The Potluck Club

by Linda Evans Shepherd; Eva Marie Everson

  But I won’t go into all that now.

  Then there’s Goldie Brook Dippel. She was also a transplant, but from Georgia. She married Jack, who was from Denver, back in the early seventies. They moved to Summit View when Jack got a position with the Summit County Board of Education as head coach at the high school. Goldie has been an asset to our community (in spite of her no-good husband) and a good friend ever since. So, even though she wasn’t born here, she’s really a local.

  The funny thing—and no one has dared breathe a word about it—is that I, Evangeline Benson, the president and founder of the Potluck Club, hate (and I do mean hate) to cook.

  Simply hate it. But God in his infinite wisdom has made me queen bee of the PLC.

  The Gold Rush Grocery Store is in the center of downtown Summit View, right next to the old Gilded Age Movie Theater. I drove my old but faithful Camry through the streets and blessed God for the parking space right up front. I put the car in park, shut off the engine, and scurried out, making my way into the heated grocery as quickly as I could. Fortunately, Vernon Vesey saw me coming and opened the door for me.

  “Good afternoon, Vernon,” I greeted him. Vernon, a 1963 graduate of Summit View High, gave me my first kiss during a game of spin-the-bottle back when we were twelve. We played this at Ruth Ann’s birthday party, after most of the guests had gone home and the adults thought we were just talking and drinking RC Colas in the backyard. When it was Vernon’s turn, the bottle landed on me. We held hands and, as was required, walked around Ruth Ann’s daddy’s toolshed. There was an old plant pot in the middle. When we got to it, we were supposed to kiss, which we did, not that we had a clue as to what we were doing. What I remember most is thinking that Vernon Vesey kissed like a chicken, not that I’d ever kissed one of those either. At any rate, Vernon was my first sweetheart, a passionate affair that lasted all of two days until Doreen Roberts told him she’d kiss him for five full minutes if he’d break up with me and go with her, which he did. And I’ve never entirely forgiven him for it.

  “Good afternoon, Evangeline. Can you believe it’s snowing already?”

  I shook a light dusting of snow off my coat. “One never knows what one will get in Summit View,” I replied.

  Vernon, dressed in his uniform and a leather jacket, reached for one of the baskets kept stacked up near the door and just before the shopping carts. “Basket or buggy?” he asked with a smile. I have to tell you that Vernon Vesey—even after all these years—has managed to keep the most endearing smile I’ve ever seen. No matter how hard I try, I can’t resist him when he smiles at me like that.

  “Basket,” I said. “I’m just here to pick up a few things.” He handed me the top basket, and as a way of being pleasant, I asked, “So, how’s your daughter, Vern?”

  “Good. Good.”

  The door opened about that time, blowing in more of the crisp cold along with two Rushie women and their little ones. You know a Rushie woman when you see one; she’s the one with frosted blond hair cut in some style fresh out of a magazine, wearing some sporty outfit and enough makeup to get that new woman Lisa Leann Lambert so excited she can practically see herself sitting in a pink Mary Kay Cadillac.

  “Good afternoon, ladies,” Vernon greeted them.

  “Good afternoon, Sheriff,” they said, reaching for carts instead of the baskets.

  I crossed my arms. “So, how’s Summit County, Vernon? Any new crime waves going on while the good citizens are sleeping?”

  Vernon shook his head. I noticed his hair seemed to be sprinkled with a little more salt since last I’d seen him, which was about two weeks ago. Funny how I always notice things like that.

  “Not as long as I’m the law in this town.”

  I patted him on the arm and then started to walk away. “You’re a good officer, Vern. Just like your daddy and his daddy before him.”

  Vernon began walking beside me. I cut him a sideward glance. “I see you have neither buggy nor basket there, Vernon.”

  “Oh, I thought I’d just walk along with you for a minute, Evie-girl,” he said, using the endearment by which he’d called me since we were sweethearts. “Anything wrong with that?”

  I frowned. “No, nothing I can think of. Unless you think I’m going to shoplift or something.”

  Vernon laughed. “Evie, tell me something. What was I thinking all those years ago when I let Doreen talk me out of going steady with you and into going steady with her instead?”

  I stopped dead in my tracks, which, fortunately for me, was right in front of the soups. “I don’t know, Vernon. What were you thinking? As a matter of fact, what were you thinking years later when you met her at the altar?”

  His eyes twinkled. “Oh, I don’t know. Probably the same thing I was thinking when she ran off with the church’s choir director. What kind of fool am I?” He sang the last line. It was off-key, but appropriate. Of course, he was right there. The whole incident gave the entire town something to talk—or pray—about.

  I reached for a can of soup. “A big one, I’d say. All because she’d kiss you for five full minutes.”

  He nudged me with his shoulder. “And full on the lips too.”

  I opened my mouth in indignation. “I kissed you full on the lips,” I all but hissed, then blushed and pushed his shoulder with the flat of my palm. “Vernon Vesey, how do you manage to rile me up so?”

  “You know you’ll always be my first love, Evie.”

  I walked away, heading for the canned goods aisle. “Shut up, Vernon.”

  “Wanna go to the movies later tonight?”

  “I do not.”

  “Tell you what, I’ll pick you up at 7:00, we’ll have dinner over at the diner, and then I’ll take you to the Gilded Age.”

  I reached the canned goods, but the peas, carrots, and mushroom cans all seemed to blur together. This wasn’t the first time Vernon had made a pass at me since Doreen left him, and it wouldn’t be the last. Shame on me, but I did get a kick out of it, and what was the harm, after all? “Vernon—”

  “We’ll sit in the back row, and you can prove to me that you can kiss a good five minutes like you said you’d do when we were twelve. You owe me one, Evie-girl.”

  I blushed appropriately. “Vernon, if you don’t hush . . .”

  “Come on,” he whispered, leaning dangerously close to my ear.

  I giggled. “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I need to get ready for tomorrow’s Potluck meeting.”

  Vernon straightened. “Oh yeah. The Potluck Gossip Club.”

  I spun around, my vision suddenly crystal clear. “You take that back, Vernon Vesey. We are five women who pray fervently for God’s children.”

  “I hear from Donna that tomorrow you’ll be six, what with Mrs. Lambert joining you.”

  I huffed. “That woman. The nerve.”

  “It won’t hurt to add one more pray-er, I don’t suppose. Who’s on the slaughter block this week?”

  “Oh, ha-ha. And if you must know, we pray for anyone and everyone who calls and lets us know they need prayer. Sometimes we pray for folks who don’t ask, but we know they need it. We even pray for you.” I added the last part for good measure.

  Again he chuckled. “I could use it, Evie. The good Lord knows I need all the prayer I can get.”

  With that he walked off, leaving me to wonder what was going on to make him say such a thing.

  “What do you think made him say such a thing?” I asked Vonnie on the phone later. I was making the brown rice, starting off by measuring a full cup of dry white rice into Mama’s old measuring cup and pouring it into a buttered Corningware casserole dish.

  “Well, I wouldn’t know. I haven’t seen Vernon in over a month and haven’t had a decent conversation with him in I don’t know how long.”

  “He looked healthy.”

  “I’m sure he’s fine, Evie. I’m also sure you were shamelessly flirting.”

  I reached for the utensil draw
er and pulled out my can opener so I could open the cans of onion soup. “So? He’s not married anymore, and I’m not married period. Where’s the problem?”

  “You know the answer to that as good as I do. It’s not fitting for a woman of our age . . .”

  Not fitting. I poured the two cans of soup over the rice and thought how easy it is for a married woman to say how a single woman should act. What does she know about the loneliness or the emptiness? What does she know about eating cold sandwiches in a dark living room by the light of the television or holding a pillow close to her breast and pretending a warm body is next to her? “Maybe he’s got financial problems.”

  “Evie . . .”

  “Or maybe he’s bored with his job.”

  “That I can imagine.”

  I pulled the telephone cord as I walked across the kitchen toward the pantry, where I pulled two cans of beef bouillon soup off the shelf and returned to the counter where the rest of the necessary items waited.

  “Poor Vernon. In all these years not one serious felony.”

  “Thank the good Lord.”

  I picked up the can opener and began to open the third and forth cans of soup. “Vern’s probably thanking the good Lord for tourists. If he didn’t have them and all the problems that come with them, his sole job would be dusting the courthouse all day.”

  “At least he has his work with the volunteer fire department. That keeps him out of trouble.”

  “Yes, what would we do without our snow bunnies who manage to get lost in the mountains at least once before they go back to wherever they come from.” I added the soups to the mixture, then popped the top on the mushrooms and threw them in as well. Cooking the way I like it. Simple, simple, simple. “I’m done with the rice. Other than cooking it, I mean, and I don’t really have to do that part. What are you bringing tomorrow?”

  “I have a new pork chop and potato dish.”

  I sighed.

  “What’s wrong with that?” she asked.

  “Well, I’m making rice.”

  “And?”

  “Rice and potatoes?”

  Vonnie laughed. “Remember, sweet one, that our purpose is to pray, not eat.”

  I laughed along with her. “What do you think that Lisa woman is going to bring? Some Texas dish, I’ll bet.”

  “Evie. Lisa Leann is a nice woman. A good woman.”

  “I called Jan Moore about it.”

  I heard a slight gasp from the other end of the line. “You didn’t.” “I did. She told me she thinks she might have been somewhat responsible for Lisa Leann inviting herself.”

  “In what way?”

  “I don’t know. That’s just what she said. Had that ‘I’m sorry’ tone in her voice. Well, I’m not happy about it, but who in their right mind could ever be angry with Jan Moore? She’s the sweetest thing . . .”

  “That she is. The more I know her, the more I love her. I don’t even want to think about the Moores leaving us for another church. Not ever.”

  “They won’t leave. Though if Jan lets one more person into my group, I may drop-kick her through the goalpost of life.” I laughed at my own humor, Vonnie with me. “Still, I say we ought to be able to find some way to get Mrs. Lambert out of the club. After all, this is her first meeting, and she wasn’t even invited.”

  “Evie, we are a Christian prayer group.”

  “All right. Let me get this in the oven, and I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “Sounds good.”

  I covered the casserole dish with its glass top. “And Vonnie?”

  “Yes?”

  “Don’t mention to anyone about Vern, okay?”

  “Of course not.”

  I hung up the phone, then walked the Corningware over to the oven. As soon as I slid it on the center shelf and shut the door, my telephone rang.

  “Hello?”

  “Aunt Evie?”

  “Leigh?” It was Peggy’s daughter, my twenty-five-year-old niece.

  “Hi, Aunt Evie.”

  I could hear a cacophony in the background. “Where are you?”

  “I’m in O’Hare.”

  I swung around and rested my bony hip against the counter. “Say that again?”

  “O’Hare.”

  “What in the world are you doing there?”

  “I’ve left home.”

  I decided we must have a bad connection. “You’ve done what? You’ve left home?”

  “I’m coming to Colorado, Aunt Evie. I’m coming to see you . . . to stay with you for a while, you know what I’m saying?”

  So much for lonely, I thought, closing my eyes. Still . . . “Leigh, you can’t be serious.”

  “I am serious, Aunt Evie.”

  My eyes widened as if to take in what Leigh was saying. So this was why Peggy had been so quiet lately when I asked her about Leigh. She was always open and honest about her boys, but lately she’d been very secretive about Leigh. “Are you having problems with your mama?”

  “Aunt Evie—”

  “Answer me, Leigh. You can’t just come out here without telling me something.”

  “I’ll tell you when I see you. I arrive in Denver in a few hours. I’ll take a shuttle to Summit View; you don’t have to pick me up at the airport. I don’t want you out this late.” She paused for a moment. “Aunt Evie, they’re calling my flight number. I have to go now. I’ll see you tonight, okay? I love you.”

  “I love you—” The line went dead before I had a chance to finish. “Oh, Lord, what in the world?” I hung up my phone and picked it up again, dialing Peggy’s number.

  “Hello?”

  “Margaret Benson Banks, would you mind telling me what’s going on out there?”

  “Good afternoon to you too, Evie.”

  I walked over to the kitchen table and sat in one of the chairs. “I just received a call from Leigh.”

  There was an audible sigh from the other end. “I should’ve known she’d go there.”

  “And?”

  “And what?”

  “What’s going on?”

  “I think you’ll have to talk to Leigh. All I can say right now is that she has broken our hearts, Evie. She has nearly destroyed her father and me.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Evie,” Peggy’s voice dropped an octave, “you know how Leigh has always been. Wild . . .”

  “Spirited.”

  “Spoiled.”

  “Unconventional.”

  Peggy sighed again. “You’ve always seen Leigh as you want to see her. I’m her mother . . .”

  “And you’ve always wanted her to be just like you. Why not let her be who she is?”

  “Because.” Peggy’s voice was up again. “You know what, Evangeline? You just keep your condemnations to yourself. I don’t see how you can possibly judge me when you’ve raised not one single child of your own, especially one who came along late in life. I don’t see how . . .” she trailed off. “Why don’t you just call me tomorrow after you’ve talked to Leigh and then we’ll see how you feel about all this?”

  I was almost too stunned to respond, but I did, in the most cutting way I knew how. “I think I will. I’ll just do that. I have to go now, Peggy. I have to get your old room ready for your daughter. Looks like I’ll have a child to take care of after all.”

  “Yeah, well. I hope you do a better job of that than the job you’ve done caring for Papa and Mama’s graves.”

  I slammed the phone down. How dare she? So I don’t like cemeter–ies. She didn’t have to get mean about it, now did she?

  Leigh wasn’t really a child, but to me she’d always be a precocious little girl in blond ringlet pigtails. She’s got large blue eyes you could just drown in and the softest, prettiest skin ever to grace a young lady. There were framed photographs of her all over my house, so it didn’t surprise me, either, that she would come here. She’d always known how I felt about her.

  I busied myself for the next few hours getting her room ready, t
hen waited in the living room, reading our Beth Moore study book. I just love Beth Moore. She’s—how does Vonnie say it?—deep. The sky had long ago grown dark, so I got up and turned the front porch light on, then walked over to the front window and peered out just in time to see a passenger van pull into my driveway. I turned away, rushing to the front door so I could open it for Leigh as soon as she got up to it. The weather was bitterly cold, and I didn’t want her out there even a second longer than she had to be.

  As soon as I heard her nearing the porch, I swung the door open wide. “Hurry. Hurry,” I said as she stepped into the foyer. I closed the door and turned to take a look at her. She carried a small suitcase in her right hand and had a purse slung over her shoulder. Her hair, dyed dark red and cut short and spiked all over her head, carried flakes of snow. When she shook her head, snowflakes fell to the shoulders of her wool coat.

  “Let me get you out of that coat,” I said, reaching for it. “Then we’ll go into the living room, where I have a nice warm fire going.”

  “Thanks, Aunt Evie,” she said, setting the suitcase on the floor, then turning around as she unbuttoned her coat.

  I pulled it from her shoulders and turned toward the foyer coat-rack so I could hang it there to dry. I heard Leigh heading toward the living room, and I called after her. “Are you hungry?”

  “No. I grabbed something at the airport.”

  I frowned, walking into the living room, where she stood facing the fireplace. “Why did you do that?”

  She turned to look over her shoulder and smiled at me. “I was hungry.”

  And then she turned all the way around.

  What can I say?

  There she was, my beautiful Leigh, with a belly as round as a basketball.

  3

  Does she know

  she’s infamous . . .

  That Evangeline and the Potluck Club. As ace reporter of the Gold Rush News, knowing what he knew . . .

  Clay Whitefield shook his head and tapped his pen on his lip. Well, a man could weep at the sorrow of it all . . . or crack up laughing.

  Clay was chuckling.

  The legend of Evangeline and Sheriff Vesey was nearly as famous around Summit View as the stories of the old gold rush days—not that Clay believed Ms. Benson knew just how infamous she had become over the years. Because if she did, Clay thought, well, she wouldn’t set foot anywhere in town, much less in her beloved church.