by Jeri Green
“Yeah.”
“You’re the smartest lady I know, you know that.”
“Beanie?”
“Yeah, Hadley.”
“You’re the best grave digger I know.”
“Really the best?”
“Really the best,” Hadley said.
Beanie’s smile was brighter than the sun.
Mission accomplished.
Hadley crumpled up the wax paper from the sandwiches and got back into her car.
Next stop, home.
Chapter Seven
“Well, I just . . . when I think I’ve seen it all. Hadley, what are you doing?”
It was Luther Abraham, the postman.
“Hey, Luther,” Hadley said. “Smile. Oh, Luther! Stop looking like you swallowed a raw turnip and sprouted a carrot out of your ear! Shoot! What am I doing wrong? You look fuzzier than the fur balls under my bed!
“Harry gave me lessons on how to use this thing years ago. After he passed, I packed it up and forgot all about it. I was cleaning out the attic, and I ran up on it. I stored Harry’s stuff up there, you know. Now, I’m going through some of it. But I gotta tell ya, even now, it’s hard.”
Hadley lowered the video camera from her face.
“Yeah, Hadley. Harry was one of the guys who always wore the white hat,” said Luther, turning away and trying to give Hadley a subtle hint that he didn’t want a camera stuck in his face.
“I’m thinking about going into the movies, Luther. You want to be my leading man?”
Luther’s face turned twelve shades of scarlet.
“It’s a joke. Don’t turn all lobster on me. And stop turning away. I’m trying to figure out how to focus this crazy thing! Harry always made this look so easy.”
“Why don’t you use your phone to take movies? Seems to me that would be a whole lot easier.”
“Because, Luther,” Hadley said, pointing the video cam directly up Luther’s nose, “I have a flip phone. I know this setup is a little outdated, but this belonged to Harry. I am using it because I found it and because it makes me feel close to Harry, Luther.”
“Well,” Luther said, “just get the disc or the manual, if it has one, and read how to use it. I find that’s always the easiest way. Saves you a lot of grief and time, too. Usually,” Luther said.
“Well, where’s the fun in that Luther?” Hadley said. “Though, you may be right. I’ve wasted an hour trying to figure it out on my own. All I have to show for sixty minutes of fiddling this machine is an image so blurry you’d be hard-pressed to tell the difference between a gnat in a whirlwind and the Queen in London’s fog.”
Hadley messed with the camera a bit more.
“Whoa. This is making me sick. Maybe you’re right,” she said, taking her mail and turning toward the door. “No sense in breaking this before I’ve had a chance to video my masterpiece. Nice talkin’ to you Luther. Excuse me, though. Gotta run.”
“No problem a’tall, Hadley,” Luther said, glad to have the irritating lens focused away from his face. “Good luck on your new career.”
“Thanks, Luther. Hollywood better look out! Well, that is if I can ever figure this contraption out! Oh, Luther, I almost forgot. Here's something for you to post,” Hadley said, handing him the contest form for Sara’s Silver Polish and Stain Remover that had been resting on the porch rail beside her.
“Thanks Hadley. I’ll get this right off for youSee you later.”
Luther’s head was already buried in his mail pouch. He was busy sorting through the mail belonging to the next five houses down the street.
“Good grief,” Hadley said. “Man’s got a profile like a wedge of cheese. Gotta be from all those years of nosing through our mail. Limburger Luther. Hee. Hee. Hadley, you crack me up!”
She liked to laugh at her own jokes once in a while. She felt she had to. Rarely did anyone else ever appreciate her brand of humor.
Hadley climbed the stairs and opened the attic door. Harry always meant to finish the attic and maybe make a little office up there. Unfortunately, he had never gotten around to that project. As a result, the attic slowly filled with boxes of Christmas decorations, filing cabinets full of appliance manuals and tax records, unused furniture, and other things that had outlived their usefulness.
There were no windows in the attic portion of the house. It was a dark and cluttered place. Sliding her hand across the wall inside the entrance, she felt around until she found the light switch. She switched it on.
Yes, the attic was cluttered, but it did seem to have been organized in a logical way. There was a pathway to each area of storage.
Thank you, Harry, Hadley thought.
“Well, Onus,” she said to the bright-eyed, fat orange tabby who watched her indifferently, “looks like it’s time to dive into things and see what we discover. Geez Louise, I hope Harry didn’t throw that manual away.”
Even as she said the words, Hadley knew that he had not. Harry was a stickler for organization. She guessed that the booklet would be filed in his file cabinet on the far side of the attic. And sure enough, there it was, alphabetized under the brand name of the camera, sitting in its own neat little folder.
“Ah, Harry,” Hadley said, softly, “that’s my boy.”
CRASH!
Hadley jumped out of her skin, pitched forward, and fell over an old dress mannequin. Onus had been busy being nosy, noodling about wherever he wished, and he had knocked an old tea kettle from a shelf.
“Onus!” Hadley said. “You scared the life outta me.”
She rolled up onto her knees and grunted and squirmed her way up to vertical. Onus never bothered to look her way.
“I almost put out my eye,” Hadley said, walking over to an old, full-length mirror to check out the damage. “But little do you care. I’m gonna have a nice shiner, after this. What do you think, Onus? Does this make me look tougher?”
Onus was too busy licking his paw to pay his mistress any heed.
“What are you doing up here, anyway? There’s nothing up here but old junk. And since when do you care to keep an eye on the old lady who feeds you and takes care of you?”
“Reow,” Onus answered.
“Following me like I’m a debutante who needs a chaperone. I’m only looking for an instruction booklet. Nothing special to see, I promise you.”
Hadley held the book up for the cat. Onus sat about five feet away, watching her with a look of pure disdain on his handsome feline face.
“You old ingrate. Nobody but me would put up with you, old fellah. I’m tellin’ you. You’d better take better care. You’ll be out in the streets and up the creek without a canoe or a paddle.”
Onus stuck his tongue out at her. She could not help but laugh. Onus could take care of himself. Just one look in those intelligent blue eyes of his would tell you. But still, he had to like her. He’d hung around, hadn’t he?
Onus turned his back on Hadley and began to groom himself.
“You are one aloof bird. You know that? Of course, you do,” Hadley said, switching off the light to the attic and making sure the cat shot down the stairs before closing the door behind her.
Chapter Eight
With the manual in hand, Hadley carried Bill's camera to the kitchen table and began to study the instructions. A fiddle here and an adjustment there, a quick look at the manual, and then it was time to go see Bill and Maury. She grabbed her purse and headed for the car.
“Hadley,” Bill said, opening the door as Hadley breezed through, “where’s the fire? Or should I say the fight? That’s a nice shiner you got there. How on earth did you get it? You’re not going to tell me some lame story about falling down or anything, are you?”
“No fire,” Hadley said. “No fight either. Not the kind you think. Just a little rough and tumble with Onus in the attic. The cat bumped into a teapot. Knocked it off a shelf. Shall we say I tussled with a dress mannequin, and the mannequin won? Just smile or say ‘cheese Louise’ or give me that big, goofy grin you’re fa
mous for. Do something. I’m wasting precious time, here.”
The manual came in handy. Still, it had taken her several hours that afternoon, but Hadley had finally mastered Harry’s camera.
“You look like that dog on the Little Rascals, Petey,” Bill said.
“And you should get rid of that cat, Hadley. He’s gonna be the death of you, yet,” Maury said, entering the living room and wiping her wet hands on her apron.
“I’m making videos, y’all,” Hadley said, grinning and clearly pleased with her latest accomplishment.
“What’s so special about that, Hadley,” Maury said. “Harry took them all the time.”
“Yes, he did,” Hadley said. “And now I can, too. I finally figured out how to get this thing in focus. Finally. Though, it was touch and go for most of the afternoon.”
“Oh, Lord, preserve us,” Maury moaned. “Hadley, get that thing out of my face. You know I’m camera shy.”
“Oh Maury,” Hadley said, “you got a great smile. You know that. Camera shy, my eye! I see you sneaking a peek at me.”
Maury took the dish towel and popped Hadley with it. It was a thing they might have done as kids. Hadley was delighted.
“That’s it,” Hadley said, glued to the viewfinder. “Give me some real action.”
“You two cut it out before you break a hip,” Bill said. “I’d hate to have to explain to the emergency room doc how you two broke your bums horsing around like kids. Now, go into the kitchen like good girls. My show is coming on in five minutes, and I don’t want to miss it.”
“Oh, Hadley,” Maury said, “Let’s get out of her before Bill’s growl gets any louder.”
“Sounds like Bill’s as crazy over that comedy as Harry was about the Cardinals,” Hadley said.
“Coffee?”
“You bet,” Hadley said. “And don’t think I don’t realize you’re offering me coffee as a way to get me to put down the camera.”
“I go with what I know will work,” Maury said. “No sense remaking the wheel, if I don’t have to.”
Both sisters got busy. Maury began brewing the coffee while Hadley got out the cups and saucers. Maury went to the refrigerator and retrieved the cream. The sisters set up the refreshments on the kitchen table. Maury’s kitchen was warm and inviting. She served coffee cake. Hadley had two pieces.
“How was the show?” Maury asked Bill as he entered the kitchen. “Save some for tomorrow’s breakfast, Bill.”
Bill walked over to the counter and removed the cover from the cake. He opened the silverware drawer and got out a knife. Bill ignored Maury and cut an enormous hunk of scrumptious goodness.
“Right as rain,” Bill said, between bites. “Laughed so much, my side is splitting.”
“Keep eating like that and that’s not all you’ll be splitting,” Maury said.
“Hadley,” Bill said, changing the subject from his expanding waistline, “guess you can start in a coupla’ days.”
“Really?” Hadley said. “Great.”
Retrieving a key ring from his pocket, Bill picked through several keys. Finding the one he wanted, he took it off of the ring and handed it to Hadley.
“I’ll make sure not to lose this,” she said, placing the key safely in her purse.
“Those folks interested in Eustian’s farmland are wanting to get things moving,” Bill said. “I don’t see why we should keep them waiting. They’re gonna plant Eustian in the cemetery day after tomorrow.”
“That’s Monday. Why the delay?” asked Hadley. “Is he back at the funeral home?”
“Yeah. Bowey Hill sent him back. Guess the good folks ‘round here don’t want him disturbing the digestion of their Sunday meal.”
“Good point, Bill,” said Hadley. “Eustian did his best to keep the stomach acid of a lot of folks in this county churning.”
Hadley was hungry when she returned home from Maury’s. Two pieces of coffee cake was only a snack in Hadley’s book, and she not just hungry for any old store bought concoction. Hadley was in the mood for a great big, creamy, rich, homemade chicken pot pie.
The cell rang.
“Hey,” Maury said. “Just checking to make sure you got home okay.”
“What is it?” Hadley asked. “You don’t usually keep tabs on me. What do you want?”
“Well,” Maury said, “I forgot to mention this to you. I was so caught up in starring in your latest video. I was wondering if you’d like to deliver the meals to the shut-ins in a couple of months.”
“The surprise shut-in boxes? Hot meals to the elderly. We’ll see. There’s a lot on my plate at the moment, but maybe things will settle down, by then. Is that list long?”
“Not very.”
Maury read Hadley the names off the list.
“Touch base with me in a few weeks. I’ll let you know, ‘kay?”
“Sure thing. Later, Sis,” Maury said.
“Later.”
Walking to the corner shelf where she kept all her recipe books, she ran her thumb over the titles until she spied the one she wanted. James Beard’s American Cookery. That’s the ticket. Opening in up she found the section on chicken pies.
“Serves 6, it says. Okay, this will cover my lunches for the week,” Hadley muttered.
First ingredient – chicken. Just reading that word brought to mind Eula Miles and her pet chicken, Roosevelt.
Delano Roosevelt Miles.
An awfully long name for a chicken. Why name a chicken after a president to begin with?
Even if it is your pet.
Okay, Hadley reasoned, perhaps that bird carried itself grandly or nobly.
Or like a president, but Hadley doubted it.
She’d seen Roosevelt with her own eyes – in the flesh and feathers. That was a proud chicken to be sure, but Hadley could not see any resemblance to Franklin or Teddy. The hen did not wear glasses. She did not smoke cigarettes in a long holder, and she had never been, to Hadley’s knowledge, chauffeured anywhere in a limousine or charging about on horseback in a fierce and raging battle.
The second thing that puzzled Hadley was why, if you are naming your chickens after world leaders, you picked a male name for a hen, but it went without saying that Eula Miles was a little eccentric.
In the South, eccentric is the polite term for weird. And Eula fit “eccentric” to a tee. Hadley had never known another human being to give a grown hen regular baths. While delivering a shut-in box one Wednesday, Hadley had knocked on Eula’s back door.
“Come on in. Door’s open,” Eula said.
Hadley had entered carrying the box in front of her. To her utter surprise, there stood Eula at the kitchen sink. Roosevelt was standing amid a cloud of vanilla scented bubbles.
Eula had a blob of bubbles on the side of her head.
“I always find a good soak in the bubbles so relaxing, don’t you Hadley?” Eula asked. “Roosevelt has been a little stressed out lately. You know a lot of things have been happening on the soap operas, and I just thought she could use a little spa time.”
Hadley had to admit, the chicken did look relaxed. Hadley wondered if a chicken could lay an egg in the bubbles, but she was afraid to ask.
Eula had been on the shut-in list since last spring when her eyesight had gotten so bad, she gave up driving. It was just as well.
Luther Abraham was sure to lay an egg if Eula didn’t retire her car keys.
Luther had been delivering the mail in his postal van. Eula was tooling around in her big, old sedan. Tooling is a word that hints Eula was moving steadily along down the road. But that might be misleading, since Eula never topped fifteen miles per hour, even going downhill with a strong tailwind.
She pulled right out into the road in front of the postal van, causing Luther to swerve into the ditch at her driveway. Luckily no one was hurt, but it put the fear of driving into Eula.
She started having her groceries and medicines delivered to her house. The church added Eula’s name to the list of elderly folks rece
iving a once-monthly care package: a hot meal cooked by the ladies from the ladies’ group.
Hadley smiled. Maybe she would deliver the shut-in surprise boxes, just for Eula’s sake. It would be nice to see the old girl again.
Hadley retrieved her four pound bird from the refrigerator. She peeled off the plastic and reached into the dark cavity to dredge out the giblets.
Ora Blair came to mind.
Another name on the shut-in list.
Ora had brought chicken stew to the church pot luck several years ago. Ora was well known for her homemade chicken stew in the church circles where pot luck dinners rolled around as quickly as wash days for dirty underwear. That particular chicken stew made Ora Blair legendary. But not in a good way.
Ora had always been the flighty, forgetful type. She was forever misplacing things, and it was the running joke among her friends that she would lose Peabody Blair, her husband, had he not been securely chained to Ora by the vows of matrimony.
The turnout for this dinner was notable. And so were the dishes. The table strained beneath the weight of platters piled high with homemade biscuits, deviled eggs, a garden variety of vegetables, slices of ham, fried chicken, and cakes and pies galore. Ora’s stew looked so inviting sitting on the long table with all the other home cooked dishes.
Hadley filled a great big bowl full of Ora’s piping hot stew and sat down to enjoy it. She dipped her spoon into the luscious richness, popping a huge spoonful into her mouth. She began to chew and chew and chew.
Something was not quite right.
Hadley looked around, making sure no one was watching. She brought her napkin up to her mouth. She spit out the chewy thing into the napkin. Seemed Ora had forgotten to remove the giblet packet that was always included in Pixie-Square’s chickens.
Good thing the packaging had not melted.
To this day, it was a secret Hadley had told no one. Not even Harry.
Ora was like everyone else. She was getting a little older and maybe a bit more forgetful. She rarely was able to get out to church. Gout was giving Ora fits.
Another name on the list.
