Dearest Dorothy, Who Would Have Ever Thought?!

by Charlene Baumbich

  “Barn clothes?”

  “You know, the type of thing you wear to . . . get dirty.”

  “You can actually shop for barn clothes? Is that a brand or a style or . . .”

  Jessica’s face had turned beet red before she broke out laughing. “Oh, Katie! No, barn clothes aren’t a brand or a style, unless you count old, worn, stained jeans and sweat-shirts a style. And if you do, then for the first time in my life, I am on the cutting edge!” she’d said looking down at her dowdy attire. “I’m just talking about old clothes you own that you don’t care one way or the other if they get grubby. I was just teasing you about actually shopping for them!”

  Grubby was not one ounce Katie’s style; she had no desire to look like she belonged in a barn. She decided some people just weren’t born to dress down and she was one of them. She picked up the file folder on the kitchen table and ran it upstairs where she slipped it onto her closet shelf next to the box of letters sent between her mom and Aunt Tess. The box of letters that had ultimately led her down the trail to her paternity. She closed the closet door to keep her real estate file out of view; there was no point in talking about something before its time. The only thing it was time for at the moment was to pretend she was interested in slimy, wiggling, clawed little beasts. “Mice and crawdads. What am I doing here?”

  After having decided she needed to stop herself before she never turned back, Jessie pulled off at the next exit and traveled the overpass toward the ramp leading back in the opposite direction—the one that led home—but she simply could not make herself turn the wheel of that Buick toward the ramp. She drove right on by it and pulled into one of those roadside combination gas station and convenience stores. She eyed a spot as far away from the pumps as she could and backed the Buick in. As she was shutting off the engine she thought, I’m backed into a corner all right. That’s exactly how I feel. She let her head thunk back against the headrest and closed her eyes. She wished she had a pillow to stuff behind her neck. Nothing about her life was comfortable right now. Nothing. Her skin didn’t even feel like it settled over her arms correctly and she fussed around repositioning them, first letting her forearms rest in her lap, then draping her hands over the steering wheel, allowing her now wiggly arms to dangle. Who would have thought? Who would have ever thought I would come to this? What she really needed was something to throw. But what? And at whom?

  She idly watched people pull their vehicles up to the pumps, exit the car, slip what looked to be . . . credit cards? . . . in and out of the slots. Then they studied some type of a screen before doing anything; Jessie couldn’t see the details of what it was all about—drat her fuzzy eyes! Since she and Arthur never left town and the only place Arthur would ever buy gasoline, or allow her to, was at By George’s in Partonville—and by George, By George did not have such newfangled equipment as credit card slots and such—she was clueless about what was going on. George simply came to the car, smiled, asked you what you wanted and gave you everything you asked for. Simple. No contraptions.

  When did I start allowing Arthur to allow or not allow things in my life? She lifted her head forward and banged it back against the headrest again, as though to knock some sense into herself, then repeated the action. She watched a woman approach the screen, push a few buttons, slide her card in and out, stare at the screen, walk back to the gas cap and then realize . . . something. She saw the woman’s mouth moving as though she was chastising herself. Good. I’ve got company. The lanky woman leaned inside her car and did something and the cover to the gas cap popped open. She came back and unscrewed the cap, allowing it to dangle from a cord. It reminded Jessie of Edward Showalter’s wallet he kept attached to his belt with a chain. The woman lifted the nozzle, pulled up a handle, stuck the nozzle in her auto’s gasoline shoot, then pulled the trigger. She must have snapped on some kind of pumping lock because the woman cleaned her windshield. She doesn’t have to talk to anyone. She depends on nobody to help her travel to wherever she’s going next. The longer Jessie watched, the more appealing this idea became. Maybe By George’s had helped contribute to her . . . dependency? Is that what I am? Dependent? And if so, whatever happened to Mugsy knock-’em-dead McGee? She determined the next time she needed gasoline she would drive clear out of town to one of these stations and pump her own. But first, she guessed she’d have to find out how to get a credit card. She and Arthur had never owned one, Arthur believing you should pay your way as you go. Not that she’d been opposed to that line of thinking, mind you, but Arthur had made that decision for the both of them. No more!

  She’d surely paid her own way as she went, she decided. She’d paid—yes, it had cost her plenty—to go absolutely nowhere. Now here she sat.

  She wondered what time it was. She’d never been one to wear any jewelry, not even a watch or a wedding ring. Since she was playing ball when she and Arthur married, she told him not to bother with a ring since she’d have to take it off to play and she was afraid she might lose it. That was the truth, but it was also the truth that she figured she could never ever get used to some bobble on her finger. She looked at her left ring finger and tried to picture anything there. Her nails were ragged and somewhat dirty. She chewed the edge off one that looked particularly uneven. Decided that looked better, but then, who cared? She leaned forward to look at the sun’s position through the windshield and decided it was past one-thirty. She lifted her buttocks off the seat a bit so she could ram her hand into her jeans pocket and retrieve her money she kept in a money clip, just like a man. Twenty-two dollars. That wasn’t going to take her very far. She noticed a sign in the window of the station. When she got close enough, she saw it said Vienna Dogs and went and got herself one—she was excessive with the mustard, which always annoyed Arthur—along with a self-serve soda, lots of ice. All that ice annoyed him too. Said she never got her money’s worth of soda with all that ice. She added two more cubes before snapping on the lid and paying. She carried her lunch out to the car and set the soda right on top of the hood, no napkin beneath it. That would bug Arthur. She hoped it made a ring and he saw it. She leaned her backside against the hood and ate her dog, thinking. Thinking she didn’t have enough money to do anything but head home, which made her mad until she realized she’d have to go home anyway—at least for now—since the Happy Hookers would be coming to her house for bunco come Wednesday. Not yet. She wasn’t ready to go home yet. She better stall for at least another hour if she wanted to make sure she didn’t have to serve them all lunch. She tossed her garbage in the can and got back in the car, but after two minutes she knew she couldn’t sit still any longer so she fired up the Buick. But she had to go home with something or where would she say she’d been? Getting a hot dog in . . . Gads! I don’t even know where I AM!

  13

  As Katie stepped onto the back porch to head for the creek, the phone rang.

  “Katie! It’s Jessica. You busy?”

  “I was just on my way out the door. Dorothy and Josh are probably already down at the creek; they’re going crawdad hunting and you know how much I love that!” They both laughed at the absurd notion. “In fact, I was just thinking about you a minute ago when I realized I still don’t own any barn clothes—and that I don’t care if I ever do.” She waited to hear Jessica’s lively chuckle but there was only silence. “Jessica? You still there?”

  “Yes. I’ll let you go. You’re busy.”

  “What’s up? You sound . . . different.”

  “Not much is up. No, everything is. I was gonna take a ride out to the farm if you weren’t busy; I have something to tell you. But go ahead and enjoy your company. And tell Dorothy I said thank you. She’ll know what I’m talking about.”

  “Why don’t you come tell her yourself? I’ll wait up here for you. If I’m lucky, by the time you get here they’ll already be back and I won’t have to deal with the creepy critters at all!” Again Katie laughed but Jessica did not. “Jessica, is everything okay with you?”

  �
��Yes. No. Well, I’m sure it will be.”

  “Okay, you’re driving me crazy, not to mention worrying me now. What is up?”

  “I don’t want to tell you over the phone.”

  “Then get yourself over here and now. I’m not going to be able to enjoy myself for wondering what’s going on. Or should I just ask Dorothy?”

  “NO!”

  “Then bring Sarah Sue, and Paul too. He’s off today, right?”

  “Yes. He’s off. He finally had time for me to give him a haircut, which was long overdue. I shaved a little too close over one ear and he didn’t say a word and. . . . Honestly, he is so patient, so kind to me.” Her voice hitched. “He’s the one who told me to get out of the house and ‘go out to Crooked Creek and talk to your friend.’” Katie warmed to think Paul considered her in that way; she was still trying to get to know him better. She could never decide if he was perhaps a little shy, or just quiet, or what. Jessica said he was always “running on tired,” due to his mining hours and all the responsibilities around the Lamp Post—not to mention being a daddy. That could account for it too. But some people were just naturally more elusive than others; maybe he was just one of them. He definitely loved his wife and daughter, though, which made him one man Katie could give her approval to.

  “So do it. Get on over here! What are you waiting for?”

  After a short silence, during which time Jessica tried to think of a good reason not to go—other than that she might be sick—she realized that the truth was that her need to share her news was stronger than her embarrassment over barging into someone else’s gathering. And if she puked, well, she’d puke. And if it had been anyone else but Dorothy . . . “I’m on my way. Don’t wait up, though. Head on down to the creek. I’ll find you.”

  “Are you kidding? I’ve already taken off my jacket. I’ll be right at this kitchen table where things are cozy with my new fabulous rug runner, there are no clawed critters, there is no dirt . . .” Her eyes landed on a mousetrap. “Okay, there are mousetraps but no dirt, and I’m waiting for my best friend. I’ll put some coffee on right now.”

  “NO!” Jessica realized she’d been a little too emphatic once again, but the mere thought of the smell of coffee rumbled her stomach. “No,” she said in a quieter voice. “Thank you, but I just don’t have a taste for coffee.”

  “Okay then, I’ll just sit here and watch the mousetraps.” However, the idea she might actually see action rumbled her stomach. “On second thought, I’ll slip my jacket back on and wait for you on the front porch. I don’t think I’ve sat on the porch swing since . . . I can’t remember when.”

  “Bye!” Jessica said just before she slammed the phone into its cradle. The mere thought of swinging made her nauseous.

  Josh held the brown wiggling critter high over his head. “Check the size of THIS one! This ought to score me double!” Dorothy was bent over at the waist and in the middle of lifting a rock. They’d barely begun and already Josh had scored? She straightened up a little too quickly and lost her balance.

  “Dorothy!” Josh let the crawdad plunk into the water and leapt to her side, grabbing her by the elbow just in time to help steady her before she went down. Dorothy shivered while she got her bearings, the combination of the cool air, water and the incident taking their toll. The heel of her wet shoe (it was just too nippy for bare feet) slipped on a mossy rock and again she almost went down but Josh held her steady. Rather than cave in to the drama of the moment, she straightened herself and took Josh’s hand in hers.

  “What big one? I don’t see a big one. I think you said that just to distract me from the one I was surely about to nab.” She laughed. Josh smiled but his gaze did not leave her face. While still holding her hand, he slid his free arm around her waist. He thought she was, as she had recently proclaimed, the toughest old bird he would ever meet in his life, and yet, sometimes she seemed so fragile it scared him.

  “Right. That’s exactly what I did,” Josh said in a quasi repentant voice. Josh noticed Dorothy shiver again, the dampness clearly getting to her. “What say we call the hunt a tie and head back to the house; it’s colder than I thought it was. I don’t think Mom’s gonna make it down here anyway.” Dorothy agreed with his suggestion. Josh ushered them both back to the big log where they’d left their gear. He held both of her hands as she sat down, then he sat down beside her while they changed into their dry shoes and socks, which admittedly felt good to both of them.

  “Dorothy, do you think Pastor Delbert would like to get to know me and Mom better?”

  Dorothy finished tying the last bow of her new pink shoelaces she’d just this morning laced into her Keds. She sat up slowly and studied Josh’s face. Wonder how long that question’s been on the end of his tongue? Such a kind and tender boy. So vulnerable. Just like my Vinnie at this age. “Yes, Joshmeister. I think he’d like to get to know the nephew he never knew he had.”

  “Then why hasn’t he called us?”

  “Have either of you called him?”

  He looked a little sheepish. “I can’t speak for Mom, but I don’t think so. And no, I haven’t phoned him either. I just figured the adults needed to make the first move.”

  Dorothy chuckled. “Are you admitting you’re not an adult yet?”

  “I hate trick questions, especially from adults,” Josh teased. “I can tell this is going to be a no-win answer for me.”

  “Here’s the thing, Josh.” Dorothy stuffed her wet shoes into a plastic shopping bag and rearranged a few items in her backpack, stalling to find the right words as she silently prayed for a good answer. “Situations like this take time. I’m sure Pastor wants to get to know you. Both of you. After all, he’s never had the chance to experience what it’s like to have a sister . . . half sister . . . and a nephew.”

  “Half of a nephew,” Josh said, trying to lighten the moment.

  “Right. Half of a nephew, although I wonder which half he’d choose right now,” she said, smiling while looking him up and down.

  Josh took note of his muddy pants. “I think he’d choose the half with the ears and the cleft in the chin since they both look exactly like his.”

  Dorothy thought about the attributes of her sons—physical and otherwise—that were like their dad’s. It always felt like such a miracle to see so many pieces of Henry and his father before him living on in a son’s smile, the shape of a fingernail bed, things they’d all commented on at one time or another. It was hard having her children live so far away, not getting to see her grandsons that often—another reason she was grateful to God for filling in some of the gaps with this lovely child. Something positive to do with her longing. “Yes. You do share those features, Josh. It’s obvious you’ve studied him well. He’s probably noticed those exact same similarities.”

  “Think?”

  “I think it’s highly possible. You’ll have to ask him yourself one day.”

  “You know, Dorothy, it feels good to me. It feels good to know where my ears and chin came from. I mean I know I look a lot like my dad, but there’s always been something different than either my mom or my dad. And I’ve also noticed that Mom and Delbert have the exact same color of eyes. I know she’s noticed, too, since I caught her staring at her own eyes up close in the mirror one day.”

  “Did she say anything about them?”

  “No. But I knew what she was thinking. I see that same look on her face when she studies her dad’s, my real grandpa’s, pictures. That’s okay to call him her dad, my grandpa, isn’t it?” It felt odd since neither his mom nor he had ever met the man before he died.

  “Yes, it’s fine to call him that, since he is.” They were silent for a moment. “Do you and your mom ever talk about this?”

  “No. Not really. I’ve brought it up a couple of times, just wondering when we all might get together.”

  “What does she say?”

  “She says these things take time. They can’t be rushed or forced. Then she changes the subject.”


  “She’s right. Be patient, with both of them.”

  “So you don’t think I should stop by and see Pastor Delbert? Uncle Delbert?”

  “I didn’t say that. No sir-ee, I did not say that.” She winked at him.

  Josh studied her face. She looked right inside of him somehow, and he thought how good it always made him feel when she did. Like she knew him better than he knew himself.

  Josh stood and offered her his hands to help her stand. She took them, he gave a gentle tug and up she came. By the time she’d completely righted herself, she stood before him—both of them exactly five feet and ten inches tall—still holding his hands. She gave them a good squeeze and his eyes a big smile, letting him know she approved of what she knew he would soon do.

  “You know,” Josh said, “I really did have a giant crawdad. I really did win.”

  “You’ll never be able to prove it by me. I’m thinking we’ll have to have a hunt-off in the spring, don’t you?”

  “Yup. And maybe Alex can join us.”

  While Josh pictured the three of them together, splashing away, Dorothy wondered if God would keep her on this earth that long. She sure hoped so. After all, there was a huntin’ tie to break. Just one more summer, Lord. Just one. But Thy will be done. Thy will be done.

  “I am so tired of blubbering.” Jessica took the tissue from Katie’s hand, wiped her cheeks, then gave a hearty blow of her red nose. Her entire newsflash—including Paul’s endearing Pregnant Gift—had spilled out with barely a breath in between sentences aside from some hiccupping sobs made all the sobbier by the retelling of Paul’s tenderness. The only thing she hadn’t mentioned was Dorothy’s drop-by. “Well, aren’t you going to say something?” Jessica finally asked Katie after she settled down and their eyes met.