by Jana Zinser
Ivy let out a shaky breath as Miss Shirley nodded to the vacant stools. “Looks like a few seats just opened up, folks. Old man Thrasher can go to hell. He’s halfway there already. Somebody ought to have the guts to take him the rest of the way.”
The three friends sat down on the stools, and Ivy took a sip of her Green River. The cold carbonated liquid felt good. Ivy grabbed Maggie’s trembling hand. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know—”
Maggie sat quietly beside her, straining under the weight of her skin. “You didn’t know what it was like to be black? I know, Ivy.”
Ivy’s eyebrows wrinkled. “I wonder if Conrad Thrasher thinks I’m black.”
Miss Shirley laughed and leaned against the counter. “Now Ivy, that’s the best one you’ve come up with yet. You ain’t black, sister, you just an inconvenience to him.”
Miss Shirley reached into the glass pie-keeper and set down three pieces of her homemade strawberry-rhubarb pie on the counter. “How about a slice of pie? My treat.”
Ivy nodded. Miss Shirley wiped the sweat off her forehead with a napkin. “Oh, Lordy. What gave you the all-mighty gumption to come in here, Maggie girl?”
“Well, we were thirsty . . .” Maggie shrugged and smiled. “And the Supreme Court said I could.”
Miss Shirley slapped her thighs and laughed. “You tell them, girl.”
Ivy’s smile disappeared. “Do you think you’ll get fired for this, Miss Shirley?”
“Who cares? I can always get another job. It’s not like this one is making me rich. It was worth it just to see his face. The old fool banker.” She threw her head back and yelled like Leon Wilson. “Find the fight in your soul.” Her throaty laugh filled the restaurant.
The kids laughed in relief and Ivy tapped her pie plate with her fork and her face grew solemn. “What did he mean when he said he knew what really happened and who I really was?”
Miss Shirley shook her head. “Don’t pay no mind to him. He’s full of spit and vinegar. He never makes sense. Some white peoples is just strange.” She turned away, humming a Leon Wilson tune, and finished cleaning the grill.
When Ivy arrived home for supper a few hours later, she found Salisbury steak, mashed potatoes, lime Jell-O with pears, and fried morel mushrooms waiting for her.
“Grandma, that smells good.”
Ivy scooped her finger in the bowl of mashed potatoes and put it in her mouth.
“Wait for supper,” Grandma scolded.
Ivy kissed Grandma and Uncle Walter, who often came over to eat with them. “Hey, you guys won’t believe what happened to Maggie and me and Nick today.”
Grandma pointed her finger at the kitchen sink. “Before you say another word, go wash up. Lord knows where those hands have been. I hope you washed your hands before you ate Miss Shirley’s strawberry-rhubarb pie this afternoon.” Grandma winked at Uncle Walter, who smiled as he set the plates on the table.
“You already heard what happened?” Ivy said in disbelief.
Grandma nodded. “Yes, I did, little missy.”
Ivy washed her hands and wiped them on a tea towel. “You should have seen Conrad Thrasher’s face. He looked like one of Rosie Buckley’s bulldogs, all dirty and snarly and ready to bite.”
Grandma put the silverware on the table. “Some people’s hearts are cold as ice, and nothing you do can warm them up. What did he say?”
“He said Maggie couldn’t eat in the Coffey Shop. He said we’d all regret it. Oh, and he said he knew what really happened and who I really was, like I wasn’t your granddaughter or something. What’s he talking about?”
Grandma clicked her tongue and shoveled Salisbury steak onto the plates. “Oh, pshaw. That’s just folderol. The old goat is probably still mad at us for outsmarting him mushroom hunting in Luther’s woods. He’s a bitter, angry man.”
“Why is he like that?”
“He blames everyone.”
“For what?”
“For his unhappiness.”
Ivy sat down at her place at the table. Her hands trembled when she lifted her glass to take a sip of water. “How did you know about what happened at the Coffey Shop, Grandma?”
“The birds told me.”
Grandma’s clairvoyance proved so astounding that Ivy believed the birds told Grandma everyone’s secrets. It wasn’t hard to imagine because Grandma loved the birds. And the birds trusted Grandma.
Every day, Grandma had Ivy pour birdseed in all the bird feeders in the backyard. Grandma loved to sit in her old pine rocker on the back porch and watch the birds. She placed birdseed in her hands, and they flocked around her. Their tiny feet hopped along her hands and fingers as they ate out of her palms.
When Grandma sat quietly in her porch rocking chair, the birds often landed on her shoulder or head, resting for a moment from their busy bird day. Grandma knew each bird’s character and she named the distinctive personalities of the feathered fowl. She called one frequent shoulder-percher, “Sweetie Pie.” The little gray and white chickadee, with a black cap and a black stripe over its eyes, often rested on Grandma’s shoulder and sang in her ear.
After they finished supper that night, Ivy gazed out the kitchen window as she washed the dishes and saw the squirrels invading the bird feeder. She sounded the alarm. “Squirrel alert! Squirrel alert! Grandma, get the broom.”
Grandma’s bulky frame lumbered through the house. She grabbed the broom and charged out the back door to force the pesky squirrels into retreat. Ivy giggled as Grandma waved the broom in the air.
When Grandma came back triumphantly, she huffed, “Don’t know why God wasted his time making squirrels. The little thieves.”
Uncle Walter raised his eyebrows and clicked his tongue. “Those squirrels will be the last creatures alive on earth.”
Ivy imitated Aunt Hattie’s haughty preaching voice. “All that’ll be left after the Rapture will be all the faithless sinners and a few squirrels.”
The bushes along the path moved and Uncle Tommy marched up to the porch from the yard. “Squirrels aren’t that tough, if you know what you’re doing.”
Uncle Tommy raised his thumb and extended his index finger in the shape of a gun. “I could use a little target practice on the nasty rodents.” He jerked his hand back as if he’d fired the gun. “Got to get ready for duck hunting season.”
Ivy shuddered.
When hunting season opened, Uncle Tommy and Reuben could often be found at their duck blind on Beecher Pond. As a child, Ivy would sometimes tag along, but she considered killing unarmed ducks an inexcusable crime and refused to bear witness to the duck assassinations. But during the off-season, Uncle Tommy used cats for shooting practice. “The best way to stop a pesky varmint is to shoot him in the head before he knows what hit him,” he used to say.
“I don’t want you killing them, I just wish they’d find another home,” Grandma said.
“Cats don’t come through my backyard anymore,” Uncle Tommy said.
“Cats are smarter than Tommy,” Uncle Walter said to Ivy.
Uncle Tommy ignored his brother. “Hey, I just stopped by to see if you got any extra mushrooms.”
Grandma gestured to Walter. “Get Tommy a bag of mushrooms.”
Uncle Walter went into the kitchen and brought out the smallest bag and handed it to Ivy, who handed it to Uncle Tommy. He dropped his handful of sunflower seeds to grab it.
“I’m out of here. Had enough family time for one day,” Uncle Walter said as he headed home to his trailer. Ivy knew too much time around his brother made Uncle Walter stressed.
After Uncle Tommy left with his mushrooms, Grandma and Ivy went to bed. They forgot to turn off the porch light, so from Ivy’s bedroom window, she watched the stealthy squirrels celebrate their cunning victory as they ate the sunflower seeds Uncle Tommy spilled on the porch.
PART III
MISCHIEF, TRICKERY, AND DISAPPOINTMENT
(1975-1976)
Chapter 16
THE COFFEY SHOP
Iowa is an orderly state. The rows of crops run straight and long. Tightly strung barbed-wire fences surround the livestock yards and fields. The many unmarked country roads crisscross the rolling hills, farmlands, and small towns. There is nothing haphazard about Iowa farming. There is, by necessity, a distinctive rhythm to rural life. Growing crops and raising livestock takes precise tending: the planting, the harvesting, the feeding, and the selling. Farmers cannot afford to guess. They plan and measure, and nature does the rest.
In early fall, the farmers delivered mountains of yellow corn to the Coffey Farmer’s Co-op for sale. Trails of golden corn spilled from the wagons as the tractors pulled the harvest to the co-op silos in town, while the Hy-Vee grocery store stacked pumpkins and squash on the sidewalk outside the store. Breezy sunny days alternated with cool, windy ones.
That September Saturday turned crisp and cool. A welcome change and a new season blew into Coffey. Seventeen-year-old Ivy would graduate from high school that year. Although she’d briefly been to Des Moines, Kansas City, and Omaha, soon she could finally leave Coffey for good and see other places and be a part of other worlds.
Luther Matthews came out to 4120 to replace Grandma’s storm windows and check her furnace. Ivy, Raven, Nick, and Jesse—now Ivy’s boyfriend, the one who never planned to stay long in Coffey—helped Luther unload two cords of split wood for Grandma’s fireplace. When they finished stacking the logs on the side of the house, their cheeks flushed the color of Macintosh apples and their breath floated like steamy clouds in the cold autumn air. Luther got in his old beat-up truck and leaned out the window. “Tell your Grandma, no charge.” With a wave, he drove off, leaving a trail of smoky exhaust behind.
The friends stepped inside Grandma’s kitchen from the cold back porch. The tangy smell of hot apple cider filled the house.
Nick hugged Grandma Violet. “Hi, Grandma V. What’s new with the great all-knowing being?”
Grandma often demonstrated her legendary powers of knowledge and skill when she cooked without a recipe, sewed without a pattern, and plucked her few chin hairs without a mirror. She knew when snow would fall and where to find morel mushrooms. Her many years of experience had taught her a lot, as well as what the birds told her.
Nick’s hands pointed in front then back as he danced and bobbed his head. “I bet you didn’t know I was going to do my dog dance.” Nick tilted his head up and howled, making an “oh, no!” sound mimicking Reuben’s dog.
Grandma threw her hands in the air and slapped her big thighs. “No, your dog dance is definitely one of the few surprises left in life.”
Jesse rolled his eyes and smoothed down his blow-dried hair. “Nicko, don’t embarrass yourself, mutt.”
Jesse reached over to give him a push, but Nick turned and danced toward Grandma. He put his arm around her and kissed her peach-soft cheek that always smelled of lilacs. Grandma pinched Nick’s cheek, still pink from the cold.
“Now stop this foolishness and drive Ivy on down to the Coffey Shop to pick up my pies. Go on. You kids, get out of here with your crazy nonsense.” She shooed them out of the house, still laughing.
The kids piled into Nick’s newly purchased vehicle. He had bought Howard Decker’s strangely built truck-camper. Driving the fogger during the summer didn’t pay much. Howard had run low on beer money, and Kitty, his hardworking waitress wife, refused to give him any more, so Nick had bought the Monstrosity for next to nothing. Nick’s father said that’s exactly what it was worth. But Nick, like Howard, saw its potential, and although Nick didn’t want anyone else driving it, Ivy and her friends now had transportation.
Nick pulled the smoking and sputtering truck into a parking spot on the town square. Ivy, Jesse, Raven, and Nick entered the Coffey Shop. Kitty led the four kids to an open table to wait for Grandma’s pie order. Kitty didn’t wear any makeup. She didn’t have the time or the energy to try to please others. She was too busy trying to make a living for herself and her drunken husband.
Ivy waved to Miss Shirley as they passed the kitchen. Nick blew Miss Shirley a kiss and she pretended to catch it. Ivy laughed. Everyone liked Nick. He fit in so well among the strange personalities of Coffey. He was such a small-town kind of guy.
Kitty sat them at a booth next to Uncle Tommy and his friends. “Ignore them if you can, kids.”
Ivy waved to Russell as he ate his dinner while Uncle Tommy, Reuben, and Charlie, the sheriff, sipped their coffee. They often stayed there for hours on the weekends, nursing their cups of coffee and joking with the other customers.
Russell had graduated high school several years back and Uncle Walter got him a job at the Post Office, which Uncle Tommy despised. But Russell paid attention to detail and he was good with numbers. Those were qualities the post office admired. He had moved into the apartment above the Coffey Shop and since he hated the unorganized stress of cooking, he ate most of his meals at the restaurant. He often joined his father and his friends, not because he wanted to, but because it would be awkward not to.
“Hey, Ivy, do you know what the Blue Plate Special is today?” Uncle Tommy asked.
Ivy shook her head.
Uncle Tommy pretended to put a finger down his throat. “Whatever didn’t sell yesterday.”
Kitty frowned and rocked her head from side to side. “Very funny. You ought to know. You’re here every day.” Kitty mimed stabbing Uncle Tommy with a fork behind his back.
Charlie wagged his finger at the good-natured waitress. “Watch out there, Miss Kitty. That’s assault, and I’m a sworn officer of the law.
“Actually, the special today is Miss Shirley’s poison mushroom gravy,” Uncle Tommy teased.
“And I consider that an aggravated assault,” said Charlie.
The men laughed that deep kind of laugh they used when they thought they were funny at someone else’s expense. Uncle Tommy, sitting at the end of the booth, stood up.
“Hey, what’s taking so long with those burgers?”
Miss Shirley waved her spatula from the grill across the room. “Oh, pipe down over there, or I’ll poison your food.”
“See, I told you,” Charlie said.
The men howled with laughter again.
Kitty brought their burgers and turned to Ivy and her friends at the next table. “You kids want something to drink while you wait?”
“No, thanks,” Ivy said.
“A glass of water? It’s city water,” Kitty said.
Charlie hit the table. “Hey, that reminds me. Did you hear our mighty mayor talked the town council into running city water out to his place? So now Thrasher won’t have to use that giant cistern in his backyard for water.”
Reuben cocked his head back. “Hey, my place is closer to town than Conrad’s, and I don’t remember getting any city water. Must be nice.”
Russell stared down at his freckled hands as he buttoned and unbuttoned his Izod shirt, counting under his breath. “Did you know the Coffey Shop has eight stools, seven booths, nine tables, and forty-three items on the menu?”
Uncle Tommy shook his head as he chewed his burger. “Oh Lord, my son, the nerdy bean counter. Both of my kids are embarrassments. Angela’s traveling around the country trying to find herself. Haven’t seen her in years. Guess she hasn’t found herself, yet.” Ivy envied Angela. After London, she had never returned to Coffey. She was lucky.
“Sometimes I think you were lucky, Reuben, that you didn’t have kids,” Uncle Tommy said.
Charlie strained to rest his ankle on his knee. His tan uniform was stretched tight and the buttons looked like they were going to pop. The white streak in his stiff crew cut grew wider over the years. He hit Uncle Tommy on the arm. “Hey, maybe Russell knows how many ghosts Reuben has over at his place?”
Russell pushed back his chair, its legs scraping along the old floorboards. He stood up, his face red. He turned and hurried out of the restaurant, his freckled face pinched, and his long arms twitching awkwardly.
“Shoot. He do
n’t know. He won’t step foot in Reuben’s house. Neither of my kids would. Just Ivy,” Uncle Tommy said.
Uncle Tommy picked his teeth with the edge of a matchbook. Then he tapped his empty coffee cup with his spoon. Kitty understood Uncle Tommy’s signal and came over to refill his coffee.
“So, Reuben, have you seen any of your ghosts lately?” Charlie asked.
Reuben sat back against the padded, red booth and rested his thumbs under the straps of his overalls. “Yes, as a matter of fact, do you know what one of those dadburn ghosts did? Busted my furnace. Took all day for Luther to get it going again.”
Kitty refilled the rest of their coffee cups. Jesse looked at his Timex watch. He was always in a hurry. That was one of the reasons Ivy liked him. He would never be satisfied to stay in such a slow, boring town. It was just one more guarantee that he would help her get out of Coffey.
Miss Shirley put the two apple pies in white boxes and handed them to Ivy. “Tell your grandmother I hope she enjoys the pies.”
Ivy could feel the warmth emanating from the pies as they filled the air with the smell of sweet apples and cinnamon. “Thank you. Grandma says a piece of your pie can solve any problem.”
Uncle Tommy jerked his chin at Miss Shirley. “Speaking of pies, you people are supposed to be good at cooking, aren’t you?”
Miss Shirley didn’t answer, but instead stared at Uncle Tommy with a stern look that stopped many stronger and smarter men, but Uncle Tommy continued. “Well, some of your pies are passable, but if you made that angel pie of yours, then there’d really be something to talk about.” Tommy patted his belly. “Wouldn’t there, Reuben?”
Reuben nodded. “Mm-hmm.”
Miss Shirley put her hands on her wide hips. “My angel pie takes too long to make, especially for the likes of you. You know I only make it for funeral potlucks. I guess you’ll just have to wait for someone to die.”