Each Shining Hour

by Jeff High

  Thankfully, my modest cottage home was generally tidy. Rhett greeted us warmly as we walked down the main hall toward the kitchen in the rear. John progressed slowly, casually observing each room with a bemused air. We had known each other for over six months, but this was the first time he had ever set foot in my home, despite numerous invitations.

  “Quaint place here, Doc. Looks like Connie keeps it pretty orderly.”

  “And this is a surprise to you?”

  John grinned. “Yeah, good point.”

  “You know, I’ve been meaning to ask you about Connie. What was she like years ago? You know, when you guys were both kids?”

  John responded flatly, “Shorter.”

  John and Connie had grown up together, and while never close friends, they had shared an unspoken respect. Even though John had a PhD in chemical engineering, he readily acknowledged that Connie was the smarter of the two. She had, in fact, been valedictorian of their high school class, with John falling a distant second. But Connie had stayed in Watervalley, become a housewife and mother, and never studied at the college level.

  While I made coffee, John stared out the back windows.

  “Good-sized backyard, Doc. Come next spring, looks like plenty of room for a nice garden.”

  “Yeah, like that’s going to happen. Growing up in Buckhead did not exactly provide opportunities to develop my gardening skills.”

  “Ah, don’t sell it short, sport. There’s something magical about getting your hands in the dirt, watching things grow. It’s good therapy.”

  I laughed. “Well, I’ll take that one under advisement.” I was satisfied to let the topic pass, but John persisted.

  “The Mayfields lived here when I was a kid and there was a huge garden in this backyard. Lovett Mayfield was retired from the post office. He and my dad were big friends and used to swap seeds.”

  I poured mugs of coffee and we settled at the kitchen table. “So, John, speaking of seeds, spill the beans here, fellow. What could possibly have motivated you to get all slicked up and come to town?”

  “I had a meeting with the mayor.”

  “Mayor Hickman? Really? And the topic?”

  “The bandstand.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Yeah. He approached me after the Christmas Eve service and said he wanted to know if my offer to fund the renovation was still good. I said we should meet this week and talk through it. So, we met, we talked.”

  “And?”

  “Can’t be completely sure yet, but it looks promising.”

  “What did Walt say?”

  “He’s going to try and get it worked out. But you have to remember, this is Walt talking and Walt’s a politician. He’s easy to like with all that backslapping and those big smiles. Unfortunately, Walt and his double chin are synonymous with double-talk.”

  John took a swallow of coffee. “Still, it seems a real possibility it could happen.”

  “So this is good news, right?”

  John smiled broadly. “Oh yeah, this is very good news.”

  The renovation of the bandstand had become the singular mission of John’s wife, Molly, in the months before she died of cancer. The bandstand had been boarded up for fifteen years and had fallen into dangerous disrepair. Despite John and Molly’s efforts, the Board of Aldermen had voted down the motion for renovation, largely due to some misguided beliefs about the evils of dancing, which had always been the main activity in the bandstand. That defeat, along with Molly’s death, had been the final straw for John and had left him with a festering resentment. Since then he’d isolated himself from life in town.

  “Well, congratulations, fellow! I’m happy for you,” I said.

  “Yeah, thanks. So, enough about me. What have you been up to this morning? Anything happening at the clinic?”

  I told John about the meeting at the old bakery and Connie’s revelation about her mother having worked there.

  John pondered for a moment. “I guess I had forgotten that. Interesting.”

  “Yeah, and get this irony. Once she gets the bakery started, Estelle wants to give Louise Fox a job there.”

  John chuckled. “Well, sport, that’s what’s known as Watervalley’s version of the circle of life.”

  “Oh, I also met Randall Simmons. He’s an awful queer duck. Connie sure put the fear of God in him, though.”

  “I told you he was a slimy one. His dad, Raymond, was a honcho in the community years ago. Pretty hard-nosed and not very likable. I know my father-in-law didn’t much care for him.”

  “Your father-in-law?”

  “Yeah. Molly’s dad, Sam Cavanaugh, was chairman of the board at the bank for many years. Good man. Loved this town. Raymond Simmons was the bank president. When Raymond retired in the early nineties, Randall stepped into his father’s shoes. He hasn’t quite measured up. Nevertheless, he has all the snobbery that second-generation money tends to breed.”

  “So what’s the deal between you two?”

  “There’s no love lost, or found, between us. It goes way back.”

  “And?”

  “I take it you really want to hear this story?”

  “Sure, especially after what I saw of Randall this morning. Let’s have it.”

  John drew in a deep breath, reflecting for a moment. “Elementary school, during the midsixties. I beat the crap out of him one day during recess.”

  “Seriously? Elementary school? This grudge goes back nearly fifty years? What happened, he try to cheat at marbles?”

  John ran his finger around the rim of his coffee cup. “Nah, it was a little more complicated than that. It was the first year of school integration, which actually wasn’t as big a deal as it sounds. Heck, it was a small town then just like now. We all knew each other, black and white. We played sandlot ball together; saw each other everywhere. So, finally being together in the same classroom seemed a natural development At least, that’s the way I saw it. But Randall, he had a pretty smart mouth in those days. His dad had climbed the social ladder and I guess he thought he was somebody. Anyway, we were all playing a game at recess and he called one of the black girls a pretty lousy name.”

  “And you kicked his butt for that?”

  “Well, it wasn’t just the name-calling, although that was bad enough. After he did it, he laughed at her, humiliated her, and there was nothing she could do about it. So I proceeded to walk over and put my fist through his teeth. Then he did a second stupid thing.”

  “What was that?”

  John’s face eased into a bemused smile. “He tried to fight back.”

  No doubt, this was the memory John had been delightfully rolling around in his head the previous afternoon when we were discussing Randall Simmons.

  “Okay, I just gotta ask. What did he call her?”

  John turned and stared at me blankly, as if I had brought him back to reality. After a moment, he spoke in a detached voice. “He called her a fat, blue-gummed nigger.”

  “Huh. Sounds like he was asking for it. Whom was he talking to anyway?”

  “Constance Grace Pillow, better known as Connie Thompson.”

  “So you’re telling me you were sticking up for Connie? You’ve always said you didn’t much like her in those days.”

  “That’s true. I didn’t like her. Even back then Connie was a bit of a tough personality. And I resented that she was smarter than me. She was always smarter than me.”

  He paused. “No. If I were being honest, even back then I admired her, but I didn’t particularly like her. At any rate, she sure as hell didn’t deserve that abuse. The funny thing is, she got all mad at me about it.”

  “Mad at you? For slugging Randall Simmons? Why?”

  John exhaled a deep breath and shook his head. “That’s Connie for you. Even back then she was bound by her convictions. Al
l that turn-the-other-cheek crap.”

  “Really?”

  “Oh, yeah. She felt that in time God would settle the score and I shouldn’t have interfered.”

  I thought about John’s comment. “Must be something to it. She sure had Randall acting like a frightened cat today.”

  John spoke with a breezy chuckle. “Uh, yeah. I think she got the last laugh on that one. She was reading the tea leaves long before the banking crisis struck a few years ago. When it did, it hit the Farmers Bank hard. Connie was sitting on a pile of cash and bought loads of their stock at a bargain price.”

  John turned to look me in the eyes, wanting to make sure I fully understood his next comment.

  “She practically owns half the bank.”

  CHAPTER 12

  The Winds of Change

  John’s words hung in the air, richly, elegantly floating like a pleasing aroma. There was something deeply satisfying for both of us in this knowledge. Not only did it fulfill some desire for justice in the order of things; it also amplified the awe and admiration we held for Connie Thompson. We sat quietly at the kitchen table, exchanging wry grins, awash in an unspoken mutual awareness of the long list of social and financial realities this little-known fact had no doubt exerted upon the old order in Watervalley.

  “Half the bank, really?”

  “Hmmm, I may have overstated that. Probably not half, but I do think she is the largest shareholder.”

  “Why doesn’t she sit on the board of directors?”

  “Doesn’t want to. I think she’s okay with Randall’s ability to run the bank, but she’s not interested in being in his company any more than she has to.”

  The blaring ring of the telephone broke the silence. I walked over and grabbed the receiver off the wall. It was Leonard, one of the EMTs, checking in. It was code. They never would admit it, but they did this when they were a little out of pocket for a while. No doubt, another Bowl game was on. It wasn’t a problem. Dispatch could always find them if I needed them.

  John spoke as I recradled the phone. “You need to go?”

  “Nah. Nothing urgent. Although I am expecting an important phone call.”

  “Oh? Do tell.”

  “Mary Jo, the staff nurse at the clinic, suddenly gave her notice two weeks ago. She’s taking a job in Nashville. Following a new boyfriend, I think. Anyway, we’ve got a travel nurse coming for six months to take her place. She’s supposed to hit town today or tomorrow.”

  “Travel nurse?”

  I rejoined John at the table. “Yeah, it’s pretty common in the industry.”

  “And she’s willing to come here?”

  “Yeah. Said she has some old ties to Watervalley.”

  “Interesting. She say who?”

  “Not really. All I know is she’s well qualified and willing to come. I didn’t press for details in our phone interview. Actually, I’m privately glad to be getting a new nurse. I liked Mary Jo, but she could be a handful.”

  Once I’d said this, it occurred to me that John’s unusual curiosity the previous day about my dating life deserved some reprisal.

  “You know, John, since lately you’ve been channeling your inner cupid, maybe you should meet this new nurse. Could be someone interesting for you.”

  John snorted. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m a little past the girl-crazy stage.”

  “I don’t know, fellow. This new nurse could be a possibility.”

  His response brimmed with amused skepticism. “Oh really, Doc. Some perky new graduate? A little young for me, don’t you think?”

  “I meant new to the clinic, not new to nursing. She’s early fifties, I think; single, smart, and she knows CPR, always a benefit for a guy with your habits. Seems pretty independent minded too.”

  “Independent minded?”

  “Yeah. Something about her. Seems like a woman who knows what she wants and how to take care of herself. Pretty low maintenance.”

  John looked at me sourly, not amused. “Wants to bait her own hook, huh? That’s even better—some sharp-tongued broad-in-the-stern old gal? I don’t think so.”

  “Like I said, I interviewed her over the phone, so I can’t speak to the broadness of her stern, or any of her rigging, as it were. But she sounded pretty sharp. Might be good company; you know, someone you could tell your troubles to.”

  “What if she is the one causing me all the trouble?”

  I chuckled. “Ah yes, always the optimist. Suit yourself. I just hate seeing all your charms going to waste.”

  John’s focus never changed, but his face slid into a compressed and amused smirk. He was thinking about it. Maybe, just maybe, I had struck a nerve.

  “So, you hired her over the phone?”

  “Yeah, seems like a lovely gal. I’ll give it a couple of weeks and introduce you. Don’t want to scare her off too soon.”

  “Scare her off? What do you mean by that?”

  “I don’t know, John. It’s not like your nickname is ‘Bubbles.’”

  “I’m crushed, sawbones, crushed. I mean, hey, look at me. What’s not to love?”

  “Right. What am I thinking? It’s not like you’re a cynical, foulmouthed heavy drinker or anything.”

  “Okay, smart-ass. Point taken. Anyway, you’re wasting your time. I’m past my ‘sell by’ date.”

  I was about to respond when the sound of the front door opening caught our attention. Rhett perked up and began wagging his tail, driven by that innate telepathy that dogs have. He scampered toward the entrance hall to gleefully meet Connie, who had returned from her morning with Estelle.

  As she entered the kitchen, it occurred to me that this was the first instance in which I was in the company of John and Connie at the same time. Individually, they were my best, if not only, friends. But it had never been just the three of us, John, Connie, and me. To my thinking, they were the defining individuals of their generation in Watervalley.

  Having known each other all their lives, they shared an unspoken language, an intimate familiarity founded upon long years of mutual respect and, likely, a genuine bond of affection. This was revealed even in the way they greeted each other. John obediently rose from his chair and regarded her with a confidential, impish grin. He almost bowed when he spoke.

  “Constance.”

  Connie responded in like form with a slight dip of her chin, something of a precursor to a curtsy. She was wrapped in an amused air. “Professor Harris.”

  For a brief moment we all stood and smiled warmly at one another, charged by an unexplained delight at this unexpected, long-overdue meeting of intimates. Finally, Connie broke the silence as she turned to put away her purse.

  “My, my, my, John. Aren’t you all dressed up? What brings you to the city proper?”

  “A little business with our friend Walt. Anyway, I was just on my way back to the hills, to the city improper.”

  As always, Connie’s tone was deadpan. “Wouldn’t have anything to do with the rumor about renovating the bandstand, would it?”

  I raised my hands in a gesture of low amazement. “How does she do that?”

  John grinned. “Get used to it, sport. In Watervalley, God hears everything, and Connie’s the first person he tells.”

  Connie offered a thoughtful nod, satisfied that she had attained her answer. “So, looks like I interrupted some important male bonding here. Can I fix you boys some lunch?”

  John responded first. “Thanks, Connie, but I really am on my way out the door.”

  “Me too, actually,” I said. “I need to go over to the clinic for a while. Oh, and Connie, I’m expecting a call from an Ann Patterson. Give her my cell phone number if you would?”

  “Is she the new nurse?”

  “Yeah. By the way, I thought I would pull together a little welcome gathering for her: you know, c
offee or dinner or maybe something a little formal.”

  Connie lowered her chin and glared at me.

  “You? Luke Bradford? Doing formal? Humph, I can already taste the frozen Sara Lee cake.”

  John folded his arms and exhaled a light chuckle.

  I ignored him. “Well, yeah. I can do formal.”

  “Formal for you is putting basket holders under the Chinet.”

  I responded with mock offense. “I can’t believe you’re questioning the genteel refinement of my entertainment skills.”

  “Mmm-hmm. Genteel refinement, huh? John must have given you a thesaurus for Christmas.”

  At the mention of his name, John entered the fray. “Don’t worry, Connie. I’m always available to give the good doctor a few pointers on the social graces.”

  Connie’s neck stiffened as she regarded John skeptically. “John Harris, it might be a harbinger of the fall of Western civilization if you’re the last word on charm and diplomacy.”

  John laughed and glanced in my direction. “Your turn, sport. I gave it my best shot.”

  I shook my head. “I got nothing.”

  We stood for a moment, snickering and exchanging amused shrugs. Both of us wanted to continue teasing Connie, but we also knew the duel was futile. She would eventually win. Finally, John spoke as if she were in the next room.

  “Hey, you’re just going to have to put up with it. She’s a great cook.”

  I played along. “Yep. You’re right. Great cook.”

  The two of us stood with our arms folded, shaking our heads in feigned resignation, and explosively smiling at each other.

  A sly grin inched across Connie’s face. “My, my. Aren’t you two just the pair?” She turned and began to take off her coat. In a low, breezy voice her words lilted into the general air. “So many clowns, so few circuses.”

  She hung her coat over a chair and studied us for a brief moment. “Well, if you two will excuse me, since we are now doing formal, I must go fold the tea towels and check the polish on the silver.” She walked away sporting an irrepressibly smug smile.

  John and I left via the front door with him chortling at my expense the entire way.