The Mulligans of Mt. Jefferson

by Don Reid

  “How do you know better? Maybe I am. Why haven’t you called me?”

  Harlan pulled away from the curb, not knowing where he was going but just glad to have her in the car with him. She finally said, “Take a left right down here. My aunt lives in that second house on the left.”

  When he stopped in the driveway, Darcy opened the door and let Sam out; he dashed through the rain, heading for the comfort and shelter of his front porch. She closed the car door quickly to keep any more rain from soaking the seats and then turned and looked at Harlan.

  “Thanks again. You always show up in the nick of time. I mean what are the odds that you, of all people, would come along just at that moment?”

  “You haven’t answered my question. Why haven’t you called me?”

  Darcy sat for a long time and looked out the windshield as if she were trying to find the right words in the rain. Finally she turned and looked at him, and with a serious and solemn tone to her voice said, “I’m afraid of you, Harlan Stone. You scare me.”

  “You’re all wrong. I’m the one who’s scared. I’m scared I’ll never see you again.”

  Harlan was used to making all the right moves, but this time he was the one caught off guard. Darcy, with the bright eyes and sweet face, leaned toward him and kissed him softly. Her lips were cool and still wet. When she pulled back, she sat for just a moment.

  The rain on the roof of the car was the only sound for what seemed liked minutes. But it was really only seconds before she said, “I’ll give you my phone number when you pick me up at seven thirty tomorrow evening.”

  And then she was gone.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Six forty-five, and the morning shift was starting to gather in all areas of the hospital. It was like a waking-up process. Nurses and staff were coming in all the doors, and lighthearted early-morning conversations filled what had been the silent air of the waiting room. Somewhere a radio played in the background. Johnny Horton was singing “The Battle of New Orleans.” Car horns and singing birds were heard each time the automatic door opened to let in another freshly dressed member of the medical profession. The nurses walked in pairs and talked while the doctors walked alone with their heads down to avoid being detained or buttonholed by an anxious patient. And the essential coffee aroma mercifully permeated and overrode the distasteful yet always present medicinal fetor. Another day at Lenity General had begun. Before the day was over, lives would be saved, sicknesses would be healed, failures would be met—and then tomorrow it would start all over again with the same sights, sounds, and smells.

  “Coffee smells good. You want some more?” Cal asked.

  Darcy shook her head.

  “You want me to find you a newspaper or magazine?”

  “No.”

  “Then talk to me. Don’t just sit there with your thoughts. Get it out.”

  She smiled and squeezed Cal’s hand. “You’re his oldest friend in the world. You know him better than probably even me.”

  “I’ve known him longer. But I don’t know about better.”

  “Sure you do. You two guys—or I should say, you three guys—have secrets and memories no one else will ever know about.”

  “We have a few miles behind us.”

  “Cal, what if he doesn’t live?”

  “He’ll live.”

  “Will you go in the hospital chapel and pray for him?”

  “I don’t have to go anywhere. I’ve been praying for him sitting right here. But if you would feel better, we can go there.”

  “No. I don’t want to go. I’m afraid they won’t know where to find me if they need me. And I really don’t want you to leave. I guess I’m not making much sense, am I?”

  “You’re doing fine.”

  “I keep seeing the look on his face when he fell back against that table. I just knew he was dead. I must have screamed louder then than when I first saw that man in our kitchen. Have you ever been afraid like that—to where your mind just froze?”

  “Sure. For about four years in the war. I was that scared every day. So was everybody else. The ones who aren’t scared are crazy.”

  “What were you scared of? Dying?”

  “That and worse.”

  “What’s worse than dying?”

  “Living. Suffering. Loss. Dying is not that hard when it’s time. But you need to get that out of your mind for now.”

  “Have you talked to Ellie lately?”

  “Oh, yeah. We talk about every other day.”

  “She okay? Do you think she’ll ever come to Mt. Jefferson?”

  “That’s two questions and two different answers.”

  Darcy laughed. “I do that a lot, don’t I? Ask two questions at one time.”

  “Yes, you do. And Harlan has noticed it, too. He thinks it’s funny. But to answer your dual questions—yes, she’s okay, and no, I don’t think she’ll ever come to Mt. Jefferson.”

  “Do you still love her?”

  “I’m supposed to be comforting you, and here you are ministering to me. How did the tables get turned around here, girl?”

  They both laughed, and Cal could see a little color coming back to her cheeks and a hint of the warmth back in her eyes.

  “Yes, I still love her,” Cal answered honestly.

  A nurse from the back came toward them, and they both froze until she walked past them to a vending machine. The automatic glass door opened again, and someone came in from outside.

  “Amanda! I knew you’d come.”

  Darcy and Amanda stood and hugged long and hard and cried together like the old friends they were. Cal and Amanda made eye contact just as he and Buddy had less than an hour ago out of Darcy’s sight. She winked, and he smiled and felt that things would be better now.

  Chapter Fourteen

  According to Harlan, things went much too slow; according to Darcy, much too fast. They fought one another on the tempo of the relationship, but in doing so, found their rhythm as a couple. Harlan would have married her within two weeks if she had only given him half a sign. He confessed to her that his wild oats were behind him and that she was the perfect wife he had been looking for all his adult life. She accepted this compliment with the grace of the modern girl she was but held him at arm’s length until she was sure he was as much in love with her as she was with him. And she wasn’t the only person Harlan had to convince. Her father had his concerns also.

  Darcy and her father sat on the front-porch steps of the beautiful old farmhouse one early fall evening; she with a sweater thrown over her shoulders and he in his bib overalls and work shoes.

  “Tell me about your man, Darcy.”

  “Not much to tell you don’t already know. He’s the prettiest man I’ve ever seen, and I think I love him.”

  “Pretty? That’s a peculiar way of describing a man.”

  They both laughed. Howard Brennaman’s smile faded first, and he looked off and squinted into the sunset and said, “Have you met his old daddy yet? H. V.”

  “Yeah. We had supper with them a couple of weeks ago. They’re both real nice. She’s kind of quiet but just a real sweet lady. He’s a little … what can I say … more outgoing, maybe?”

  “What do you know about him?”

  “Who? Harlan or his dad?”

  “The old man. What does Harlan say about him?”

  It was Darcy’s turn to look into the sunset and reflect a moment before answering.

  “It’s hard to say. He doesn’t talk about him much. He talks more about his mother. And when they’re all together, they sort of talk through Mrs. Stone. But not to each other. You know what I mean?”

  “Darcy …” he began, then paused.

  “What? What’s wrong?”

  He looked at her fl
ush in the eyes, not father to daughter, but adult to adult.

  “Darcy, you know that Stone is not their last name, don’t you?”

  “What are you talking about? Of course it’s Stone.”

  Howard rubbed his rough, callused hands and struggled for the right words.

  “Stone is the name the old man took on when he moved here years ago and started the diamond and watch business. His real name is Stonebrunner.”

  “German?”

  “Actually, Jewish.

  There was a cold silence on the steps of the Brennaman farm as the sun sank a little deeper behind the trees and the temperature dropped a couple of degrees. Darcy waited for her father to continue, and he waited for her to reply. And after an interlude of quiet tension between the two of them, Darcy studied the worried look on her daddy’s weathered face and asked, “How do you know that?”

  “A lot of people know that, honey.”

  “Well, it certainly is no sin to be Jewish.” Her tone was defiant and protective.

  “Never said there was. I’m just telling you something I thought you might not know.”

  “What if he is Jewish? What does it matter?” There was a sound of tears in her voice.

  “It doesn’t matter to him at all, I’m sure. But I just want to know if it matters to you.”

  “Of course it doesn’t. I don’t look down my nose at anybody.”

  “Darcy, it’s not a case of looking down your nose. Now don’t get all riled up and make something more out of this than needs to be.”

  “You’re the one that brought it up, Daddy.”

  “Yes. Yes, I am. And I didn’t bring it up to put them down. It’s just something I wanted to be sure you knew. Because, honey, it’s a lot of difference for you and for them. It seems that you and Harlan are getting real close and maybe real serious. I’m not throwing a wrench in anything, but I just want you to be careful you don’t get hurt.”

  “How would I get hurt?”

  “They might be the ones who throw the wrench in things. Be careful, sweetie. Harlan may not be as serious as you are, and his parents may not approve of you as much as you think they do.”

  “They seem to like me just fine, and I like them.”

  “But … that’s as Harlan’s girlfriend. When they see you might become Harlan’s wife someday, things might be different.”

  “Just what are you saying, Daddy? Do you not approve of them, or do you think they won’t approve of us?”

  “Darcy, being Jewish is two things. A race and a religion. I got no problem with the race. But when you start mixing up their beliefs with our Presbyterian beliefs, life can get complicated. Children get involved, and somebody has to say that Jesus ain’t all that important in order to make the marriage work. Do you hear what I’m saying?”

  “Do you think I’d renounce my beliefs?”

  “I think you might be asked to. And you might find it sort of difficult for two people to live under the same roof with those kinds of differences.”

  “Not Harlan and me, Daddy. We can handle it.”

  “Love can only do so much, little girl. Don’t overestimate it.”

  “And don’t you worry about me. I’m not going away from my beliefs. You can count on that. And here’s something else, Daddy. His best friend, Cal Vaxter, is in seminary school to be a Methodist preacher. So you see, their religion has never been a problem. They’re as close as David and Jonathan.”

  Howard had to laugh at this. But then, with a smile on his face, he made his final point.

  “He and this Vaxter boy never had any kids together, did they?”

  Darcy slapped her father playfully on the arm and said, “Don’t worry. All of my children will be raised as little Presbyterians.”

  He looked at his beautiful daughter long and hard. She always made him smile.

  “I notice you’ve never brought Harlan to church with you, honey.”

  “No. But I will. And then you’ll see.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Mt. Jefferson, with a population of twenty-two thousand in the last national census before 1959, was too small of a town for many people who drove through it on Route 250, east to west, or Route 11, north to south. It didn’t have everything an out-of-towner might be looking for, but it had everything its citizens needed. There was a pretty nice old hotel on the hill overlooking the east end of town with a large neon sign announcing its unusual name: Lee-Jackson Hotel. It had been an elegant place for travelers to rest and dine around the turn of the century, but fifty-nine more years had taken a toll. It was in need of some mortar work, some fresh paint, and some letters in the sign that made you think twice about checking into the Lee- ackson otel. It still boasted a wonderful restaurant in the former ballroom that was packed by after-church lunch-goers every Sunday. The old hotel looked down on eight blocks of small town life that looked like a Norman Rockwell painting.

  On the right side of the street was the Crown Theater with its marquee full of first-run movies, and around the corner was the Strand, with its marquee full of double features, B movies, and serials. On that same block were dress shops for women of all walks of life: Kindleberg’s and Lilly Mae’s for the finest in evening and Sunday wear for the upper class, then the less expensive versions of the same things at the Dress Shop and Margo’s just doors down. Montgomery Ward and Benson’s Department Store were on up the street a couple of blocks, and in between were a number of five-and-dime stores such as Newberry’s and McCroy’s and Macalbee’s.

  There was a hardware store called Vaxter Brothers on the corner of Central and Main, and every Saturday morning from about eight till noon, farmers and husbands and loafers in general, many who were in town while their wives shopped, would gather in front of Vaxter’s and stand and talk and smoke and tell jokes and lies. It was a human traffic jam on the sidewalk there every week no matter how hot or cold or dry or wet the weather might get. Paul and Ernest, the Vaxter brothers, could be seen out among the crowd with their coffee cups in their hands, encouraging the gathering that would eventually spill inside and turn into an abundance of sales. By noon the wives had finished shopping and would come by and one by one take their talk-weary hubbies home.

  There was a Blue Checker grocery store on the far end of the westernmost block downtown. Scattered throughout the other blocks were a few men’s clothing stores—Matthew’s, the Suit Closet, and one simply called the Men’s Store. Dartmouth’s Drugstore was on one side of Main while Clark’s Drug and Fountain was on the other. Both offered over-the-counter remedies, prescriptions by local and friendly pharmacists, a cosmetics section, and a lunch counter serving sandwiches and ice cream in little pointed paper cups that sat in chrome holders. But if you required a little more of your dining experience and didn’t want to wait till the weekend for the buffet room at the Lee- ackson otel, then there was Drakos or Mulligans.

  Most of the people in Mt. Jefferson didn’t know where Nick Drakos came from. Some didn’t care, some didn’t ask, and some didn’t want the responsibility of knowing. But for those few who took the time to find out, they knew he first set foot on American soil on July 6, 1914. He and his little brother and his parents were on one of the last steamships from Greece that landed at Locust Point on the coast of Baltimore. They had sailed the Mediterranean and then the Atlantic from Port Pylos, southwest of Athens, when Nick was only eleven years old. Arriving in the Baltimore harbor just days before that port was closed due to World War I, the Drakos family was met by an older cousin who had sent for them to come join the community and the family business. But the look on the cousin’s face when he met them told another story. The business was no longer, and there was no place for the new arrivals to live.

  After changing their drachmas to American dollars, the family continued south in the United States by bus. Their goal was Atlant
a, where an uncle had two large restaurants and a promise of employment and housing. But the money ran out en route, and they found themselves in a little southern town called Mt. Jefferson. The first two weeks, they slept in the city park until Nick’s father could make enough money shining shoes, tending gardens, and cleaning floors to get them proper shelter. Within three years, they had their own business on the corner of Main Street; their mamma did the cooking and their father served as manager and host, and Nick and his brother waited tables and washed dishes. From the summer of 1917, this location was home to a restaurant with the name of Drakos above the door.

  The restaurant began as little more than a counter and a couple of tables. After his father’s death, Nick took over and bought the store next door, which housed a spool and yarn shop. The dividing wall came down, and that was when the round tables and white tablecloths were added and the counter was removed. Nick had grown up, and Drakos had grown with him.

  Everyone who walked in the front door was greeted by one of two sights. Either Nick himself coming toward them with open arms, a cigarette firmly between his lips, or his beautiful wife, Christina, smiling and reaching for their hands while Nick sat at the last table next to the kitchen, smoking and reading the racing forms. Either way, customers were made to feel at home and left with the sense that the Drakos family wanted them back. There was even a small verse printed on the bottom of each menu:

  All are welcome, all are fed

  Give us Lord, our daily bread

  Nick Drakos was everyone’s friend. His wife was gorgeous, his sons were handsome, and his daughter, with black shining eyes and black shining hair, was angelic. Nick was fond of saying, “No one leaves Drakos without feeling loved.”

  The other restaurant of note was Mulligans. But that’s a story yet to be told.

  CAL VAXTER

  Chapter Sixteen

  Cal sat with the two women while Darcy told him and Amanda the story of how she and Harlan had come into their kitchen and discovered the stranger standing in the middle of the floor.