by Joyce Magnin
"More like five weeks," Stella said.
"Imagine that," I said. "Sleeping for five weeks, only deeper than sleep, unconscious."
"I knew a guy who got a bump on the head and died." Nate snapped his fingers. "Just like that. Seemed fine one minute and poof. Gone the next."
"Oh, Nate," Stella said. "Don't say those things."
"I'm sorry. But it's true. Just goes to show you that you can never tell about these things." Nate went back to his seeds. "This one is from a champion pumpkin in Nova Scotia. Weighed almost two-hundred pounds. I'm telling you the day is coming when we'll be growing pumpkins more than a thousand pounds."
"Yeah, right," Cliff said. "A thousand-pound pumpkin. Do you know how big that is? It would have to be ten feet around—at least."
"I know, I know," Nate said. "I mean the gourd would collapse and crack all over the place. It's hard enough keeping a one-hundred pounder healthy. But I'd sure like to try and raise one that big."
Stella picked up a large, white pumpkin seed. "This one," she said. "This is the one for next season."
Nate laughed. "That? It's only an Atlantic hybrid. Nothing special. It's not even from a prize winner."
"Still," Stella said. "You never know. Sometimes the most unspecial looking things become something special. Remember that year you took first place. It was just an ordinary seed from an ordinary pumpkin. But you knew it had promise."
Nate dropped the seed into a small orange envelope and wrote "Stella" on it.
I went straight home that night. Tired but happy that Nate and Stella had at least for the time being stopped arguing, Cliff had turned out to be a good guy, and Walter was starting to regain consciousness after five weeks in a coma. Now we just needed the full poop on Gilda.
The nights had grown cold in Bright's Pond and I lit a small fire in the fireplace content to watch TV and eat pie left over from the dance. Not that there was much. But I did manage to confiscate a slice of Charlotte Figg's lattice-top cherry. The woman had true pie talent. Moreso, I hated to admit and would never say aloud, than Zeb. There was just something extra special about Charlotte's crust. Special. The thought brought me back to the conversation at Stella's. Charlotte had a knack for taking unspecial ingredients—flour, shortening, a tiny bit of water—and turning them into something spectacular—culinary alchemy.
At seven thirty I heard a ruckus outside. Screeching brakes and slamming car doors. I practically leaped my way to the front porch and flipped on the light in time to see Studebaker Kowalski jump out of his Caddy.
"Come on, Zeb, just another hour. We'll use the headlights to see."
"No more," Zeb said. "There ain't no treasure. We practically dug up the entire area. I'm tired. The people who live up there were laughing at us. For goodness sake they set up lawn chairs and packed picnic lunches. No more digging."
I waved to them. "What in tarnation is going on out here?"
Stu followed him onto my porch where I stood in the doorway with my arms folded against my chest shivering from the cold.
"Then tomorrow," Stu said. "We'll go back tomorrow."
"Maybe," said Zeb.
"Are you gonna tell me what's going on or not?" I asked.
"Zeb wants to quit the treasure hunt," Studebaker said.
"Can you blame me, Grizzy? We dug up every inch of that place. There's no treasure. I think the whole thing is some kind of fairy tale."
"It can't be," Stu said. "That Walter fella came up here for a reason and almost killed himself over it. You don't get killed over nothing."
"Come on in," I said. "It's cold out here. Did everyone else go home?"
"Yeah, they left hours ago. Just dunderhead here and me were stupid enough to stay behind and now I'm just cold and dirty and hungry," Zeb said.
"I am not a dunderhead," Stu said. "You'll see. I'm going back tomorrow. I'll get my cousin Asa up in Paradise to help me."
"Go ahead," Zeb said.
The two of them stood on my porch staring each other down. All I could do was wait until it was over.
"So what do you say, Zeb," Stu said. "Tomorrow?"
"I reckon so," Zeb said.
I just shook my head as we watched Stu get back into his car and take off down the street.
"Dunderhead," Zeb said.
Once I got Zeb inside and a cup of hot tea poured for him I asked him about the hunt.
"Did people really come and watch?"
"Yes. A whole slew of people. One woman was selling hotdogs out of a cooler filled with boiling hot water—they were pretty good too. Made her own mustard."
"Really? That's kind of funny. Did you find anything? Anything at all?"
"All we found were chicken bones, lots and lots of chicken bones—musta been a slaughter house up there at one time. We found some small shards of garnet and ruby not worth a plug nickel and a strong box filled with tobacco. Old, stinking tobacco."
I closed the kitchen window after a strong breeze knocked one of my African violets off the sill and into the sink. "So no sign of a safe filled with a million dollars."
"Not a one. Not a single sign that would even suggest it, and we dug some pretty deep holes."
"I know." I laughed. "I saw them. Looked like the surface of the moon up there with all those holes. Swiss cheese."
"How would you know? You didn't come up there, did you?"
"Nah, I flew over—in Cliff's plane."
"I thought that was Cliff's plane I heard buzzing around. I looked but I didn't see you."
"It was us. We only made one pass over the quarry before heading back to Hector's Hill."
Zeb appeared pensive as he sipped his tea. "I wonder," he said. "If we could use Cliff's plane to help locate the spot."
"What are you suggesting?"
"Maybe you could take another trip over and this time try and pinpoint the place, you know? Maybe you'd see something from up there."
"Oh, Zeb, I doubt I'd even know what to look for. I don't think there's a giant X marking the spot."
Zeb picked at a couple of leftover lemon squares from the Harvest Dance. "I guess I'm just kidding you, Grizzy. It would be a heck of a lot easier if that Walter fella would wake up and tell us what he knows."
"Oh," I said. "I guess you don't know yet."
"Know what?" He swallowed a bit of tart lemon.
"He's awake." With that, Zeb's ears perked up perkier than a Chihuahua going for a car ride. "Then maybe he can tell us where to dig."
"Well, he's not exactly jumping up and down. But he is regaining consciousness. I guess it's a slow process. The doctor had to sedate him, put him back to sleep. Imagine that."
"Well that doesn't seem to make much sense now does it? The man's been asleep for all those weeks, wakes up, and they knock him out again. Talk about a rude awakening."
"The doctor said he had to, something about the way Walter was bucking the vent—the breathing tube. It must have been weird to be breathing on your own and have a machine do it for you too."
Zeb suddenly became aware of his own breathing. "Yeah, I can see that. But still if he's waking up maybe you or Stella can ask him a few questions."
"Give the man a chance. He might not even remember anything. He could have amnesia, least that's what the doctor said. It wouldn't be unusual."
I sat down next to Zeb and put my hand on his cheek. "Does that treasure really mean so much? It's only money."
Zeb caught my hand just as I pulled it away. "You're right, Grizzy. I am acting kind of stupid over the whole thing. It's only money, and I don't need money."
He kissed my cheek. "So tell me more about Walter. How's Stella taking it?"
"She's taking it all pretty well, considering. It's a lot to take in after all these years."
"What about Gilda? I bet she's jumping for joy."
"Sally, the nurse over there, Walter's nurse, said they didn't call Gilda because she's not considered next of kin or any kind of kin for that matter. Not until they are legally married."
"What?" Zeb stretched the word out. "You mean if I got hurt and was put in the hospital they wouldn't tell you."
"Nope."
Zeb stayed another hour or so until I finally had to tell him he needed to get home and get some sleep. He kept bringing the conversation back around to the treasure and I was getting pretty sick of it. But I guess he had gotten caught up in the adventure and seemed like a little boy when he talked about how much fun it was to dig holes and chase down possible leads.
"You should have seen Ruth," he said. "She was so funny—running all over the place with that little tiny shovel of hers, one of those collapsible ones they used in WWII to dig latrines."
"I can't imagine Ruth digging holes. I'd think she'd worry about getting her dress dirty."
"Oh she had a lot to say about the dirt but by the end of the day she was just as filthy as the rest of us. She went home with Bill and Edie long before Stu and me."
"I bet she's plumb tuckered out."
"Probably, but she said she'd be back. Said she wanted to find the money and then split it among everyone in town—use it for a good cause—maybe buy that church steeple you all are always talking about."
"That sounds like Ruth. She'd give it all away. Not a person in the backwoods would be without shoes and socks or food."
"I hope she finds it." Zeb yawned and I took that as my cue to toss him out the front door. "Go on now. It's late and we're all tired. I suspect everyone will be at the café early to discuss all this."
He yawned again. "You're right about that."
He stood on the porch bouncing on his feet for a moment.
"Maybe you should make a treasure-hunting special," I said.
"Yeah, I can bury pork links in the hash browns."
Not only did nearly the entire congregation of Bright's Pond Church of Faith and Grace show up at the café for breakfast, but Gilda to my surprise was in her spot at the end of the counter. It was obvious to me that she had not heard about Walter. The way folks were looking at her you'd think she was the one just waking from a coma. It seemed everyone in town knew but her.
I wasn't sure if I should be the one to tell her. But I figured it was only a matter of minutes or seconds before someone would blurt something out, so I took the stool next to her.
"Morning, Gilda," I said practically shouting over the chatter in the café.
"Morning. Sure is crowded in her for a Monday. I can hardly hear my mind think. Did something happen?"
"Ah they're just jibber-jabbering about the treasure," said Dot Handy. She placed a cup in front of me. "Morning, Griselda."
"My Walter's treasure?" Gilda said. She looked at me first and then Dot. "That ain't right."
"Unfortunately," Dot said, "your Walter does not have an exclusive claim on it. Seems to me that it's a free-for-all and if you had been up at the quarry yesterday you woulda gotten quite an eyeful. Folks were running all over the place like . . .lemmings or something, digging holes right and left, hollering across to each other. It was quite a spectacle."
"I saw it from the air," I said. "They did look kind of silly."
Dot poured my coffee. "From the air? Were you up in that man's air-o-plane again?"
"I was. We flew right over the quarry, which by the way, is not nearly as big from that high up, and it's filled with black water. It gave me the willies."
"Well you didn't see me, I'm sure," Dot said. "I am not one for going on wild goose chases. If God had intended me to be a rich woman—moneywise that is—he woulda had me marry a Rockefeller. You know what I'm talking about, Griselda?"
"I sure do, Dot. I like you just the way you are. You don't need lots of money to be happy—"
"Can't hurt," Gilda said. "I'd sure like to give it a try some day. I can be just as happy poor as rich, and I think I would prefer to be rich."
"Well, it looks like your Walter is out of the running for that treasure now," Dot said. "One these folks is bound to find it. The thing about people in Bright's Pond is that once they get their minds fixed on something they're like snapping turtles. Ever see a snapping turtle with his jaws around a trout? Woo man, he won't let go for nothing until somebody conks him on the head."
I winced remembering of course that Walter had conked himself on the head somehow. I hoped that Gilda didn't hear it. But she did and there went the water works again.
"Just like my Wally," she cried. "I am so sorry I said anything to begin with. I should have kept it a secret like Walter wanted me too."
"Oh, well now, I'm sorry," Dot said. "I didn't mean nothin' by that remark. It's just a true statement about snapping turtles, but I figure a city girl like yourself wouldn't know from turtles now, would you?"
Gilda clinked her spoon on her coffee cup.
"It's OK, I know you didn't mean to upset me. I'm just a raw nerve these days. A raw, exposed nerve."
Oh boy, a raw nerve and I hadn't even told her the news yet. She was bound to turn on the tears again when I told her that Walter had woken up. But I put it off as long as I could.
"You want your usual, Griselda?" Dot asked.
"Sure. I'm hungry this morning."
I poured cream in my coffee and watched it swirl as I tried to come up with something to say that might make it easier for Gilda to think about other people going after that safe full of money. But there wasn't. She let the cat out of the bag. There was bound to be repercussions.
"I don't think anyone meant to step all over Walter," I said. "But this is a small town and having a treasure hidden somewhere nearby is pretty exciting news."
She soaked the last of her egg yolk up with toast. "Did anyone find it?" She had composed herself. I must say that Walter's illness and the treasure did not seem to affect her appetite. That little girl could pack it away with any of the Teamsters that came by the Full Moon.
"Not yet," Studebaker called from his usual booth. "We'll find it today. Ain't that right, Zeb?"
Zeb peeked through the pickup window. "I don't know, Stu. I'm beginning to think the whole thing is a hoax, a giant April Fools joke. And we're the fools."
"No, no," Gilda said. "The treasure is for real. Walter said he knew just where to look. But he never made it. Too bad he can't tell me where to look. I'd head out there myself, if of course one of you strapping men would take me."
I watched Dot's eyes roll around in their sockets.
"Sure thing, Gilda," Stu said. "I'd take you up there in my baby blue Caddy. The color kind of matches your eyes."
Oh, brother. I think Gilda had the same effect on every male in Bright's Pond.
I sipped my coffee and swallowed hard. I either had to tell her now or let her go on over to Greenbrier and find out for herself but that didn't seem fair. So I spoke up. "Oh, Gilda," I said. "That's kind of why I sat next to you, I mean besides just wanting to be neighborly. There is something I need to tell you since the nursing home never got a hold of you."
She looked into my eyes for the first time since we first met. Gilda was one of those people that always aimed her attention in some other direction like making eye contact was too personal or honest. "What is it? Something happen to Walter?"
"Yes," I said. "In a way, nothing happened to him, exactly—"
"Well, what is it?" Gilda asked. "Don't beat around the bushes. Just tell me."
"He's awake."
Gilda sucked all the oxygen out of the room. "Well thump my gums and call me a cab. When did that happen?"
"Yesterday. They called Stella on account of her being—"
"Immediate family," Gilda said with a modicum of sarcasm. "I figured that's what they'd up and do since I am only his fiancée." She wiggled in her seat. "They told me they wouldn't be able to tell me too much since we ain't married. But I kept hanging around and hanging around so I'd be there when he woke up. But don't you know he'd go and do it while I was otherwise indisposed."
For some reason I felt a twinge of sympathy for her and patted her hand. "I'm sorry, Gilda. I know t
his must be hard on you."
"I'm practically his wife," she said as she jabbed a home-fried potato. "We were fixing to get married right after he got back from his little expedition as he called it." She put the bite in her mouth and chewed. "Had the license and all and that's as good as married in my book. Especially when you consider that we already—well, you know what I'm saying, don't you, Griselda?—on more than one occasion I might add."
"Well, don't yell at Griselda," Dot said. "She's only telling you what the nurse said. Being loose and easy don't count for much. It's the band of gold that gets you the rights."
"I am not yelling at her. I am merely stating my case," Gilda said.
"It's OK, Dot. But where were you yesterday, Gilda? You never came by the nursing home. Stella and I kept looking out for you."
"Well I needed a break for heaven's sake. A woman can only sit in that hospital for so long watching her—" she sniffed and then blew into a napkin, "her dear, sweet intended for so long before she needs a day off. Now that's only right, don't you think?"
"Sure, sure," Zeb said coming out from the kitchen, wiping his hands on his apron. "That's perfectly understandable."
"That's right," Studebaker said. "A girl can only take so much misery."
Oh, for heaven's sake, I thought. They are pouring it on thick. A pretty woman walks into town and they fawn all over her.
"Maybe you should go see him today," I said. "The doctor had to sedate him—"
"Sedate him? You me knock him out again? If that ain't adding insult to injury, I don't know what is."
"Hold on," I said. "They had to so he'd calm down. He was pretty agitated at first and tried to pull his tubes out."
She winced. "That ain't so good I suppose. In that case, I understand them putting him on ice again."
"I'm sure he'll be happy to see you," I said.
"I'm sure he will," she said. "Now if you'll excuse me. I have a wedding to plan. I still got the license and then we'll see who is next of kin."
She pulled some dollars out of her thin, beige purse and dropped them on the counter. "You boys have fun hunting that treasure."
