“She is no longer an out-of-towner, Gladys. She is now officially a property owner right here in our community, which officially makes her one of us.” May Belle nodded her head in agreement, as did Jessica. Nellie Ruth’s face was neutral, since she was pondering the possible ramifications of changing the date of something that was so well known and established throughout the area to take place on Labor Day weekend.
“Dorothy, you need to bring this up as a motion before we pursue further discussion,” said May Belle, this year’s sergeant at arms.
“I move we move our Fall Rummage Sale to mid-August,” Dorothy said. Jessica seconded the motion.
“Any discussion?” Gladys asked.
Nellie Ruth raised her hand, and the chair recognized her. “I am wondering if it might not work against us to tamper with the date. I mean, folks around here have been coming to our sale Labor Day weekend for years. Why, I imagine some of them already have their calendars marked.”
“I quite agree,” Gladys said, yanking on the bottom of her jacket. A silence hung in the air as the ladies contemplated the situation. All that could be heard was Jessica, crunching on one of May Belle’s pecan crispies.
“I agree, too,” Dorothy said, stunning everyone. “Nellie Ruth makes a good point. We don’t want to jeopardize the strength of the sale by messing with a date people are familiar with.” Dorothy had heard the faint whisper of slow down in her head. “Besides, as I consider it now, I don’t think we can be properly ready if we lose a week of planning at this stage in the game. I can go ahead and begin moving into town, and Katie can go ahead and move into the farm if she wants to. She’s been so good to me thus far that I can’t imagine she won’t be totally understanding about whatever it is we have to do. After all, much of what we’re selling is from her aunt’s home anyway. Yes, I imagine it will be all right. Madam President,” Dorothy said, looking Gladys square in the eye, “I withdraw my motion.”
“So do I even write all that down, then?” Jessica mumbled through her mouthful of cookie.
Gladys sighed and rolled her eyes. “Of COURSE you write all that down, Jessica! It happened, didn’t it?”
“Sometimes it’s hard to tell what exactly happens in these meetings, Gladys.” That coming from the mouth of the ever-gentle Nellie Ruth!
12
Although Dorothy hadn’t been driving The Tank much lately, realizing that she somewhat unnerved herself when she did, the car still behaved badly. The intermittent troubles continued to cause bucking and kicking, backfiring and cranking. She phoned Arthur before leaving for her hair appointment, hoping she could stop by early and have him take another look. Unfortunately, the Landerses weren’t home, leaving her, Sheba and The Tank simply to endure the herky-jerky ride into town.
As Dorothy was merging onto the square, a giant blue garbage truck groaned onto it at the same time, one 90-degree turn ahead of her. When Dorothy was readying for her turnoff to La Feminique Hair Salon & Day Spa, The Tank suddenly developed a bad case of sputtering and coughing, sounding as if it was threatening a death rattle. Dorothy stomped harder on the accelerator when the car nearly died out, hoping to gun enough fuel or whatever into whatever to keep her from dying.
“Come on, sweetie! Come ON!” Dorothy coaxed as she gripped the wheel, neck lunging forward and backward as The Tank hopped along, backfiring once between lunges. Sheba had long since jumped down to the floor, where she remained. “Just get me to—”
BLAMMO! Just when Dorothy once again stepped heavily on the pedal to keep The Tank running, she decided to run momentarily on her own, causing Dorothy to accelerate so quickly that she nose-dived The Tank right into the back of the garbage truck. The Lincoln was such an old, heavy car that the truck driver, upon feeling the solid impact, slammed on his brakes, causing The Tank’s bumper to hook onto the back apparatus. It looked like she had bitten the truck in its hindquarters and simply wouldn’t let go. Dorothy was shaken and becoming breathless, the ache in her chest beginning to form. Her purse, containing the nitroglycerin tablets, had slid onto the floor upon impact and was just out of her reach with her seat belt on. Somehow she couldn’t seem to collect herself to unbuckle it.
The incident took place right in front of Harry’s. Regulars, already alerted by the backfiring that The Tank was on the square, witnessed the entire episode. Stools and tables were cleared immediately as everyone came running out to the street. The driver of the garbage truck opened Dorothy’s door and inquired if she was okay. Although she couldn’t recall his name, she recognized him as someone who’d long ago played tuba in the grammar school band.
Arthur arrived at Dorothy’s passenger side door and flung it open. Dorothy, speaking in a weak voice, said, “Oh, Arthur! Would you please hand me my handbag?” Although he thought Dorothy must be delirious—for certainly no one was thinking about theft at this moment—he did as he was asked. Dorothy stuck her arm deep into her giant pink bag and began to thrash around its contents until her hand landed on the now familiar pill bottle. While everyone who had gathered around the car watched, Dorothy opened the bottle, retrieved one of the little pills and put it under her tongue. She leaned her head back onto the headrest and closed her eyes.
“Call 911!” Jessie hollered. Although Dorothy quietly protested, no one was paying any attention to her “I’m fine.” They wanted her to get to a hospital and now! They also wondered what on earth she’d popped into her mouth.
By the time the ambulance arrived, her dizzy spell, sometimes caused by the nitroglycerin, had begun to pass and Dorothy’s coloring had returned. Doc Streator arrived at the same time as the ambulance.
“Oh, Doc, call off the hounds. I’m not dead. Not yet,” she said, mustering a feeble grin.
“Just stay still, Dorothy. Let the paramedics have their fun, okay? It’s been a while since they’ve had a drill with a real live person. They’ve about worn that dummy out for lack of real victims.” When he picked up her hand to take her pulse, he noticed her fingers were still clutched around the prescription bottle, and he gave her an approving wink and nod.
“Why, Doc,” Dorothy said as she studied his eyes for a sign of the seriousness of her condition, “are you calling me a dummy?”
“Of course not, Dorothy. I’m calling you a real live person,” he said as he gently set her hand in her lap after taking note of her pulse. “And I suspect you’re going to remain that way for a spell yet.” He knew she was examining him, trying to glean his opinion as to how she really was. Thankfully, he had spoken what he believed to be the absolute truth of that moment, barring any internal injuries that had not yet revealed themselves. Although she was shaken, she otherwise appeared to be fine. He did suspect, however, that she’d have a bruised chest from the yank of the seat belt upon impact.
As Dorothy was taken off to the hospital in the back of the ambulance, Jessie at her side, The Tank was dragged off behind the garbage truck so the square could be opened up to the traffic that had accumulated, like tentacles on an octopus, sprawling out from the head of the square. The police were already trying to make sense of what had happened, gathering reports from all the eyewitnesses, who were not only plentiful but all talking at the same time.
“Well, it was just a matter of time,” Cora Davis snapped to Arthur, who was standing next to her, watching The Tank disappear around the corner. “That woman has been asking for it for years, the way she drives.”
“That woman,” Arthur said with not an ounce of kindness in his voice, “is Dorothy Jean Wetstra. And that woman has never asked for a thing in her life. She’s one of the most givin’ women I have ever been rightly honored to know!” With that, he spat on the ground, spun on his heels, picked up Sheba, hopped in his truck and headed for the hospital. Although Cora Davis might—might—have spoken the truth about Dorothy’s driving, Arthur wasn’t about to give her an ounce of satisfaction by affirming her mean-spirited and poorly timed comment.
“Katie,” Jessica said. “I’m phoning with
some disturbing news…although I want you to know before I tell you anything else that she’s basically all right.”
“Who? Dorothy?”
“Yes.”
“NO! What’s happened to DOROTHY?” Katie screeched, surprised at the intensity of her own reaction upon learning something had happened to her.
“She was in an accident on the square. From what I’ve heard, her car ran into the back of a garbage truck. Although she was taken to the hospital for observation, word is that other than being a bit shaken and probably bruised from the seat belt, she’ll be released tomorrow.”
“Released? Are they sure she’s okay?”
“Honestly, the way Dorothy is loved by everyone in this town, I am sure they wouldn’t release her unless they believed it was okay to do so.”
“She’s not going back out to the farm by herself, is she?”
“No. Although that’s what she wanted to do, she reluctantly agreed to stay in town at May Belle’s for at least a night so May Belle and Earl can keep an eye on her. Besides, it’s not clear to me if The Tank is drivable or not. Apparently something’s been wrong with it anyway, and that had something to do with the accident. Word is, it was tangled and attached to the back of the garbage truck and simply hauled off somewhere. If I know Dorothy, though, she’ll be back out to the farm in short order.”
“When is her family arriving?” Katie asked.
“You know, I’m not sure. But I’ll find out and call you back. I’ll also let you know if anything changes, okay? Promise.”
Katie’s breath caught in her throat. To think that something might change with Dorothy was more than she could stand. It occurred to her that Dorothy was beginning to feel more like a mother than a friend, and fear gripped her heart.
“The prayer tree at church has already been notified,” Jessica said. “We’re all praying for her complete and swift recovery and that she will feel God’s presence as she heals. And that she will take good care of herself!”
Although Katie wasn’t sure what a prayer tree even was, it somehow gave her a sense of peace to know people were praying. Prayer had never seemed to do much for her life, but perhaps it would for a godly woman like Dorothy, as Edward Showalter had referred to her. But without even giving it further thought, Katie found that deep within herself, she was already saying, God, watch over my dearest Dorothy.
Katie didn’t relish having to give Josh this information, knowing he’d be very upset at the news. Within five minutes of telling him, they agreed that they would be heading back to Partonville quicker than they had thought, at least for a short visit. When Josh said, “Oh, Mom! We have to go see for ourselves,” Katie knew they did.
Dorothy learned that Katie and Josh would be arriving in Partonville for a visit the day after tomorrow, the same day as her family. She was beside herself with joy that they’d all get to meet! She invited Katie and Josh to stay out at the farm with her, but Katie insisted she’d already have a full house. Katie also suspected that were she and Josh to stay at the farm, their presence might appear to Dorothy’s sons to be invasive at best and way too pushy at worst. Besides, Katie was happy to be able to spend more time with Jessica, and she just wasn’t mentally ready yet to be sleeping at the farm—although, barring any unforeseen circumstances, it wouldn’t be long now until she must, night after night after night. Her brownstone was already sold—definitely no turning back now—and the closing was scheduled for the last Tuesday in August, right before the Labor Day weekend.
When Katie agreed to that date, it was under the assumption that school wouldn’t begin in Hethrow until after the holiday and that the Fall Rummage Sale was in the fall, giving them plenty of time at least to get their beds set up at the farm and a skeleton of order put in place before the school year began, and also enough time before the sale to rope things off from the public. But now she learned the sale would be on her farm—my farm, what an odd ring—the Saturday of the holiday weekend! Not only that, but when Josh’s high school registration papers arrived, she learned that, rather than starting after the holiday, school began the day before. Obviously no parent was on that planning committee! Definitely a Plan B for all these untimely conversions of big events would have to be established, not the least of which would be to deal with the moving company.
When she got to thinking about her timeline, however, what irked her most about the entire transition was that undoubtedly many people would show up at the sale just to get a gander at her and any possible changes to the place. Do some snooping. See what they could learn about the city slickers.
She wondered if they would always be known as the city slickers. She wondered if she would always feel like one. Yes, she wondered…
Both Arthur and Dorothy found it unbearable to think The Tank was sitting at the dump, so Arthur had hooked up his tow bar and hauled her back to his shed. He had to find out what was wrong with her—although he predicted the worst, what with his suspicions from their last visit, which he’d kept to himself. He simply could not let her disappear into the heap of other dead metal soldiers without at least a proper diagnostic burial. Then again, like a phoenix rising from the ashes, The Tank always seemed to find another life. Surely things wouldn’t be different this time.
Truth be told, Arthur carried a bit of guilt over the accident. “What kind of mechanic sends a car out onto the streets acting like that?” he asked Jessie at the dinner table the night of the accident. Before she could assure him that no one had ever cared more thoroughly for a vehicle than Arthur had for The Tank over the decades, he stormed away from the table, dinner only half eaten, stuck his head into the mouth of The Tank and kept it there until 11:00 P.M., working like a diligent surgeon performing microsurgery by the light of a single bare bulb.
13
Grandma, we’re going on a crawdad hunt,” announced Bradley, the older of Dorothy’s two teenage grandsons.
“Boys, you haven’t been at Grandma’s for more than thirty minutes! How about you stay and visit at least a bit longer before you run off,” their dad said rather than asked.
“Oh, Vinnie, let them go,” Dorothy said. “In fact, maybe you ought to go with them! It’s not like we don’t have the next several days to spend together. When was the last time you had yourself a good crawdad hunt?”
“How about we all go on a hunt, then?” Vinnie asked her.
“How about just the men do their manly thing this trip?” Dorothy asked, looking from her grandsons to Vinnie, then to Jacob. “I’d just slow you down.”
Vinnie sat there studying his mom. It seemed she’d aged since Christmas, or maybe just gotten frailer, or…maybe the wreck had temporarily knocked the energy out of her. Of course, with all this moving stuff and…
Vinnie had always been extremely sensitive and intuitive about emotional things, especially concerning his mom. He immediately discerned that it might fret her to think he felt he had to be clinging to her every moment, as though she were going to die on the spot or something. He also figured she was already reading his face.
“You know, I think I could use a good hunt,” he said enthusiastically. “Great suggestion! Wait a minute, boys. Let me change into my shorts. Come on, Jacob, roll up your pant legs.”
“Think I’ll just sit this one out with Mom. I’m a little travel weary myself, what with trying to tie up all the loose ends at the office before heading out.”
“Oh, go ahead on down there, boys,” Vinnie said cheerfully. “Just don’t start without me, okay? And do not get wet! I repeat, do not get wet.” It was, of course, a standing joke of a line. No one ever returned from the creek dry. To do so would be to violate some kind of unspoken law and certainly prove there was no longer fun in the world.
As soon as Vinnie was out of the house, leaving Jacob and his mom alone, Jacob’s face turned dead serious. Thus far he’d been pretty quiet. “Mom, are you sure you’re going to be up to all this moving? I mean, maybe you should just put it off until—”
&n
bsp; Dorothy jumped into the middle of his sentence. “Until when? Until I die and then you boys have to deal with everything? Or I’m drooling and a hundred times as forgetful as I am now? I should say not! Besides, I’m ready to move on. Oh, sure, the task sometimes feels a bit overwhelming, but God shores me up when I need it. And now that you boys are here to help me sort through things, truth is, I’m finding the notion of being in town a welcome one. I’m surprised at my own anticipation. And think about it—I’ve never once had a chance to decorate from scratch. I was born into my mother’s home, and my mother’s home, in many ways, it has remained.” Jacob’s eyes revealed his dismay at this thought. “It’s time to PLAY HOUSE!” Dorothy’s gusto and hand slamming on the table caused him to reel back a bit. “I’m even thinking of painting a ceiling fire engine red!”
“Mom, tell me you’re not thinking about getting up on ladders or…”
“Good heavens no, Jacob! I know of a right dandy handyman who will do anything I ask for a very fair fee. Why, he’s already gussied the place up and brought everything up to code. I can’t wait for you to see my little doll-house. The good Lord has watched over me all these years here at the farm, and I reckon He’ll continue to do just as good of a job in the next place. Besides, May Belle will only be a few doors away. Imagine getting to move nearly next door to your lifelong best friend! Why, I bet you won’t even recognize me by Christmas, I’ll be so fat. I won’t even have to drive anyplace to get my sweet treats—I can just hobble over to her house in a flash. Like a little piggy!”
“Mom, I’m serious.”
“Jacob Henry, you are always serious! Just like that Katie Durbin. I mean to tell you, the two of you would probably tie in a contest to see who can be the most serious.”
“And that’s another thing, Mom. You seem to be getting awfully close with this woman you hardly know. I get the feeling she’s been pressuring you.” His mom opened her mouth to speak, but Jacob beat her to what he was sure was her next statement. “Now, I know the documents were all in order, but I can’t help but wonder if you’re not being taken for some kind of ride.”
Dearest Dorothy, Slow Down, You're Wearing Us Out! Page 11
