Eden Hill

by Bill Higgs

  Thanks to an executive decision, Charlie became Zippy the Clown for the day. Cornelius thought his assistant would fit the costume better than himself, and besides, he had to greet customers as the Zipco’s proprietor. By late morning Charlie had figured out how to blow up the balloons with the air hose and twist them into shapes something like those shown in the directions. Most looked more like toilet seats with tails than the swan and the horse in the picture, and he had to be careful around the thorny roses, but he seemed to be having a good time anyway.

  By noon, a few more people had stopped by. Sam Wright drove in on his Farmall, almost hitting the pump island, but he did buy some gasoline. He left with a rose for his Bertha. Mrs. Crutcher bought a quarter’s worth of premium for her Buick. She turned down the rose but drove away with a green balloon that looked like an overgrown slug.

  Realizing that it was past noon, Cornelius left Zippy to mind the shop and walked up to the trailer for lunch.

  “Hello?” There was no reply, but he did hear sounds from the bedroom. JoAnn was crying. Again.

  “What’s wrong, JoAnn?”

  “You know very well what’s wrong! Why did you ever think we could just come into this little town, open a service station, and make a living at it? You believed all that stuff the Zipco people said about profit, and becoming wealthy, and living the good life. Look around you. Does this look like the good life?”

  Cornelius had to admit it didn’t. Their mobile home looked nothing like the brick split-level shown on the back of Zipco’s promotional literature, and so far there was no sign of the line of cars waiting for service on the front-cover illustration. And though the truth had always been in the back of his mind, for the first time it was front and center. JoAnn was right. Zipco’s pitch had been high and inside, and he’d swung for the fence.

  “JoAnn, I promise you that we’ll make it here. As soon as people learn who we are and that we’re open, they’ll come. You’ll see.”

  “Do you really believe that?”

  He hesitated. “Yes, I do! And I’ll do everything I promised for you and Suzy!”

  Suzy had awakened and immediately announced her hunger. “I need to give Suzy her bottle. There’s bread in the breadbox and leftover Spam in the refrigerator.” She gestured toward the kitchen. “I’ll get something later.”

  By now he’d lost his appetite and made only a single sandwich, not even bothering with mustard. If he got hungry that afternoon, there were always Anna Belle’s biscuits and a Royal Crown Cola from the drink cooler.

  By the end of the day, Cornelius felt better. Lula Mae Prewitt had stopped by to put some gasoline in Arlie’s truck and to make sure there were no inappropriate calendars on the Zipco wall. Anna Belle had stopped in to say hello and see if he needed any more biscuits, which he didn’t, and left with two long-stemmed flowers. A photographer from the Quincy Reporter drove all the way from town to take pictures of the new business and of Zippy, who gave him a red balloon and a rose for his wife. Several others had driven through just to wish him well, which was an encouragement. Zippy had given away all his inflatable novelties, and he’d passed out most of the flowers. Charlie was more than happy to get out of the Zippy costume, and Cornelius was ready to take off the itchy hat and loosen his bow tie.

  “Well, Charlie, what did you think of our grand opening?”

  “It was a fine day, Mr. Alexander. See you tomorrow.”

  A fine day? At least somebody thought so. As Charlie walked up the street, Cornelius folded the plywood grand opening sign and moved it inside the garage door. The Open sign was still lit, so he turned it off and also pulled the switch that controlled the rotating Zipco emblem. It went dark and slowly wound to a stop.

  He emptied the coins from the vending machines, added them to the register, and counted the cash in the till. Counting the two candy bars and pack of cigarettes Charlie had purchased, the day’s revenue amounted to just over fourteen dollars.

  It’ll get better. As he started to lock the door, inspiration struck. Inside the drink case he counted twelve red roses, still individually wrapped. He gathered them together, pleased at his artistic arrangement, and walked back home to where JoAnn and Suzy were waiting.

  VIRGIL SLURPED his fifth cup of coffee and watched the goings-on at the Zipco. The Open sign had just been turned off, as had the big rotating lightning bolt. “What do you think, Welby?”

  Welby took a sip from his first cup. “It was an impressive first day; I’ll allow him that. Big light-up sign. Fancy uniform. Charlie was pretty funny in that clown suit and red nose. I didn’t see a lot of business, though.”

  “Did you see his prices?”

  “Yep. A couple of pennies cheaper. Not to worry.”

  “So what do you think I need to do?”

  “Go home and have a good dinner with your family.”

  Virgil had to admit it; all the action at the Zipco yesterday had shaken him up a bit. While the festivities were unfolding across the street, he’d been planning his own response to the competitive challenge. It was a modest reply: cleaning the garage floor, a new sign for the pumps, and Mavine’s suggestion from several months back—a fresh coat of paint for the building. All of these needed to be done anyway, Zipco or no Zipco.

  His wife’s reaction had been on a smaller scale and involved his wardrobe. Four pairs of new khaki trousers had dried overnight on metal stretchers, hanging like flags from the makeshift clothesline on the back porch. She handed a pair to him and was taking the last three down while the morning coffee was coming to a boil.

  “Mavine, what did you do to these pants? They feel like plywood.” Virgil didn’t ordinarily dress on the back porch, but she’d confiscated all of his work clothes the night before and promised a fresh outfit.

  “I asked Grover to get me some heavy-duty starch. Alma is doing the same for Welby. If it isn’t enough . . .”

  “They’re fine, Mavine. I’ll get used to them.”

  “I also put your name on your new shirt!”

  He looked down. Sure enough, she’d embroidered Virgil in cursive letters in white thread just above the pocket. The g was a bit crooked, but otherwise it looked good. His shirt, he realized, was as crispy as his trousers.

  “You’ll want your feet to look nice too.” She handed him a clean pair of argyle socks, his shoes, a tin of black Kiwi, and a scrap from her ragbag. Clearly, the polish was to be his task.

  Grumbling, he got dressed, grateful she hadn’t put starch in anything else. “I’m still concerned that this grand opening thing is going to be a problem. He’s making quite a splash. I saw several cars over there yesterday that I recognized.”

  “Well, it’s modern, very tidy looking, and advertises ‘clean restrooms.’ And I hear he was quite charming to the ladies.”

  “But we’re more than flowers and clowns, Mavine. People know us. We’ve been here for a long time, and we’ve done things right. That ought to count for something. We’ve never been very busy, but we’ve never gone without dinner either.”

  The words sounded familiar, as he recalled an earlier conversation. If he were going to be the kind of husband and father that Mavine could respect, he’d have to think of something. If an occasion needed rising to, well, he’d rise.

  “Or breakfast.” She poured steaming black coffee into his mug. “But you’ve never had any competition either.”

  Vee joined them in the kitchen but seemed oblivious to what was going on.

  “Mavine, I’ve talked a lot to Welby, who doesn’t seem to be bothered at all. Says he hopes Cornelius does well with his station, that everyone deserves a chance. After all, he has a wife and a baby daughter. Zipco had a few customers yesterday. So did we. We have a thing or two planned, but what else do we need to do?”

  Soon the biscuits came out of the oven, and fresh scrambled eggs appeared on his and Vee’s plates. He gulped the food down with gusto, thanked Mavine, and wiped his face with the rag.

  “Virgil! That was for
your shoes!”

  “Mavine, I’ve got work to do.” He stood, dropping the tin of Kiwi into his pocket and filling his coffee mug with the last of the brew in the percolator. “I’ll clean up my shoes if I get something on them. I promise.” He winked and followed Vee out the front door, leaving it to swing in the fresh morning breeze.

  Virgil walked down the path, his new trousers crackling the entire way. He was not prepared for what he saw next. The Zipco Super Service was in full operation, even at seven o’clock in the morning, with new prices posted on the sign. Zipco premium down a penny, with the lower grade also one cent cheaper across the street. No clowns could be seen, but Cornelius was out front dressed in his snappy uniform, cleaning the windshield of Arlie’s truck. The two were chatting away like old friends while Charlie pumped his gasoline. With a smile.

  Virgil avoided spilling his coffee, but barely.

  Welby had exchanged his own starched work shirt for his white barber’s jacket and was holding his Thursday night tonsorial court. Virgil had decided to visit to get a trim and observe the proceedings. The usual suspects were all there: Sam Wright sat in the chair, Grover was parked awkwardly in an old dinette seat, and Reverend Caudill was waiting his turn under the clippers. Not surprisingly, the new Zipco station was the topic of the lively conversation.

  “Quite a show over at the new place, Virgil. What do you suppose he’ll do for an encore?” Grover slouched down in the plastic cushion and crossed his arms.

  “Well, I don’t know.” Virgil, finding no remaining chair, chose to stand and lean against the doorframe. “Kind of hard to beat all the stuff he had on Monday. He’s cut his prices too.”

  Grover crossed his feet to match the rest of his body. “We have a saying in the grocery business: ‘You can’t sell below cost and then make up for it on volume!’”

  Virgil straightened. “What volume? Sam, you’re the only one here that I’ve seen buying anything over there.”

  Sam jerked, nearly costing him a bald spot. “Well, he had what I needed. Gave me a rose for Bertha too.” He settled back down, such that Welby could shave his neck without worry.

  Grover spun his chair around and straddled it. “Sam, what do you put in that Farmall anyway?”

  “Moonshine. Throw in some octane booster, and she’ll run all day!” Sam, his haircut half-finished, climbed out, paid Welby two silver dollars, and headed out the door and into the night. The tractor rumbled to life, its growl rattling the back door.

  “He might be right, you know. Arlie can run that old John Deere on coal oil if he has to.” Virgil took the seat vacated by Reverend Caudill, who had now placed himself in Welby’s able hands.

  The pastor settled into the chair. “Speaking of Arlie, has anybody seen him? He’s usually here on Thursday nights.”

  Welby pumped the handle to adjust the seat to a comfortable level and reached for his scissors. “Last I saw him was across the street. He’s bought gasoline for his truck at the Zipco the past few mornings. I suppose it gives him an early start on the day.”

  The room fell silent. “Virgil, I thought Arlie was a good friend, one of your best customers.” Reverend Caudill leaned forward and risked a shaggy sideburn.

  “He was—is. No reason he can’t buy from the Zipco place. No reason at all.” Virgil stood, knocking over his chair. “It’s a free country, isn’t it?” His voice was more than needed for the small room. Forgetting his haircut, he stomped red-faced out the door, not bothering to push it closed.

  Reverend Caudill sat in his office on Friday morning, pondering the events of the previous night. He’d put his foot in his mouth and angered Virgil, and that called for an apology. Clearly, Virgil’s friendship with Arlie was strained by the events of the week, and by the farmer’s absence at the gathering with Welby. Still, there was more to it than this. He would go by Osgood’s later to see Virgil and to make amends, and he’d planned to pay a pastoral call at the Prewitt farm today anyway. All was not well in Eden Hill, and the grapes had soured on his watch. He would see it put right.

  He’d meddled once, and he planned to meddle again.

  It seemed he had a sermon to write. This Sunday, his planned message on Jesus and the Pharisees would just have to be postponed.

  Cornelius spent most of Friday morning on the phone with the Zipco people, who were becoming less friendly with each conversation. The visit with the Zipco representative last month had been very awkward. His line of credit had dwindled, his newly opened station had “not met expectations” for the first week, and several bills lay on his desk demanding payment. The Zipco management had finally agreed to an additional loan, with several conditions. The rotating sign would run twenty-four hours a day, thus making maximum use of its promotional potential. Another painted sign would be posted reading, We Service Foreign and Domestic Cars. He would also make several additional changes, beginning on Monday. Cornelius jotted a few notes on the back of his electric bill envelope.

  To make matters worse, Arlie, one of his few customers the day before, had tried to hire Charlie back away from him. The farmer had come by every day this week. He’d had to give Charlie a raise to keep him, further straining the station’s finances.

  JoAnn was not happy with him either, so breakfast had been decidedly unpleasant. Her mother’s prenuptial advice came up several times in their conversation, as well as his irresponsibility in providing and caring for his family. He’d had cereal instead of eggs, as the refrigerator was empty. If they’d owned a couch, he’d have slept on it.

  Chapter four in the Zipco manual was about becoming involved in the community. For the last several months he’d been so focused on getting the Zipco off the ground that he’d practically ignored its recommendations. And after walking out on the church Work Day, he was even more ashamed to show his face there. Some people in town he’d come to recognize, but he knew little else about them. Virgil and Welby he knew—at least by name—and he’d made the acquaintance of Grover Stacy over at the grocery.

  JoAnn had gotten to know Anna Belle, who seemed to have taken a special interest in her. Often Anna Belle would bring something from Stacy’s Grocery, and had even offered to come sit with Suzy so they could have a night out. Reverend Caudill had come by several times, but his church was right next door with the parsonage behind, and wasn’t visiting part of a preacher’s job? The Methodist minister had also stopped in with some brochures and an invitation to visit. To be expected.

  In all this and more, he’d failed. Miserably. His credit, marriage, and patience had been stretched to their limits. Nobody at Zipco or the Bluegrass College of Business had ever talked about failure. Business would certainly pick up during the summer, with people driving more, but in the meantime . . .

  His funk was interrupted by a loud ding. A large black Buick had pulled into the pump area, and an elderly woman was talking to Charlie. The conversation, which could be heard at some distance, included a fill-up with premium gasoline, a full oil change, and a new set of tires. Mrs. Crutcher also wanted a chassis lube; said she was off to see her lawyer and didn’t want to go with a squeaky car.

  He gave a sigh of relief. The maintenance on the Buick would bring in more revenue than they had seen all week, and “the appearance of a busy shop will invite additional business.” Page sixty-six in the Zipco manual was a favorite. Improving finances would certainly make JoAnn happy. Or at least happier.

  It was a hard morning. Virgil hadn’t slept well, probably due to a cup of leftover coffee before going to bed. Mavine had tossed and turned as well, and woke later than usual. Vee needed a lunch packed for a school field trip and almost missed his bus. Virgil finally made his own breakfast of cereal and bananas and got to work a half hour late.

  He was always grateful for Welby’s friendship and advice, and today he needed both. “Was I wrong last night?” Virgil sat carefully in a nearby chair, not yet used to his newly starched trousers.

  Welby rolled his creeper out from under Grover’s ol
d Plymouth. “You lost your temper—can’t say anyone blamed you. Reverend Caudill caught you by surprise and felt bad about it afterwards. Said to tell you he’s sorry and meant no harm.”

  “And Arlie?”

  “Came by earlier this morning to buy some Nabs on his way to the lake. Said he sat up with a sick hog last night. Seemed to be having a really hard time about something. Had his boat with him, so he’ll probably be out there all day.”

  “So?”

  “He’s still your friend, if that’s what’s worrying you. Said he stopped at the Zipco to talk to Charlie about something and got gas while he was there. Virgil, you say you’re worried, and I think you’re really wondering what’s best to do.” Welby wiped his hands on a greasy towel. “The most important thing you can do right now is to help out Mr. Alexander.”

  “Help him out? Of what?”

  “His situation. Look across the street. Mrs. Crutcher took her Buick in for tires, gasoline, and some chassis work. Probably the first real business he’s had since he opened.”

  “How do you know that’s what she’s having done?” Virgil found a stool near the parts washer and parked on it.

  “I sent her. She came here first.”

  “You did what?”

  “Virgil, I came in to work early this morning, before the Zipco opened. I could hear Mr. Alexander and his wife arguing when he left their trailer to go to work. My hearing’s not what it used to be, but I didn’t have to know what the words were to know what’s going on. He needs the business more than we do. It also gave Mrs. Crutcher a chance to do something good for a change.”

  Virgil started to say something, but Welby held up his hand. “I know you and Mavine have been mulling over how to respond to the Zipco station. Alma said she’s talked with her, and Mavine thinks you need to do something about it. Yes?”

  Virgil nodded.

  “Remember Reverend Caudill’s message on the Good Samaritan?”