He realized that he seemed to be able to move around as he thought, because when he wondered what Pastor Smith was going to say, he found himself looking over the pastor’s shoulder and saw the notes. “Aw, just speak from your heart, Stanley.”
A moment later, three five-by-six note cards went flying into the hole in the ground. The pastor looked down. Everyone looked down.
Winston raised an eyebrow at Coweta right beside him. She gave him an amused look he couldn’t quite read.
Then Pastor Smith cleared his throat and began in a stilted manner. “I’ve known Winston Valentine probably a far shorter time than any of you here, but since I first arrived, he provided me with wise guidance and unfailing encouragement, always in his pithy manner.”
Swallowing, he looked at the surrounding faces. “What can I say? Winston Valentine was a man beyond my words. Our sorrow is great, but Winston had a good life, and I know he is with our Heavenly Father, and that he is havin’, as he always did, a bang-up time. And he would tell us to get over our grievin’ quickly. Winston wasn’t a grievin’ man. He was a man of amazin’ faith and everlasting joy, and this is the legacy he left. Winston Valentine has departed this earth, but he will never be gone from our hearts.”
Seconds passed, and everyone looked at the pastor, startled to realize he had quit speaking and in fact seemed finished.
The pastor seemed a little surprised himself.
Just then Felton Ballard began to sing “I’m Going Home.” His wife joined in with him.
Winston said to Coweta beside him, “Do you see that? They’re givin’ me a grand send-off.”
“I see, Winston.”
He pulled a handkerchief out of his back pocket to blow his nose, and after doing so, he looked at his handkerchief, then down at his clothes, all familiar. “How come I have a handkerchief…and all this…up here?”
“Why wouldn’t you?”
“I don’t know. Just unexpected to have normal things from earth.” Although feeling foolish, he had rather expected a gown and wings. Then a horrible thought… “I did make it to heaven, didn’t I?”
“Yes, honey.” Coweta chuckled.
“Well, I just don’t seem to be…so gone. I’m still here.” He held his hands out, looking at the cuffs of his shirt.
“Yes, sugar. And you always will be here, just like Stanley said, in all the good you’ve left behind.”
“What about the bad?” Winston knew he had done some of that.
“God’s grace is greater than your bad, honey.”
Coweta’s laughter rang like sweet bells as she seemed to move off into the glowing air, her voice floating back to him. “Just as life on earth was mostly unexpected, so it is in heaven, too. Nothing about that changes.”
“I can’t believe he’s gone,” Marilee told Tate that evening in the kitchen. “I swear, when I looked into the living room, I thought I saw his old rocker rockin’.”
This sentiment was repeated again and again all over town. And as is normal after the loss of a loved one, in the following days Winston’s family and friends, both close and casual, experienced a sense of his presence.
That first night after Winston’s funeral, his daughter Charlene sat right up in bed, scaring her husband. “I dreamed of Daddy,” she told him, breaking into tears. “He told me he wanted me to know he loved me, that he felt he had not paid me enough attention.” Charlene had always felt her father did not pay her attention, that her sister had been the favored one, and her brother, by virtue of being the boy, got more attention still.
Feeling very much loved, she went to her kitchen to get a cup of tea and found her sister, Rainey, who was staying the night, there ahead of her. “I dreamed of Daddy, too,” said Rainey, and the two sisters talked long into the early hours, as they had not in years.
The morning following the funeral, over at the Valentine-Holloway house, Rosalba came downstairs and told her employer, “I’m not gettin’ the sheets off Mr. Winston’s bed. I felt him in there, and I could smell him.”
“Of course you can smell him in his bedroom,” replied Marilee. “He always used all that aftershave.” She went up to get the sheets off the bed, and she caught the scent so strongly that she had to check the aftershave bottle to make certain the lid was on tight. Then she sat in the rocker by the window and reflected on how much the old man had given them, and how much more of a woman she had become in these years in this house.
Vella called Belinda and told her, “I saw the glow in Winston’s yard again, by Coweta’s rosebushes. You know that happened a lot for a long time after Coweta died.”
Belinda said to this, “Mama, I’m glad for you—Winston loved you,” in such an unusually caring manner that Vella started to cry.
Later that morning, when Vella went to Winston’s big Victorian house to attend the reading of the will, she sat in Winston’s old rocker-recliner, rubbing her palms down the leather arms that were worn soft from the years of Winston’s own hands. She felt him all around her, and she reminisced aloud of their years together, which caused Rosalba to look in on her once.
As others began arriving, Vella stayed solidly in Winston’s chair, even when Winston’s grown children arrived.
“I think you should let Freddie sit there,” Freddie’s wife, Helen, told her. “He is Winston’s son and eldest,” the woman prodded.
To which Vella snorted, then replied, “Where has Freddie been all these years? We thought he’d died.” And she rocked on.
That afternoon Corrine and Larry Joe went downtown in Larry Joe’s big truck. They thought to get away from all the talk going on in the house following the reading of the will. Willie Lee and Munro jumped up from the porch and went with them.
On the sidewalk, they ran into Paris coming out of the drugstore. “I came down to get Miss Belinda some essential oils for her relaxation aromatherapy.”
“Her what?” asked Larry Joe.
“Don’t ask,” Paris and Corrine said as one, in the tone employed when women know fully something a man will not understand.
Then Corrine looked at the drugstore. “I don’t want to go in there. Not yet. It’ll be so odd without Mr. Winston.”
“Everywhere is odd without Mr. Winston,” said Paris. “Did you hear Everett on the Wake Up program this mornin’?”
“No,” said Larry Joe shortly, and Corrine said she had slept in.
“Well, Belinda called him and told him he had better stop the effort on the Wake Up call.”
There was a moment of silence, and then Willie Lee interjected, “The caf-é has rai-sin pie now, Cor-rine.” Although he did not like the café as much, because Munro had to wait outside. But he wanted to be helpful, and he felt the need to visit the café.
Corrine’s spirits rose. Faced with returning to school far from home, she desperately needed something precious and familiar, and the pie was just that. She led the way, crossing the street in the middle of the block.
“Jaydee was in a bit ago and told us all about the will. He was still sweatin’ from the effort of the reading like it was July, and ordered the roast beef and potatoes and gravy plate to rejuvenate himself.” Fayrene opened her pad. “So…what’ll you all—”
“I want raisin pie,” said Corrine, who was eager to get things moving in the direction of comfort.
After Fayrene had taken their orders and walked away, Paris said, “Miss Vella came over to Miss Belinda’s after and told us everything. She said a paintin’ fell off the wall and hit your uncle Freddie’s wife in the head.” She looked at Larry Joe, adding, “She said she thought it was Mr. Winston.”
“Maybe it was,” Larry Joe said. “Mom said Helen has groused over that paintin’ for years, claimin’ that Grandma gave it to her a long time ago. She’s takin’ it home with her,” he added.
“How is it workin’ out, stayin’ at Miss Belinda’s?” Corrine asked Paris, changing the worn-out subject that depressed her, even though she had also been named in Winston’s will (which
had added to Helen Valentine’s hissy fit).
Paris seemed to have changed dramatically in only a little more than a week of living with Belinda. Her face was lighter. Aunt Marilee said it was not so heavy because Paris no longer wore three layers of makeup and all that hardware. The earrings were gone from her eyebrows and her nose. Only one large and one small remained in each earlobe. The finger rings and wrist chains were also gone. She had definitely been toned down and softened.
“Okay,” Paris said with a shrug. “She says I can stay with her and Lyle for as long as I want. And I can help her right now, you know, with her supposed to be on bed rest, and when the baby comes. I run her errands and help her with the cooking when I’m there.” She paused, then said, shyly averting her gaze, “She’s been real generous.”
With a bit of eagerness, she told of shopping online for clothes. She and Corrine discussed the various clothing Web sites and what they liked.
Paris said, “Belinda’s pretty strict about what she lets me buy, but it’s all nice stuff.” Remembering suddenly Belinda’s admonishment about posture, she adjusted her spine and squared her shoulders.
Corrine asked gently about Paris’s grandfather.
“So far he still don—doesn’t know where he is. I don’t know.” She pressed her lips together and gazed at the table.
No one knew what to say in the face of that. Luckily, a few seconds later Fayrene brought their orders, slices of raisin pie for Corrine and Willie Lee, hamburgers for Paris and Larry Joe.
Corrine gazed at her pie for long seconds, then dug into it. The taste brought back so many memories of her hometown and family. After two bites and feeling teary, she said, “I’ve been thinkin’, and I don’t think I’ll go back to school in OKC. I think I’ll just come home and finish out here in Valentine, and then use the money Mr. Winston left me to go to junior college and live at home.”
“Oh, no, you don’t,” Larry Joe said instantly. “You’re gonna finish the year out up there, at least. It’s a great opportunity, and after that you’ll go to OU, at least. Granddad would have my tail if I let you come home. You get your schoolin’, and I’ll use my inheritance to build up the station and garage, and then we can get married.”
Corrine’s eyes flashed. “You cannot let me do anything. I know what I need and want, and it’s all right here. Ambition is highly overrated,” she added, just then remembering Miss Belinda’s words.
Paris’s gaze went back and forth between the two. “Look, kids…” she said with an air of the worldly wise. “Corrine, you know it probably would be a good idea for you to finish what you started up there at school. That’s far enough to know for now. And you guys cannot block out your entire future this minute. It’s a really bad time…after what’s happened.” She could not speak directly of Mr. Winston’s death.
Corrine and Larry Joe nodded, although Corrine added, “I am not waitin’ ten years to get married.”
Larry Joe grinned, winked at her, then leaned over and kissed her stubbornly held cheek.
The same thought passed through Corrine’s and Paris’s minds, which was: he looks just like his grandfather.
Paris hung her head as the image of her own dissipated grandfather rose up in her mind. The knowledge that people lived on in what they passed on to their children and grandchildren welled up in her chest. What about her? Would her life always be tainted by her mother and grandfather, and the pain they had passed on to her?
“Can I get anybody anything?” It was Fayrene’s man, Andy, which was how each of them thought of him, having heard it from the older women in all their lives. He was passing by with a pot of coffee in hand.
Willie Lee, whom everyone had more or less forgotten like usual, said, “Yes. I wo-uld like the car-ou-sel found.”
They all looked surprised.
“Well, the best I can do, boy-o, is get you another piece of pie,” Andy said.
Winston’s recorded Wake Up call was retired to the archives, as was all his recorded advertising. The old man in the wheel-chair accompanied by the boy and the dog was no longer seen on the streets. His customary seats at the café and the drugstore and the bench beneath the tree on Main Street remained empty.
Once, at the drugstore, Vella started to correct a stranger who came in and sat in Winston’s chair.
“Yes?” said the gentleman, his bottom hovering over the chair and his eyes wide with alarm.
“Oh, I’m sorry.” Vella covered by waving him downward with a towel. “Please sit—it’s just that I realized I need to wipe that table. There now. That’s better.” She smiled more, but the gentleman looked nervous and did not stay long.
Postmistress Julia Jenkins-Tinsley, who had witnessed the scene, said, “It is just darn weird without Winston. He was here all my life.”
To which Inez Cooper, who was getting a sweet tea, said, “Well, he’s not now,” and sighed deeply.
Rosalba Garcia no longer woke her husband and sons by banging pots and pans. She lost the heart for it. Her menfolk were actually disappointed.
Paris found herself a little disoriented, awakening each morning to such quiet, and in fine sheets and a bright room. One time she thought she was in her car again and the sun was coming up. So used to worrying about something, she twice ran in to make certain that Miss Belinda was all right.
Up at the Oklahoma School of Science and Mathematics, Corrine almost missed her first class three mornings in a row because of soothing herself by talking to Larry Joe and wanting him to tell her everything that went on in Valentine.
He said, “Honey, you’ve only been gone a couple of days. Not that much happens here. And nobody else has died,” he thought to add, hoping to help settle her.
John Cole filled his morning coffee cup in a leisurely manner, knowing that Everett’s milder voice coming over the coffeemaker-radio was not about to disturb Emma. Winston’s death had pointed up his own close call and gift of life and health; he determined to relax and enjoy it. While still rising early, John Cole now sat for long peaceful moments on the rear sunporch in the cool early mornings, watching the world awaken and often feeding the birds.
Tate Holloway had his coffee alone and sometimes found himself talking to Winston. Once Marilee caught him at it.
“Are you talkin’ to Winston?”
“Yep,” said Tate. “Why not? Willie Lee does.”
“Ah-huh,” said Marilee with a nod and a sigh, realizing some things simply were.
Jaydee thought much the same thing. It was a fact that he had married Vella, but it also seemed a fact that a part of Vella’s heart still belonged to Winston, a man dead but not, to all intents and purposes, gone. Rather than be jealous, he accepted that and comforted himself that he was the one to have married Vella and would have her with him as he faced his own aging years.
Everett never would have talked to Winston, but he thought of him often.
“The Wake Up show is my show now,” he told Doris, when she suggested he go back to doing his original show at seven. “Winston was right about it, too. A lot of people listen on the way to work—people that have no chance to listen any other time.”
What Everett did not say was that he liked the man that he had become in the months of hosting the Wake Up program. He was fighting to hold on to that and not go back to what he had been: a retired old man who did not care about much of anything.
However, he was finding it hard going. From the first morning as the single host of the Wake Up with Everett show, he fell flat. He could not do the Wake Up reveille call; that was obvious.
He tried opening the program with the ringing of a cowbell, only to have it slip out of his hands and fly across the room, hit a piece of equipment and break off a knob. Then he brought up the subject of Carousel Park, reporting on the upcoming celebration even without a carousel. He got so tangled with that, he wasn’t certain what he finally said. He received only two phone calls, one wanting a repeat of the school lunch menu and another from some drunk fool
who wanted to hear Winston’s Wake Up call for old times’ sake.
“No way, Jo-sé,” Everett said instantly, which at least got a chuckle out of Jim Rainwater.
That evening, Everett went over to ask Willie Lee to return to the morning program. “People have asked me about you, Willie Lee. You are part of the show, and I’d really love to have you…and Munro. I need you.”
He was very surprised when Willie Lee shook his head.
“No, than-k you, sir. I have oth-er things to do.”
The next morning, when Willie Lee’s mother had found out about the exchange and asked him what things he had to do, Willie Lee thought for a moment and then replied, “Things…and I think I will go back to scho-ol.” He said this with an eye on the cinnamon rolls Rosalba had made that morning.
As he hoped, his mother got all excited about the mention of school and did not see that he and Papa Tate, and Munro, ate all the cinnamon rolls.
That afternoon, Willie Lee went down to the Main Street Café. He told Munro to wait outside, and the dog lay down obediently beside the entry, while Willie Lee went in, climbed up on a stool and ordered a piece of raisin pie from Andy behind the counter.
Willie Lee ate the pie, then sat looking at Andy, who was busy writing something on a tablet.
Andy looked up and saw the boy gazing at him. “Do you want something else?”
“I wo-uld like the car-rou-sel,” said Willie Lee.
Fayrene, coming up at that moment, said, “Well, honey, we would all like that,” and stroked Willie Lee’s head, then picked up his money from the counter and stuffed it back in his hand. “Pie is on the house, hon. You want a soda?”
“No, thank you.” He climbed down, went out the door and across the street, where he and Munro sat on the bench they used to sit on with Winston.
“Willie Lee is so lonesome for Winston.” Fayrene gazed out the plate-glass window. “I guess he comes in here because he and Winston mostly used to be at the drugstore. It’s probably painful for him over there.” She didn’t mean to be delighted to have Willie Lee coming to the café, but she was.
Little Town, Great Big Life Page 25
