Homecoming in Mossy Creek

by Debra Dixon

  Pierre began to growl, so I had to act fast. It would be only a matter of moments before Ardaleen or the trooper would lift the linen and find us. With our history of mayhem where the Bigelows were concerned, it was going to be hard to keep Grandma and me out of lockup. I reached up and over the table for a jar of the chow-chow, hoping nobody saw my disembodied hand.

  Why, oh why had I let John Wesley stack those jars so high? I had to raise myself on my other hand to reach one. When I grasped it, I took the top off as fast as I could, dipped in my forefinger and flung about a spoonful of chow-chow in Pierre’s direction.

  It landed on his nose. His growling stopped, and he looked at it, which made him go cross-eyed. The chow-chow was stern stuff, and all it took was a good whiff to set him to yelping. I don’t even think he got any up his nose. I thought again about remembered aromas being best at bringing back memories. Judging from Pierre’s reaction, I believe the memory of his humiliation at the garden party came back to him in a rush.

  The dog disappeared out from under the cloth and took off. The sounds of his yelping, Ardaleen’s screeching, and the trooper’s hollering got farther and farther away until we figured it was safe to come out of hiding. By that time, everybody was going about their business as if nothing had happened.

  I craned my neck to see if I could see any sign of them in any direction. I couldn’t. They hadn’t disappeared quite as fast as John Wesley had, but they were good and gone. “Do you think they’ll be back?”

  “Heck, no,” Grandma said. “Ardaleen will be too embarrassed to show her face in here again. I’d say we’re safe.”

  I had to laugh at that. Nobody, but nobody, was safe around Inez Hamilton Hilley when she was riled up, not even me I figured, when she heard what I was about to tell her. “Even though she deserved it, I hope you haven’t ruined her whole Homecoming experience,” I dared to say. “Everybody should have a nice Homecoming in Mossy Creek, don’t you think?”

  I looked down at Grandma for her reaction, half expecting to have to take off running myself. She grew thoughtful for a moment, grinned a crooked grin and actually agreed with me.

  “For shizzle,” she said.

  PART SIX

  The Great Time Capsule Caper

  Louise & Peggy, Friday afternoon

  “You have to understand,” John McClure said. John was captain of the Mossy Creek football team that year. “We never got to finish the game. I don’t even remember which ones of us rescued the box from the gym when the school started burning. By the time we got the fire under control it was nearly morning and we were exhausted. There were still hot spots around the football field.”

  “Why bury it at all?” Peggy asked.

  John drew himself up and glared at her as if she were responsible for the fire. “It was a symbol. It said, ‘We’re still here. We’re doing what we planned.’ Most of all, ‘we’ll be back.’” He leaned back into his recliner with a satisfied grin on his face. “Were, too.” He took a swig of his beer. Peggy and I had stopped for lunch at the café, but it was still much too early in the day for us. Actually, I was surprised to find John at home. Maybe he was taking an extended lunch. How often he did that I had no idea.

  “All this time after, I don’t remember anything we put in ’cept a Rubik’s cube. You remember those?” he asked.

  “I never could do them,” I said.

  Beside me, Peggy huffed. No doubt she did them in her sleep.

  “John, you must have some idea of what part of the field you buried it in.”

  “Far away as we could get, would be my guess. Down past the restrooms, maybe. Hard to tell in the dark.”

  “Men’s or women’s?” I asked. “Think, John. Visualize.” I dragged out the plans we’d copied and spread them on his coffee table. “Anything look familiar?”

  He glared at the map, then shook his head in frustration. “Shoot. I don’t even remember driving home. Good thing Amos’s daddy was too mixed up with the fire to check on us. Way he laid in wait for us on weekends, we knew not to drink and drive. Most of the time.”

  “How about the girls? Would any of them remember?” Peggy asked.

  “We took them home after the fire started. Didn’t even get to crown the Homecoming queen. LuLynn has never forgotten that. She still bitches about missing her chance at glory. Wish I could be more help.”

  “You can help by not mentioning this to anyone, even LuLynn,” I said.

  “Let it stay buried. Lord only knows what’s in it. Even after all these years, some of those things could bite us in the butt.”

  “Including you?” Peggy asked.

  He shrugged. “Even LuLynn’s worried. I’d rather not take a chance. Leave it. Box’s probably rusted away to nothing anyway.”

  “One can but hope,” Peggy breathed.

  Mossy Creek by Any Other Name…

  To look backward for a while is to refresh the eye, to restore it, and to render it the more fit for its prime function of looking forward.

  —Margaret Fairless Barber

  Hermia Lavender Belmont, Saturday

  Few things move slower in a small town like Mossy Creek than change. Molasses from a jar, or Miss Eustene Oscar driving her old, blue Buick down Main Street right when you happen to be in a hurry. Paint drying, maybe.

  Consistency is a virtue with the people of Mossy Creek. Just look at how long Ida has been mayor or how long that silo has been sitting empty on her property at the edge of town, ever since Punky Hartwell got his eye knocked out in that unfortunate Fang and Claw club prank. Things don’t evolve much. And I suppose there’s nothing wrong with that.

  But unlike many of the Creekites twice my age or better, I’ve gotten to see the world from a different angle. And not just because I went to school in Athens. No, novelty is in my blood. I thrive on it. My mama, Anna Rose Lavender, even named me Hermia after the character in A Midsummer Nights Dream. Drama you could call it. But what can you expect when you’re the daughter of a movie star and a theater director, for heaven’s sake?

  I suppose even with as much as I love this old town, I’ve never really fit in among the Creekites the way other native sons and daughters have. That’s why I wasn’t surprised the day Seth Taylor walked up to my locker our Junior year of high school and asked me out on a date. See, Seth was a Bigelowan. Now, you may recall that there’s an unspoken but iron-clad rule that Creekites don’t associate with Bigelowans. But I couldn’t help it. Even though dating Seth was forbidden, I was infatuated with him. Who knows? Maybe that was part of the attraction. At least, at first.

  All of our dates, of course, were top secret. We could never be seen in public together doing something normal like going to the movies or out for ice cream. No, our dates took place in the woods. In the wide open spaces of country between Bigelow and Mossy Creek. Sometimes we’d wander far enough to see Yonder, or spend lazy afternoons on inner-tubes on Mossy Creek. But it was always secret.

  Seth used to tell me he thought the feud between our towns should come to an end, that he imagined us someday introducing each other to our families and walking hand in hand down the street. It was a wonderful idea. Wonderful that he was bold and forward-thinking enough to dream such a thing.

  But it wasn’t meant to be.

  One night Seth was on his way to meet me at Mossy Creek, where the two forks circle around and meet near South Bigelow Road. It was raining, one of those hard rains that makes you stop and stare in wonder. I was already there waiting, soaked to the bone. Thank goodness it was the middle of summer and hot enough for steam to be snaking up from the stones around the lake. And so I waited. And waited. Waited until the rain cleared and the moon hung high in the night horizon, big and white enough to light the forest in shades of silver and grey. I waited until the warmth had left the ground and dew took its place, until my teeth chattered and m
y stomach sank. I waited until the tears came, ushered in by the certain feeling that something was very wrong.

  Funny how sometimes you just know things. There’s no reason for you to, no rational logic that could lead you to believe a certain fact. And yet, sometimes there in the pit of your stomach a knot forms, and your heart has somehow learned the truth. That was how I felt that night.

  The night I knew my Seth had died.

  I think that’s why I didn’t cry at first when Seth’s brother, Evan, found me soaking wet, walking down Hamilton Street in the middle of the night. I hadn’t known that he knew about Seth and me, not until Evan took me in his arms and just held me. We both stood there in the pouring rain like that. Now that I think back on it, I suppose that was kind of strange. Evan had always seemed very shy. He and I had hardly ever said a word to one another. Besides a nod or a random, passing smile, it had been like he hadn’t known I existed. Until that night, when everything changed.

  That was the night I grew up. The night I became Juliette.

  Evan turned into one of my closest friends after that. It was difficult to mourn in secret, but Evan helped me through it. A year later I graduated from high school and left straight for Athens. They have an amazing drama program at the University of Georgia and I knew, more than anything, that I wanted to teach drama. Evan came to visit me, even attended some of the plays I was in. But I had left Mossy Creek behind me.

  There’s something about small towns, though, that keeps pulling you back. After four years of college, I was ready to come home. Fate, ever faithful, was in agreement that I should return. The new Mossy Creek High School needed a drama teacher. So I came home, eager to inspire young Mossy Creek Thespians.

  I believe my job is my calling. I wouldn’t trade it for the world.

  Most of the time.

  The Saturday rehearsal before Homecoming week, however, was one of the more frustrating times.

  “Harley, you big hick, if you don’t figure out how to land on your mark before you say that line, you’re going to ruin the whole show.” Savanna Whirly glared at Harley from across the stage. “How am I supposed to kiss you if you keep avoiding me?”

  Harley Cooper, for all his height and bulk, looked like he wanted to cry. “I’m not ruining anything. We’ve only practiced this scene a couple of weeks.”

  “Well, we don’t have forever. The Homecoming play is Thursday. That’s five days from now.” Savanna sneezed for the fifth time in two minutes and then held up five fingers in Harley’s face as if doing so would better get her point across. “I still think someone else should play Romeo.”

  I placed an understanding hand on Harley’s shoulder and glared my disapproval at Savanna until she looked away with a self-righteous teenage huff. “We can’t be this way towards one another, y’all. A play is just like life, it goes so much smoother when we all work together.”

  Savanna threw her hands on her hips, looking every bit like an exasperated badger. Her nose was red from sneezing, and her face was pale. Figured the girl I cast as lead in the play would come down with a cold a week before production. Hopefully she’d be over the worst of it by Thursday. “That’s what you said at the beginning of the semester. And our first play was awful. Everyone walked out.”

  Harley actually nodded in agreement. “Yeah, even my mom left before the third act. And my part wasn’t ’til Act Four.”

  I took a deep breath as the other students crowded around the stage and started putting their two cents in. I’d already gotten an earful from my department head and the school principal over my last play’s less than stellar reviews. Apparently just because a play was a hit in Athens, did not mean it would score points among Creekites.

  Personally, I would have just chalked it up to a lesson learned. But Principal Blank wasn’t quite so forgiving, considering the play was supposed to raise money for the school’s big Homecoming celebration. No one in attendance had donated a cent other than the two dollar admission price—except, of course, Evan. After production expenses, the school actually lost money—forty-two dollars and sixty-one cents to be exact. Not all that much on the grand scale, but Blank said it was the principle of the thing. I was up for review, the kind that determined whether or not they’d renew my contract in the spring. This was not good.

  That’s why I’d decided to do Romeo and Juliet for Homecoming. The timeless play was always a hit.

  “Look, you guys. I know we’ve been working hard. There’s a lot riding on the success of this play for all of us. But I promise, if we can all just come together and give one-hundred percent here, I know we’ll be a hit this time. The classics have always been a huge success in Mossy Creek.”

  The class conceded amid grumblings and mutterings of disaster. Luckily the bell rang for lunch. I needed a break. This play absolutely had to be a victory. Not only did my job depend on it, but this was the first Homecoming in twenty years for Mossy Creek High School. I wanted to contribute, and ticket sales and donations were really the only way I could.

  I needed magic to happen. Mossy Creek had been preparing for the Homecoming celebration for months now, ever since we found out about the groundbreaking for the stadium. This was big. Really big. And somehow, even though classics like A Midsummer Nights Dream, The Importance of Being Ernest and Romeo and Juliette always were met with open arms among the critical masses, it felt like something new was in order, something special to commemorate the event.

  I’d tried to be creative last spring, however, and as the kids so graciously reminded me, current plays were an acquired taste. So Romeo and Juliette it was.

  But as I left the school that afternoon, I still wasn’t satisfied. Not that there was time to do anything about it. The play was in four days. There wasn’t time to teach the kids anything new. I would just have to keep my fingers crossed that Shakespeare would come through for me the way he had for my parents.

  On the way home, I ran into Evan at the Naked Bean as I tried to relax over a cup of coffee and a slice of chocolate pie. But as Evan slipped into the booth and smiled across the table at me, I knew it was his company and not the coffee that soothed my nerves.

  He had an easy way about him that I could only imagine came from being in the woods so often. He made his living as a hunting and fishing guide for tourists visiting the area. He spent more time outdoors communing with nature than anybody else I knew. The peace from living such a lifestyle seemed to just seep out of him and touch any and everyone who knew him.

  “What’s up, Mia?” He smiled at Jayne as she neared with a coffee pot. “You don’t have that pre-performance glow I’m used to seeing a few days before opening night.”

  I took a sip from my cup and debated just how much I actually wanted to unload. I was used to having things under control. Luck was on my side more often than not, but this time I wasn’t sure.

  “Come on.” He slid the plate of chocolate pie Jayne placed on the table closer to my side. “I don’t see that look very often, but when I do it’s a pretty good indication that I need to go in search of either tissues or chocolate or both.”

  I laughed. Evan could always make me laugh.

  “So what is it, then?”

  I sighed and took a bite of pie. “Okay, so opening night is five days away. Technically, not even five full days, since we don’t have a Sunday rehearsal. I settled on Romeo and Juliette because I thought it would be a safe bet, but now I’m not so sure. I feel like I should have done something a little more special. I don’t know, something a little more Mossy Creek.”

  “I see.” He sat back in the booth and smoothed a hand through his dark hair. He hadn’t shaved that morning, maybe in a couple of mornings for all I knew. He wore a white fishing shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He steepled his large, tanned hands in front of his face as he looked at me with genuine consideration in his hazel eyes. Scruf
fy was a good look for Evan Taylor, if I did say so myself.

  “So make the play about Mossy Creek.”

  “What?” I coughed on half-swallowed coffee. If I was a comedic actress, you’d swear it was a perfect spit-take. “No, Evan, there’s no way I can assign a whole new play with only four days to rehearse. There’s just no time.”

  “Yeah, I guess you’re right.” He reached across the table and swiped a forkful of pie. “It’s a shame though. Creekites love hearing all about themselves.”

  “Spoken like a true Bigelowan.” It was strange how sometimes I forgot Evan was from Bigelow. He was such a good friend, it was easy to forget the feud between our towns even existed.

  “Wait a minute.” I set my coffee mug on the table with a thud so loud I saw Jayne look over. “You just gave me a brilliant idea.”

  Evan chuckled. “That’s what I’m here for.” He raised his eyebrows. “What was it?”

  I grabbed a pen from my purse and started jotting notes on a napkin as I spoke. “What if I turn Verona into Mossy Creek?”

  He sat up in his seat, interest shining in his eyes. “You mean set the play in Mossy Creek instead of Verona?”

  “Exactly!”

  Evan rubbed the whiskers on his chin. “You’re aware that Romeo and Juliette usually doesn’t end well? I mean, this is not a happily-ever-after kind of play. What exactly are you trying to pull off here?”

  I paused a moment in my excitement. He did have a point, but these were only minor details. “Evan, don’t you see? This is my chance, a golden opportunity to show Bigelow and Mossy Creek how ridiculous the feud between them is. And it’ll pay tribute to Mossy Creek. It’s the perfect Homecoming play.”

  Evan chuckled, finished off the last bite of pie. “I suppose the Creekites won’t be able to resist. The Bigelowans, either. Be sure to run an ad in both papers.” He tapped the table with his fingertip. “Imagine, Bigelowans showing up at a Creekite fundraiser, especially one for the football team. You know the hullabaloo that’s going on about Mossy Creek’s new coach. I wouldn’t be surprised if one of the more avid Bigelow football fans didn’t have a contract out on the guy. Talk about job security. You’ll go down in history if you pull this off.”