Dearest Dorothy, Merry Everything!

by Charlene Baumbich

  Thank You, Jesus, for putting up with me and for prodding Sheba to remind me that I am never alone. You are here, making Yourself known in thousands of quiet ways. Dorothy continued to stroke Sheba’s head with her left hand while she bent over to retrieve her Bible with her right. She opened to Second Corinthians and rested the Bible on Sheba’s back, who was used to this drill and didn’t budge. Dorothy flipped the pages looking for her blue highlighter marks. Was it chapter eleven? No, it was twelve. There it was. “My grace is sufficient for you, for power is perfected in weakness.” Well, I feel as weak as an overcooked noodle, so power me up, Big Guy! Amen.

  “It’s time for bed, Sheba. My prayers are done. God is in the heavens and in this room. My partial plate is in the soaker, and I’m tired. What else is there to say or do?”

  Sheba jumped off Dorothy’s lap and hopped up on the end of the bed. Dorothy crawled under the covers. She shut her eyes, and try as she might to feel drowsy now that she was all tucked in, her mind skittered from here to there. She whapped her pillow a couple times and curled up on her side, determined to think about all the things she had to be grateful for this Christmas season. There was the nativity set with all four Wise People. The delight on Earl’s face when he watched anyone’s tree lights. The old glass ornament Jacob seemed as happy to find in the box as she’d been to set her eyes on Esmeralda. It was hand blown and appeared to be some kind of a hummingbird. The bird had a one-inch, very red, very pointy beak which was the brightest thing about it. The rest of the paint was worn off its silver body, aside from glimmers of a much softer red across its back and a hint of green on its stomach. Whatever had been stuck into the open back end for a tail had been missing for as long as Dorothy could remember. So long, in fact, she couldn’t recall what it had even looked like. And the poor bird only had one wing, which was a soft bristly fan of sorts. Come to think about it, she couldn’t remember the treasure ever having two wings. It was pathetic looking, really, but she just could not bring herself to throw it away. It always gave her an odd satisfaction to see the ornament nestled in the tree.

  “Of course I remember this,” Jacob said when they’d taken it out of the box. “I’m glad you kept it.”

  “We’ve had the poor bedraggled thing since before you were born.”

  “Did you ever hear the story Caroline Ann invented about this bird?” he asked, finding a place of prestige near the top of the fragrant little tree.

  “Never.”

  He carefully placed the hook over a branch, then gently tugged on it to make sure it was securely in place. “She said the bird would always be on our tree, that it couldn’t fly away if it wanted to.”

  “Is that right?” Dorothy’s eyes instantly burned, picturing sweet little Caroline inventing a story to tell her big brothers about this tiny bird. She was so tenderhearted and how she loved playing pretend. And oh! how they’d all—Mom, Dad and her two big brothers—adored Caroline Ann, their surprise child.

  “Caroline said she’d seen the bird try to fly off the tree late one night when we were all asleep.” Jacob stared off into space as though picturing her over there near the chair where his eyes landed. “But he had to come back, because he could only fly in circles. And she said it with that pouty look on her face, you know the one.” Dorothy nodded her head. “Then she broke out in a smile and said, ‘But that’s okay because he likes flying in circles. It’s fun! And he likes our tree. And he specially likes me.’”

  Dorothy sniffled, tears beginning to spill onto her cheeks, especially after Jacob’s voice hitched. “What a fine memory, son. I am so grateful you shared it with me,” she said as they both stared at the treasured bird. Dorothy lay in bed recalling that special moment she’d spent with Jacob and teared up again.

  She looked at the glowing red numbers on her bedside clock. Come on, sleep! Then for the first time since Jacob had dragged her boxes out of the closet, her mind flickered to something they hadn’t found.

  When Katie and Josh were going through Tess’s home after her death, the home that had since become Dorothy’s, they’d discovered an old dented bedpan with dirty plastic poinsettias sticking out of it. The flowers were so faded and filled with dust that they were more brown than red. It was a mystery as to whether Tess had the “arrangement” as a joke or an actual Christmas decoration, or if perhaps one day she’d just stuck the flowers in the first place she’d looked, or, well, it was such a fun curiosity that Dorothy thought she’d set it aside for herself at UMC’s annual Fall Rummage Sale. However, the next time she saw it was at the auction, and before she knew it, she was in a bidding war with some stranger, a guy who wanted it for a joke. Since it was her auction she hadn’t bothered to get a number, but Arthur agreed to bid for her. Once Arthur got a look at who they were bidding against—a guy who had ticked him off earlier in the day—Arthur decided that bonehead was not taking that bedpan home with him, whether his friend Dorothy wanted it or not. The next thing they knew, they’d run the bidding up to $35 before the other guy finally backed out. Arthur split the cost with Dorothy and jokingly said they could have joint custody. She was sure Arthur had told her she got first visitation and he’d take it the next year. But where was it?

  She tossed and turned thinking. She knew she’d seen it since the move, but where? She flicked on her bed lamp, threw the covers back, slipped her feet into her pink terry house slippers and went on the prowl through her bedroom closet. Sheba lifted her head and looked at her, then put her head back down with a look that said, “I thought we went to bed.” Pretty soon every light in the house was on, but no bedpan. Now she was not only wide awake but determined, so she turned on the tree lights and sat on the couch, thinking, thinking. “Esmeralda, you’re so smart,” she said, turning her head toward the nativity set which Jacob had set up on the card table in the corner, just like May Belle recommended. “Do you know where the bedpan is?” Silence. She drummed her fingers on the arm of the couch, thinking, thinking. Then it struck her: it was on the bottom shelf of her little bathroom closet! B is for bedpan is for bathroom, she’d said to herself when storing it, using the same logic as D is for Del Monte and decorations. She’d taken to trying that system after she heard some guy on a news program talking about helping your memory through association. But too bad her association tactics never seemed to kick in until after she’d already remembered—or found—whatever it was she was trying to remember. Obviously, the guy didn’t know what he was talking about.

  Dear Joshmeister,

  It’s 1:30 a.m. and you won’t believe what I’ve been doing. I’ve just finished hanging that bedpan with the poinsettias in it (remember the one you found in your Aunt Tess’s house, now MY house?) on my bathroom wall and just had to tell somebody about it since Sheba wasn’t interested. HA!

  First I remembered I had it. Then I couldn’t find it. Then I remembered where it was. Then I took it all apart and washed every inch of it, including the underside of the plastic flowers—although I probably should have replaced them, they were so dark. Then I reassembled it and got some ribbon out of my wrapping paper box and made a bow for it. Then I hammered a nail into my wall between the vanity mirror and the toilet. Then I had to wrestle around to figure out how to hang a bedpan on a nail since it had to face forward because of the flowers. (Bad planning.) So . . . I rummaged through my junk drawer and found a three-penny nail, I got out my hammer (Hey! You think I don’t have my own toolbox?!) and would you believe I pounded a hole in the back of that bedpan? I kept waiting for Mac to pull up to my house in his squad car, I was making such a racket so late into the night. Anyway, I got it hung and it looks so FUN in there, and now I can’t sleep.

  I gave Jacob your e-mail address, I hope you don’t mind. He’s awful busy so not sure if he’ll e-mail or not. He was sorry he didn’t get to say good-bye to you, which means he liked you. Nice to know you two get along.

  Keep me posted about the car. Jessie called me this evening to thank me for telling her you could use Art
hur’s help. (Anything to get him out of the house, she said!) She also said your mom had called him and I guess you’re all going out Wednesday night. I know you thought maybe your Uncle Delbert could help with a car, but trust me on this one. Although he can preach a whale of a sermon, his mechanical abilities and sensibilities aren’t as big as a minnow. HA!

  Good Night, Sweet Prince. I’m going to try going to bed again now that the pee pot (well, not really since genuine pee pots don’t look like this; they look more like a giant teacup) is on the wall.

  Outtamyway! Especially when I have a hammer in my hand!

  Thank you, Jesus! Dorothy prayed after she settled back into bed, finally feeling relaxed and content. I’ve got friends all around me and through the wonders of electronics, I can talk to some of them day or night. My best friend makes the best desserts in the whole county, including the likes of Extravagant Trays! She had put her partial plate back in and downed a glass of milk with two cookies May Belle had brought over when she and Earl came to see the tree this morning. I can still hammer a nail, clean my own house and stay up until two A.M. if I feel like it. And Lord, THANK YOU, but I don’t want to stay up until 3 since I’m tired now so I’m going to sleep. Amen.

  19

  Arthur sat in the passenger seat of Katie’s SUV feeling like a captured barracuda. He wasn’t used to being a passenger and he felt like a traitor sitting in a foreign-made vehicle, even if it wasn’t his. He fiddled with the seatbelt that pressed his Hohner into his chest. Arthur didn’t take to wearing seatbelts. He didn’t care if it was the law, he never strapped himself into his Buick or his good old Ford truck he’d bought used twenty years ago. However, Katie said she would not move the SUV until he buckled up. “I don’t see any human way possible ta make this seatbelt and my harmonica work together,” he said, letting go of the seatbelt and allowing it to quickly retract.

  “She means it, Arthur,” Josh said from the back seat, “so you might as well just do it if we plan on looking at cars today—or within my lifetime.” Josh was embarrassed. Who did his mom think she was bossing an old man around? He shot her a dirty look into her rearview mirror when he caught her eye.

  “I have two words for both of you gentlemen,” she said, keeping her tone of voice light, “Richard Lawson.”

  “The Press said he done had his seatbelt on, Ms. Bossy Durbin, so I got two words fer you: didn’t work.” Josh snickered under his breath, but he wondered how his mom would react. He hoped they didn’t get in an argument and blow his chance to go car hunting. Nonetheless, Arthur finally wrestled around with the contraption again until Katie heard the click, at which point she turned over the engine.

  As much as Arthur’s rebuttal irritated Katie, it was also the truth. She shot him a half smile as if to let him know he was impossible, which she could tell from the way he looked back at her he already knew. She appreciated Arthur Landers. He was a man of strong opinions and convictions and he wasn’t afraid to express them, and he was about as ornery, to use one of Dorothy’s words, as they came. And yet, she’d always felt he was in her corner. Plus, he was such a good friend to Dorothy, who she knew missed spending time with Arthur almost as much as they both missed The Tank, which had always given them the chance to visit. Katie occasionally noticed Arthur’s truck parked out in front of Dorothy’s, or Dorothy would mention Arthur had stopped by to see if she needed anything or a ride anywhere. Underneath all his grumbling, he was a kind man with a tender heart who was always looking out for Dorothy. His gruff facade didn’t fool Katie for a moment. She’d actually been looking forward to spending this time with him, maybe even see what he thought about the mini mall, if there was a way to bring it up. One thing she could be sure of: he would have an opinion.

  “Mom, I was just thinking. Maybe we should have asked Dorothy to come car hunting with us.”

  “Now that there is a much more sensible idere than seatbelts!” Arthur said, turning his head to face Katie, who was holding the newspaper in one hand and driving with the other. They’d made a few calls and charted a route, numbering the order of their stops. It occurred to Arthur to chide Katie about the safety of driving with one hand, but he decided to play nice—at least for now. “Hows ’bouts ya let me have a look-see at that list. Might save us some time.”

  “You want me to call Dorothy on my cell?” Josh asked, already reaching for his belt clip.

  “If you want. But don’t think for a moment you’re gathering a team to bully me into coming home with a car today if we haven’t found the right one.” It was her turn to shoot him a look in the rearview mirror, but he was already dialing Dorothy’s number. How is it moms were also mind readers? he wondered.

  “I like the color,” Dorothy said to Josh as they stood in front of the Mitsubishi, “and that’s about as worthwhile of an opinion as you’ll get from me.”

  “All opinions matter,” he said. “I like the color, too.” He also liked the leather seats, the sporty dashboard and the reputation it had for cornering.

  “Trouble,” Arthur said, his ear toward the running engine.

  “What kind of trouble?” asked Katie, who was standing beside him thinking how nice and clean the engine looked.

  “Sounds like a tappet.” He slammed the lid down and brushed his hands together as though ridding them of debris, even though he hadn’t touched a thing under the hood. His ear told him all he needed to know.

  “Are you sure?” Josh sounded like he was on the verge of arguing with Arthur, his patience (which he really didn’t have to begin with) running thin. This was the fourth and final car they had seen today and Arthur had vetoed all of them. Not only that, he’d crossed three more off the list before they’d even gotten to Dorothy’s house, saying he’d read one thing or another about them in this car magazine or that, or that he “knowed somebody who had nothin’ but trouble with ’em.” Josh thought the one before this stood a chance since it was the only one Arthur took out for a ride, inviting Josh to come along if he wanted. Man! Who does this old geezer think is going to be driving my car? Whose idea was it to bring him anyway? Although Josh didn’t say anything, he climbed in and slammed the door a little too hard, making it clear to all of them that he thought Arthur was being unfair. Arthur just looked at him and said in a high-pitched voice, “I ain’t ah movin’ this ve-hicle one inch, sonny boy, till ya buckle up.” Josh couldn’t help but grin at Arthur’s high-pitched imitation of his mom, but still. . . . He wanted a car and he wanted it today. Who knew when they’d get out again? And now Arthur had nixed this one, too. As far as his mom was concerned, that was that. Dorothy was no help at all, simply repeating that Arthur knew his business and assuring Josh his patience would be worth it.

  “Since we’re way out here by Yorkville,” Dorothy said after they were all back in the SUV, “how about as my thank-you for letting me tag along I treat us all to a root beer float at Harley’s? At least we’d get some consolation out of the day.”

  “Harley’s?” Katie asked.

  “You ain’t heard ah Harley’s?” Arthur asked. “And here I thought ya was startin’ ta know the neighborhood.”

  “No, Arthur, I have not heard of Harley’s, but I’m sure you’re going to let me know all about it. So, somebody better tell me which way to go.”

  “Make a right at the stop sign. It’s about two miles down,” Josh said in a pouty, disgusted voice.

  “And you know this because . . . ?” Katie asked.

  “Because Kevin, who has a car, took us there one day on the way home from school.”

  “Us?” Arthur asked.

  “Shelby and Deb. Deborah Arnold. That was when Kevin and Deb were still dating, which, as of yesterday, they aren’t any more.”

  “Really?” Katie caught Josh’s eye in the rearview mirror for a moment.

  “Really.”

  After another dramatic wrestle with the seatbelt, Arthur whipped his Hohner out of his pocket and began to play a soulful verse of an old Brenda Lee song. “I’m s
orry, so sorry,” the words went, which Dorothy began to sing. She’d always loved that song. “Love is fickle, ain’t it?” Arthur asked when he came to the end of the tune.

  “Never mind love,” Josh said. “I’m sorry I still don’t have any wheels.”

  “Speaking of love, Arthur,” Dorothy said, stopping Josh from igniting a feud with his mother, “how’s Jessie? I haven’t seen her since our last Hookers’ meeting.” Jessie was Arthur’s wife of nearly sixty years. “She needs to get herself over for a visit, or maybe you can take me out to your place some time.”

  “How’s Jessie? ya ask,” Arthur said, drawing his thumb and forefinger down on his very short (hadn’t shaved for two days) but very gray chin whiskers. “Well now . . .”

  “Mom! Slow down, Harley’s is right up here,” Josh said.

  “Saved from that saga by a root beer float!” Arthur said.

  “Is this the closest place to Partonville to get a float or a good cone?” Katie asked anyone who wanted to answer.

  “I believe it is,” Dorothy said. “Well, of course you can make your own with the fixings from Your Store. But not even Lester serves root beer. I’ve tried to talk him into it a time or two, but he said he’s not interested in becoming a soda jerk.”

  “He opened hisself up for some teasin’ there, I tell ya,” Arthur said. “Like what kinda jerk does he wanna be?” A group chuckle rustled through the car. Even Josh had to set aside his pouting for a moment.

  “Wonder if I should consider an ice cream parlor in the mini mall,” Katie said, pulling into a parking place in front of Harley’s, which looked to be more old and rundown than quaint.