The Mulligans of Mt. Jefferson

by Don Reid

  “He was just there all of a sudden. And he was kind of hunched over.”

  “What do you mean ‘hunched over’?” Amanda asked.

  “I don’t know. It was kind of funny looking. And he had this clown face on.”

  “A painted face?”

  “No. One of those plastic masks with the string in the back. But it looked like a clown. It had a red nose and big round eyes.”

  “Did he say anything?” Cal asked.

  “Yeah, he said something, but I’m not sure what. It wasn’t real clear. But that’s when Harlan got really mad and threw a dinette chair at him.”

  “Did he hit him?” Amanda’s eyes were full of concern.

  “He might have. The guy sort of ducked, but it might have hit him. I’m not sure. But then that’s when I first saw the gun. Then I heard the shot and saw Harlan fall.”

  “What did the man do when Harlan fell? Did he come toward him or run?” Cal surprised himself with this question and thought he sounded more like Buddy than the family minister.

  “I ran toward Harlan, and I can honestly say I didn’t really see the man run out the door. He must have, but all my attention was on Harlan at the time, and I didn’t see him.”

  “Weren’t you afraid he might shoot again?” Amanda asked.

  “I wasn’t thinking clear enough to reason anything like that. I just made a lunge toward Harlan. I grabbed him to keep him from hitting the floor. It was all so fast, it was really just a blur. And thinking back on it, it already seems like a dream. A dream that happened days or weeks ago.”

  “You don’t have to talk anymore about it to us, honey. Cal and I understand, and you can just sit here and rest. You don’t have to say a word.”

  “But I feel like I need to talk about it. And then when I do, I don’t want to. It’s the most mixed-up feelings I’ve ever had in my life.”

  “That’s all right. That’s all right.”

  Amanda put her arm around her friend, and Cal patted her shoulder before he got up and walked back toward the nurses’ station. He checked his watch against the wall clock—7:31 a.m.—and started to ask the RN behind the counter if she could find out how the surgery was going, but he knew this was an amateurish question. She wouldn’t know and wouldn’t tell him if she did. So he decided instead to use the phone across the hall, where he could still keep his eye on any doctor or nurse that might approach Darcy. He wanted to be with her when any news came.

  He pulled the folding glass door to the booth open and sat down inside. Then he dropped his dime in the slot and gave the operator all the necessary long-distance information. The phone on the other end rang four times before someone answered.

  “Hello.”

  “Ellie? Sorry to call so early.”

  “That’s okay. What’s wrong?”

  “Some bad news on this end. Harlan’s in the hospital.”

  “What happened?”

  “Somebody shot him. And I either just wanted to let you know or I needed to talk to you. For the life of me, I don’t know which.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  If handsome was the one word that described Harlan Stone, then rugged was the single word that summarized Cal Vaxter. He was always a little taller than Harlan, a little thinner, and his good looks were only obvious after you were around him awhile. Boys in his era tended to get their hair cut short only for the summer; Cal wore his that way year-round. He was gangly even at ten years old and didn’t fill out until his midteens. Neither he nor Harlan could remember a time they weren’t best friends. Their very earliest of memories included one another, even though their families were anything but close. H. V. Stone and Ernest Vaxter had stores three doors away from one another for over twenty years, but the only regular greetings they ever exchanged were a few words at the quarterly downtown merchants meetings or a hand wave as one passed the other’s storefront. The boys’ mothers spoke on the phone occasionally, but only to inquire if one boy was at the other’s house and, if so, to tell him to come home for supper.

  Main Street and all the alleys of the side streets in Mt. Jefferson were home to Little Cal, as he was known all over the town by every store owner, clerk, and salesperson. His parents, Ernest and Loretta, and his aunt Betty Bell and uncle Paul were the proprietors of the only hardware store inside the city limits. From the time he could walk, he played under the desks in the back-room office and explored every cubbyhole in the basement and attic of Vaxter Brothers at 221 Main. As he got older, in his preschool days, he roamed the sidewalks, wandering in and out of all the neighboring stores, and was simultaneously the darling and the bane of every merchant on the block. Little Cal was both loved and feared by everyone who knew him, and as he grew into young manhood, he carried that same dual charm with all his peers, friend or foe.

  Cal and Harlan were born only twenty-three days apart, so they experienced every aspect of life together. One was never ahead of the other, nor was one ever lagging far behind. But if one was ever pushing the other, it was Little Cal and his daring and sometimes dangerous ideas, even at the tender age of ten.

  Early one Saturday morning, they were in the aisle of Vaxter Brothers, tossing fistfuls of ten-penny nails into a bin to see who could get the most points from twelve feet away.

  “What time does the movie start?” Harlan asked.

  “Ten o’clock. You know that. It always starts at ten o’clock.”

  “A couple of weeks ago it didn’t start till eleven.”

  “That was because the projector broke down, stupid. It’s always ten o’clock on Saturdays,” Cal assured him.

  “You know what’s playing this morning?”

  “It don’t matter. We’re going anyway, ain’t we?”

  “Yeah, I guess. But let’s walk down there and see what it is. ’Cause if it’s a love picture, I ain’t going.”

  “It won’t be no love picture. Not on a Saturday morning. Matter of fact, I think it will be Tom Mix. I think that’s what the previews said last week.”

  “How much money you got?” Harlan asked, stopping to count what was in his pocket.

  “I got enough, but we ain’t going to need any this morning.”

  “Why won’t we?” Harlan asked as he tossed his last nail, watching it bounce out of the bin and into the hardwood floor.

  “I got an idea. I was walking by the Crown the other day, and I noticed …”

  “What in heaven’s name are you two doing now?” It was Cal’s uncle Paul. “Quit throwing those ten-penny nails. Just look at the holes you’ve made in the floor. Now both of you get on out of here. And don’t come back till you’re at least twenty-five.”

  Cal and Harlan hurried out the door while Cal’s uncle was still mumbling about the damage they had caused and ran a half a block before they quit laughing and slowed to a walking pace.

  “What’s your idea?” Harlan asked.

  “I was walking by the Crown the other day, and I noticed the two doors. The one on the right of the box office is the door you go in, right?”

  “Right.”

  “The one on the left is the door you come out.”

  “Right again.”

  “So I figure if we wait till everyone pays and goes in, Mr. Hardy always leaves the box office and goes to help out at the popcorn stand. So all we have to do is wait till he leaves, and we go in the coming-out door.”

  “Why?” Harlan asked in all sincerity.

  “We get in free, stupid.”

  “Why? Don’t you have enough money to pay?”

  “That’s not the point, Harlan. The point is we get in free. We sneak in the other door. ’Course there’s only one problem.”

  “What’s that?”

  “We’ll have to walk in backwards. That way if we get caught, we can say we were leav
ing. See what I mean?”

  “I don’t know. What if we do get caught?”

  “First off, we won’t. Second off, if we do, we’ll tell them we were just leaving.”

  “And third off?” Harlan challenged him.

  “Third off, we run like a striped monkey.”

  This doubled them over in a fit of laughter that caused other pedestrians on the street to turn and stare. Pretty soon everyone who saw them was laughing also, only they didn’t know why. They were just laughing at two young boys on a bright spring Saturday morning who were having the time of their lives.

  It was Tom Mix. And his Wonder Horse, Tony. And the name of the movie was The Great K & A Train Robbery. And Mr. Hardy did leave the box office as soon as every kid was off the sidewalk and in the theater. And Little Cal Vaxter and Harlan Stone did walk in the exit door backward. And some nineteen-year-old college boy in a maroon usher suit and a black bow tie did grab them by the collars and escort them back out the same exit door. And they both did stand in the morning sunlight on East Main Street and laugh till tears ran down their cheeks. And then they stood at the box office window until Mrs. Hardy saw them waiting, and they each gave her the nine-cents admission price, took a gray ticket, and entered the world of charm and adventure the way they were supposed to. And the way Tom Mix meant them to.

  Chapter Eighteen

  “Cal, just tell me what happened. It’s after seven thirty, and I don’t have a lot of time.”

  “That’s it. Somebody shot him. And I’m already sorry I called. I know you’re getting ready to go to work. Just let it go, and I’ll talk to you tonight or tomorrow.”

  “You most certainly will not. You don’t just call and tell me your best friend has been shot and then leave me hanging. You called to tell me about it, so go ahead and tell me.”

  “I don’t know much more than that.”

  “Well, who did it?”

  “We don’t know.”

  “Where did it happen?”

  “At their house.”

  “Is he dead?”

  “Is he dead? You’re so tactful, Ellie. And you have such warmth in your voice. Look, I’m sorry I called. Just let it go.”

  “No, tell me. Is he?”

  “He’s not dead, Ellie. He’s in surgery right now, and I’m sitting here with Darcy and Amanda. We’re waiting for some kind of word as soon as the doctor comes out.”

  “Let me talk to Darcy.”

  “She’s not close. She’s down the hall. How are the kids?”

  “They’re fine.”

  “Are either one of them nearby? I’ll talk to whichever one is there.”

  “They’re both here. It’s seven thirty in the morning, Cal. Where would you think they would be?”

  “I meant are they there in the room …”

  “No, they’re not. Matthew’s in the bathroom, and Elizabeth is dressing. You can call them tonight if you want to talk to them. Matthew has to be at summer school in thirty minutes, and Elizabeth has to be at work at eight thirty. And look at the time. I’m going to be late for work myself. I suppose Elizabeth told you she got a summer job babysitting for the Hinkels down the street.”

  “Yes, she told me.”

  “Okay then. If you don’t have any more information, I’ve got to go.”

  “Tell them I’ll talk to them tonight.”

  “Don’t call too early this evening. We’re all supposed to go on an office picnic, and we may not be home till dark.”

  “Look, I’ll just wait and call sometime tomorrow.”

  “Well, tomorrow is Saturday, and I can’t be sure we’ll be here. We may go over to Louisville to Mother and Dad’s. Mother’s been wanting us to come and spend the weekend.”

  “That’s fine. I’ll talk to you and them whenever I can find you.”

  “And, Cal, don’t call too often. Because every time you do, it just gets them both upset.”

  “Gets you upset too, doesn’t it, Ellie? Only in a different way.”

  “I don’t have time to argue with you this morning. So let’s just leave it at that. I’m sorry about your friend, but there’s nothing I can do. Good-bye.”

  Cal didn’t even attempt to say good-bye. The dial tone was buzzing in his ear as he sat there in the stuffy phone booth, looking down the hallway of the hospital. Near the end he could see Darcy and Amanda still sitting, talking, and waiting. Many thoughts crossed his mind, but the one that lingered was that he wished it were him instead of Harlan lying back there with his life in the balance. He knew if that were the case, his prayers would be a lot different than they had been this morning.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Little Cal and Harlan roamed the streets most of the summer days that they weren’t home riding their bikes around the neighborhood, to and from the public swimming pool. Cal loved to go into Macalbee’s Five and Dime to get a bag of hot popcorn to carry around as they wove in and out of the stores, killing time and finding trouble to get into and out of. Harlan continuously found himself embroiled in whatever scheme Cal could think up on the spot.

  “Here’s what we’ll do,” Cal said one afternoon. “I picked up an empty paper sack from behind the counter at my dad’s store. I’ve got it in my pocket.”

  “So?” Harlan asked, not sure what new plan was growing in his friend’s devious mind.

  “We’ll go in Macalbee’s, and we’ll each get a bag of popcorn. It’s really good stuff. And as soon as we pay for it, we’ll go out the front door and around the corner.”

  “Why?”

  “Just follow me, and I’ll show you.”

  They did just that, and Tildy, the little woman who operated the lunch counter, went to the popcorn machine and dipped them each a five-cent bag of buttery popcorn, filled and overflowing. They paid and politely said, “Thank you,” and then turned and quickly went out the front door and around the corner. Cal stopped short and immediately pulled the paper sack from his hip pocket and poured all but a few kernels of corn into it. He handed it to Harlan and said, “You stay here, and I’ll be right back.” Then he left his cohort standing on the street, out of sight of Tildy, with two bags of popcorn: one in a Macalbee’s bag and one in a Vaxter Brothers bag.

  With tears in his eyes, Little Cal burst through the doors of the dime store and went straight to Tildy, who was wiping down the counter.

  “I dropped my popcorn,” he announced.

  “Aw, honey. I am so sorry.”

  “It spilled all over the sidewalk, and I don’t have any more money.”

  “Now don’t you worry, sweetie. We’ll get you another bag.” She scooped a new bag, full to the brim again, and said as she handed it down to him, “You be careful now that you don’t spill this one.”

  “I won’t, ma’am. And thank you very much.”

  By the time he rounded the corner where Harlan was waiting, his tears had turned to a huge smile, and they had three bags of Macalbee’s popcorn for the price of two.

  Evidence that Cal and Harlan had accepted Buddy as a full-time partner in their exclusive little club—after that fateful day on the playground—came in the form of including him in some of their underhanded, if not criminal, scams. After discovering that the new kid, Buddy Briggs, lived just a few blocks away from them on Maple Street, it was now a trio that was spotted on bike trips and downtown excursions. It was definitely all three eleven-year-olds who took part in the bottle caper after school one day.

  “I’ve got an idea how to make some money.”

  “You’re always coming up with crazy ideas, Cal. Is it safe and is it legal?” Buddy asked with a smile.

  “You know it isn’t if he’s coming up with it.” Harlan laughed.

  “Listen, guys. This is a good one. A surefire one, and no one will ever
catch on. And it’s legal.”

  “Yeah, sure.” Buddy and Harlan both laughed.

  “Really. You know how stores will give you a penny for empty Coca-Cola bottles?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, that isn’t illegal, is it?”

  “No, I guess not,” Buddy said as he looked to Harlan for agreement. Harlan nodded.

  “Okay. All we have to do is gather up some bottles and take them in and get the money for them.”

  “We could go along the highway and get some that people throw out of their cars or go over to the ballpark and find some under the bleachers.” Buddy was getting excited about it.

  “No. No. No. No. That’s too much work. You know down the street from my daddy’s hardware store where Mulligans Restaurant is? He’ll give you a penny for any empty bottle just like grocery stores do because he sells Coca-Cola in there and they come every week to deliver them.”

  “Okay,” Harlan said, “then we just have to gather a bunch of them up.”

  “No. That’s where my idea comes in. Out behind his restaurant, in the alley, he stacks up all his empties for a week at a time. So all we have to do is get a box and go back in the alley, fill up the box, and take them around front to the restaurant and get a penny a piece for them.”

  “But he’d be buying his own bottles,” Harlan said, looking to Buddy for confirmation.

  “Exactly,” Cal assured them. “But we ain’t doing nothing wrong. We’re bringing empties in and getting paid for them. Nobody ever said where the empties have to come from. We can do this all week long.”

  “He’ll catch on.”

  “We won’t do it every day, stupid. We’ll skip a day now and then.”

  “I don’t know, Cal. We could get in a lot of trouble.” Buddy was already feeling butterflies in his stomach.

  “How? There’s no way he could ever figure it out. It’s surefire.”

  “Isn’t he your uncle or something?” Harlan asked.

  “Sort of.”

  “What do you mean, sort of?” Buddy wondered out loud.