by Bill Higgs
The three exchanged pleasantries, and Del climbed in and drove away, scattering gravel, just as a panel truck marked Joseph Dillermann Plumbing pulled in. The driver was a likable fellow who introduced himself and retrieved a clipboard from the cluttered dashboard. Virgil explained the need.
“Where’s your septic tank?”
“Don’t have one down here. Just for the house.” Virgil pointed up the hill.
Joe scratched on the clipboard. “Gonna need one. I put one in last fall for the place across the street. Gonna need to hire a backhoe, too. Where’s the room?”
“Room?”
More scratches. “Water?”
“There’s a sink in the garage and another in the back room.”
Scratches and a frown. “Well, let’s have a look around and see what we can do.”
Virgil and Joe walked around the building and the property, while Welby watched the pumps and finished Grover’s tune-up. After several trips, a lot of measuring, and a meeting in Virgil’s office, another deal was made. Virgil would have to give up his office, but the cost was less than adding a room, and he could stay closer to his budget. He never used the office much anyway, and he could have the telephone moved to the front counter by the snack rack. The old Volkswagen that served as Ticky’s doghouse would have to be moved to make way for the septic tank, but he could find another place for her and the pups. The back of the station needed cleaning up anyway. He’d call someone to take the old VW and Arlie’s old Army surplus truck away when he went to town to see his banker tomorrow. Maybe he could make this work after all.
Grover came by at closing time to pick up the Plymouth, bringing a bag of Anna Belle’s venison biscuits to share. “That’s the last of them! No more until November, when hopefully we’ll get another deer. Who was the guy in the truck?”
“Plumber. We’re putting in a bathroom so we can attract women as customers. Mavine’s idea.”
“Probably a good idea. Every time we go on vacation, Anna Belle always wants to see the service station’s restroom before we fill up, just to satisfy her that the place is classy. One of those things about women we’ll never understand, I guess.”
“We’re also doing a bit of fixing up. Paint, cleaning the floor. Maybe even a new sign. Wondered maybe if we could borrow your ladder?”
“Sure. But be careful on that thing. By the way, have you seen Arlie lately?”
Virgil and Welby looked at each other and shook their heads.
“He used to come into the store and play pinochle with Sam Wright and the old guys on slow days, but I haven’t seen him in a while. Hope he’s doing all right.”
“He’s been fishing a lot lately.” Welby handed Grover the keys. “You might find him over at the lake.”
“Well, I may just look over there.” Grover climbed in the Plymouth, causing noticeable sag on the driver’s side, and started the engine. “Runs great. Thanks, both of you. The ladder’s behind the store; borrow it whenever you like.”
“Thanks for your business, and for the biscuits!” Virgil had already dug deep into the sack. Mavine’s exotic lunch had left a taste in his mouth for something normal.
Cornelius watched the scene across the street with curious interest. Del and the old Buick he recognized immediately, and Del and Virgil were walking around the building together. Their voices were too faint for him to make out what they were saying, but the proceedings involved measuring tapes, outstretched arms, and much pointing to the walls and the trim. Clearly, Virgil was up to something.
They had met on several occasions, including at church, and while their encounters had become more cordial, he remained skeptical. Virgil had been distrustful of him, and not without reason. For that matter, he hadn’t trusted Virgil either. The Zipco manual contained an entire chapter on dealing with competition but he’d dismissed it out of hand, preferring to focus on the sections on marketing and business development. He was trying to get involved in the community, as chapter four suggested, but while he’d become friends with Grover and Anna Belle, he had never walked across the street to visit Virgil. Nor, he recalled, had Virgil come by the Zipco either. Welby had been his very first customer, so maybe that was where he should start.
He was preparing to do just that, when he looked back across the street. Del and the Buick were gone, but another vehicle had taken his place. The plumber and his panel truck were also familiar—it was the same man who had worked on the Zipco station. Once again, the tradesman and Virgil were circling the building, pointing and measuring. This time the plumber was scribbling on a notepad and shaking his head, and after a bit they went inside Osgood’s.
Something big was going on. Welby had chatted with Del, but now he was wandering back and forth between the pumps and working on something in the garage while Joe and Virgil discussed whatever they were about to do. Several things came to mind: a major redo of the station? No, there wasn’t much there to redo. Adding on? The building was made of concrete block, so an addition would require knocking out a wall, which didn’t seem likely.
The third possibility made him shudder. What if Virgil had bought a franchise, maybe even with Gulf or Texaco or some really major company? Zipco’s shiny metal edifice looked pretty good compared to concrete with peeling paint, but what if Virgil was preparing to build anew, maybe even with . . . brick? The Sinclair dinosaur on a tall pole, spinning its long tail in circles as the sign rotated? Too frightening to think about.
Maybe he’d been too aggressive, and had awakened the sleeping giant across the road.
REVEREND CAUDILL was having a Saturday lunch with Brother Taggart and Bob Jenkins, the Methodist minister from up the street. They were telling stories, laughing, and sharing tips. Grover, as promised, had carved signature sandwiches for each of the three and moved the pinochle games to the front porch. And also as promised, they had the place to themselves once the doors closed.
“I’m so glad we got together. Thank you both for doing this. I feel a bit selfish, like I need it more than you. It is like asking you to minister to me.”
Bob—it’s what he wanted to be called—nodded. “My pleasure, Eugene. It’s good to finally meet you.”
“I’m delighted to be here.” Brother Taggart dabbed at his mouth with a napkin. “And I’m happy to minister to either of you. So what can we pray about for one another?”
Reverend Caudill was caught by surprise. Pray for one another? He’d just preached on that topic the week before. And he was willing, but others being willing to pray for him? He hadn’t expected that.
“I’ve had a rough spell in my ministry, but I think I’m on the way back. I’ve got some changes in my flock, and I feel like changes are on the way for me, too.”
Bob replied, “I’m still going through that rough spell. I guess every minister hits a rocky time and wants to quit. I fear my faith is sagging too.”
Brother Taggart watched with understanding as both men were speaking. “I understand both of your challenges. When my wife died, I spent several years being angry at God. I was angry at my congregation as well. We’re small, but somehow God used them to speak to me. To get me through it. And God said, ‘My grace is sufficient,’ just like he told Paul.”
Everything the man said made sense. And like Bob, Reverend Caudill had known how it felt to want to quit. “So, Brother Taggart, what would you like us to pray for?”
“Gentlemen, you know we rent space at the old hardware store across from Willett’s. The lease is up for renewal, and we’re concerned the monthly rate may go beyond what we can pay.”
A rent hike? The First Evangelical Baptist Church might have a leaky roof, but they were never in danger of eviction. Both he and Bob placed their hands on Brother Taggart’s shoulders and prayed for him, for his church, and for Eden Hill.
It had turned cold and stormy overnight and was raining hard when Virgil came to work on Tuesday, carrying the large box Mavine had left next to the door. He’d wrapped it in an old dry-cleaning bag
in a heroic attempt to keep it from becoming soaked. These precautions did nothing for his head, and the old baseball cap did equally little.
His new early schedule meant that he left the house before Vee Junior, who would catch the school bus in front of the service station at six thirty. Breakfast also came earlier, and everyone was counting the days until school would finally be out for the summer. When he left, Mavine had been struggling to get Vee into a shiny yellow raincoat, which fit neither the boy’s stature nor his personality. Virgil was glad to have missed the tussle.
Welby had just unlocked the door when he arrived and was carrying something inside. “The wind kept blowing the price sign over, so I’m bringing it inside until it lets up.” He held the door open for Virgil with his free hand.
“Good idea, Welby. Unless the Zipco has lowered its price again, I’m not going to change mine.” He peeked out the front window. “Looks like he’s open for business and already has a couple of customers. Price is the same, though.”
“Well, I don’t expect him to change it again. He’s got to be selling at cost as it is, then has to pay for the coffee cup if they get a fill-up.” Welby had hung up his coat by the tire rack. “You can’t make money that way.”
“And we can’t make any money if he takes away all our business. Sorry, Welby, but I’ve decided that Mavine is right. We have to move forward, to change too. To ‘compete,’ as she calls it.” Virgil had found his usual stool and was wringing the water out of his pants onto the concrete floor.
The door opened again. Vee had come in where it was dry and warm until the bus came, looking neither pleased nor awake. He stared at the floor. “I’m going to have to paint that? With a brush?”
“Yes. It won’t take as long as you think, and you’ll have the rest of the summer left. Besides, I’m paying you ten dollars.”
“Ten . . .” Vee paused. Gainful employment was clearly a fresh concept. He was contemplating this opportunity as the flashing lights of the bus appeared in the window. “Gotta go,” he said, and dashed out the door, almost forgetting his lunch.
“So you’re going through with it.” Welby was arranging his tools by size.
“Yes.” Virgil sighed. “We’re doing it. Del thought he would be by about one o’clock this afternoon with the paint. I bought the gray enamel for the floor and the special cleaner, too. Vee can do that, but we’ll need to do the rest. It’ll have to dry out, though.”
“Everything needs to dry out, including you. What’s in the box?”
“My uniform. Mavine says I need to take it over to Mr. Willett’s to get it fitted up for me.”
“Uniform? Well, I suppose he can do whatever needs to be done. May need to go see him myself if Alma keeps making that pot roast.” Welby patted his own expanding waistline. “By the way, Mr. Willett stopped by yesterday while you and the plumber were walking around in the back. Said Mrs. Alexander had come by his store to buy some new clothes.”
“Well, glad she’s getting out some. New baby, you know. When Vee was born, Mavine didn’t leave the house for at least three months, except for church, of course. What about Cornelius? I’ve seen him at church every now and again.”
Welby sat in his own barber chair—a favorite perch. “They’ve come to our Sunday school class a couple of times. Nice enough folks. Anna Belle and Grover have watched their baby during services and have gotten to know them a bit. They come in Stacy’s Grocery sometimes.”
“Welby, I keep thinking we ought to pay him a visit, but Mavine is wary. She says I shouldn’t trust him.”
The mechanic shook his head. “He’s just trying to make a living, Virgil. Same as all of us. We still have enough customers to keep us both busy, and you’ve never missed a paycheck. You should get to know each other. Make friends with him. After all, you’re neighbors, and now you go to church together.”
“But what if he is trying to close us down?”
“That shouldn’t stop you from doing right by him. What was it you said at the church business meeting? ‘Have you forgotten who you are?’ Mr. Osgood taught you right and wrong, and how to treat other people. So did the gospel. In spite of Mavine’s worries, you need to do what’s right. She’ll respect you all the more for it.”
Virgil had not been in Willett’s Dry Goods in several months. He’d had no need to, really. Mavine usually bought his clothes through the Montgomery Ward catalog, though she visited Willett’s frequently, usually to buy fabric or notions, and occasionally something from the ready-to-wear rack along the wall.
Willett’s looked exactly the same as always. Packages of sewing patterns and bolts of cloth lay scattered on tables. A couple of rotating displays featured buttons and rickrack, and a small hi-fi set in the corner was playing something classical and soothing. Mr. Henry Willett, usually less pleasant, was nowhere to be seen, so Virgil rang the little bell on the counter.
“Hang on, I’ll get there.” The voice came from somewhere in the back of the shop, and was accompanied by sounds of a chair being scooted and general irritation.
The proprietor appeared, wearing his usual tape measure around his neck. “Mavine said you were coming.”
“Good afternoon, Mr. Willett. I need to get this altered, or let out, or whatever you call it.” He took the box from under his arm and set it on the counter.
“Let’s see.” Instead of opening the box, Mr. Willett wrapped the measuring tape around Virgil’s waist, hm-hmmed, and wrote something on a scrap of paper. “Thirty-eight inches. Hope we have enough fabric to work with.” He then measured Virgil’s chest, sleeve length, and embarrassingly, his inseam, followed by more pencil scratchings. “Now let’s look in here.” He opened the box and hmmed again, holding aloft a pair of trousers. “I can do it, but just barely.”
“It’s Mavine’s idea.”
“Of course.” Mr. Willett held aloft a second item from the box, a jacket, judging it more by eye than by measure. “Try this on.”
Virgil did as he was told, feeling awkward. He’d endured the same indignities once before at Welgo when he and Mavine went to get his Sunday suit. The uniform was tight, but at least it wasn’t wool.
“I can have it ready next week.”
“That’s fine.” For all it mattered to Virgil, Mr. Willett could take all month.
“I’ll bring it over. Besides, I need you to take another look at my car. I’m thinking of selling it.”
“That’ll also be fine. Come by whenever you can.”
Wednesday and Thursday remained rainy and cold, more like April than early June. Vee’s last day of fifth grade was supposed to include a picnic, and Mavine sent him with a banana, a cheese sandwich, and a bag of potato chips. She’d been packing apples until she found out that he was trading them and his milk money on Fridays for Darlene Prewitt’s MoonPies. Vee did sometimes eat bananas, so he might get at least something healthy for lunch. As it turned out, the picnic would be in the school gym because of the bad weather, on tarps put down to keep the basketball court from being ruined.
Osgood’s would be busy. Welby was working on his own car today, and a new customer was coming over in the afternoon for a set of tires—Fisks this time. This morning, he also needed to clear out his office so the plumber could transform it into the ladies’ room.
He sent Vee off to catch his bus and came in the side door. “Morning, Welby.”
“Good morning, boss. Still raining?”
“A drizzle. WNTC says it’s supposed to clear up later. What’s the cost of gas at the Zipco this morning?”
“Same as yesterday. I don’t think he’s changed anything this week. He’s had a customer already, though. One of the boys from the tractor shop.”
Another customer lost. “So, we’ve got our changes all planned. I’m hoping it will dry out so the backhoe man can dig for the septic tank next week. Del should be bringing more paint this afternoon. It still won’t leave us much time before Mavine wants us to have what she calls a ‘grand reopening.’”
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“Sounds good!” Welby could always be counted on for affirmation.
Virgil sighed and rubbed his stiff neck. “I’ll need you to watch the pumps out front. I’ll be in the back clearing out the office.”
Virgil’s desk was a legendary mess. He didn’t do much of his work there, largely because he could never find anything, but mainly because Welby usually helped him with his sums when he was trying to pay bills, and he typically placed his orders for gasoline and supplies when the representative stopped in every other week. The room served as his phone booth and catchall, and little else.
Nevertheless, it had to be cleaned out, which meant that he’d have to sift through the piles of papers and catalogs to see what needed to be kept. The telephone was on top for a change, and was holding down several old newspapers, along with an old JC Whitney catalog. Below that lay a yellowed issue of Grit from 1957 and one of Vee’s long-forgotten school papers with an A in the upper left-hand corner. He was ready to shovel everything into the trash when he uncovered something unexpected: the Pageant, its shiny paper clip still marking the troublesome article.
Virgil looked at the magazine again, then at the framed photo of his family that had replaced the Safe-T-Maid calendar, and finally at the little mirror in the corner. Was Mavine right about a grand reopening? Or was Welby right, and he ought to help Cornelius succeed? He’d talked those questions over right in this very building, on more than one occasion. Jesus said, “Love your neighbor.” Virgil also seemed to recall something about serving Jesus being the most important thing of all. Did that mean he had to love Cornelius Alexander as much as he loved Mavine? The thought made his head spin.
Virgil flipped open the Pageant again. He certainly hadn’t done any of those terrible things that Betty LaMour said men do, but had he truly lived up to all the things he’d vowed to Mavine: to love, honor, and cherish her?
