Love's Labors Tossed

by Robert Farrell Smith

I wished the window were open so that I could throw myself out.

  “She’s anxious to talk to you.”

  “Where is she?”

  “Downstairs.”

  I wanted to talk to President Heck about my father, but I felt that Grace took first priority. I tossed some more clothes on and ran downstairs to look for her. Everyone there threw me dirty looks.

  “We were just talking,” I shouted at a scowling Roswell.

  “Talk is cheap,” he threw back, misusing a common cliché.

  I couldn’t see Grace anywhere. I walked out into the meadow and over by the Girth River calling her name. The only response I got was when Frank Porter told me that it served me right that I couldn’t find her. I felt awful, but I was also amazed at how wide the Girth River was. The burnt bridge was now covered with water at the ends. With no sign of Grace, I headed up to the Heck house. No one was there, but I was lucky enough to get a good glimpse of the work President Heck had put into his chair path. I ran back to the boardinghouse and waited around. I was hoping that Grace would simply appear and that I could explain this all away. She never showed up. I couldn’t even find President Heck.

  I leaned against the rail of the porch and sighed.

  “Women,” Leonard commented, suddenly by my side.

  “I guess you heard?”

  “I’ve always had good ears.”

  “Nothing happened,” I insisted.

  “Listen, Trust, you don’t need to tell me,” Leonard sniffed. “In the monkey world males never settle down with just one mate.”

  “This isn’t the monkey world,” I pointed out.

  “Well, then I guess you were out of line.”

  “I didn’t do anything.”

  “Keep telling yourself that,” Leonard said, taking off one of his shoes and looking down in the toe as if searching for a bothersome pebble. “I know everyone’s always blabbing about how people shouldn’t lie to themselves, but I’m all for it. Heck, my life would be sorely lacking if I didn’t have my fabricated reality.”

  Leonard’s actual reality was so skewed and absurd that I couldn’t fathom his fabricated one. I changed the subject.

  “How’s the investigation?” I asked.

  “People got a lot of problems.” He slipped his shoe back on.

  “That’s the truth.”

  “I could be serving a lot more effectively if my house wasn’t four miles away.”

  “It’s not like you’re living there,” I pointed out.

  “It’s the principle of the thing.”

  “Where are you staying?”

  “I’m a private person, Trust.”

  I left it at that, going inside and drowning my miseries in a gallon of ice cream that Pete had not been quick enough to save. By seven that evening Grace still had not shown up. I had the distinct impression that she was mad at me.

  23

  Written by the Finger Of . . .

  I got up early Friday morning to look for Grace. With the directional help of Lupert Carver, I found my way to the small cabin that she used to hide out in. It was empty, with no sign of recent life. I couldn’t believe that Grace was working so hard to avoid me. Desperate to get my mind off her being mad at me, I called my home from the boardinghouse to see if I could find out more about my father and his time here. My mom answered—I had forgotten that there was a time difference. I was a little concerned, seeing how my mother wasn’t an easy person to talk to on the phone even when she was alert.

  “I can call back later,” I volunteered.

  “This is fine,” she said, sounding like a martyr. “I’m already awake.”

  “I’m so sorry.”

  “What’s done is done.”

  “Is Dad awake?”

  “I doubt it, but I have no way of knowing, seeing how he’s not here,” she informed me.

  “Where is he?” I asked, wondering if something was wrong.

  “He took Abel and Margaret fishing. They won’t be home until Tuesday.”

  “Mom, did you know that when Dad was missing all those months ago he was here in Thelma’s Way?”

  “Now why would he go there?”

  “I don’t know,” I answered. “But I think it’s because he wanted their Book of Mormon.”

  “That makes sense,” she said. “He has sure taken to the scriptures lately.”

  “No,” I tried to explain. “He was after their first edition. It’s worth quite a bit.”

  “Did he find it?”

  “I don’t think so. But I’d like to talk to him about it. Why do you think he wouldn’t tell us that he was here?”

  “He’s a private man,” she yawned.

  “That’s nothing to hide.”

  “Maybe he wanted it to be a surprise.”

  “I’m surprised all right. He came here to take something that didn’t belong to him.”

  “I’m sure that’s not true.”

  “I’ve got witnesses.”

  “Those mountain people are unreliable.”

  “Mom.”

  “Trust, your father is a wonderful man. Whatever happened in Thelma’s Way was obviously good for him.”

  “Will you tell him I called?”

  “I’ll write it down when I get up. How’s Grace?”

  “She’s fine,” I lied.

  “We picked up your wedding announcements,” my mother informed me.

  “How do they look?” I asked halfheartedly.

  “I must say, I wish you had worn a different shirt. I sent them out to you to see what you think.”

  “You sent them all?”

  “Some of the pictures could be different.”

  “Mom, it’s the same pose.”

  “Just look them over and let me know.”

  “I really should go. Sorry about waking you up.”

  “These things happen,” she said groggily. “Tell Grace hello.”

  “I will as soon as I see her.”

  “Oh, there was something I was supposed to tell you,” my mother remembered. “It had something to do with Sister Cravitz.”

  “Sister Cravitz?”

  “She was concerned about something.”

  “What is it?”

  “I can’t remember,” she said. “Maybe it will come to me when I’m more awake.”

  “Good-bye, Mom.”

  “Good-bye, Trust.”

  I hung up and wondered why my life was suddenly so muddled. I saw Hope enter the boardinghouse. Roswell, still in his pajamas, asked her if he could help. I quickly slipped out the back door before she noticed me. I wanted none of that.

  Out back there was a man I didn’t recognize washing up in the rain barrel. He had a square neck and a bean-shaped head. He was wearing a bow tie and white button-down shirt that looked far from freshly laundered. His round shoulders seemed to dip twice before they connected with his blocky neck. He peered up at me with eyes that looked big and spread—as if they were being viewed with a magnifying glass.

  He said, “Whumpeethuuuuh.”

  “Hello,” I said back.

  “Leempeerdaaaaz. Hatheeeepattee.”

  I had no idea who this person was, or what he was saying.

  “Leempeerdaaaaz. Hatheeeepattee!” he said again and with feeling.

  “Nice to meet you too.”

  He shook his wet head at me. I looked up at the sky and pretended to know what he was saying.

  “Could be. You never know about the weather.”

  “Nuuverdimple,” he laughed. “Iradira dadddle.”

  I thought I had guessed right, and he was agreeing.

  “And your name was?” I asked.

  “Wooosdhdaay.”

  “Nice to meet you.” I stepped away from him and around the boardinghouse. Jerry Scotch was there, filling his water bottle with water from the spigot.

  “Did you meet my uncle?” he asked, pointing in the direction from where I had just come.

  “That was Winton?”

  “Didn�
�t you say howdy?”

  “I did, but to be honest I couldn’t understand a word he was saying.”

  Jerry looked relieved. “I thought it was just me. He got spooked by a couple of the neighbor kids back in Georgia last Halloween. Now he can’t seem to say anything clearly.”

  “What’d the kids do?”

  “He told me, but I couldn’t understand him.”

  “Have you seen Grace?” I asked.

  “Nope, I just got up,” he answered. “I was up all night wondering . . . what’s all that noise?” he interrupted himself, nodding toward the meadow where the yelling was coming from. “Sounds a little like Wad screaming.”

  I walked around the boardinghouse and spotted Wad off in the distance standing on top of his haircut shack and waving his arms. He would scream for a moment and then point down at the meadow with great vigor. I jogged over to him to see what was the matter.

  “Wad, what’s . . .”

  “Look,” he pointed.

  Toby joined us, holding his Ace bandage loose and ready. I looked at the meadow where Wad was pointing but saw nothing more significant than the rotted wagons and tall weeds.

  “I can’t see nothing,” Toby said for me.

  Wad crouched down on top of his shack, threw his knees out from under him, and then rolled down to the ground. He quickly laced his fingers together and motioned for me to step into his palms so that he could hoist me up. I saw no reason not to. From up on top of the shack I could see the entire meadow clearly. I still couldn’t understand what he had been so excited about.

  “Do you see it?” he yelled up.

  “See what?”

  “The writing,” he gulped. “The letters?”

  I looked again and instantly saw exactly what he was talking about. In the center of the meadow the weeds were trampled down perfectly to spell

  MATS

  “Wow.” I tried to sound excited.

  “Let me see,” Toby pleaded.

  I climbed down and helped Toby up.

  “What’s it mean?” he asked, his dark eyes trying to figure it out.

  By now others had come, everyone wanting to see what was stamped into the meadow.

  “How’d it happen?” Sister Watson asked.

  “I don’t know,” Wad would answer to every question.

  “I’m sure someone walked it out as a joke,” I offered.

  “Trust, you always were the last to believe,” Teddy Yetch scoffed.

  “No one could have walked that out,” Paul said loudly while taking his turn up top. “There’s no connecting trample points.”

  “Trample points?” I laughed.

  Digby and Ed ran out to where the letters were and began to examine the ground.

  “Paul’s right,” Ed yelled.

  I felt this could all be settled simply by asking if anyone had done it. Aside from Paul, folks in Thelma’s Way were honest to an additional fault. No one had any trouble speaking exactly what was on his or her mind or fessing up to any manner of deed.

  “Does anyone know who did this?” I asked.

  “It was him,” Sister Watson gasped.

  “Who?” I asked.

  “Him,” she repeated. “The same him that’s been stealing our things and terrorizing our town.”

  Everyone became instantly afraid, looking around as if they were shoplifters checking for prying eyes. I spotted Hope, one Toby down and a full Pete over.

  “Well, what’s it mean?” Teddy asked.

  “He’s gonna stomp us like mats,” Toby offered.

  Everyone looked around and nodded their heads, impressed by Toby’s interpretation.

  “Maybe his name’s Matt, and he’s staking claim to our meadow,” Tindy tried.

  “Don’t be silly,” Sister Watson scolded. “This is clearly a sign of how much we need the road. There could be a whole squad team in here by now if we had more than just that dirt path to plod on.”

  “Maybe you did this, Mavis,” Paul said bitterly. “This is just some sort of trick to win you your road.”

  “Well, I never,” Sister Watson whined. “I’m trying to help the town progress.”

  “Don’t get all high and flighty,” Paul growled. “We all know what you would do to get that street.”

  President Heck joined our group and began to counsel Paul and Sister Watson. They were slow to heed. I was about to jump in and try to smooth things over when I noticed Leonard standing no more than two inches behind me and breathing his garlic breath up my neck.

  “Looks like things are heating up,” he observed. “I’ll tell you one thing, this town sure knows how to make things more confusing than they already are.”

  “That’s true.”

  “I could get used to it,” he added.

  “So what do you think did it?” I asked Leonard.

  “Hard to say,” he replied. “I read once where certain ducks will settle in long grass to lay their eggs.”

  “So you think some settled here?”

  “Do you?” he asked.

  “No.”

  “You may have a point.”

  “People,” President Heck shouted, “we need to establish the time this mystery occurred. Who was the last person in the meadow yesterday?”

  “I walked through it at about ten to get some water from the Girth,” Tindy said.

  “Anyone later than that?” President Heck asked.

  “Elder Knapworth and I took a stroll around it at about ten thirty,” Sister Knapworth admitted. “We were out working on our . . .”

  “Discussions,” Elder Knapworth said for her.

  “All right,” President Heck said. “I was in the meadow this morning at around six gathering bags of concrete. So the deed must have happened sometime between ten thirty and six o’clock.”

  “I can help narrow it down even further,” Jerry volunteered. “I spent a good three hours from about eleven to two, pacing back and forth in the center of the meadow and trying to work out a few women problems in my mind.”

  “Okay,” Ricky nodded. “So it had to have happened between three and six.”

  I raised my hand.

  “Trust?” President Heck acknowledged.

  “Maybe we should ask Jerry where he was pacing,” I suggested.

  “In the middle,” Jerry pointed. “About where the letters are.”

  “Shoot,” Toby said. “If you had just stuck around a little while longer you could have seen who it was.”

  “Sorry,” Jerry apologized.

  “I think he did see who it was,” I said.

  “The glass is always half full to you, isn’t it, Trust,” President Heck said.

  I was surprised I had to point so precisely to the truth for them. “Jerry must have stamped it out while he wandered around.”

  Everyone looked at each other, contemplating the significance of my words.

  “Jerry can’t spell,” Roswell argued.

  “He must have done it without knowing,” I explained.

  All eyes were on Jerry.

  “I guess it could have been me,” he shrugged.

  Everyone booed and hollered, disappointed by the easily explainable answer. Toby tried to keep the mystery going.

  “Maybe he was prompted to spell that out for us,” he said, desperate to make his explanation still valid. “We could still be stomped like mats.”

  “No one’s going to stomp us,” President Heck said sadly, patting Toby on the back.

  “Well, that’s that,” Leonard observed as everyone began to scatter.

  “This place never ceases to amaze me,” I replied.

  Leonard tilted his long head at me. “I’d stay and chat, but I’ve got interviews to conduct.”

  The moment Leonard left, Hope approached me. She walked up so fast I didn’t have time to turn and run.

  “Hi, Trust.”

  “Hi,” I said dispassionately, trying not to look right at her.

  “I hope I didn’t get you in trouble by talk
ing with you last night.”

  “Don’t worry about it.”

  “I guess Grace was mad.”

  “I don’t know. I haven’t had a chance to speak to her about it.”

  Hope ohhed.

  “Well, if I can help, let me know,” she added.

  I wanted to let her know that she could help by leaving Thelma’s Way so that I didn’t become distracted again, but I didn’t. I thanked her and wondered once again how one person could be so perfectly put together.

  President Heck coughed behind me. I turned to face him.

  “We were just talking,” I explained.

  “I know,” he said. “I heard. How come you didn’t talk to Grace yesterday?”

  “When I went downstairs, she wasn’t there.”

  “I wonder why she hung up.” He scratched his head.

  “She was on the phone?”

  “Yeah. Didn’t I say that?”

  I put my head in my hands.

  “She called to say she won’t be back until tomorrow night,” he went on. “Patty’s craft show is going real well.”

  “Can I call her?”

  “Sure, if they had a phone. They’re staying at a campground with a bunch of other crafty women.”

  “I wish you hadn’t told her about Hope and me.”

  “Me and Hope,” he falsely corrected.

  “Me and Hope, then.”

  “Trust, life is a series of choices.”

  I chose to spend the rest of the day watching TV in the boardinghouse and pretending like everything was going to work out just fine.

  I’m not too terribly convincing.

  24

  Hard of Herring

  Cindy had discovered one glitch and that was Winton Scotch. Cindy had recognized him instantly. She had met him at a singles function in Georgia, back before he couldn’t speak. He had had the nerve to ask Cindy out. It was a disgusting thought, and Cindy had told him so. Then she had keyed his truck out in the parking lot.

  Cindy was certain that Winton knew just what kind of person she really was. She took some comfort in his current speech impediment, but she still felt it best to avoid him altogether. Her plan could not be thwarted. If anyone knew what she really was, she wouldn’t stand a chance. Not that she wasn’t worlds better and more beautiful than Grace. People just weren’t smart enough to always know it.

  Cindy had put too much time and effort into all of this to have some skeleton from her past ruin it. Winton would need to be watched. If he proved to be a real problem, Cindy would simply have to take care of it. There was nothing she wouldn’t do to make things work between her and Trust. If it meant getting rid of Winton or rubbing out Grace, Cindy would do it.