Hope Springs

by Jaime Berry

  “Well, I better get going.” Miss Esther stood. “See you this evening? I’ll send my friend over around five and pick you up at seven.”

  “See you then,” Nan said.

  Miss Esther nodded to Wynn, and I swear, she winked at him. Then she said, “Good to see you again, missy.” But I suspected she didn’t mean that one bit.

  She left on foot, moving at a sloth’s pace toward the pond.

  “What’s going on? And did she walk here?” I asked. “Is that safe?”

  “She stopped by to drop off more stuff and corner me into going out with her tonight. According to her, she walks a mile three days a week. And despite my saying no three times, she’s sending her hairdresser over here.”

  “She’s something else,” I said.

  “Oh, she’s all right. Turns out we have a lot in common. How’s Holly Paine doing?” Nan asked.

  “Good. She sure knows how to sew. Can I help with anything?” I turned to Wynn, who was already in the kitchen setting up to fry pork chops.

  “Nope, just want to make sure Nan eats something before her big evening out,” he said.

  “Someone’s coming to fix your hair before dinner?” I asked, returning to our conversation.

  “Yes, but I think I’ll be able to do it myself soon. Today, I was able to get all the way dressed. And this thing”—she lifted her Aircast—“I’m starting to get used to it. ‘Never to suffer would have been never to have been blessed.’ Edgar Allan Poe.”

  “I could decorate it for you. Glue some sequins or rhinestones along the edge.” I was already picturing Nan’s brace gussied up, though she wasn’t one for sequins—maybe silver studs.

  “Sure.” She leaned over to tuck a curl behind my ear. “This is a switch, huh? You taking care of me.”

  I shrugged. “It’s not so bad. Seems like you’ve even had time to make a friend.” I nodded toward the road where Miss Esther was still in sight.

  Nan waved her good hand. “Oh, we’re just going to a ladies’ night bingo game at the Veterans’ Center. I think Miss Esther’s real reason for the visit was to check out Wynn.”

  Wynn yelled from the kitchen, “I was in the shower, and she stayed forever! I came out wrinkled as a prune. If I hadn’t had to pick you up, I’d still be in there. Speaking of, I think there are actual prunes in that casserole she dropped off.”

  Nan laughed. “After thinking about her walking all the way here carrying that heavy casserole dish, I felt obligated to go tonight,” she said.

  I stayed in my room during Nan’s home-visit beauty appointment. But when I came out for dinner, Nan looked like herself again, unmussed and dressed to impress in black leggings and a long red shirt with lipstick to match.

  Wynn talked nonstop during supper. He talked about the weather, a stray dog he’d seen, the pond, the size of a mosquito he’d swatted, and new boots he wanted but couldn’t afford. Since he’d moved in, he’d been to the grocery store, cleaned, cooked every meal, and even planted some sunflowers in front of the house.

  “I got the go-ahead from Dr. Burgess. I’m going to start on this kitchen tomorrow,” he added. “I’ll have to take all the hardware off, sand down the cabinets, and prime everything before we can even think about a first coat of paint. I could use some help. What do you say, Jubi—I mean, Jubilee?”

  I nodded without making any outright commitments. Nan shot me a look.

  While Wynn put away the dishes, singing again, Nan leaned over with effort and whispered, “He doesn’t have to be here, you know. And he really is a help.”

  Wynn’s voice floated out to us. “You know, Nan, I was talking to Jubilee about buying some grass seed for the yard. You’re losing your topsoil because there’s nothing rooted down.” He stopped crashing dishes to look at us. “It’s good to have roots. Gives the soil something to hold on to, and it’s nice to watch something you’ve planted grow.”

  We both knew he wasn’t only talking about our yard—he was talking about our relocation habits too.

  Nan straightened herself in the chair and avoided my told-you-so look when a knock sounded at the front door. I opened it to Miss Esther coated in as much hairspray, jewelry, and makeup as Miss Universe. She squinted her eyes and frowned at me, clearly disappointed in her greeter.

  “Where’s the friend of the family?” she whispered.

  “Wynn! Miss Esther’s asking for you!” I yelled then gave Miss Esther a big smile. “Come on in.”

  She squinted her eyes even smaller and shuffled in.

  “Well, Nan Johnson, you look better than when I last saw you.” She gave a nod of approval and scanned the house. “I meant to say earlier, before you shot out of here, that the new touches look nice. I suppose this is your doing?” she said to Wynn.

  “I only keep an eye on things and cook. Jubilee does most of the heavy lifting and every bit of the decorating. Really, in a week or so, I don’t think they’ll need me at all,” he said. Now that he’d brought it up, I realized while I didn’t love the idea of him living in my craft room, I didn’t love the idea of him leaving either.

  “Wynn, you can’t stay in the house all day. I’ll be by tomorrow around noon and you can help me make my rounds,” Miss Esther said. “We’ll go by the First Baptist Church and help with the food drive, and then we can stop in on a quilting circle at the nursing home. Oh, they’ll get a kick out of you.” She motioned to Wynn, whose eyes widened with fear. “And I have some cuttings from my garden I can help you plant.”

  “I’ll definitely take those cuttings,” Wynn said. “We were just talking about getting something rooted and growing in the front yard.” Nan shot him a look. “But we’ve made plans to repaint the kitchen. So I’ll be busy here for the next few days.”

  “Yeah, too bad,” I said and earned my own look from Nan.

  “I can’t figure why you’d want to paint the cabinets, but whatever butters your biscuit.” Miss Esther pointed at Nan. “Let’s get a move on before someone steals my regular seat. Fridays fill up faster than an Easter basket.”

  She honked twice before they pulled out of the driveway and sped away in a shower of gravel. Wynn and I watched from the window, and Nan looked at us wide-eyed as she struggled to buckle her seat belt.

  “You think she’ll be okay with that lady?” I asked.

  “I sure hope so,” he said. “She seems pretty alert for her age.”

  “Yeah, alert, like a stirred-up rattlesnake,” I said.

  “One with a lot to rattle,” Wynn added, and we both laughed.

  “Well, I better take care of the rest of those dishes.” He turned to leave.

  “I’ll help, but wait a second. I made something for you.” I ran to get the gift from my room. Wynn took it, sat down at the table, and held it for a bit, smiling down at the wrapping. He grabbed the ribbon, ready to pull, but then stopped and looked at me.

  “I’ll make you a deal. I’ll open this if you open the last letter your momma sent.”

  I crossed my arms. “How do you know I don’t read them?”

  “I know because, if you read them, you might not be so angry, might even forgive her a little bit. I know she dragged you through a bad time, but she’s not a bad person. And she loves you. I know you and Nan are quick to part with places, but people ought to be harder to let go of. Don’t you think?”

  All the warm feelings I’d been fostering all afternoon shriveled up and froze solid. I pointed at the package. “It’s an apron,” I said. Then I stood and walked out of the room.

  Nan once told me that my mom’s heart had been broken by my daddy’s death. So broken that she couldn’t put it back together on her own, and that she’d moved into a place to get help. That was three years ago, the same time Momma’s first letter arrived. Along with it came a package of papers from her attorney for Nan to sign, making Nan my official guardian.

  Just like that, Momma had given me up. I wasn’t the one who let go.

  More than thirty envelopes in various shad
es of pink sat stacked in an old shoebox. Whatever those letters said, it wasn’t enough.

  RAYBURN’S HEALTHY DOG TREATS

  Level: Intermediate

  Supplies:

  2 cups whole wheat flour

  2 4-oz. jars organic baby food, pureed carrots or sweet potato (be sure the food contains no spices—some can cause an allergic reaction, or in Rayburn’s case, unwanted gastrointestinal activities)

  Twine

  Gift tag

  Mason jar

  Tools:

  Mixing bowl

  Wooden spoon

  Rolling pin

  Cookie cutters (keep the size on the small side, but any shape goes—from the classic bone, to hearts, to fire hydrants)

  Parchment paper

  Black marker

  Directions:

  1. Preheat oven to 350°F.

  2. In a mixing bowl, use a wooden spoon to stir all the ingredients until they form a thick dough.1

  3. On a lightly floured surface, roll out the dough to about ¼-inch thickness. Cut with cookie cutters and transfer to a cookie sheet lined with parchment paper.

  4. Bake for 20 minutes.

  5. When completely cool, place the treats in a jar, wrap twine around the lid, and label the gift tag.

  Footnote

  1 Wynn and I added a teaspoon of ginger for Rayburn’s upset stomach.

  Play It Safe

  Saturday morning, Nan looked almost like her old self. Wynn made lumpless oatmeal, and I noticed the apron still wrapped and sitting on the kitchen counter. Nan reached over and plopped a handful of mini-marshmallows and a heaping spoon of brown sugar in my bowl when his back was turned, but I still didn’t eat a bite.

  “Jubilee, I know we just got here, but talk about starting off on the wrong foot.” Nan held up her Aircast. “I think, after I mend and before I even start this new job, we might need to change course. We could lose our security deposit, but I’m not sure I care. Besides, your momma is really breathing down my neck this time. I called Mr. Taft and our apartment is still vacant. It’s ours if we want it.”

  Move back? We hadn’t even finished unpacking, and she was ready to call it quits. Wynn crashed pots around in the sink. I didn’t say a word.

  “Onward and upward. Or in this case, backward.” She raised her glass of juice like she was giving a toast and gulped it down.

  “But we just got here,” I said. I’d had such high hopes for Hope Springs, and it was looking to be our shortest stay yet. “I can’t believe this.” I whispered that last part, barely said it out loud, but with it came all the past doubts and frustrations bubbling up on their way to my mouth.

  “There’s no use sugarcoating it. Your mom is serious this time. But we’ve got a few choices that might help smooth things over. Move right next to her, to some town just outside Dallas, or move back. You can start at the same school after summer, like we never left.” Nan squeezed my hand gently. “Think about it. If we move back, she might give up trying to get you to live with her. Knowing your momma, she’ll probably cool off or get distracted. We might not need to worry about it at all.”

  Get me to live with her? I didn’t say another word for the rest of breakfast. Everything I was about to say was swept clean out of my head, blown away by the idea of Momma wanting me back.

  I stayed silent in Wynn’s truck all the way to town, a lump in my throat, refusing to say a word. Though, with him belting out every song, he hardly seemed to notice. When we pulled up to the Fabric Barn, he turned off the radio.

  “Want to talk about it?” he asked. I wasn’t sure which “it” he meant—Momma’s letters and now her interference, him acting like a spoiled baby and not opening my gift, or Nan and our next move.

  “Did you know about Momma causing trouble?” I asked.

  “No. I knew she was worried,” he said. “Lately, your mom and I haven’t been seeing eye to eye. But believe it or not, I know Nan pretty well. She loves you more than anything, and she’ll figure this out.”

  “We’ll figure it out. Nan and me, I mean.” I hopped out and slammed the door.

  After he drove off, I headed down the block to the front of the Hope Springs post office and plopped down on a bench. The deserted stoplight creaked as it swung, and that little lonesome moan of a sound broke open whatever was already cracked inside me. I cried smack in the middle of town, and I didn’t care who saw. Somewhere in my heart, under all the anger and disappointment, I’d wished for Momma to want me back. I’d wished for a perfect place too. Who knew that one wish coming true meant the other couldn’t?

  I wiped my face, took a deep breath, and walked down the block to the Fabric Barn.

  Holly and I didn’t talk much that morning. I sorted the new notions and tried to organize a button display. I’d sifted through seven boxes of different-sized tortoiseshell buttons when Abby came bursting through the door, huffing air like she’d run a marathon.

  “I rode as fast as I could,” she said. “Mom just told me this morning.”

  “Told you what?” I asked.

  “She got three tickets to Arletta’s show in Hope Springs. And she says we can have them. They’re filming next Monday!”

  I didn’t let her say another word before I screamed, then she screamed, and Rayburn started howling. Abby and I laughed, and even Holly smiled a little. It didn’t last long, though.

  “Abby, I’m surprised at you,” she said. “I’ll bet you my whole store it’s a matter of time before everyone starts buying cheap fiddle-faddle from SmartMart rather than paying a little more for something from their own neighbors.”

  “Holly, I’ll take your bet,” I said. “She’s the southern Martha Stewart, not Darth Vader, and somehow I’m going to prove it to you.” I wasn’t sure of much, but dang it, I still believed in Arletta Paisley. Maybe she wasn’t perfect, but no one was. “I won’t take the whole store. Maybe a bolt of any fabric I want against me cleaning the rest of that backroom free of charge?”

  “If Arletta’s not up to something, you can have free fabric for life,” Holly said.

  “Deal,” I agreed, then grabbed Abby’s hands and swung her around until Rayburn barked and skittered across the floor trying to join us.

  Arletta Paisley and I had been through some tough times together. I knew her kitchen better than I knew my own family tree, and I thought I knew a little of her heart. I was convinced she cared—about Hope Springs and about making life better with effort and an eye for detail. I just had to convince Holly I was right.

  “Well, keep Rayburn out of it,” Holly said.

  I shrugged, Abby laughed, and we danced around my newly glamorganized button display. Abby was dancing more for my sake than her own, and that felt almost as good as getting those tickets.

  Holly shook her head at us. “If Arletta makes you two this happy, then maybe she’s not all bad.”

  I ran over and hugged her, feeling like at least this battle was half won, even if the rest of my life was a mess.

  The Rally

  The way I see it, we’ve got two choices.” Abby paced while I lay on the soft green rug in her bedroom. The fish I’d made her hung from the chain on her ceiling fan. Her brothers sat beside me coloring, Harrison quietly and Garfield not so quietly.

  “If I was a Transformer, my name would be Laser Boom. Harry’s would be Silent Thunder, and Abby’s would be Sassy Beans. What would yours be, Jubilee?” Garfield asked.

  “I don’t know. But I’ll seriously think about it,” I said. Harrison nodded and studied me as though he was already considering options.

  “We can ask my mom or Nan or my dad. Or Wynn, if you want. You know, keep the extra ticket in the family.” Abby was good at planning. Instead of a headboard, a spreadsheet stretched behind her bed, pushpins tracking her best catches. She’d charted times, dates, and weather conditions (including degree of cloud cover) for each fishing trip to Lake Trenton, the site of her next competition.

  I’d spent the night planning too.
Before I fell asleep, I lay there hunting for a way to prevent another move so soon.

  Searching for the perfect place had always felt like an adventure, kind of like a fairy-tale quest. It wasn’t until two moves ago—when we left Blessed, Alabama—that I regretted leaving. Last night, just thinking of it again had given me an idea—a big idea. Still, an hour into being at Abby’s, I hadn’t found the right time to tell her.

  “Or we could branch out. Maybe ask, I don’t know… Colton?” she asked. My stomach fluttered.

  “I like Colton,” Garfield said. “He has a racetrack.” At that, the twins jumped up and ran from the room roaring like race cars.

  I sat up. “Would he even want to go?”

  “My guess is he’ll go if you go,” she said, and waggled her eyebrows up and down.

  I ignored her and jumped at the opportunity to change the subject. “I’ve been thinking. All my old schools had pep rallies for the football team, no matter how badly they played. Could we do something like that for the town?”

  Now was as good a time as any to tell her my plan; maybe it’d get my mind off Colton and the odd feeling I got every time someone would say his name, I’d ride by the hardware store, use my fancy glue gun, or think of baseball, box fans, or blue jeans. I still needed to prove to Holly that Arletta Paisley and SmartMart weren’t out to ruin the town. Plus, I knew what mattered to Abby. She loved Hope Springs, and if I was going to leave, at least I could show her I cared too.

  “You saying Hope Springs stinks?” Abby asked.

  “No. No, I’m saying—I just meant that…”

  She started laughing before I could explain myself.

  “You really want to do something for the town?”

  “Sure,” I said. “We could remind everyone to support small businesses. As long as customers keep shopping in town, then Hope Springs has a chance to compete against SmartMart.”