An Allegheny Homecoming

by T. R. McClure

  No answer. Something brushed his leg and he jerked away. A brown tail disappeared around the counter. “Another cat. At least you’re small enough to handle.” He followed the tail through the door into the kitchen. The old Formica table from their house occupied the center of the room. Counters covered two walls. A computer filled most of a small table in the corner near the back door. He ran a hand over the bulky monitor. “How can you keep track of a business on this antiquated thing?”

  Peering into the darkness, heading for the staircase, he slowed his breathing, the better to hear if someone was in the building. Ice crystals pinged on the windows. “Mom, are you upstairs?”

  No response. As he mounted the wooden steps, he stomped his boots in case she was asleep. “I’m coming up.”

  At the top of the staircase, he aimed the beam of light in a slow arc around the small area. A simple cot. Folded clothes in cardboard boxes on the floor. A table with a jewelry box and an alarm clock. He looked out the window at the desolate street. A basket of dried petals sat on the windowsill. He picked it up and sniffed. Rose petals. His mother had always been crazy about roses. Was she living here full-time?

  He checked under the bed. No sign of the cat. Josh would have to warn his mother, a woman who had refused to allow a dog or a cat in the house, that an animal was loose in her place of business.

  But he would have to find her first.

  * * *

  THE LONG WEEK was almost over.

  Mark had returned just ahead of the big storm and, in an unexpected moment of civility, had taken the early morning show. Wendy wasn’t needed at the station until the last broadcast at 11:00 p.m.

  Grabbing a yogurt container from the refrigerator and a spoon from the silverware drawer, she walked out onto the enclosed back porch. The storm she had warned Mrs. Hershberger about on Monday had indeed finally arrived. Though only late afternoon, the sky was already getting dark. Fat, fluffy flakes danced in the gathering wind. The still-green grass was almost completely covered. A blue jay chirped from the bare maple tree. She settled into the rocking chair to watch as he hopped onto a higher branch.

  If her mother were home, she would be stalking the bird with a telephoto lens. But her parents had gone to New York City almost a week ago, leaving Wendy alone in the sprawling ranch house tucked back on ten acres of wooded property.

  She shivered. She had dressed in comfortable sweats when she got up that morning, but maybe she needed something warmer. She settled into the chair, the only sound the scraping of the rocker on the porch floor and the still-squawking blue jay.

  She was used to her parents going off on some adventure or other, but she found herself missing her mother’s Yorkshire terrier, despite the insistent barking when he wanted to be picked up. Since her mother spoiled the bright-eyed ball of fluff, Oliver was usually held immediately.

  Not even a pet. Meaning, no dog. Ms. King, the headhunter who’d found her the Atlanta anchor job that had unfortunately not happened, the woman who was still out there searching for Wendy’s big chance, had left Wendy with a mantra. The words echoed in her head. Oliver had filled the need for a pet, but now he was gone, leaving her with the blue jays and cardinals in the backyard.

  She stared at the overcast sky. Mrs. Hershberger had referred to Wendy as “our weather girl,” but the truth was, the Valentine family had been part of the Bear Meadows population for less than ten years. Before that, her father’s computer security business had kept them in Philadelphia, but after selling and settling into an early, comfortable retirement, her parents had decided to move to central Pennsylvania. Wendy had been at Penn State by then and one of the few people in town the first-grade teacher hadn’t taught.

  Unlike her father, who had retired in his mid fifties, Mrs. Hershberger had continued to teach into her late sixties. The warm, friendly teacher would have made a great mom, possibly better than her own mother, who’d found herself pregnant at forty and not that interested in motherhood. Wendy sometimes felt her parents had been a couple so long that they forgot they had a child.

  The blue jay hopped farther up the tree.

  “If you had a story to tell, I’d interview you, but I think you’re safe, Mr. Jay.” Wendy laughed as the blue-and-white-striped bird with the crested head chirped in reply.

  She had to think of something to draw the attention of the big affiliates. Would Walt ever allow her time to interview someone? And if he did, who would she interview? Her parents? Her parents may like living in the rural countryside of central Pennsylvania, but they craved the excitement of exotic places. Maybe a series on unusual travel destinations? Atlanta had been tantalizingly close. Katherine King had been as disappointed as she when the offer didn’t materialize. “Keep doing what you’re doing, Wendy. Try to break out from weather. It’s only a matter of time.”

  She had tried. Last fall she had covered every game of the Bear Meadows football team. Her one attempt to dig deeper into a story had almost cost her a friendship. She had been interviewing the chief of police after some teenagers were caught stealing from stores in the strip mall. Something had prompted her to ask him about his dismissal from the Raleigh police force, which she had only come upon after looking the new police chief up on the internet. His normally pleasant demeanor had turned to stone.

  Only later did she find out he had blamed himself for the death of his wife. Rather than going for milk himself, his wife had driven, unaccustomed to snow-covered roads, and crashed the car. He began drinking, and was asked to leave the police force. That was all behind him now, but no, she would not be interviewing Chief McAndrews.

  She could interview the Smith brothers. Their farm was just a few miles from her parents’ property. The seventy-year-old twin brothers had never married and lived on the family homestead all their lives. Two years ago they had begun selling handmade turkey calls and become an internet sensation. Skinny would be the easier of the two to interview. Hawkeye rarely said a word. Hawkeye remained a mystery. What was his story?

  Her thoughts of potential interviewees was interrupted by the ringing of her phone from inside the house. When she jumped out of the rocker, the blue jay flew off, squawking in alarm. The phone lay on the edge of the kitchen’s island countertop. “Hello?” she answered.

  “I need you to do the six o’clock.” No greeting, just Walt’s gravelly voice.

  “Where’s Mark?” Glancing out the window, she noted the fluffy flakes of a few minutes earlier had increased in size and intensity. She could no longer see the garden shed from the kitchen window.

  “You can do a remote.”

  Apparently Mark’s whereabouts were none of her business. “Did you have something in mind?”

  “The power’s out in Bear Meadows. They’re opening the church basement for people. Go there, report the weather and how people are coping. Don’t try to get fancy.”

  “I don’t have—”

  “Phil will meet you. He’ll do the camera work. I want him to get some shots of the roads, maybe go up to the interstate and see how traffic is moving. Then he can bring everything back for the late report.”

  Wendy breathed a sigh of relief. Sending the cameraman would make the assignment much easier. “Sure thing, Walt. Thanks.”

  “You got it, kid. Be careful driving.” And without another word he was gone.

  Wendy clicked off. She glanced at the cuckoo clock over the sink, a souvenir her parents had brought back after a trip to Bavaria two years earlier. She had just enough time to change, so without a moment to spare she dashed upstairs. She stared into her closet and debated the best look for outdoor reporting in a blizzard. Or should she report from inside the church? Figuring she wouldn’t be outside long, she pulled on skinny jeans and a royal blue sweater. Her tall black boots and the station’s monogrammed quilted jacket should get her from her car to the church basement.

>   Given the front-wheel drive, her car did fairly well in the snow. But who knew how quickly the roads would be plowed? The latest forecast indicated a crazy storm was on its way. And who knew that better than she?

  * * *

  HE TRIED EACH of the other four shops next to the bakery. A computer shop, a consignment shop, the coffee shop and finally his friend Megan’s hair salon. He peered into the window and could barely make out the two chairs and mirrors. He strolled along the boardwalk, his attention now on the other side of the street. The bank and the hardware store were, of course, closed. Despite the covering of snow, he could tell the vacant lot had been renovated. Three benches were scattered among the new landscaping. This end of town had certainly improved since his last trip home.

  He retraced his steps to his truck and brushed off the snow that had already accumulated on his windshield. Bank, hardware store, new park, library. Leaning on his truck bed, he studied the facade of the former carriage house that had been the home of the library for all the years he was a student. As he looked closer at the window, he could make out the design of a large cup with a thin handle. Crossing the slippery street, he glanced to his right. At the end of the street, the stoplight swung wildly in the blustery wind.

  Someone had converted the old library into a tea shop. Tea for You. He wondered if he should try the door and then knew he would question himself if he didn’t. Grasping the doorknob, he turned the handle and pushed. The door swung open. Snow blew past him and landed on the runner leading from the door to a counter. He quickly shut the door behind him. “Hello?”

  At least in his mother’s place of business his presence had been justified. Here, he felt like an interloper. He came farther into the room. The checkout counter had been refinished. A stained-glass lamp graced the top. Round tables and chairs were scattered through the space. Continuing through the shop, he passed a wall of loose teas in glass jars. He entered a kitchen area. The interior back door was wide open.

  Josh stepped onto the back porch. Through the massive oak grove on the far side of the parking lot, the outline of the old mansion was barely visible. Dr. Reed’s home.

  One car remained in the parking lot, covered with at least six inches of snow. He remembered his father telling him the building had been a carriage house, with horses and carriages on the ground floor, while the upper floor had been living quarters for the grooms. When they created the parking lot, they had to provide a basement entrance to the original ground floor. Josh walked to the edge of the porch.

  A large silver maple grew at the edge of the parking lot. One of its branches had fallen from the weight of the snow and lay squarely across the cellar doors leading to the ground floor. If anyone had been in the basement when the limb broke off, he or she was trapped. He listened. Nothing, just the skitter of snow. He could barely make out anything in the darkness until a flicker of light caught his eye. Grabbing the railing, he eased down the steps. Looking under the porch, he noticed a bit of light coming through a small cellar window. Maybe the proprietor of the tea shop had been trapped below. And maybe he or she would know where his mother had gone.

  Grabbing the thick branch, he tugged. Heavier than it appeared. He pulled again and felt a pinch in his right knee. Giving his leg a shake, he grabbed the branch again and finally uncovered the cellar doors. He opened one and slid the anchoring support into the slot so it wouldn’t come down on his head. Carefully descending steep stairs, he pushed open the door at the bottom and was hit with chilled air.

  Boxes and supplies lined the shelves to his left. In the center of the room sat a square table, similar to the ones in the shop overhead. Lit votive candles sat on the table. Something glistened in the background. Josh stepped forward and directed his light into the recesses of the dark basement. The light landed on a brass bedpost, and then on a form on the bed, partially huddled under a quilt. He directed the light upward until he could make out a face.

  “Mom?”

  CHAPTER THREE

  “THANK YOU, OFFICER WILLIAMS.” Wendy turned to the camera and gave a curt nod. “That was Officer Robert Williams with the Bear Meadows Police Department. They have their hands full tonight. Back to you, Casey.”

  Phil’s smiling face appeared from behind the camera. “I’m headed up to the interstate for some more footage and then to the station.”

  “Wendy, interview me, Wendy, interview me!” A child in purple coat and leggings ran through the deepening snow. A car door slammed.

  As the little girl looked up into Wendy’s face, Wendy recognized Riley McAndrews, the police chief’s daughter. The girl was dressed in purple snow pants, and a matching jacket. She wore a white knit cap with cat ears made out of felt. Riley’s ever-present blond ponytail bounced from a hole in the top of the knit hat, custom-made for her. “Hi, Riley. Sorry, but we’re finished here. Phil has to leave.”

  “You have to interview me. I have a big story!” She tugged the fringes of Wendy’s red knit scarf.

  Wendy mostly knew the girl from Holly’s coffee shop after school. A desk had been set up in the corner especially for Riley while Holly worked. “I’m sorry, Riley, but—”

  “I have time, Wendy.” With a hint of a smirk and giving Wendy no chance to respond, Phil repositioned the camera. “In three, two, one...”

  The camera light blinked on.

  Wendy knew Phil was a sucker for stories with kids, having two children of his own. “Okay, Riley.” She positioned the girl so they both faced the camera. “I’m here with Riley McAndrews, daughter of Bear Meadows’s chief of police. Tell our viewers about your big story, Riley.”

  The girl’s light blue eyes fixed on the lens and the red light. “The baby is coming.” With a tilt of her head, she smiled at the camera.

  “I know. How exciting for you.” Riley had spent the past eight and a half months announcing to anyone who would listen that she’d soon have a baby brother or sister. Wendy smiled back. “How old are you, Riley?”

  “I’m seven years old and I’m in second grade at Bear Meadows Elementary. I’m going to be a big sister. Today.” She threw out her arms and turned her face to the falling snow.

  Wendy waited a beat, entranced by the child’s beaming face, then remembered Phil and the camera. “Wait. You mean Holly’s having the baby now? Apparently snow isn’t the only big story in town. Can you share any more details with our viewers, Riley?” She crouched in the gathering snow so her face was even with Riley’s. She lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Is Holly at the hospital?”

  With a sheepish grin, Riley nodded. “Holly’s in labor. Daddy was supposed to work because of the blizzard, but he said he can’t be in two places at one time and Holly said if he knew what was good for him he better stay with her.” Riley crossed her arms and nodded as if agreeing with her stepmother. Then she pointed at the camera.

  Wendy dutifully stood and addressed the camera. “Riley’s stepmother is the owner of The Wildflower Coffee Bar and Used Book Store. As I mentioned earlier, her father is the chief of police for Bear Meadows, which is busier than usual, even for a Friday night.” She glanced at Riley. “Anything you’d like to add, Miss McAndrews?”

  “Well—” she rubbed her chin with fingers covered with a white mitten “—do you want to know a secret?”

  Not accustomed to being around seven-year-olds, Wendy couldn’t imagine the type of secret the girl was about to divulge. “I sure would. What’s your secret?” She held the microphone close to Riley’s chin.

  “I always called my daddy’s new wife Holly. But the new baby will call her Mommy. So I’m thinking I should call her Mommy, too, just to avoid confusion.” Blue eyes wide, Riley looked up at Wendy. “Don’t you think? Daddy said it would be okay.”

  Wendy threw a glance at Phil. He just shook his head and smiled. “I think that would be nice, too, Riley.”


  Riley bounced on the spot in satisfaction. “Good.” She placed her hand over Wendy’s, the one wrapped around the mike. “Can I interview you now?”

  Wendy laughed. “Another time.” She looked at the camera. “So ends a tumultuous evening in Bear Meadows, Pennsylvania, where the snow is piling up at the rate of an inch an hour, babies are being born and television news reporters are in the making.” She wrapped her arm around the girl’s shoulders and whispered in her ear.

  Riley put her mittens around the microphone and stared straight into the camera. “Back to you, Casey.”

  Smiling at the little girl’s earnest delivery, Wendy took the mike and flipped off the switch. She shot another look at Riley. “So are you staying here tonight?”

  “No, Grandma and Grandpa Hoffman just stopped by to drop off ham sandwiches for everybody. We’re going to the hospital because Grandpa has a big truck, and he says he can go anywhere in that truck.” Catching sight of Rose Hoffman, Riley left Wendy and sprinted through the snow to her grandparents.

  Wendy took in the chaos still occurring in the parking lot. Cots and blankets were being unloaded from the back of a pickup truck, and Officer Williams seemed to be all over the place, directing volunteers and those seeking shelter.

  Riley ran back to Wendy. “I almost forgot,” the girl said. She held out her hand. “Daddy is passing out cigars. I don’t like cigars, so I’m doing Hershey’s Kisses.” She placed a single silver foil-wrapped candy in Wendy’s palm and then ran off.

  Wendy noticed just then the light on the camera blinked off when Phil slung it off his shoulder. “Wow. You just never know what kids are going to say.”

  “Just delete it now, Phil. I don’t want to hold you up any longer.”