“I live here,” the twin answered.
From the scowl, Pappy was fairly confident he was talking to Rock, but since the kid’s hair was covering his ears and there was no way to see the parade of earrings, Pappy played it cool. “I heard you and your brother moved back to Spoonerville.”
“You heard wrong,” the twin said.
This had to be Rock.
“We just decided to go back and bowl,” the twin said. “But we live here. Besides, it’s not even bowling season.”
“Good to know,” Pappy said.
“You stayin’?”
“Who’s askin’?” Pappy said, congratulating himself on this approach to finding out the twin’s identity.
“I am.”
Powderkeg came flying out of Cleo’s Café, followed by a skillet. Powderkeg dove onto Main Street as the skillet went flying over his head. He stood up and dusted himself off as Cleo appeared in the doorway. She had a bucket in her hands.
“I’m warning you,” Powderkeg said. “You throw that water on me and we’re through.”
Pappy watched mesmerized as Cleo stood with the bucket. “Ten dollars says she throws it,” he whispered to Wally, who had joined the spectators.
“You’re on.”
As if she saw a flag signaling the start of a race, Cleo heaved the water with all her strength. It fell short of the mark, barely lapping the tips of Powderkeg’s boots.
“I warned you,” Powderkeg growled as Cleo headed at a full tilt down the boardwalk, Powderkeg at her heels.
“I’ve only got Cutthroat’s plastic,” Wally said as Cleo came running toward them.
“You can owe me,” Pappy said.
When Cleo saw Pappy, she stopped short. Powderkeg, racing behind her, almost knocked her down.
“Pappy!” Cleo said. “When did you get back?”
“Not long ago.” Pappy turned to Powderkeg. “I saw the Covered Volkswagen up on blocks at the top of the hill. Happy to see she might stand a fighting chance of working again. You do that?”
Powderkeg shook his head. “That was Professor Johnson. He put the bus up on blocks and disconnected the battery. Not sure it will do any good considering the shape of the engine, but—”
“I can’t believe you think you can just leave us and then waltz back in any time you feel like it,” Cleo said.
“Well, I just did.” Pappy picked up his suitcase and headed toward City Hall.
Cleo had more to say, but Pappy wasn’t going to listen to it.
“Nice signs, Powderkeg,” he said, indicating the carved signage as he continued on his way down Main Street.
“Thanks,” Powderkeg said. “But don’t bring it up around Old Bertha. She’s a little sensitive.”
Pappy was about to take the bait when Polly roared up on the back of an ATV driven by the other twin. Pappy gave a look over his shoulder to see the brother he’d been talking to, and Wally watching the ATV approach. So, Polly had chosen Rock after all.
Funny, I was almost sure I was talking to Rock.
The ATV came to a stop in front of Pappy.
“I thought I saw you heading to town,” Polly said, jumping up and throwing her arms around Pappy. “I told Rodney to head back right away! I’m so glad to see you!”
Rodney?
Polly still wore her blazing red hair shaved at the sides, but other than that, she looked like a different person. She wore almost no makeup and only had small hoops in her ears. The nose ring was gone, replaced by a tiny stud which sparkled in the sun. Pappy wasn’t sure which made more of a statement—her new look or her new fella.
“Does Old Bertha know you’re back?” Polly asked, dragging him toward the Creekside Inn.
“Not yet,” Pappy said. “I thought I’d throw my bag back at my place first.”
“Oh no, Rodney can take your old bag. You’ve got to come home with me right now!”
It was not lost on Pappy that Polly referred to the inn as “home.” As Rodney slapped Pappy on the back and took his suitcase, Pappy let himself be dragged over to Old Bertha’s lopsided domicile.
“Oh, one thing,” Polly said as they neared the inn. “Don’t mention the sign. She’s a little weird about it.”
Polly ran inside to find Old Bertha as Pappy looked up. The workmanship on the sign was first-rate. It was outlined with delicate carvings of leaves, flowers, and vines. A perfect likeness of the tilted hotel was carved into the left corner. The calligraphy of the lettering was assured, although oddly sloping to one side. Pappy bit his bottom lip as he read the words: The Creakside Inn.
He vowed to ignore it as Old Bertha came out on the porch, wiping her hands on her apron.
“Decided to come back, did you?”
“I did,” Pappy said. “I picked up something for you.”
Old Bertha looked suspicious, but made her way down the stairs. Polly stood on the porch and watched as Pappy reached in his pocket and pulled out the earrings.
“You picked up something for me at Titan’s?” Old Bertha asked.
“Yep,” Pappy said, beaming. “How do you like them?”
“You are unbelievable!” Old Bertha said, but Pappy was relieved when she accepted the earrings.
He took that as a good sign, and as she turned around to head back up the stairs, he swatted her bottom. She turned around, red faced.
Pappy threw his hands in the air. “Just for old times’ sake!”
Old Bertha dropped the earrings in her pocket and sashayed up the stairs. Pappy caught Polly’s thumbs-up signal, which she flashed before Old Bertha could see her. Pappy suddenly thought he heard music. He strained to hear. The tune was familiar but one he had not heard in a very long time.
The music he was hearing was coming from the player piano in the saloon. It was the song called “Sahara, Now We’re Dry Like You,” a music scroll he and Cutthroat had gotten the player piano to play before it had seized up before their very eyes. And now the player piano was working again!
As Pappy hurried down the street toward the saloon, he thought there was something elusive about Fat Chance. It was always down, but never out.
Maybe that’s why somebody way back when had named it Fat Chance, Texas, instead of No Chance.
CHAPTER 35
Powderkeg raised his hand to give Professor Johnson a high five. The professor awkwardly turned it into a handshake.
“I never thought we’d get this old piano working again, but I’ve got to hand it to you,” Powderkeg said. “ ‘Sahara, Now We’re Dry Like You’ never sounded better.”
“Really?” Professor Johnson asked. “You’ve heard it before?”
“No,” Powderkeg said. “That was a joke.”
Thud came bounding out of the back room as Pappy opened the front door of the saloon. The dog put his paws up on Pappy’s shoulders and licked his face. Professor Johnson insisted the hound sit down, but Pappy shooed the admonishment away. When the dog finally settled down, Pappy had a chance to look around the saloon. While the bar was still the focal point of the place, Professor Johnson had taken out all the stools and tables. In their stead were display cabinets filled with a wide-ranging assortment of bric-a-brac, including old postcards, antique glasses, a newspaper called The Carbon Paper dated 1906, a stained lace handkerchief, and four glass marbles.
“What’s all this?” Pappy asked.
“Since I don’t have a liquor license, I decided to concentrate my efforts on creating a museum.”
“The Boozehound Museum?”
“Yes,” Professor Johnson said. “My personal feeling is you can get high on history just as easily as alcohol.”
“You’d be alone there, son.”
“I’ve been researching the history of Fat Chance, and it’s fascinating. You were right about this being a Pony Express stop.”
“Tell me something I don’t know!” Pappy said.
“After the Pony Express ceased operations, this place still hung on. First, the ranchers came. By the late nineteen
th century, ranchers and farmers were already at war with each other—not to mention the Comanches. The town was originally called Fork Creek, because the creek forks left from the Rolling Fork Ranch—which I found very interesting, because I thought the fork in Rolling Fork was a utensil.”
“Me too,” Powderkeg said. “Especially since the town is called Spoonerville.”
“Spoonerville is the joke, not the fork,” Professor Johnson said.
“Don’t encourage him,” Pappy said to Powderkeg.
The professor continued. “Anyway, the town never had much more than five hundred occupants. Fork Creek got hit with not one but two devastating twisters. The first was in 1908, then in 1915. After that, everybody left. The last resident, a woman named Mabel, was asked by a reporter if she thought the town would ever come back. She said ‘fat chance.’ Fork Creek has been called Fat Chance ever since.”
“Where’s my drink?” Pappy asked Powderkeg, but Professor Johnson was not ready to release the men.
“But Mabel was wrong,” Professor Johnson said. “Now called Fat Chance, the town hung on until 1950—people looking to ranch again, or farm, or looking for oil or hot springs. I haven’t found out what happened after that. Apparently everybody just . . . left. Any hope of Fat Chance surviving seemed to have died, until Cutthroat came in. That’s as far as I’ve gotten with my research. I found a bunch of old registers and ledgers in the attic. They’re pretty beat-up, but they might help.”
“I can’t help you with the mysterious demise of the town in the fifties,” Pappy said. “But I can fill in any blanks once Cutthroat came along.”
“One step at a time, Pappy,” Powderkeg said, tossing his arm around Pappy’s shoulder and leading him over to the bar. “Professor Johnson still has an odd bottle or two back here. Let’s celebrate your return. You have returned, haven’t you?”
“For now,” Pappy said. “I’m not big on making long-range plans.”
“We noticed.” Powderkeg pulled out a bottle of whiskey from behind the bar.
Pappy was never much of a busybody, but he noticed that the door to the back of the saloon was open. He could see clothes, books, and a reading lamp through the doorway. Obviously the professor was no longer staying up at the farm.
Powderkeg waved the bottle in front of Pappy. Pappy nodded and Powderkeg put three shot glasses on the table.
“Come on, PJ,” Powderkeg called over to the professor, who was polishing the player piano. “Get over here and relax a minute.”
“No, thanks,” Professor Johnson said. “I relaxed once already this year.”
Powderkeg and Pappy shrugged, toasted, and knocked back their shots. As they slammed their glasses on the bar and growled, Dymphna came through the front door carrying a basket. Thud jumped up for a kiss.
“I was just coming to borrow Jerry Lee for a trip to Spoonerville and Wally said Pappy was back in town,” she said, putting her basket down and embracing Pappy. “I’m so happy you came back. I was worried you were angry at us.”
“No. If I was mad at you, you’d have known.”
“That’s what I said,” Professor Johnson said, dusting his hands on his jeans and joining the conversation. “I mean, you were never exactly coy.”
“You doing OK up there on the farm?” Pappy asked.
“It’s great!” Dymphna said. “Thud stays with me at night. We’re roommates!”
“I just feel better knowing she has Thud to watch over her,” Professor Johnson said. “Especially with Big John on the loose.”
“That rattler bothering you?” Pappy asked Dymphna.
“I’ve seen him a couple times,” she said. “He’s a real stinker, but he doesn’t like the look of Thud.”
“That snake could take Thud out in half a second,” Pappy said.
“That might be true,” Dymphna said, “but Big John keeps his distance if he knows the dog is around.”
Pappy shrugged, then asked, “How are the goats?”
“They’re so cute, now that they have their winter coats! We sheared them in the fall. Everybody helped! I’m storing the mohair until I get home and can work on it there. Every once in a while, I stand in the middle of Main Street and look up acreage that I might be able to buy that’s within driving distance of Santa Monica. I’m hoping I can buy something where I can have all the goats and the chickens and my rabbits.”
Pappy looked stern.
Dymphna’s smile vanished. “The goats are mine to keep, aren’t they?”
“Hadn’t thought about it,” Pappy said. “But, yeah, I guess so. Already making plans, huh?”
“Well, we’ll be leaving in a month,” Dymphna said.
“You were heading over to Spoonerville?” Pappy asked Dymphna as Powderkeg poured each of them another shot.
“Yes,” she said. “I’ve been making jam. I’m stocking Wally’s Groceries and Cleo’s Café, too, but I have enough to get us through till we leave and still have some left to sell in Spoonerville.”
Pappy frowned again.
“Is something wrong?” Dymphna asked.
“Town meeting in half an hour,” Pappy said, then slugged back his shot and grimaced. “Let everybody know.”
Pappy stormed out of the Boozehound. Dymphna, Powderkeg, and Professor Johnson stood staring at the swinging doors. Thud whimpered.
“It’s OK, boy,” Professor Johnson said, patting Thud’s head. “It’s not you, it’s him.”
Powderkeg rang the chuck-wagon triangle and summoned everyone to City Hall. Rodney and Rock weren’t sure if they were supposed to attend, but Polly insisted they go. Pappy had changed back into his tea-colored T-shirt and Hawaiian shorts. Everyone stared back at him while Pappy’s flashing eyes wandered over the tiny group.
“You all know as well as I do that Cutthroat Clarence left this town to you so you could make something of yourselves. Rodney and Rock, I know you were latecomers, but you’ve gotten in the spirit of the town pretty quick.”
The group exchanged smiles. Dymphna had her thriving farm and jam business, Polly and Titan had started a jewelry line and each had found love—Polly with Rodney and Titan with his paternal protectiveness for Fancy. Cleo had rekindled her talent for cooking—and her relationship with Powderkeg was certainly passing the time. Professor Johnson had immersed himself in the town’s history, Wally had discovered he had a flair for business, Powderkeg was enjoying a renaissance of his artistry both as a woodworker and as a leather artist. Old Bertha’s heart had softened, and Rock, while a little heartsick at losing Polly to his brother, had to admit that living in a town full of eccentrics had made him feel less alone.
“Thank you, Pappy,” Dymphna said shyly.
“Don’t thank me,” Pappy roared. “Jerry Lee and Thud have more sense than the lot of you!”
Thud put his paws over his ears. He didn’t like to hear his name used in that tone of voice.
Old Bertha bristled. “What are you talking about?”
“You think Cutthroat would see this as a success?” Pappy spread his hands wide to indicate the town. “You’ve created a brotherhood, not a thriving town. This is not what he meant. He could always see things in a different light—how to pounce on an opportunity no one else saw.”
The group looked at each other. They each honestly had made the most of their time here.
“If Cutthroat had some vision about his dusty little town, why didn’t he realize it himself?” Wally asked, the old sullen tone returning to his voice.
“I’m not a mind reader,” Pappy said. “But I knew the man, and I know that he was hoping you’d do something . . . great.”
“Is that why you left us?” Polly asked. “Because you thought we’d fail?”
“No,” Pappy said. “I left you so you could see the town for what it was without leaning on me. I needed to make sure you guys wouldn’t kill yourselves or each other or starve to death, but once that was done, you needed some time to figure things out on your own. I will say, you’ve done
just fine without me, but that’s not enough.”
“Actually,” Powderkeg said, “it is enough. We get our money no matter what. We fulfilled our part of the bargain. We’ve only got to see it through for another month.”
“I think I achieved greatness,” Titan said. “I’ve made Fancy happy.”
Dymphna put her arms around Titan.
“I think we’ve done a fine job,” Cleo said. “Daddy didn’t leave any kind of blueprint.”
“He didn’t want to leave you a blueprint,” Pappy said. “If the idea was that you had to achieve something or you wouldn’t get the money, that would be one thing. There’s money at the end of the tunnel—but what he wanted was to give you a chance to really go for something nobody else could see. And from what I’ve seen, you’ve failed.”
“Who are you to judge us?” Wally asked. “You haven’t exactly set the world on fire.”
“No,” Pappy said. “No, I haven’t. And I wouldn’t wish that feeling on anybody.”
The group looked embarrassed to hear this heartfelt admission, but Pappy seemed just to be stating a fact, not asking for sympathy.
“My brother and I aren’t here for the money,” Rodney said, as he got up from his chair. “So I think we can be a little more objective.”
“You might be speaking for yourself, bro,” Rock said.
“Anyway,” Rodney said, shooting his brother a glare, “I think Pappy has a point. What have any of us got to lose by trying something. . . awesome? We’ve got a month. Let’s go for it.”
“Go for what?” Cleo asked.
“I don’t know, man,” Rodney said. “Anything outside of the box.”
Dymphna and Titan huddled, whispering to each other through Rodney’s speech. Then Dymphna stood up.
“We have an idea,” she said. “Let’s have a Wild West Weekend!”
Titan and Dymphna looked around the room, waiting for a response.
“That idea sucks,” Wally said.
Old Bertha sniffed. “Why would we do that?”
“It would be out of the box, for sure,” Dymphna said. “And didn’t Cutthroat see what no one else saw? Everyone in the world, including us when we first got here, saw a faded little town with nothing to recommend it.”
Welcome to Fat Chance, Texas Page 20
