She watched him get his newspaper, and, making up her mind quite suddenly, she slipped the binoculars into her pocket and started across the little meadow toward the Valentine house.
“Yoo-hoo, Winston!” She waved, not wanting him to get in his back door before she got there.
“I guess we’re the only two around here who get up at sunrise,” he said, taking her arm to help her through the fence on his side.
“Dixie…” she said, then had to stop and catch her breath, before saying that Dixie Love was awake and usually doing yoga. She offered no more about that, since how she had seen Dixie clearly in her living room was with the binoculars.
She spoke of liking the cool weather and then asked if Winston had very much trouble with armadillos.
“A little,” he said, and pointed at fresh holes. “They can be a nuisance.”
Giving up working around to the subject, Vella said, “Your rosebushes bloom so heavily, even all through that awful heat, Winston. How did you keep them blooming so abundantly, when my bushes just seemed to hang on?” She gestured, the words pouring out, now that she had started. “I’ve done everything I can find to do, but even now, my bushes don’t match this. I tell you, I’ve done everything, watered, lit ’em up, fertilized. What do you do, Winston?”
He looked at her, blinking behind his glasses. “Well, I didn’t do anything, Vella. I guess it was Coweta. You know how she was about roses.”
“Coweta?” Vella said, somewhat taken aback. She looked at the rosebushes.
“Coweta had a green thumb,” Winston was saying. “She would be out here talking to these plants, and singing and praying over them, and then she’d come in and we’d have coffee and talk about what was in the paper. And ever since she died, well, these bushes just seemed to keep bloomin’ more and more. I think she still sings over them.”
Vella stared at him, realizing he had pretty much forgotten he was talking to her. Why…why, he’s lonely, she thought, the knowing hitting her sharply. He was lonely just like she was, came the next thought.
“Winston,” she said, “would you like to come have coffee with me? I don’t mean this in a forward way.” She lowered her eyes, fearing how she might have sounded. “I am a married woman…” she gathered herself “…but I’d enjoy hearing you tell me what else Coweta did with the rosebushes.”
He was surprised for only an instant before he looked very pleased. “Well, now, that is a nice invitation. Thank you.”
They both went stiffly through the fence, across the little pasture and through the fence on the other side, where Winston suggested they have their coffee outside, so the neighbors would not start gossiping. Vella, remembering Belinda, quickly agreed. She was also thrilled that he thought anyone would gossip about her in that manner.
“Oh, Winston…I’m an old woman.”
“Don’t mean you aren’t a woman,” he said firmly. “And I am a man.”
Blushing, she turned quickly, telling him over her shoulder to have a seat. As she went in the back door, she was shocked to realize that she was having what could be considered lusty thoughts.
They had their coffee while the sun came up, and each discovered the other had a keen mind and bent for conversation. Vella found it refreshing to talk to someone who paid attention to her and didn’t listen with half a mind into the newspaper, as her husband always did, and to whom she did not have to explain things, as she had to do to Minnie and every other old woman she knew. Winston was delighted to find a woman who talked about subjects other than food and days gone by.
He said as much to her when he left forty-five minutes later.
Winston went down the hall, saying, “I’m comin’, keep your pants on,” to the incessant ringing of the doorbell.
He opened the door to find Everett Northrupt standing there, his sparse white hair standing on end, his eyes furious, and while he had on dark slacks, Winston was fairly certain the man was still wearing his pajama shirt.
“How dare you fly both the United States and Confederate flags together!” Northrupt said without preamble.
“Somebody has to fly the United States flag, since you quit,” Winston responded, then added, “And they don’t seem to mind flyin’ together.”
“Are you crazy?”
“No more than you.”
“You cannot fly the United States below the Confederate flag. It is an insult to the flag of this country, and it is against the law.”
“Then you better go to see Neville. And at least I am flyin’ the flag, which is more than you are doing. Good day to you, sir.”
With that, he flung the door closed in the man’s face. Then he turned with a satisfied smile, thinking that he had succeeded in provoking Northrupt out of his bed. Life was good.
Charlene drove Danny J. to a bronc riding clinic at a ranch where a number of young bronc riders gathered to practice on fresh stock out in a small, sandy arena, where men and boys in big hats and dusty jeans sat atop the fence rails and yelled their enthusiasm.
She had gotten herself up in full makeup, slim jeans and a silky shirt with the top buttons undone, an experiment to discover men’s reactions, and her own. She was quite gratified to note the interested glances of quite a few men. Some, there alone, boldly looked her over and smiled, and others, accompanied by wives, furtively slid their eyes to her, believing their wives did not notice, when surely they did, evidenced by the number of frowns Charlene received from the women.
Charlene, the only single woman in attendance, received gallant treatment, cold drinks put in her hand, space made at the rail for her, a lawn chair suddenly produced, and all the while she looked the men over, too, very discreetly, testing herself for reaction. She did not think that she should confine herself to Mason so quickly. She needed to sample before getting attached. The only problem being that there were so few eligible men in Valentine. This had been Rainey’s problem, too. As Rainey said, “Well, if there are any good men, they are taken.”
To her frustration, Charlene quite quickly found that none of the men there aroused her in the least. She tried to be aroused. Heaven knew several of the men were drop-dead handsome, most especially a man at least ten years younger than herself, who stayed by her side the entire time and made eyes at her. She regarded him boldly and tried to get her spirit to respond, yet nothing happened.
She thought perhaps a bucking bronc practice was not the place to try to drum up interest in a man, because she was distracted by worrying over Danny J. She had to hold on to the fence rail to keep from running out there each time he landed in the dirt.
When she returned home with Danny J., whose clothes were dirty enough to prove a detergent commercial but whose spirit was flying and body quite safe and sound, she went straight to the answering machine. The green light was blinking, three calls, and she pushed the button eagerly, her mind racing ahead to Mason.
But Mason had not called. The messages were not at all what she expected. The first one was Everett Northrupt’s angry voice, which started off saying, “Winston has gone off his nut,” and went on to tell her that her father was illegally flying the United States flag below the Confederate flag.
The second message was from Larry Joe, working at the Texaco, who sounded a little worried about the same subject. “A few customers are talkin’ about it, Mom. Maybe you should go see Grandad and make sure he is okay.”
And a third call was from some man Charlene did not know, and who did not identify himself but said in a low voice, “I think you should know your grandfather is a subversive.”
The news that her father was upsetting people was a little disturbing, but she had trouble giving it her full attention. She was quite disappointed and annoyed with Mason for not calling. She felt that after telling her what he had the night before, he should have called.
Having left Danny J. and Jojo watching a movie for the short time she would be gone, Charlene enjoyed driving in the twilight by herself with a Don Williams tape playing out loud
ly. When she arrived at the big old house, she was a little dismayed to skim the poor lilac bush that she had half flattened before, but she told herself she was getting better all the time.
Her father was just taking down the flags. He handed her the United States flag to carry.
“I thought you could leave them up, since you had lights, Daddy.”
“Weather report says there may be storms. I don’t want to take a chance.”
“And you like raising it every mornin’, don’t you?”
He shrugged.
“You feelin’ all right, Daddy?”
“Fair to middlin’.”
“What’s this I hear that you’re flyin’ the Confederate Flag above the United States flag? I had three telephone calls about it.”
He stepped into the foyer to lay the flags on the table there.
“Everett’s in a snit, isn’t he?” he said, coming back out, looking pleased.
“Him and a few others are in a snit, the way I’m hearin’ it.”
“Makes you wonder, doesn’t it?” he said, sitting heavily in the porch rocker.
“What?” Charlene took the swing.
“About the quality of people’s lives. They get so wrought up about the protocol of flyin’ a flag, then they’ll do all manner of other low-down, mean and rotten things. Do you know one of those sons-o’-a-buck who called to yell at me was that no-’count Ragsdale fella, who I know has cheated people, sellin’ sick cattle. He’s even bragged about it.”
Charlene shook her head. The swing chains squeaked softly as she pushed her foot on the floor. Through the window came the glow from the living room and the murmur of the television. Her father said Mildred and Ruthanne were watching Wheel of Fortune. Charlene watched the lights coming on in houses across the street and down at the corner. She saw Dixie come out with her little dog, but she was too far away for Charlene to call to her.
“If people can take the flag and put it on their coats or drag it out in the street and burn it, I figure I can hang it south of the real flag,” her father said.
“Daddy, you are a mess.”
“People need to get shook up sometimes. I’ve had as many calls supporting me as yelling at me, you know.”
“Really?”
“I put a notepad beside the phone to keep track. I thought I might write up a report for the paper.”
Charlene thought her father was having a good time. He was a little tired, but he was okay. A least he was keeping busy.
Mason telephoned just as she was getting ready for bed. “How was your day?”
“Interesting,” she said.
“Interesting?”
She could not say, I tried to be interested in other men, but all I could think of was you.
Curling herself into a ball, she said, “Blue is as good as if he’d never been sick.”
“That’s good,” Mason said.
“And I took Danny J. to a bronc riding clinic. He did real good and returned all in one piece. And Daddy has upset people because he is flying the American flag below the Confederate flag.”
Mason laughed, then said, “My day was pretty boring. I cleaned out old books all day.”
And she said, “So tell me about the books you found.”
They talked for thirty minutes about anything and everything that mattered to each of them. When Charlene hung up, she sighed and stretched and snuggled down in the bed. After several minutes, she pulled a pillow over to hug. She wondered about how she would handle sex.
The erotic pictures that came through her mind caused her to toss and turn for some time.
Thirty-Four
The cool of fall brought out the appearance of sweaters and sport coats at church services. Charlene wore her tall dress cowboy boots with a flowing skirt. Jojo wore tights under her dress. The talk was about the possibility of an early winter, while the roses and mums in everyone’s gardens went into riotous blooming, and the wild sunflowers along the sides of the roads grew bigger than ever.
Charlene had just settled her family into the pew when Mason appeared, in a tan sport coat that made him look like a million dollars and slipped in beside her, laying his arm along the back of the pew behind her, in a companionable manner which she allowed.
A few minutes later, her father and Mildred and Ruthanne came to sit in their accustomed place in the pew directly behind, and whispers ran rampant around the sanctuary.
“Good mornin’, Daddy.”
“’Mornin’, Daughter,” he said, his head high and satisfied.
They stood for the first hymn, and Mason held a hymnal to share with her. She told him to hold it out farther so she could read the words. He laughed and then pulled reading glasses from his pocket, handing them to her. She took them in a good-natured manner.
Her gaze slid off the book and focused on his strong hand holding it. The same hand that had caressed her. The same hand she longed to feel on her bare skin all over her body. Throughout the sermon, her mind repeatedly strayed to thoughts of the virile man sitting beside her, from his hands that drew her eyes to the sense of his strength there beside her, to imagining what his body looked like without clothes—all thick muscles of a man in his prime, a man who would make love the way a woman longs for, all tenderness and strength and thorough delight.
She thought that maybe she was assuming a great deal.
Crossing her legs and giving a sigh, she supposed God understood a woman’s heart. When Mason’s hand strayed down to her shoulder, she sat there, feeling the weight and warmth of it, and battling the longing. Thank heaven she was in church. It gave her an edge in the battle.
After the service, Neville caught Winston in the parking lot and said, “I’ve gotten several complaint calls about your flag-flyin’, Mr. Valentine. I don’t suppose you’re gonna change those flags around, are you?”
“No, sir.”
“That’s what I thought,” Neville said and went off with a great sigh.
Winston said, “Let’s everyone go out for Sunday dinner. Larry Joe’s here and can drive us up to Lawton. My treat.”
Monday morning Mason took a box of Louis L’Amour books over to Neville at the sheriff’s office. Everett Northrupt was already there.
“I’m makin’ a formal complaint about Winston Valentine flyin’ the U.S. of A.’s flag in an improper manner,” Northrupt said with vehemence, and continued on in this vein for a few more minutes, ending with the flat demand, “I expect the law to do something about it.”
“Just what is it that you expect me to do?” Neville asked, rearing back in his chair.
“Well, go over there and make the man do right.”
“How? You want me to arrest him?”
Northrupt looked startled. “Well, no…unless you have to, to bring him to his senses.”
Neville shook his head, then sat forward. “I appreciate what you are sayin’, Mr. Northrupt, but we have never had this sort of situation around here, and frankly, I’m not exactly certain of my jurisdiction in this area. More to the point, I don’t really care. There’s no way in hell I’m goin’ to go to Winston Valentine’s house and tear his flags down, and I’m certainly not goin’ to arrest the man, who I’ve known all my life, who has been an upstanding member of this community and who isn’t hurtin’ a dang soul. If you don’t like seein’ the flags, don’t look.”
Northrupt left in a huff, pushing around Mason, who was standing in the doorway with his box of books.
“He was a little upset,” Mason said, coming into the room.
Neville looked exasperated. “I’ve had eight calls this weekend. Bunch of malarkey. Winston is an old man. Do you know he has medals from World War II? He saved a bunch of lives once, my dad told me. Seems as if he ought to be able to do what he wants in his own front yard. Whatcha’ got?” He nodded at the box Mason carried.
Mason set the box on Neville’s desk. “I’ve decided to clean out some, and I know you like these Louis L’Amour books. Got a few hardbacks…maybe a
couple you haven’t read yet.”
Neville looked surprised. “You mean you are actually gettin’ rid of books?”
“Well, the urge hit. My place has gotten to be a real messy bachelor house.”
Neville raised an eyebrow, but Mason said he had to get on to work. He wasn’t about to talk about the feelings pressing him to suddenly start cleaning out his house and make room for what, he wasn’t quite certain.
Tuesday evening, seizing on what he thought was a good excuse to go over to Charlene’s, Mason drove his Grand-pap’s old car over to show her what he and Larry Joe had accomplished.
“I have one more dent to fix, and then I’m gonna get it painted,” Mason said, as they all walked out to look the car over.
Larry Joe got in and started the engine and revved the motor, listening to it, then hopping out and making adjustments in the engine, then getting back in and revving it again. Jojo climbed in beside him and ran her hands over the seat covers, which she said she liked. Danny J. stood there, off to one side, and said, “It’ll be neat when you get it painted.”
In an effort to continue in the right direction with everyone, Mason suggested driving everyone up to the Dairy Freeze for an ice-cream cone. Danny J. got in the back seat. He was quiet, but he was back there, and Mason was satisfied.
They went to the Dairy Freeze and had a good time, and then Mason stayed awhile with Charlene in the kitchen, taking every opportunity to touch her, inhale her scent and generally act very juvenile.
Before he left her that night, Mason dared to ask her for a date Friday night. “It’s the final weekend for the Little Opry. I was wondering if you might want to go.” The Little Opry always closed for the season the weekend before Halloween. “We won’t stay out late. Maybe to eleven, if that would suit you.”
He really expected her to say no and called himself a fool for asking, and when she said, “Yes. That’d be fun,” he wondered if he’d heard right.
Driving Lessons Page 34
