray, and stood. “It’s why I stopped. I need a fresh one.” Ivy walked to the can and dumped the trash. She took one last drink and dropped the cup to join the rest of the garbage.
“What do you like to listen to?” he asked as he followed her to the audiobook section. “I like the Deathlands stories and action thrillers.”
“Sex and violence,” Ivy said as she browsed, “got ya.” She picked up a Clive Cussler title and turned to walk back toward the checkout counter. “I just finished a pretty good James Patterson if you’d like it,” Ivy offered. “I just pass them along when I’m finished.”
“Like I said, pretty and smart.” He stood back, watching as Ivy paid for her purchase with her Mastercard. She picked up the plastic bag and walked toward the glass doors. Dan followed behind. Ivy got out the door and pushed the button on the key fob to unlock and start the bright blue Lexus.
“Nice ride.” Dan opened the door for her, and Ivy slipped in. She picked up the CD case for the James Patterson novel from the white leather passenger’s seat and handed it to Dan.
“Here you go. Enjoy.”
“Thanks, but what I’d really enjoy is you driving back by my rig and climbing up so I could show you my very comfy sleeper-cab.” He ran a firm hand over her hair and grinned lasciviously down at Ivy.
“I have someplace I have to be.” Ivy twisted her neatly bobbed brunette head out of his grasp, smiling into his pretty eyes. “Thanks for the offer, but I really have to get going.”
“You have a card or something with your number so I can call the next time I’m through Phoenix? I think I’d like to get to know you better.”
Eager to be shed of the man, Ivy dug into the outside pocket of her wallet for a business card and handed it to him. “I’m going to be away for a while, but I have my phone with me all the time.”
He studied her business card before tucking it into his back pocket. Ivy noticed the wedding ring on the man’s left hand and gave a sad mental sigh. “Well, nice to have met you, Ivy Chandler. Do you think I’ve ever read anything you’ve written?”
“I seriously doubt it. I write women’s historical fiction. You know, stories about the plight of women during the Civil War or traveling across the prairie, fighting off desperados and wild Indians. I don’t write post-apocalyptic claptrap or action thrillers that appeal to most men.”
“I’ll look for your stuff the next time I’m in Barnes and Noble.” He doffed his cap, turned, and walked back into the air-conditioned store. Ivy wanted to tell him not to bother looking in Barnes and Noble, but she didn’t because one day soon, her books would be featured there. She smiled, shut the door, popped in the first CD of the new audiobook, and made her way back to the highway.
Ivy passed through Tulsa and saw how many trees still showed signs of the violence wrought by the storm the mo
nth before. Orange trucks and crews dressed in the same color labored at stringing new power lines. Ivy wondered why the power companies didn’t bury all their lines underground here, where significant storms ripped apart lines every year. She looked at the orange-clad men and wondered if it weren’t simply a way to keep folks in the area employed.
Passing through patches of drizzle and hard rain between Tulsa and Branson slowed Ivy’s travel, but she checked into the Best Western just after ten that night. Much more posh than the Howard Johnson — Ivy wondered why Carl had chosen the older hotel for their vacation rather than this nicer Best Western. She remembered her mother’s comment about how rich men hung onto their money. Ivy looked at the receipt in her hand and knew she would not be rich long if she stayed in nice hotels rather than the more practical cheaper ones.
Ivy undressed, showered, and slipped into her sleep shirt. She turned on the television and found the Discovery ID channel. The drone of the narrators and the lack of loud musical commercials supplied white noise that drowned out the ringing in her ears from tinnitus and allowed her to sleep.
12
Norman Powell didn’t expect her until the next morning, so Ivy took the opportunity to explore. Dressed casually in jeans and a t-shirt, she found a hole-in-the-wall diner and had some greasy eggs, bacon, and pancakes for breakfast. The young waitress was good, keeping the coffee cup topped off. She left the busy girl a five-dollar tip for a six-dollar breakfast.
Ivy had spent the first ten years of her working life waitressing. She appreciated good service and rewarded it. When she got poor service, she might leave a penny or a nickel to emphasize her displeasure.
The weather was sunny and warm but not overly hot, considering the season. The humidity was higher than Ivy was accustomed to in Phoenix, but this wasn’t bad at all, compared to what she’d endured as a child in their old farmhouse without air conditioning. A gentle breeze blew, and the overhanging limbs of massive oaks, maples, and sycamores shaded the narrow country roads around Branson. Ivy avoided the main street, still jammed with tourists as the summer season hadn’t ended and many children hadn’t yet started back to school. Ivy suspected that after the Labor Day weekend, this place would dry up and be much easier to traverse.
The music halls would continue to attract people on the weekends, and hunting seasons like deer, turkey, and wild hog would attract visitors, as well as duck and goose hunters and the constant hordes of fishermen visiting Lake of the Ozarks.
Ivy made several wrong turns before she finally found the road leading to her cabin. It made her happy to see a red ‘sold’ placard draped across the real estate sign in the yard. Ivy turned into the gravel drive to find it muddy from the recent heavy rains in the area.
The yard had been mowed but not raked, and thick rows of brown grass crossed the yard. Adding a yard rake to her mental list of necessities, Ivy got out of the car and walked around the cabin a few times before stepping up onto the shady porch. She sat down in the porch swing and enjoyed the breeze blowing from across the field beyond the cabin.
Ivy wondered about the people who’d lived here before. Had they been a couple? Did they have children? What sort of life had they lived here? Ivy could see signs of a large garden out back, and the remains of dead flowering plants lined the walkway and the front of the long porch.
Hedge roses lined the edges of the property to the east and west. Ivy closed her eyes and imagined sitting here with her laptop on her knees, writing with the scent of roses and fresh-cut grass in her nose.
Living here would be a joy, and there was room for her family to visit. She thought she would put a set of twin beds in the second bedroom and find a nice pull-out sofa for the living room. Ivy thought back on Carl’s expensive antiques. She made another mental note to look up antique malls in the area and make a list of everything she might want or need. For the first time in her life, Ivy could walk into a store and not worry about not having enough money to buy whatever she might like to have. She smiled with satisfaction to herself.
Ivy readjusted her behind on the wooden swing. The next thing going on her list would be a thick cushion for this swing. She intended to be spending a good bit of time out here and wanted to be comfortable. Ivy took a deep breath of the clean, damp air. This place had so much potential, and she planned to make it her own, filled with country antiques and comfortable furniture. She would inquire of Mr. Powell about furniture stores and the like in the area after the closing tomorrow.
An old pickup passed, slowed to a stop, and began backing up. A woman about Ivy’s age pulled into the mouth of the drive and got out. Her short, curly hair was salt-and-peppered. She wore jeans, a sloppy t-shirt covered with a loose plaid cotton shirt, and white leather tennis shoes.
“Hi there. You the person buying this place?” She walked with a steady purpose to join Ivy on the porch. She extended her rough hand. “Peggy Martin. My husband and I own the place just up the road from here.” She pointed toward the west where Ivy could see the blue shingled roof of a house beyond the trees lining the road.
Ivy grasped the woman’s extended hand. “Ivy Chandler, and yes, I just bought this place.”
“It’s a good place. My cousin Cindy and her husband built it about twenty years ago. Her husband put it up for sale after she passed from cancer last year.”
Ivy sat and motioned for Peggy to join her. “I’m sorry for your loss. What can you tell me about the place?”
“You plannin’ to live here, or are you gonna use it as a seasonal rental? Cindy would have liked to see a regular resident over drunken hunters and college kids partyin’ and cuttin’ up. Her husband’s moved away now and could care less so long as he gets the money from the sale to pay off his silly truck.”
“I’m going to be living here most of the time. I have a place in Phoenix, so I might go back there for the winters. I haven’t decided yet.”
“That’s nice. Me and my husband have been on that farm all our lives. He was born there and inherited it from his daddy when the old man passed. I was seventeen when we married and moved in there with him and his parents.” She shook her head and rubbed her hands on her thighs. “You married, or are you gonna be livin’ here by your lonesome?”
“I’m single. I tried marriage three times, but it didn’t agree with me.” Ivy chuckled. “I have three children, and my sons will more than likely visit here from Indiana during hunting seasons or to fish. The grandkids like to go tubing too.”
“That’s big doins’ ‘round here.” She stood. “Well, welcome to the neighborhood, Ivy, nice to meet you. Do you attend church? We belong to the Oak Glen Baptist Church if you’d care to join us on Sundays.”
“I’m probably going to be busy getting settled in here for a while, and I’m not much of a churchgoer, but thanks for the offer.” Ivy watched the woman’s face darken. “Peggy, could you recommend a furniture store and an antique mall in the area? I need to furnish this place.”
“Most new folks drive into Springfield for new furniture, but Mayer’s is the local furniture store most of us buy from. There are a bunch of antique stores around. That place up on Route 10 is pretty popular. Cindy did a lot of her shopping there. I think they call it Found Again or some such nonsense. It’s just a bunch of over-priced used junk our parents and grandparents threw out years ago.” She laughed uneasily.
“Thanks, Peggy, I’ll check them out.”
“Most of us do our grocery shopping at the IGA in town, but lots of folks are using the Wal-Mart now that they expanded and added a grocery section. There’s a farmers’ market downtown on Fridays, too.”
“That’s great. I’ll go down to the farmers’ market for sure.” That made Peggy smile.
“They soak us for the space rent, but it’s a good way to get rid of produce we can’t put up.”
“I noticed there’s a big garden spot and a greenhouse out back.”
“Cindy had a real green thumb,” Peggy said with a sad smile, nodding. “That wo
man would take the seedlings the feed store was going to throw out and nurse them back into the healthiest plants you’d ever want to see. She had a chicken coop back there, too, but he sold it and the chickens right after Cindy passed.” She sighed. “Cindy loved those damned birds, and the fresh eggs were great. She’d bring the extras up to the market sometimes.” Peggy walked back, climbed into her pickup, and backed out of the drive, waving.
After watching the old pickup disappear around the wooded bend, Ivy walked to the back of the cabin and found the thin spot in the grass where the chicken coop must have stood. Holes pocked the ground where fence posts set in concrete had been dug out. It had been a big coop. Ivy remembered gathering fresh eggs on their farm in Indiana as a child. Maybe a chicken coop would be nice. She’d have to check out the local feed store or farm supply outlet. Ivy wondered if she’d be able to remember all of this later without writing it down.
As Ivy drove back to town, it began to drizzle. Ivy flipped on the windshield wipers and drove back toward the hotel. When a sign at the side of the blacktop marked the turnoff to Route 10, she took it. About six miles up the road, a giant metal building with a sign announced the Found Again Antique Mall. Ivy looked at the clock on the dash. It read one fifteen. The store should surely be open. She saw only three vehicles in the parking lot and parked next to a panel van with the store’s logo on the side. Ivy got out and walked inside the huge metal building. A withered, balding old man greeted her at the counter.
“Good afternoon, miss. How may I assist you today?” He smiled at her with yellowed teeth and the watery eyes of advanced years.
Promises: Do You Know Where the Poison Toadstools Crow? Page 8