The Waltons 3 - The Easter Story

by Robert Weverka

  John only half closed the door. “Mrs. Claybourne, you’ve made a mistake, and I think you’d better leave my house.”

  She shook her head. “This pains me deeply, Mr. Walton. Under the circumstances, I have the greatest sympathy for your wife. But that does not excuse what you have done. Nor am I going to permit you and your friend, Sheriff Bridges, to let this matter rest.”

  John felt his anger rising. “Mrs. Claybourne, I am not a thief, and I think we’d better end this discussion right now.”

  She ignored the suggestion, lifting her chin, more determined than ever. “It does not please me to have to say these things, Mr. Walton. I do understand how hard times are, and how, under your particular circumstances, you might be forced to do something repellent to you. Nevertheless, I must insist that my belongings be returned.”

  The thought of physically grabbing her arm and escorting her back to her car occurred to John. But he quickly dismissed it. He pulled the door open wider.

  “Mrs. Claybourne, I want you to leave.”

  In his fury, John had not heard the car, nor the two doors slamming outside. But suddenly Stuart Lee Claybourne and then John-Boy came into the room. Mrs. Claybourne was equally surprised, but she recovered quickly. “You mustn’t be angry, Stuart Lee. I am only doing what I have to do. Now, Mr. Walton—”

  “Mother, wait!”

  “I have waited long enough, and I insist—”

  Stuart Lee turned sharply to John, paying no attention to his mother’s words. He looked tired. “Mr. Walton,” he said hesitantly, “I—I am the one who took the silver.”

  John wasn’t sure he’d heard correctly. And Stuart Lee’s arrival, he had assumed, was no more than an attempt to calm his mother. “You what?”

  “Stuart Lee!” his mother exclaimed, “What are you saying?”

  “Please, Mother.” Stuart Lee nodded, affirming his statement. “Mr. Walton, my mother never understood about money. My father protected her and didn’t ever want her to worry about anything except being beautiful and being his wife.” He took a deep breath, forcing himself to go on. “When he died, nobody had the courage to break the bad news about our finances to her.”

  “What bad news?”

  “Our money is gone, Mr. Walton.” He turned back to his mother. She had lowered herself shakily into a chair, apparently in a state of shock.

  “Without thinking it out, Mother, I did what father always did. I tried to protect you. I tried to keep your life the way it’s always been.”

  “Please don’t say any more,” she whimpered.

  Stuart Lee took another long breath. “I have to, Mama. Our money was all gone several months ago. That’s why I started selling off things. They’re all gone, Mother. The jewelry, the pewter collection—all the things you thought we stored away in the attic.”

  “I don’t believe that,” she said weakly. “You can’t be telling the truth, Stuart Lee.”

  “I am, Mama. There’s nothing more to say, except to Mr. Walton.” He looked at John. “I’m very ashamed.”

  John had not moved from the door. The revelations were as shocking to him as they must have been to Mrs. Claybourne. But they still didn’t excuse Stuart Lee’s letting his mother make those accusations. John suddenly felt angry again. All the grief of the past two weeks could have been avoided if Stuart Lee had had the guts to admit all this from the start.

  “I don’t think bein’ ashamed is good enough, Stuart Lee.”

  Mrs. Claybourne rose and moved slowly across the room. It seemed to John-Boy that she suddenly looked twenty years older. “The truth is extremely painful, Mr. Walton—and I share the same feelings as my son. My actions have resulted in pain and grief for us all. I most humbly beg your pardon. Please take me home, son.”

  “Stuart Lee,” John said before they could go, “I think you owe us a more public apology. I want you to make sure the sheriff knows exactly what happened.”

  Stuart Lee moved quickly to help his mother. “I will, Mr. Walton. And I—I’m very sorry.”

  John watched them move slowly down the steps, and then quietly closed the door. With his hand still on the knob he gazed absently at the floor.

  “Well, that’s over,” John-Boy said softly.

  John nodded.

  “It’s kind of sad, them bein’ broke like that.”

  His father seemed to be only half listening. “Did you get Stuart Lee to confess?” he asked quietly.

  “Yes.”

  His father smiled and moved toward the stairs.

  “Daddy?”

  He stopped with his hand on the bannister.

  “Aren’t you goin’ to tell me what’s been troublin’ you?”

  “Yes, I am.” He smiled thoughtfully. “I reckon I’ve got some explainin’ to do to the whole family. Especially your mother. Can you wait till they all get home?”

  “I reckon.”

  “And thanks, John-Boy. I appreciate what you did. I really do.”

  John-Boy jumped up from his desk and went quickly to the window when he heard the truck come rattling into the yard. But as quickly as he got to the window the headlights clicked off and he could see nothing in the darkness.

  “They’re here, Daddy!” He rushed to their bedroom, but only his mother was there. “They’re home, Mama. Where’s Daddy?”

  She was sitting up, smiling, hastily pinning her hair back. “He already went down. Do you think Jason won?”

  “I hope so.” John-Boy listened for a minute. “I don’t know. They’re awfully quiet.”

  She gave him an anxious look. “Well, if he didn’t, let’s not act too disappointed.”

  John-Boy moved back toward the door, but his father came bursting in. John-Boy could tell nothing from his expression.

  “Well? What happened? John! What’re you doin’?”

  John went directly to the bed and gathered the quilt around Olivia, picking her up. There was a faint smile on his face.

  “They’re not sayin’ what happened. They want to show you. John-Boy, get that other blanket.” His father swept past him, his mother holding on tight.

  John-Boy got the blanket and followed. When he got down, everyone was in the living room. They were pushing chairs back, clearing an area in the middle of the room. His mother was already on the sofa, with Erin propping pillows behind her.

  “What’s goin’ on?” Olivia smiled, “Did you win, Jason?”

  “Just hold on, Livvy,” Grandpa said, “Wait’ll we get settled here.”

  From the way everyone was trying so hard to keep a straight face, John-Boy suspected that Jason had won the contest. More chairs were brought in from the kitchen, and finally Mary Ellen stepped to the middle of the room.

  “All right, now,” she smiled, “Comin’ home, we all decided that Mama and Daddy and John-Boy should see at least part of the show. So Grandpa has very kindly volunteered to fill in as Osgood Tennyson, radio’s greatest discoverer of r-a-a-a-a-w talent!” She bowed and gestured grandly to Grandpa. “And here he is now, directly from N-o-o-o-o York City! Mr. Tennyson!”

  They all clapped. Grandpa pulled himself to his feet and held up his hands. “Please—no applause. I’m really far too modest to properly play the part of the great Osgood Tennyson—”

  “Hmph!” Grandma snorted.

  “—However, I’ll try. Now then, my friends—and I know you all are my friends—all faithfully listenin’ to my incomparable show each and every Monday night on your favorite radio station. Tonight, as usual, I have assembled a collection of performers on this stage that would put P. T. Barnum to shame—turn Florenz Ziegfeld green with envy. First, I give you one of the most remarkable animal acts I have ever seen on any stage! The Whistler and His Dog!”

  Ben jumped up and took the stage. He smiled around at his audience, then snapped his fingers. Yelping and whimpering Jim-Bob scampered into the middle of the room on all fours. Ben had him sit up, shake hands, run after a stick and then play dead.

  “Ha
ve you ever seen anythin’ like that in all your lives, ladies and gentlemen?” Grandpa said when the applause ended. “Didn’t I warn you it was a remarkable act? That dog is truly brilliant. All he needs is a new master. And next we come to Marvin the Magician, who will astound and mystify you with an exhibition of magic and legerdemain! I give you Marvin the Magician!”

  There was applause, but nobody rose. Erin finally jumped up and whispered in Grandpa’s ear.

  “Oh, I see. Well, ladies and gentlemen, I have just been informed that backstage Marvin the Magician has already performed his most sensational trick. He has disappeared! So we’ll move quickly on to our next contestant: Eleanor the Elocutionist. Let’s give the little lady a big hand!”

  John-Boy glanced at his mother while he clapped. She already had tears in her eyes from laughing.

  Elizabeth moved to the middle of the floor, a finger hooked in her mouth. “Mary had a little lamb, its fleece was black as soot. And everywhere that Mary went, on her dress his sooty foot he put!”

  “How about that!” Grandpa exclaimed, leading the applause. “Isn’t she sensational? And only thirty-five years old! And now, movin’ right along, we have Jazzbo—no, Jason Wilton—er, Walton—who will be pickin’ and singin’ his own original composition, the ‘Ironing Board Blues’!”

  With the applause Jason bowed and placed a chair in the middle of the room. He put his foot up and swung his guitar in place. “I’d like to dedicate this to my grandma, right out there in the audience—who inspired it.”

  Grandma grinned. She had to rise and take a bow to stop the clapping, and finally Jason played.

  John-Boy was surprised at how good he was. The song started quietly, and had a sad, plaintive sound. Then, as the rhythm picked up John-Boy could almost see Grandma’s elbow swinging across the ironing board. If Jason performed that well at the contest, there wasn’t much doubt who had won. When he finished, the applause was wild. Ben whistled and stamped his feet, and the others rose for a standing ovation.

  “All right,” Grandpa said, “All right. You liked it and so did I. It was real good singin’ and pickin’. So, despite the splendid talents of all our other contestants, I have no alternative but to award First Prize to Jazzbo Wilton—or whatever his name may be.”

  They applauded wildly again. From behind a chair Grandpa brought out a shiny new guitar and handed it to Olivia.

  “Jason! You really won!” she cried, “Oh, it’s beautiful!”

  “Yes, I did, Mama. It’s a humdinger, isn’t it?”

  John-Boy was surprised by the quality of the instrument. After what he’d seen of Mr. Tennyson’s advance man, he half expected the guitar to be a toy.

  Olivia sighed heavily and looked around. “I’m so pleased for you, Jason. And thank you all for the show. It was almost as good as bein’ there.”

  “I think Grandpa was better,” Jim-Bob smiled.

  “He oughta be on the radio,” Elizabeth said.

  “Don’t tell him things like that,” Grandma muttered, “He’s conceited enough already.”

  Grandpa laughed. “Well, bein’ married two thousand years to the most elegant lady in Jefferson County has finally gone to my head, I reckon.”

  Grandma started to get up. “Well, I reckon we could use a pot of coffee around here.”

  “Wait a minute, Mama.”

  The request came from his father, and John-Boy looked quickly at him. He was sitting in the big chair next to Olivia, holding her hand now.

  “I reckon with everybody here, this is a good time for me to do some explainin’ about some things.” He smiled and glanced at John-Boy. “First off, I should tell you that Mrs. Claybourne and Stuart Lee came over to the house tonight.”

  “They came here?” They all gaped at him. Olivia looked around, puzzled.

  “That’s right,” John went on, “And Stuart Lee confessed that he was the one who took all the Claybournes’ silver.”

  “Well, I declare!” Grandma exclaimed.

  “But why would Stuart Lee take it, Daddy?”

  “Well, it seems like the Claybournes have been sufferin’ from the Depression as much as anybody else around Walton’s Mountain. So to keep his mother from knowin’ how broke they were, he pawned the family silver.”

  “That’s terrible! Did he apologize, Daddy?”

  “Yes, he did. They both did.”

  “What’re you all talkin’ about?” Olivia asked.

  “Well, I’ll explain later, Livvy. But the Claybournes’ silver is not the main thing I wanted to tell you about.” He smiled at Olivia and went on, “A couple of weeks ago when Sheriff Bridges came around askin’ if I took that silver, I reckon you all thought I acted pretty strange tellin’ him it was none of his business where I’d been that day. Well, I did that partly on the principle that it really wasn’t any of his business. But I was also feelin’ a little guilty about somethin’.” He studied the floor for a minute. “You remember, that was just after your Mama got sick. And I reckon we were about as broke as we’ve ever been. I wanted to get your mama somethin’. And we had to have tires for the truck. Anyhow, I did somethin’ I didn’t guess I’d ever do in my life. I took my weddin’ ring down to Charlottesville and pawned it.”

  His mother was holding his father’s hand, and John-Boy saw her glance down at it. But she didn’t appear to be surprised by the absence of the ring.

  “When I handed that ring over to the man in the pawnshop, I thought it was the best thing to do. I thought more than anythin’, Livvy needed some cheerin’ up, and some nice present would do it for her. But as quick as I headed home I started feelin’ different about it.” He gave a short laugh and shook his head. “I reckon I felt like I’d sold my soul to the devil or somethin’. And the more I thought about it the worse it got. And that’s about when Ep came around askin’ where I’d been.”

  Elizabeth looked strickin’. “Does that mean you and Mama aren’t married anymore?”

  Olivia smiled. “It doesn’t mean that at all, darling. It means we love each other so much it doesn’t make any difference whether Daddy wears his ring or not.”

  John smiled at her. “Well, your mother’s bein’ very brave about all this. But that ring ain’t gonna stay in that pawnshop much longer.”

  Olivia gave him an anxious look. “Do you think you can get it back, John?”

  “I think I can get it back first thing Monday mornin’.”

  “But—”

  John’s smile broadened. “I was down at Ike’s today, and George Halverson called while I was there. You know that bridge he’s supposed to build? Well, now they want it built as fast as possible. And George wants us to start deliverin’ those timbers as quick as we can get ’em cut and hauled over there.”

  Grandpa slapped his knee and grinned. “And we got most of ’em cut already!”

  “That’s right, Pa. And George is payin’ on delivery. So I figure we’ll be waitin’ for him with a load first thing Monday mornin’.”

  John-Boy felt a wave of relief. They had been trimming those logs and stacking them in the barn for almost three weeks now. And with delivery not scheduled until May or June, it had all seemed foolish to him.

  “Well, now I do think I’m goin’ to make some coffee,” Grandma smiled. “Maybe I’ll make two pots. And it just so happens that I’ve got a little surprise hidden up in the cupboard.”

  Grandma’s surprise turned out to be an angel food cake with the words, Congratulations, Jason, written on it in pink icing. While they ate it, Mary Ellen told them more about the talent contest. The other contestants, she said, were really not as good as the imitations Ben, Jim-Bob, and Elizabeth did. If Jason hadn’t won the first prize the audience probably would have torn the theater down.

  When they were finished with the cake, John gathered the quilt around Olivia, ready to take her upstairs. “John,” she said, “can I try somethin’?”

  Everyone was picking up dishes, carrying them to the kitchen—but they stopped
now.

  “Try what, Livvy?”

  “I’d like to try and stand up—on my own.”

  John-Boy saw the shadow of doubt cross his father’s face.

  “You really think you ought to?”

  “Well, everybody else gave a performance tonight. I’d like to have a turn, too. I think I can do it, John.”

  “Maybe you ought to wait till tomorrow mornin’, Mama,” John-Boy suggested.

  She laughed, trying to dismiss their concern. “Tomorrow is Easter and I’m goin’ to walk. All I want to do tonight is stand up.” She held out her hand. “Please, John? Can I try?”

  John-Boy guessed a pin would have made a very loud noise if it dropped right then. It had been more than a week since anyone had mentioned her vow to walk to Easter sunrise services. And through the past few days everyone had almost been holding his breath, hoping she wouldn’t mention it either.

  She had made efforts to stand during the week. John and Grandpa had each held an arm, and with their help she had been able to half support herself and move a couple of steps. But no one had any hope of her walking for a long time. And from the lighthearted manner in which she mentioned the sunrise services, neither did she.

  John-Boy almost wished Jason hadn’t won the contest, or that they all hadn’t had such a good time recreating it for her. She seemed to want desperately to make some contribution to the evening.

  John-Boy’s father seemed to share his uneasiness. But he finally smiled and took both her hands.

  “Now, just take it slow and easy, Livvy.” He grasped her by the elbows and she gripped has forearms as she came shakily to her feet.

  She was up. She stood for a minute and then released her grip on his arms.

  “I’m all right, John. Just let me get balanced, then let me go.”

  She seemed to be steady, and John eased away, holding only one hand now.

  “That’s good, Mama,” Erin said. “That’s marvelous!”

  She swayed almost imperceptibly. But she was supporting herself, using John’s hand only for balance.

  “I think that’s enough, Livvy.”

  “No. Just for a second, let go of my hand.”