Talk of the Town

by Anne Marie Rodgers

  “No,” said Louise dryly, “he’d have hired someone.”

  Alice chuckled. “And the other day, when it stormed and I was racing around closing windows, he was a big help. He had the whole first floor finished before I even got half the guest rooms done.”

  “Again,” said Louise, “not something he would have done a few weeks ago. He really is beginning to think of others, isn’t he?”

  Jane looked down at her half-eaten plate of fish. “He certainly didn’t get much guidance from his father when he was a child. You wrought a miracle there, Alice, bringing those two together.” She took a bite, then said, “I suppose I’m going to have to forgive him.”

  Louise chuckled. “You wouldn’t be our Jane if you didn’t, dear.”

  After dinner, Alice brought a piece of paper into the kitchen, where Jane was putting dishes in the dishwasher and Louise was wiping the counters.

  “Here,” said Alice. “Maxwell made this list of people he felt he needed to tell personally before he contacts Carlene. Rather than risk exhausting himself with dozens of meetings, I suggested he separate them into two or three groups and ask them to come here. I thought he could manage to make his speech a couple more times. I would like each of you to look over these groups. I helped him divide them. If there’s anyone you think might be less… difficult in another group, please tell me.”

  Jane and Louise looked at each other. Louise thought Florence and she suspected Jane was thinking the same thing. Alice must have been, too, because she said, “I know that Florence is going to take this badly. She really embraced the notion of this creature frequenting Acorn Hill.”

  Jane snorted. “Alice, you’re so tactful it slays me. Why don’t you just say Florence was cuckoo on the subject and be done with it?”

  Louise tried not to laugh but a small chuckle escaped. “Definitely less tactful,” she informed Jane.

  Chapter Nineteen

  On Monday evening, right after supper, the doorbell rang. Opening the door, Alice found Vera and Fred on the doorstep. “Come on in,” she said. “Maxwell is in the living room.”

  There were more people coming up the walk so she continued to hold open the door. Zach and Nancy Colwin, Jason Ransom, Charles Matthews and all four of their parents completed the first group. When they filed out a short while later, there were a lot of sober faces. But as he was leaving, Zach Colwin winked at Alice and said, “If that’s the worst thing the fellow ever does in his life, won’t he be lucky?”

  The second group arrived not long afterward. It was composed of June Carter, Hope Collins, Florence and Ronald Simpson, Clarissa Cottrell and Rev. Thompson. Alice had decided not to remain in the room during each confession session, and she was particularly concerned about how Florence was going to take the news. She had hoped including Grace Chapel’s pastor in that group might defuse any huge explosions.

  After a surprisingly short time, the door opened and the group came out. June and Hope looked… disenchanted, but Alice suspected they would forgive Maxwell once they had an opportunity to reflect on the situation. Ronald came next, shaking his head and raising his gaze heavenward, as if asking for patience. She could hear Florence’s voice, clearly agitated, and Kenneth’s deeper, calmer tones still in discussion. Maxwell said something once but a sharp tone from Florence apparently silenced him. Alice bit her lip. It didn’t sound good.

  After what seemed like forever, Florence came stalking out of the room. Tonight Florence had worn a light cape over her clothing and it snapped around her rapidly moving figure like a raised sail on a windy day.

  “Well,” she said as she reached Alice. “I never. The nerve of that young man. He should be tarred and feathered.”

  “Oh, Florence,” Alice entreated, “don’t you remember doing anything foolish or ill-advised when you were young? All of us make mistakes. The important thing is that we learn from them. And I believe Maxwell has. He truly regrets this whole debacle.”

  “He should,” said Florence grimly. Without another word, she stomped out the door.

  Alice felt as if she’d been wrung out and hung up to dry. She couldn’t imagine how exhausted Maxwell must feel. Jane had brought drinks and cookies in for each group as they arrived, and Alice walked into the room and filled an extra glass with ice water. She walked across to where Kenneth was speaking with Maxwell.

  Both men turned toward her as she approached. Kenneth’s expression was sober but his eyes were warm. “We were just having a brief prayer,” he told her. “I thought Maxwell could use a little support from the Almighty.”

  “I suspect you’re right.” Alice searched the young man’s face, looking for signs of illness. His color had drained to a pasty white, but she imagined he could get through one more of these horrid meetings. “How are you feeling?” she asked him, just to confirm her impressions.

  “All right.” He nodded. “This is going a little better than I expected.”

  Alice raised her eyebrows. “Really? After seeing the way Florence left, I find that hard to believe.”

  Kenneth smiled. “Florence’s pride took a hit. She has a difficult time when she appears foolish, as you know, and she certainly felt foolish tonight. She’ll come around.” He extended a hand and firmly clasped Maxwell’s. “What you are doing takes courage,” he told the younger man. “Never doubt that the Lord is with you right now. He’ll carry you if the going gets too tough.”

  Alice saw the pastor out, and just a few minutes later, the final group arrived as Jane was setting out fresh drinks and cookies. It was composed of Ethel, Nia Komonos, Carlene Moss, Henry and Patsy Ley and Clothilda. They all wore barely disguised looks of curiosity.

  “We were here early and we saw Florence storm out,” Patsy whispered. “What on earth is going on?”

  Alice shook her head. “It’s not my story to tell. Come into the living room and Maxwell can explain.”

  It was a relief to see the last group leave.

  While Alice ushered them out, Jane gathered up glasses and several empty plates. The only ones who lingered inside were Ethel, talking to Alice in the hallway, and Carlene, who was hot on the trail of the story.

  Maxwell looked tired enough to collapse, and Jane finally took pity on him. “Maxwell,” she said, “I know you and Carlene want to finish your conversation, but can’t it wait until tomorrow? You’ve had an exhausting day. You can call Carlene tomorrow.”

  Carlene smiled, her dimples winking. “I’m sorry, Maxwell. I completely forgot you’d been ill. Call me tomorrow.”

  “I’ll do better than that,” he said. “I’ll come to your office, and I’ll bring along a statement you can print in Wednesday’s paper if you like.”

  “That would be fabulous.” Carlene scribbled a reminder to herself on her small notepad, and then stuffed both pencil and pad into her bag. “You did a good thing, coming clean,” she told him. “I know there are a few folks who are going to be miffed for a little while, but they’ll get over it. It took guts to tell everybody what you’ve been up to.”

  Maxwell began to cough.

  Alice appeared in the doorway, looking as stern as she possibly could. “Bed,” she said succinctly to him. “And don’t forget your antibiotic or that cough medicine. I’ve already filled the humidifier and turned it on for you.”

  The young man looked grateful. “Thank you, Alice. I’ll be asleep two minutes after my head hits the pillow.”

  Carlene stood to leave. “Goodnight, all. I’ll just let myself out.”

  Jane and Alice both trailed her out to the hallway. Louise had come out of the parlor and was talking with Ethel, and they all said good-bye to Carlene.

  Just as the door closed behind her, Wendell came sashaying down the steps.

  “Good gracious sakes alive!” Ethel was staring at the cat.

  “What’s wrong?” Louise asked.

  “Apparently nothing,” their aunt said. “I swear that cat is almost as fat as he was before he took off. How did you pork him up so
fast?”

  Jane looked a little mystified as she studied the cat. “You’re right. He is fat. I’ve been giving him one extra pack of treats per day, but that shouldn’t have done it in just a week.”

  Louise cleared her throat. “I, ah, also have been giving him treats that I kept in my room. I thought it might help him regain his strength faster.”

  “He regained something, that’s for sure,” Ethel said.

  Alice started to laugh. “You’re not going to believe this, but I’ve been giving him treats from a stash in my room too. I made up some extra packets, Jane, from the kitchen.”

  “I thought I was getting absentminded,” Jane said, beginning to chuckle. “I went in there the other day and there was a lot less food than I thought there should be.”

  Louise and Ethel joined the laughter as the four women watched Wendell waddle the rest of the way down the steps. As he rounded the newel post and walked back up the hallway toward the kitchen, his belly swayed from side to side. They all laughed harder.

  “Don’t think you’re getting a bedtime snack,” Jane called after him.

  On Tuesday morning, Jane made oatmeal-apple pancakes paired with a salad of oranges, grapefruit and kiwi.

  A young couple on their honeymoon had arrived the previous afternoon. They were on their way to Fort Rucker, an army post in Alabama, where the young man was to be stationed.

  “Ms. Howard?” The young bride, Emmaline Morning, raised her hand as if she was still in school, making Jane chuckle inwardly.

  “Yes? May I get either of you another helping of anything? Perhaps some more tea?”

  “Oh no,” the young woman said, smiling. “I’m beginning to feel like an overstuffed ball. Teddy can just roll me down the driveway to the car.”

  “But then who’s going to roll me?” her husband asked plaintively. “Those pancakes were very good.”

  “I’m glad you enjoyed them,” Jane said. “I was looking for a recipe for oatmeal cookies last week when I came across the pancake recipe, so you’re the first people who have tasted it.”

  “Two thumbs up,” Mr. Morning told her. “You definitely should add those to the menu.”

  “Would it be possible,” his wife said hesitantly, “for me to get that recipe from you? I’ve just begun collecting recipes and I would love to make those for Teddy.”

  “Certainly,” Jane said. “I will copy it down for you as soon as we clean up the kitchen. I’ll just slip it under your door later if you are not here.”

  “We probably won’t be,” the young husband said. “We’re meeting a tour guide in Potterston who is taking us to Lancaster County to learn more about the Amish.”

  “That should be interesting,” Jane said. “One caution—most Amish consider photographs of themselves to be prideful, if that’s a word, and don’t allow you to take pictures of them.”

  “Thank you for letting us know,” said Teddy Morning. He rose and came around the table to pull out his wife’s chair in a courtly gesture that Jane found endearing. “We’ll be heading out soon.”

  “Enjoy your day,” Jane called after them.

  Alice breezed through the swinging door just after the couple left. She wore a comfortable pair of jeans with a red-and-white striped blouse. “Louise is taking out the trash. I asked her to cut a few fresh daffodils for the reception desk,” she said as she began to clear the table.

  “Oh, good,” Jane responded. “The ones we have there now are beginning to wilt.”

  Maxwell was seated at the far end of the table so it was a relatively easy matter for Jane to make small talk with Clothilda and avoid speaking to him. Her anger at his deception had faded somewhat, but she still was not sure that she wanted to be friendly with him again.

  As she turned and backed through the swinging door, she saw that the young man had followed her, carrying a precariously wobbling stack of dishes he had gathered.

  “Oh, careful,” she warned. “Let me get those.” She quickly put down her load and took his.

  He handed them over with relief and a small smile. “I thought I would help you clear the table. I never realized waitresses needed to be so adept.”

  “It’s a skill,” Jane agreed.

  There was a small awkward silence.

  Then Maxwell said, “Well, I suppose I’ll go up to my room now and work on my paper.”

  “Do you plan to include our reactions to the news that you’d been tricking us for days?” Jane asked, looking him squarely in the eye.

  He did not squirm, as she expected him to. “Yes,” he said very seriously. “I don’t have any control data with which to compare that aspect, but I think it is an important part of the whole experience. I have learned a great deal from it, at any rate.” He sighed. “And I really am so sorry, Jane. I wish I could go back and fix the clock so that I’d never even considered the idea.”

  “I wish you could too,” Jane said. Then, honesty compelled her to add, “But since you can’t, I think what you did last evening is the next best thing.”

  Alice came into the kitchen at that moment with a load of dishes she had cleared from the dining room. She glanced curiously from one to the other, and then said to Maxwell, “Oh, good, you’re still here. Do you remember when I showed you our mother’s Depression glass and we talked about flea markets?”

  He nodded. “We never got around to seeing one.”

  “Would you still like to? There’s one in Riverton today. It’ll be there all week, in fact. It’s an indoor flea market slash antique sale.”

  “That would be interesting. Thank you, Alice, I would love to. When would you like to leave?”

  “How about ten?”

  “Ten it is.” He turned and headed for the door to the hallway. “I’ll meet you in the foyer then.”

  “Don’t forget your jacket,” Alice called after him. “It’s supposed to be warm today but that could change.”

  Jane was methodically rinsing dishes, and Alice began loading the dishwasher. “Don’t let him tire himself out.”

  Alice chuckled. “Yes, nurse.”

  Jane blushed. “Well, you know what I mean. I know you’ll keep an eagle eye on his health.”

  “So have you forgiven him?”

  “I think so,” she said. “Every once in a while, a little kernel of anger pops up, but I do believe he’s sincerely contrite.”

  “I do too,” Alice said. “It would have been much easier for him not to tell us, ever. After all, who would have known?”

  “I think perhaps I might have liked not knowing,” Jane said wryly.

  Louise came into the kitchen then, carrying a basket of fresh daffodil blooms and the vase from the hallway with a bouquet of rather sad-looking flowers. “I felt as if my name were Jane, puttering about in the garden.”

  Her sisters laughed.

  “Two Janes in one family would be problematic,” Alice said.

  Louise smiled. “The tulips are doing nicely.”

  “I love tulips,” Jane and Alice said in unison. They looked at each other and laughed.

  “That’s a very pretty scarf, Jane,” said Louise.

  “Thank you.” Jane was wearing a yellow shirt and pants, and around her neck she had tied a beautiful paisley scarf in shades of yellow, green and brown. It had called her name the day she’d seen it in a store in California, and she’d gone back for it three days later after thinking about it constantly.

  Alice said, “I’m going to run to the store before Maxwell and I leave for the flea market. Do you need anything?”

  Each of her sisters shook her head.

  “No,” said Jane, “but before you leave, I have a proposal to make to both of you.”

  “A proposal? This sounds serious.” Alice took a seat at the table while Louise walked to the sink with the flowers.

  “I got to thinking about Clothilda,” Jane said, “and her financial concerns for her family if they do bring her grandchild over to this area for evaluation or treatment. What would
you think of offering them a week’s lodging here?”

  Alice sat up straight. “Oh, Jane, what a good idea.”

  “It’s a thoughtful one,” Louise pronounced, “if we can afford to do it.”

  Jane grimaced. “I know. That worried me too, but I believe we could manage. Not indefinitely, of course, but I thought a week would be helpful to them.”

  “I should think so,” Louise responded.

  “What a lovely gesture,” said Alice. “I vote yes.”

  “As do I.” Louise stopped arranging flowers in the vase. “Who wants to tell her?”

  “Why don’t we all tell her?” Jane suggested. “Her niece is returning tomorrow to pick her up. I could make up a gift certificate on the computer and we could present it to her before she goes.”

  “Excellent idea,” Louise said.

  “Thank you, Jane,” said Alice. “Just let us know what time she is leaving so we can arrange to be here.”

  Wednesday morning, Alice walked into the Coffee Shop around ten o’clock and picked up a copy of the Acorn Nutshell. Before she could pay for it, Hope came whizzing by with a tray loaded with food. The waitress paused long enough to say, “Check out the front page.”

  Alice slipped onto a stool at the counter and unfolded the newspaper. ACORN HILL HOAX read the headline. She groaned inwardly. She had hoped Carlene would understand the sensitive nature of Maxwell’s confession and downplay it.

  “Hey, Alice, want a cup of tea?” Hope returned and stopped near her.

  “Sure. I may need it after I read this article.”

  Hope smiled. “It’s not that bad. His statement will go a long way toward softening any hard feelings people may have.”

  His statement? Really curious now, Alice began to read. Carlene went through the sequence of events that led to the Bigfoot theory. The newspaper editor simply reported the facts. Near the end of the article, Alice found out what Hope had meant.

  Carlene reported that Maxwell had prepared a statement, which she printed in its entirety. Alice read every word.

  … In my zeal to create a research experiment to discover whether urban dwellers react differently from those in rural areas to rumors of extraordinary events, I went too far in creating the Bigfoot hoax. I made the tracks and planted the hair that was found. I deeply regret my deception. The people of Acorn Hill have shown me hospitality, kindness and friendship such as I have never experienced before. For the first time in my life, I have enjoyed the bonds of community. I recognize that my actions were a breach of trust, and I humbly ask your forgiveness.