The Women of Jacob’s Mountain Boxed Set

by Hining, Deborah;

  “I know what—”

  “But I really and truly did pass it this time! And I’m so looking forward to starting work! There’s this sweet little place over in Tucker? It’s opened up, and I have a job there right off! I get to start off as a stylist, and I am so excited! Geneva, yew must let me do your hair!” she gushed, then raised a hot pink fingernail and delicately fluffed her own coiffure, which was something to behold. Sally Beth’s hair had always been baby fine and flyaway, but somehow she had figured out a way to elevate it to astonishing heights. The masses of stiff, blonde curls were adorned with a hot pink bow that exactly matched her lips, her fingernails, and her toenails, which peeked out from her open sandals bedecked with large imitation jewels (a trademark of hers since junior high). Sally Beth was a vision of working class pulchritude.

  “That would be great, Sally Beth,” replied Geneva. But Sally Beth’s attention had turned to the room around her.

  “Say, yew did such a good job with this party! You know, it reminds me of the shower that Leslie Ann and Jeannie Marie gave for Ruth Leigh last summer? Oh, yew missed that one, up there in Washington! How is Washington? Isn’t it just awful?! I heard there’s lots of crime there, all those drug addicts mugging people?”

  “Well, actually—”

  “Oh! I cain’t imagine! I hope yew aren’t going back! But it’s too bad yew missed this shower! Yew jist wouldn’t believe the way they did it! It was a surprise shower, and you know how Ruth Leigh loves yella?! Well!! They did it so everything was all yella, and everything was a surprise! They had all these yella balloons everywhere? And they had these little bitty surprises in them all? And we all went around like crazy stomping on these balloons, and there were gift certificates for Ruth Leigh, printed on yella paper, or little yella trinkets inside! And, oh! Jeannie Marie’s mother baked this yummy yella cake, and yew just won’t believe this—it was all chocolate!”

  “No! You don’t mean it!” exclaimed Geneva, searching the crowd behind Sally Beth for means of escape. She was growing desperate.

  “I do!” crowed Sally Beth. “Chocolate with chocolate icing! She had used white chocolate and had colored it all with bright yella food coloring, and it was all such a surprise when we tasted it! And, oh! There was this punch? Which was yella, and of course, we expected it to be lemon or something, but it was grape! I mean, it was the most surprising thing! And they made this big yella ball, like a piñata? And made Ruth Leigh whack at it with this big yella bat, and inside was the most gorgeous yella gown and robe—you know how good Ruth Lee looks in yella, with that hair! And of course, there were yella streamers everywhere! I jist felt like I was in the sunshiniest place ever!”

  “Sounds wonderful!” gasped Geneva. “I am so sorry I missed it! Oh, golly! Is that Dianne out on the porch? I thought she was in New York!”

  “Oh no! She came home ages ago! A year, at least! But she missed that shower, too! I don’t know where they found them, but they had put these really bright jonquils everywhere! Imagine! In July!

  “How surprising! Excuse me! I must go say hello to Dianne!! I had no idea she was home! Sally Beth! It is so good to see you again! We will have to get together soon!” and she fled outside as Sally Beth sang out, “Really!”

  Dr. Zhivago came running up as soon as she stepped onto the porch, rubbing against her legs and meowing as if he had missed her. She picked him up as she moved over to the swing where Dianne stood talking to yet another of her female cousins, Janet.

  “Geneva! You really are here!” exclaimed Dianne. Geneva winced.

  “Just barely! I’ve been cornered by Silly Beth for the last three hours, at least!” she gasped, using the nickname the cousins had given Sally Beth years ago.

  “Oh, sorry,” smiled Dianne. I’ll speak totally without inflection for the rest of the evening so you can even out. How long have you been home?”

  “A few weeks. But I didn’t know you were home. Silly Beth said you’ve been down for a year. What’s going on? You were doing beautifully when I was up to see School for Scandal. Did it close? I thought it might even still be running.”

  “Oh, it ran until this past May. But we turned it over to someone else and moved here early last summer. Charlie’s bought a hardware store.”

  “What!?”

  “Yes, believe it or not, it was all Charlie’s idea. Oh, I really wanted to come, too, ever since the boys were born, but I never thought we would. You know, we always want to give our children the same kind of magical childhood we had.”

  “I suppose so,” began Geneva slowly.

  Janet broke in, “Gosh. I can’t imagine a more magical place than New York City, especially since you work in the theatre.”

  “Well, yes. It is magical, in its way, but isn’t the same—all artificial—not like this,” she swept her hand toward the mountains shimmering in the late sunlight and continued, “I never figured that Charlie would ever want to move here. You know, he grew up in Manhattan, and his idea of getting back to nature is a jog through Central Park loaded down with a mace canister and a police whistle.”

  “You’re exaggerating,” accused Janet.

  “You tell me,” countered Dianne. “A couple of years ago, Charlie was on the Brooklyn Bridge on his motorcycle, and he was in heavy traffic. He tried to zip around a few cars—he can be a real smart ass when he’s on that motorcycle. But this guy saw him coming and deliberately bumped him. He fell over and slid for about ten yards, between his bike and the pavement, and smacked his head against the curb. And then, while he was lying there, bleeding, all skinned up from cheek to toe, practically in a coma, all these cars start honking at him and people are yelling and cussing at him to get out of the way. So he drags himself to his feet and he tries to push his bike over, but he keeps stumbling around and vomiting from a concussion. Well then this mounted policeman comes up. Old Charlie thinks he’s coming to rescue him, but all he does is look at Charlie like he’s bored to death, and he says, ‘Hey, Buddy, move it. You can’t park this piece of junk on the bridge. Get outta here!’

  “So poor Charlie pushes his bike all the way across the bridge, stopping to throw up every couple of minutes, and everybody’s honking and swearing at him, and as he’s walking, the whole time he’s muttering to himself, ‘I’m outta here.’ So as soon as he finished designing the show he was working on, we packed up and came here.”

  “What are you doing?” asked Geneva, incredulous.

  “We took over the outdoor theatre in Tucker. I mostly run it and direct shows, and Charlie still does technical design, but it doesn’t make enough to support us both—yet, anyway, so Charlie is running this hardware store. We sold our apartment in Manhattan for a fortune and bought the store and this charming little house out in January Falls. The kids love it, Charlie loves it, and I feel like the heavens have opened up and given me my heart’s desire. You’d have to dynamite me out of here.”

  Geneva brightened. “Are you telling me you directed that production of Dream I saw last night?”

  “You saw it? What did you think? Charlie did all the tech work on that. We had to get all kinds of permits to do the fireworks, but I think they were worth it.”

  “Dianne, it was wonderful. It made me want to get back into theatre.”

  “When did you drop out? Last I heard you were going for the MFA. Set design?”

  “And lighting, but I never finished. I got sidetracked into doing retail design full time and never got back to it. I meant to, though, and I sure miss it.”

  “Really?” asked Dianne, interested. “Are you doing anything now? You know, community theatre, that sort of thing?”

  “No, but I have been thinking about it ever since last night.”

  “Well, what luck that you’re here. Charlie has his hands full with the hardware store. You wouldn’t believe how macho he’s gotten since he got that thing. He even bought himself a ‘68 Chevy truck with a gun rack, and he keeps insisting that we’ve got to get a hound. Can you imagine an
old hound around our little Tybalt?

  “Anyway, now that Charlie’s busy being a redneck and running this store, we need someone with a broad background… hey, you could even perform sometimes, provided we could keep you from falling all over you own feet on stage.”

  Geneva winced, hoping that the blackberry thicket incident would not come up. She resented Dianne’s implication that she might still be clumsy, but she chose to let the remark pass.

  “Do you think you might be interested? We start work on the next season in February. Of course, we can’t pay much, but you can survive. We all have part-time jobs on the side. Nobody around here cares about lifestyles of the rich and famous, anyway.”

  Janet broke in, “I can’t believe you two are standing there talking about moving back. Here I’ve been dying to get out of this little hole, and you both had great lives in beautiful cities and are giving it up. As soon as Daddy gets better, I’m taking my little MBA and hitting the corporate life.”

  “Shut up, Janet,” laughed Dianne. “Take your MBA and become an accountant in Tucker, if you know what’s good for you. What do you say, Geneva?”

  “An accountant? In Tucker?” sputtered Janet.

  “Ouch, watch the exclamations, Janet. I’m still being reconditioned through uninflected vocalizations, remember,” teased Geneva.

  “Go ahead, throw you brains away. You’ll both be begging to come live with me when I’m living it up in Los Angeles.” She sauntered off.

  “Watch out for earthquakes,” called Dianne after her. “Well, Geneva, do you need time to think it over? I’ve seen some of your work, and I know you’d do beautifully. I guess I don’t need to tell you there aren’t many qualified people around here, and I do hate to go through the interview process with new graduates. Too much travel, and besides, there’s nothing like a little nepotism to keep things interesting.”

  Geneva did not need much time to think. The vision of what she could do with this opportunity had already taken shape in her quick mind. Since her ride this afternoon, DC had begun to seem decadent and sordid to her here among her clean, windy mountains. And there was John. He might be a reason to stay here for a while, perhaps forever. Tickled with the possibilities, Geneva smiled at Dianne. Already she was imagining John and herself playing Romeo and Juliet… no, maybe Anthony and Cleopatra. That was a more interesting relationship. Maybe he could be persuaded to give some time from his busy practice and get back on stage. She positively tingled with the thought. “I just might be interested. Let’s get together and talk it over,” she said, stroking Dr. Zhivago.

  “Okay, there’s time. Nice cat. Is he yours?”

  “Yes,” replied Geneva. “He gave me a bit of a scare this week. Had a bout with high blood pressure.”

  “High blood pressure?” asked Dianne incredulously. “Nah. Cats don’t get high blood pressure. They’re too lazy!”

  “Well, this one did. John Smith, the vet in there checked it himself.” She indicated John through the open door.

  Dianne laughed. “That crazy John. What a liar. Why, he’s been pulling your leg!” Geneva stiffened, but Dianne laughed harder. “Last summer he convinced Charlie that skunks won’t spray their perfume during the night of the summer solstice. And then told him that people would pay five hundred dollars for young skunks for pets. That seemed reasonable for Charlie. He’s from New York! The idiot went out all night looking for them. I was out of town that week and so didn’t know a thing about it until I got home and found that he’d shaved his head. He’d found a whole nest of them and just about didn’t make it out alive. I’m just glad he didn’t take the boys with him!” She shook her head, laughing for a full half minute at the memory. “But we got John back. Sent him on a day-long hike with Sally Beth and Lilly together! And we’re cooking up another good one. We’ll spring it on him one day when he’s not suspecting it. But Charlie’s easy to dupe, being a city boy. I’d think that you would know better!” She sputtered a laugh again. “High blood pressure!”

  Geneva pasted a polite smile on her face and excused herself, mumbling something about replenishing the carrot sticks, then headed straight for John, who was enjoying the company of four women who looked as if they might be on leave from their jobs as playmates of the month. Lilly was one of them, leaning toward him, her ample breast nestled against his arm. Geneva approached them from behind to get a closer look. The women were doodling on his cast with felt tip pens.

  “Come on, John,” one of them laughed. “Tell us how you really broke it.”

  “Well, I really was helping to fight a wildfire at an oil well in Houston. It blew up and knocked me for a loop. When I came to about three days later, I was in this cast. Severe concussion. Couldn’t remember a thing for week or two. Burned off all my eyelashes and eyebrows, too.”

  The four women collapsed with laughter, shrieking and punching him. One of them began to sketch a picture of an explosion and a figure wearing an elaborate cowboy hat doing loops through the air, right beside one of a king tumbling off his throne. Geneva whirled and marched into the kitchen, where Rachel sat talking with Ray and three relatives.

  “Do you know what I just heard?” demanded Geneva. “John is out there telling people that he broke his leg fighting a wildfire in Texas. And cats don’t get high blood pressure!”

  Aunt Hattie laughed, “He told me he was water-skiing in the Mediterranean, and Buck got the story that he was parachuting.”

  “Mine’s better,” drawled Uncle Henry. “He told me he was hang gliding in the Alps.”

  “Bungee jumping,” corrected Ray. There was a general burst of laughter, but Geneva did not participate.

  “What a liar!” exclaimed Aunt Hattie. She turned to Geneva. “What did he tell you?”

  Geneva smiled through gritted teeth. “He was rescuing a woman on a runaway horse.”

  Everyone except Geneva looked delighted. Uncle Henry slapped his knees several times. “That’s the best one!” they crowed. Geneva was thinking of a different adjective, but she said nothing while she glared at her sister. Rachel pulled her into the chair beside her, explaining with a smile, “John’s a bit of a tease, Geneva, and he loves to keep people off balance. He makes up outrageous stories and tells everyone a different one so that we’re all kept guessing. It’s sort of a game with him. I doubt if he’s told anyone the real truth.” Rachel looked at her anxiously. “I hope you aren’t mad at him. He’s just having fun.”

  Geneva flared her nostrils. Another lying man! And she almost fell for him! Icily, she threw back her head and smirked at Rachel. “Oh, no, I’m not mad. I’m used to hearing men’s lies. I find them rather entertaining. Excuse me. I think the air is getting stuffy in here.” She flounced through the living room, then strode outside, glaring at John on the way out. There was some satisfaction to be derived from seeing the surprised look on his face.

  She headed for the creek, then struck up the hillside toward the heath bald half a mile from Rachel’s house. The late sunset had alighted the west, flooding the face of the mountains with its glow, but amplifying Geneva’s sorrow. She shuddered with angry sobs as she looked at it, but she was too mad to really cry. Mostly she gritted her teeth and spat out pejoratives, wishing she had something worth throwing. All she had were stones and pine cones, which were terribly unsatisfactory because they did not break.

  “I am through with men. Absolutely, undeniably, no holds barred, through,” she muttered in the softening light. As she stormed, a satisfying scene began to fill her head. She would become a hermit, a sinewy old mountain woman, hard as ivory and prickly as cactus. No, wait. That wouldn’t do. She would stay beautiful, and men would risk their lives to come for a glimpse of her. She would keep a shotgun and run them off if they dared to venture up into her citadel. But when they caught sight of her face, they would be inflamed with desire, and they would yearn and pine, then ultimately die with unrequited love. She would become legendary, known as far as Maine and Georgia as the misanthropic beauty
who trained her cats to scratch out the eyes of any male old enough to shave.

  Her mind began to stray into another line. There would be a particularly handsome man, named… Lord… Ruston. He would ride up every single day on a big Appaloosa stallion because he pined for her so, but she would refuse to see him, and her mountain lions would…

  But then, the memory of John’s green eyes flashed before her, and she felt Howard’s touch, and the fight went out of her. As the misery engulfed her soul, she began to cry in earnest. She tried to tell herself to stop, that she was making her eyes all red and swollen, but to no avail. Why were men so awful? Howard had left that terrible hole in her heart, and now John had filled it with salt. She hated men! She would kill them all if she could.

  She grieved well past nightfall, then made her way sorrowfully down the mountain. The party was still going on, so she climbed in her bedroom window and collapsed on the bed, exhausted, but certain that she would not sleep.

  She did sleep, immediately, deeply, and dreamlessly, as if her mind were trying to avoid contact with the wound. But several hours later she woke, thirsty from her earlier tears. Walking through the dark, silent house, she felt her way into the kitchen. She heard voices on the back porch. One of them was John’s, speaking her name. Breathlessly, she flattened herself against the wall, then crept to the open door and settled herself on the floor to listen. Rachel was there, too, and so was Wayne, but she could not hear what they were saying. Sammy, the Irish setter snored softly.

  Carefully, favoring her sprained elbow, she crawled on her hands and knees to the dining room, then tiptoed out the front door and around to the back. When she rounded the side of the house, she crawled again, stealthily, hardly daring to breathe. She heard Sammy growl once, then as he caught her scent, he thumped his tail on the floor and grew quiet again. Geneva let her breath out, then continued her journey behind the dahlias until she reached the back steps where she could hear clearly the conversation just three feet way. For the second time in as many weeks, she sat on the bare ground and settled herself behind the bushes to eavesdrop on the man she might be able to love and/or hate. She hadn’t quite made up her mind yet.