Dearest Dorothy, If Not Now, When?

by Charlene Baumbich

  “To be honest,” she told Jacob when they were discussing the display cases on the phone, “I can only take credit for the idea. Carl Jimson went above and beyond to incorporate them into the actual structure. But wait until you see what Jessica did with them! She orchestrated and created little scenes, for lack of a better word, from each store.” She’d arranged a splay of books from the Word Exchange (second floor) in the display case in front of the Tea Cozy on the main floor. She showcased small glasses of candy from Alotta Chocolatta (lower level) outside A Tisket A Tasket on the main floor. Artfully arranged with each scene was calligraphy signage stating where the items could be purchased. Jessica had the best time working with owners to select the items for display. She told Katie it was like going on a personal shopping spree without having to spend any money! “Plus,” she said, “it’s giving me a chance to scope everything out so I know where I want to spend my winning gift certificate—although I have no doubt it will be in Baths, Boudoir and Babies because, oh, Katie! Did you see those adorable baby clothes!” It felt good, Katie thought, to hear the enthusiasm ringing in her friend’s voice again.

  “What do you think, May Belle?” Dorothy asked when she and Sheba stopped by hoping to snitch a double chocolate brownie or two before Earl delivered them to the Tea Cozy. “Do you think my idea’s out of line? I don’t want to rob anything from Katie’s moment in the sun.”

  “I think,” May Belle said, pausing to remove one batch of brownies from the oven and put in the next, “that it’s brilliant and will only add to the excitement.” She removed her oven mitt and gingerly sat down at the kitchen table, noticing her back tightening up again. She’d have to get the Vicks VapoRub out before she went to bed. “The problem I see isn’t with Katie, though, it’s with Gladys.”

  “How so?”

  “Do you think she’s really going to want to share her ribbon-cutting moment like that?”

  “Oh, I didn’t mean for us to do it on Saturday! But then I guess I didn’t say that, did I?”

  “No, ma’am, you did not.”

  “I’m talking about doing it Friday night while the locals are waiting to enter preview night.”

  “That would be perfect. Have you talked to Katie about it, though?”

  “I thought I’d run it by you first.”

  “Well, you’ve got my approval.”

  “As if I needed it,” Dorothy teased, reaching across the table and patting her friend’s hand. “They’ll be so surprised!”

  By 6:15 P.M. people were already gathering outside the mini mall’s front doors, which weren’t due to open until 7. Of course Cora Davis was right up there at the front of the pack. Even Jessica, Paul and Sarah Sue, who ran late to most everything, were getting into their car already. They didn’t want to miss a moment of standing beneath the Partonville Pleasantries sign in the midst of all the excitement in front of the very mall that Jessica named!

  Just when Jessica snapped Sarah Sue’s seat belt, Carl Jimson surprised them by pulling into the motel lot. Even though they hadn’t heard from him, and even though they assumed that likely meant he couldn’t make it, they’d prepared his room anyway, just in case. They welcomed him warmly and were “honored and proud” to meet Glenda Jimson.

  “You three run on ahead. We’ll be along shortly,” Carl said, after Jessica ran in to get them a key and told them, “You’re in unit number eleven.” Much to Carl and Glenda’s surprise, a welcome basket awaited them, complete with a mall directory, Wednesday’s Press, a bag of pretzels, a bottle of water, two Avon samples and a brand-new coffee mug with “Welcome to Pardon-Me-Ville” printed around it in bold blue lettering. A Tisket A Basket shop owner Jenna Olsen donated it herself after she heard who it was for.

  “See, honey,” Carl said to his wife as he gave her a big hug when they entered their room. “I told you! This place is a little slice of heaven.”

  Glenda chuckled. “‘Welcome to Pardon-Me-Ville?’ You gotta love the spirit of a town that can laugh at itself too!”

  6:55 P.M. Katie sat in the dark in her office with her door closed, the door that now displayed the new brass MALL DIRECTOR sign Edward Showalter mounted just today. She had to laugh when he came to position it, thinking how much like Gladys it made her feel to get that name tag on just right. She was nervous, yes, but also excited and regretful. She was exhausted, grateful, overwhelmed and thankful. No wonder she wanted to cry. When she’d discovered the FAMILY OWNED AND OPERATED SINCE 1923 sign out by the trash bins yesterday, she realized she’d somehow gotten emotionally attached to the dumb thing and asked Edward Showalter to bring it up to her office and mount it on the wall behind her desk. Now she, too, was making history, but those who went before should never be forgotten.

  Although several “Congratulations on your grand opening” floral arrangements had arrived and were sprinkled throughout the mall, she’d selected three of them for her desk. The mall lights shining through her office window illuminated their shadows. The huge showy arrangement of exotic flowers made her smile. The card read, “It was your turn—this time. Congratulations. Colton Craig.” The dieffenbachia plant was to “Sister Katie. Hallelujah! from Delbert and family.” But the small bouquet of tightly packed pink roses was the most precious on three counts: the choice of flowers, which were her favorite, the sentiment and the giver. “I’m proud of you. Jacob” It was a message that caused her many tears when it arrived, yes, because he touched her heart, but, unbeknownst to him, he’d also opened a ribbon of grief she’d been working hard to suppress since Carl Jimson’s letter to the editor appeared in the paper. She rested her fingertips against the vase.

  Oh, Mom, what I wouldn’t give for you to be here today to see what I’ve helped grow in the town you fled when you got pregnant with me in order to conceal that fact. I wish I could take back all of the rude and mindless things I said to you about your beloved town, Mom. I didn’t know why you loved it so much, but now I do. I’m sure I hurt you with my selfish, snide comments. Please forgive me—which I know you do. I just wish you were here so I could say it to your face and give you a hug. By now she was crying, which felt like a relief.

  Thank you, Mom, for loving me. For always being so proud of my accomplishments and for telling me so. Thank you for praying for me all of those years, even when I said I didn’t want to hear about your God, who I now know is my God too. But I had to come here without you to learn that. No, you didn’t come back home, but I did.

  There was a light rap on the door. “Ms. Durbin? You in there?” It was Edward Showalter.

  “Yes.”

  “You okay?”

  “Yes.”

  “It’s time to open the mall. Dorothy’s waiting just inside the front doors for you.”

  “I’ll be down in a moment. You go ahead and get the surprise ready.” She wiped her eyes, turned on the light and freshened her lipstick. When she stepped out into the mall, it was amazing! People stood outside their doorways buzzing with each other, waiting to greet their new customers and shouting “Good luck!” when they saw her. She made her way down the center stairs toward the front door.

  “You look beautiful,” Dorothy said when Katie got to the bottom of the stairs, taking note of her red puffy eyes. “This is all just so exciting, honey! I’ve been giving prayers of thanksgiving all the day long!”

  “Thank you,” Katie said, giving her a hug. “Me too.”

  “Do you have the glasses and the sparkling cider ready?” Katie asked, turning to Edward Showalter.

  “Yes, boss lady,” he said, giving her a salute. “Let me grab them!” What, Katie wondered, would she have ever done without Edward Showalter?

  Katie put her hand on the door, straightened her spine and opened it wide. It looked like the whole town had turned out for the gala, but then a drawing for a prize was about to take place, she thought, chuckling to herself. You are so clever!

  “L
adies and Gentlemen! Welcome to Partonville Pleasantries!” A loud cheer went up, which warmed her heart and caused tears to well in her eyes again. But no, she would not cry. Not now. “Thank you for coming this evening and we hope to see many of you back again tomorrow and all the days to come. After you enter, please take your time and enjoy yourselves. We’ll be open until nine tonight. Look around. Talk to the owners. Make sure you enter the drawing; there are receptacles on each floor for your entries. Get a bite to eat, figure out where you want to spend your money tomorrow,” she paused to let the outbreak of laughter die down, “and most of all, celebrate with us.” The crowd started to press in, thinking she was done.

  “But first, hold on a moment. Dorothy has something she’d like to say. Dorothy?” she said, stepping aside so Dorothy could make her way out the door.

  “Hello everyone. Since it’s a night to celebrate, I’d just like to seize this occasion to honor and congratulate two of our own. Edward Showalter, come on out here with the ‘bubbly’!” He stepped up beside her carrying the tray. “Nellie Ruth McGregor, would you please come up here and stand by your man!”

  Nellie Ruth put her hand over her mouth while Edward Showalter burst out laughing. Someone had to nudge Nellie Ruth to get her to move. People started hooting and clapping as she reluctantly made her way between ES and Dorothy, where Katie directed her. After the lovebirds were situated next to each other, Katie took the tray from Edward Showalter and held it while Dorothy poured the sparkling cider into the glasses.

  “Now each one of you take a glass,” Dorothy told them, which they did. “Now interlock your elbows and bring your own glass back to your lips.” Nellie Ruth thought she would surely die of embarrassment, but Edward Showalter was lit up brighter than a thousand-watt bulb. “Now hold it right there,” she said when they were in place. “Now look into each other’s eyes,” which they had no trouble doing. “Now, since baseball practice is just around the corner and I’m still the Wild Musketeers’ only cheerleader—due to the fact I haven’t died yet,” which caused everyone to laugh and Nellie Ruth to worry her shaking laughter would cause her to spill her drink, “I thought I’d just get in a little practice. Everyone, on the count of three, say, ‘Congratulations on your engagement, you two!’ And a-one,” she said, throwing up one finger, “and a-two, and a . . .”

  “CONGRATULATIONS ON YOUR ENGAGEMENT, YOU TWO!”

  While Edward Showalter and Nellie Ruth, arms still entwined, sipped from their glasses, Dorothy, eyes aglow, watched Jacob begin to make his way through the crowd. Katie had asked him if he’d serve as her escort for the evening, and he of course had said yes.

  A Note from the Author

  With a sigh of relief (the type that comes at the end of all fulfilling labors), several months ago I turned in the manuscript for the book you’ve just read (unless you’re one of those tricky types who starts at The End). Editors and copy editors had their astute way with it, and now, I’ve just spent the last four days (reading somewhat slowly, making a few notes, clarifying this and that) marveling at my own storytelling. It was an amazing, nearly surreal experience! I laughed and cried (same as I did while writing), page-turned with fervor and occasionally thought, OH! I hope I remember that prayer—that comeback, that funny line, that attitude—if the same thing ever happens to me! Since I’m the author, I know that might sound odd. It’s just that sometimes my own storytelling seems to happen apart from me. (I do, however, know I’m typing right now. ;>) )

  I’m not sharing my amazement here to be a braggadocio. I’m actually in a state of wonder. I am amazed at what the creative process delivers if we but give ourselves over to it, become its servant, if you will. Stories—make that any creative tug or whisper—often arrive on the unsuspecting wings of grace, but far too often we don’t feel ready for them, so we duck and run. This time, I’m glad I didn’t take time to think, but rather trusted and began to write.

  “How do you dream these things up?” I’m often asked. I even asked myself that after reading this book. TRUTH: I don’t. I am not this clever. But the pure act of Creation is. BRAVO!

  I am, however, a keen observer of life. I believe if we honor the Truth of an emotion or impulse, a bout of anger or insecurity, a moment of temptation or triumph, that we will core-connect with others. Even though I have written every word of the Welcome to Partonville series myself, I also know that I couldn’t have done so if the characters (and aren’t they?!) didn’t “show up” in my head and lead the way—which I trusted them to do. And that wouldn’t have happened without the genuine trailblazing, guts and grit of the Real Dearest Dorothy (whose hands remain on my shoulders, all the way from heaven) and my Real parents, grandparents, aunts, uncles, godparents and vibrant other oldsters)—who infused me with their natural spunk, Divine trust, bravery, sincere love and unquenchable zest for life.

  RECAP: the Creator sets creativity in motion. I don’t think; I pray to get out of my own way. I honor and serve the story that begins to unfold. I type as fast as the “movie” runs. I dare to be brave and share emotional truths. I am amazed by the outcome!

  So, whatever creative act the Creator calls you to today, I heartily encourage you to respond. Perhaps you will soon enjoy the fruits of your own Amazing Experience! Write and tell me about it, okay?

  Charlene Ann Baumbich

  www.welcometopartonville.com

  charlene@welcometopartonville.com

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